“Grace, that was amazing—” I silenced him with my mouth, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his face to mine, forcefully meeting his lips with my own. With my other hand I grasped his wrist, placed his hand on my ass, and then pushed him against the bar. His eyes were wide with surprise but quickly mirrored back my own growing need.
I couldn’t think, I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t focus on anything except him and the fact that if I couldn’t feel him very soon, I would literally burst. As I pressed my tongue against his frantically, his hands grew urgent, pulling me closer against him, and I was ready to mount him on the freaking bar. Luckily there was enough of my brain working and enough of his British manners to prevent this, and as we became aware that the clapping had shifted from my singing to our very public groping, we reluctantly separated.
I looked at him, his blond curls messy and sexy, and nearly lunged again. As it was, I had already started trying to kiss his neck when I felt Holly’s hand on me.
“Grace, there’s a lot of people watching. And there are at least ten girls who recognize Jack. Settle,” she said, warning me, attempting to step between us.
Jack wasn’t having any of it and kept me tucked against his side. “Fuck all that. I don’t care who they recognize,” he said, his hands working their way up and down my back.
Holly exhaled, and I dragged my eyes away from Jack’s long enough to look around. She was right. There were at least three groups of girls staring at us, and one was pulling out her phone.
“Shit,” I swore, backing away from him. He grimaced and tried to pull me back.
“Hold on. Just wait a minute. Holly’s right,” I said. He tried to interrupt, and I placed a finger over his lips. I heard the fangirl posse closest to us collectively hiss.
I removed the offending finger, so as not to antagonize the seething posse, then I continued. “Holly’s right. And I think Holly would also like to remind me at this time that she and Nick are going out for a late dinner—isn’t that right, Holly?” I turned to look at her as a slow grin began to creep across the Brit’s face.
“We are?” Holly asked, looking confused. Nick just looked happy to be standing so close to Jack and was trying to accidentally-on-purpose touch Jack’s elbow with his own. None of this was lost on Jack, by the way.
“Yes, I believe you are. And I also believe that you’ll be gone for at least two hours,” I added.
“Two hours?” Jack interrupted, looking insulted. “A really good, thorough dinner will take at least three to four hours, maybe even longer. It depends on how hungry you are and how satisfied you want to be. When I have dinner I usually can’t stop at just one course. I practically insist on multiples,” he said, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me back against him. His eyes were on fire as he looked at me, and I could no longer feel my legs. What was directly above my legs, however, I could feel intensely.
Nick had begun to breathe rather heavily during this last speech and was leaning on the bar, fanning himself. Even Holly’s eyes got a little glazed over, to say nothing of the bartender, who was now leaning across the bar, looking quite beside herself.
I peeled myself off the Brit, looked at Holly, and said, “Okay, you heard the man. Dinner right now, you two—and at least three hours. If you come home before that, I make no guarantees that you won’t see a little ass.” Then I turned back to Jack. “You and me, let’s roll.”
He grabbed my hand and started to pull me toward the front door.
Holly stepped in front of him. “Hey, can I be your manager for just a minute? It’s not a good idea for you to be photographed with anyone, and there could be cameras out there. Not to mention, you know, those girls are all watching you like a hawk. It’ll be all over the Internet tonight if you leave with Grace, especially holding her hand—which I personally think is sweet.” She flashed a quick smile at me. “You should stay here for a few minutes, talk to them, let Grace get out of here. You can meet her at my house in just a little while.”
Jack thought for a minute and glanced at me. I shrugged. I didn’t care. I just needed the man so badly at this point, it didn’t much matter how it happened.
“I’ll do this your way, but then you have to do something for me,” he told Holly.
“What’s that?”
He pressed something into her hand. “Get dessert, too. It’s on me.” With that, he tapped on his watch and held up ten fingers, smiling devilishly at me. He bit down on that perfect lower lip, and as I felt my tummy go silly, he walked over to the first group of girls, who began to squeal as he started to sign autographs.
I ran to my car. Thank God I waxed!
As I drove home, I began checking off what I’d need for my British tryst.
Sexy lingerie? Already wearing it.
Hot music for the background? Got it covered.
Clean sheets? April fresh.
Condoms? Yep, and the pill too.
Wait, condoms? That was a trick question . . . are you sleeping with him tonight?
I put that question in the “Grace Will Make That Decision Later” box and focused back on the fact that yoga had made me very flexible, and I knew he was going to be very pleased. Then I would most likely be very pleased.
He would be all about pleasing me.
I let out a hyperactive little squeal as I thought about how thoroughly I was about to be worked. I had the top down and the stereo loud as I drove through the streets of L.A. on my way to Mulholland, singing Dramarama at the top of my lungs. I was driving up Coldwater Canyon when I saw headlights behind me.
They came up fast and didn’t back off. I could see a car swerving in my rearview mirror and could hear the engine revving. I pressed my foot on the accelerator as I drove higher up the mountain. When I took a tight curve, I saw the car get even closer and I realized that it was an old, beat-up MG. It was Jack, driving like a bat out of hell . . . and gaining.
He was pushing me to drive faster.
I smirked and put my left hand out of the window, motioning for him to bring it. Then I shook my hair out of the ponytail I usually wear when I drive with the top down and heard him honk in appreciation.
He was chasing me like Kelly McGillis chased Tom Cruise in Top Gun. Tires were squealing, brakes were being stomped, other drivers were yelling and pissed. I was already breathing heavily in anticipation of what was waiting for me when we finally got home.
When I got closer to Holly’s driveway he swerved up next to me and sped ahead, getting into the spot first. He had parked, jumped out, and was halfway to my car before I had even killed my engine. Music from my stereo screamed into the night as he stalked over to the car.
“You’re fucking nuts!” I yelled, watching him walk toward me.
“I thought you needed a little push.” He closed the distance in three quick strides and then had his hands in my hair, running through it.
I turned my car off and the music cut off sharply.
Silence.
“Get out of the car, Grace,” he commanded quietly, holding my face between his fingers, pressing the tips to my lips. I kissed them gently and slid from the car.
When I turned to shut the car door, he was on me. Arms slid around my waist, hands slipped under my shirt, lips pushed against my neck, hips pressed against my own. The breath was forced out of me with a rush, quickly followed by a moan. He was everywhere all at once.
My hands found his hair and I tugged his mouth toward mine, greedily kissing him with everything I’d worked up since I’d left the bar, my hands wild, in his hair, on his face, gripping the back of his neck as he assaulted my own with his kisses. His hands moved to the front of my shirt, popping two buttons almost instantly.
I was suddenly reminded of where we were and pulled back a little. “Hey, let’s take this inside, Hamilton.”
“That’s the plan, Sheridan,” he whispered hotly against my neck, moving his hand down and applying pressure against my center. “I’m trying to get inside.”
I was a screamer when it was done right, and this man was going to make me lose my voice for days.
I could feel myself beginning to build already, and I didn’t want the first time Jack made me lose my mind to be in the driveway.
“Hey, mister, come on. Let’s go in the house,” I said, continuing to kiss whatever was closest to me. In this case, his ear.
“If you insist, but then you’re all mine,” he snarled, pulling me off the car and toward the house.
There was a frantic moment at the front door when I couldn’t find my key, and once inside, we raced toward the stairs. As we climbed our kisses slowed a little, becoming more and more tender, less frenzied. I walked him down the hall to my room and we stood in the doorway, hesitating. Things were about to change—for the better, hopefully, but definitely change.
“This is my room,” I said quietly, almost shyly. I motioned for him to enter and he did. He looked around, checking the pictures on the dresser, the books on the shelf, the CDs by the stereo, finally settling on my iPod in its docking station.
“I’m dying to know what you have cued up.” He laughed, pressing play.
“No, wait, don’t!” I started across the room, cringing at the inevitable.
Jack burst out laughing as old-school gangster rap screamed into the room, and he sank onto the bed. The mood had shifted. There was still that smolder, that burn, but this was us. There would be laughing along with the loving.
I stood in front of him, letting his hands slink up around me to hold my bottom as he nestled his face against my stomach. I could feel his hot breath on my skin and it tickled, pleasantly.
“Ah, jeez, Grace, you kill me. Only you would have this in your iPod.”
“Hey, man, I’m old-school. Don’t make me bust out the Eazy-E and the NWA. I will go straight-up gangsta on your ass. No one is more hard-core than a rich, suburban white girl,” I teased, pressing his face closer to me, running my fingers through his hair the way I knew he liked and scratching my nails through from the top to the bottom.
He made my new favorite sound, the “Jack’s Happy Sound” that I’d been replaying in my head for the last week. He smelled amazing, again that mix of sun, chocolate, pipe tobacco, and pure unadulterated Hamilton.
He kissed my tummy, turning his face up toward mine as he sighed again, seeming completely at peace. I loved that I could do that for him—make him look so peaceful and content.
But hello, what was this? He was unbuttoning my shirt from the bottom up, gently pulling it apart. Taking in my black lace bra peeking through the linen, he sighed again.
“Grace,” he whispered, kissing me through my bra, bringing me to attention immediately.
I laughed when I realized a fabulous but not very mood-appropriate song was still playing.
“Hey, I’m just going to go freshen up a minute. Why don’t you find something else for us to listen to? Your choice.” I pulled away quickly when he frowned, clearly not pleased about letting me go even for a minute.
“You’re already fresh. Cheeky even,” he said teasingly, giving me a playful swat on the butt as I turned to walk toward my bathroom.
“Cheeky? Oooooh, are you going to say more British words to me tonight?” I said, teasing him back, only half joking.
“Nope, not until you come back,” he said, leaning on his elbows, looking for all the world like a sex god.
“That’s a deal. Now, pick some music, Hamilton.” I swished across the room and had just made it behind the door when he playfully grabbed me.
“You have only as much time as it takes me to pick something out, and you better have some good shagging music on this thing,” he said as I shook my head in amusement.
I looked at my reflection. My hair was crazy and full, blown out by the wind from the drive. My lips were kiss-swollen and rosy. My shirt was open, and I looked good. Good enough to seduce a twenty-four-year-old? Oh hell, I sure was going to try. I wanted to make this last.
I quickly checked my breath, ran my fingers through my hair once more, and readjusted the girls, cinching my cleavage up just a little more. I felt confident in saying that Jack was a boob man, and I really wanted to make sure that he was happy. So, I began to formulate a plan in my head on how to make sure that he, um, well, that he . . . first . . . oh hell.
Just say it, Grace.
I was dying to get him off.
Even thinking this thought brought color to my cheeks as I imagined what he would look like when I brought him to where I was craving to bring him.
Maybe I should just go for it. Yeah, guys like aggressive women. I’d go out there, get control of the situation, and then . . . Wait a minute. What song was he playing? Was that . . .
He’d chosen one of my favorite, most infinitely sexy songs from the iPod.
All thoughts of his “going” first left my head as I opened the door to see him standing there, smiling and waiting for me. The Psychedelic Furs filled the room, and the first words of “Until She Comes” rang out.
“Nice choice,” I said, leaning against the door frame.
“I thought you would approve,” he answered, holding out his hand to me and winking.
I went to him. Willingly. Wantonly. Wickedly.
Prepare yourself, Grace. This will likely be earth-shattering.
eleven
Jack gazed at me as he slowly slipped my shirt from my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. He ran his hands down the length of my arms, his fingers entwining with mine. Then he crossed our hands behind me as he kissed me long and deep, pressed so tightly against me, I almost couldn’t breathe. In a really good way.
As soon as he released my hands, they found their way to their new home, tangled in his hair. He feathered kisses down my neck to my collarbone, and my breath caught in my throat. Jack smiled against my skin, knowing this was my sweet spot. I felt his hands as they unclasped my bra, adding it to the pile at my feet. He bent his head and left a trail of kisses across the tops of my breasts, his hands traveling up to cup them gently. His thumbs grazed my nipples and I almost came out of my skin.
“That feels amazing.” I sighed, watching him attend to me. “Oh my” left my mouth as I dropped my head back to enjoy. His tongue flickered across my right nipple and his mouth zeroed in, taking me between his lips. His teeth softly encircled me, biting gently. I cried out, letting him know that this was exactly what I needed. His teeth nibbled more insistently and his left hand began to move toward my legs. I ran my hands up and down his back, beginning to feel the slow build that was going to quite possibly bring down this mountain.
We moved together across the room while I struggled to remove his shirt. When I took my first look at him shirtless, it was a good thing he was holding on to me so tightly, as I felt my knees shake.
He was so mother-flipping beautiful. I pushed him away just far enough to take him in, my gaze traveling up and down. He was long and lean, strong and handsome. He had a scattering of pale, almost strawberry-blond hair on his chest that gathered into a happy trail low on his tummy. I planned to take that trail as far as I could.
He noticed me staring and he grinned. “What are you staring at?”
“You. You’re beautiful.” I ran my fingertips lightly across his chest, lower onto his stomach, and he groaned.
“Nuts Girl, you’re the beautiful one in this room,” he answered, echoing my movements with his own. We stood about a foot apart, and I felt a sudden burst of shyness as I realized my much older body was being scrutinized. I tried to cross my arms over my chest but he caught them, holding them out to the sides so he could continue to let his eyes roam across my skin.
“Beautiful,” he breathed again, returning his hands to my body. I returned mine to his
. As my fingertips slipped into the waistband of his jeans, he raised an eyebrow.
“You first,” he said, scolding me lightly, reminding me of his intentions. He began walking me backward toward the bed and our hands and kisses became urgent again. I knew I only had seconds left before I was going to be powerless, and I wanted him significantly more naked than he was now.
I expertly snapped open his button and unzipped him before he knew what I was doing. As his eyes widened, I slipped one hand inside, found what I was looking for, and gave him a gentle but insistent squeeze.
“Fuck, Grace . . . ,” he moaned, buying me a few more seconds, which was all I needed.
I slipped his jeans down his legs. He gave in, kicking off his shoes and allowing me to continue to slide them off. I knelt in front of him before he could stop me, and as I finished removing them, I chanced a quick look up. He was staring down at me with such a look of lust and want, it almost made me rock back on my heels.
His dark gray boxer-briefs were molded to his body as if they were made to be there. I could see his excitement underneath and my fingertips gently teased, fluttering and massaging him through the fabric. His hands wound in my hair and I pressed my face against him, feathering kisses on him, running my nails up the insides of his thighs.
“Sweet Grace, you are trying to distract me. It won’t work,” he said, warning me.
Is that a challenge?
I looked up at him, running my hands up along his bottom, grasping the back of his boxers firmly.
“You sure about that?” Before he had a chance to answer, I pulled them completely down, grasped him in my hand, and took him into my mouth . . . fully.
“Oh, God, Grace . . . Jesus,” he groaned, his hands tightening in my hair, reflexively bringing him deeper into me.
Hearing that gorgeous voice, that unfettered British accent—oh my God. I let him fill me, feeling the hardness of him at the back of my throat, and I inwardly smiled. This was exactly where I wanted him. He was perfect and huge and smooth and rock hard.
The Redhead Series Page 9