The Redhead Plays Her Hand

by Alice Clayton

  “Jack! Jack! Over here!”

  “Hey, Hamilton, who you got with you there?”

  “Hey, Jack, right here! Can you smile? Come on, right here!”

  A bouncer had us back inside within seconds, but it was minutes before I could see clearly. Jack clutched at me, shielding me as another member of security ushered us back to another part of the club, quieter and more secluded.

  “Jesus, Grace, you okay? Shit!” he exclaimed. I blinked back the flashes I was still seeing and accepted a bottle of water from someone.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine!” I told him as he looked me over. “Come on, I mean it. I’m fine.” I tried to smile, patting the back of my head.

  “Where the hell is the security in this place? Dammit, why wasn’t someone at that door?” Jack yelled as a manager hurried over.

  “Sir, Mr. Hamilton, I’m so sorry,” he tried to explain. “I didn’t realize you were heading out that way, I thought—”

  “Are you bloody kidding? What’s the point of having a VIP section if you can’t even keep those fucking animals away from my girlfriend?” he exploded, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialing angrily.

  I crossed to him, placing my hand on his arm. “Who are you calling?”

  He held up a finger. “Yeah, Bryan? Hey, can you pick us up? Right, we’re at Bar the Door. Great, twenty minutes? Thanks, man,” he finished, putting his phone away and grabbing for my hand.

  Bryan. His new security guy he used for public appearances.

  Your boyfriend has his own bodyguard . . .

  Wow, did I just have a hit of Hollywood.

  “Bryan’s on his way, he’s going to take you home.” Jack kissed my forehead and kept me close against him.

  “Why don’t you let me take her home?” I heard a familiar voice say. I looked around and saw Holly walk up behind Jack. He closed his eyes, biting down on his lip—not in the way I was used to seeing it, though.

  “Yeah, why don’t I go with Holly?” I scratched at his scalp and prodded him to open his eyes.

  “I’d really prefer you go with Bryan. He can get you in and out of here without—”

  “Without what, Jack? Paparazzi?” Holly interjected. “It’ll be easier if she and I leave together. They’ve already seen you. They’re only looking for her if she’s with you. You go out with Bryan, and we’ll head out another entrance.”

  “I don’t know. I’d feel better if—”

  “Jack. You’re famous. She isn’t yet, but she’s gonna be. You two wanna go out dancing? This is gonna happen. Let me take her home,” Holly interrupted, her voice taking on the tone that was not to be messed with.

  “I’ll see you there, okay?” I said, leaning in and squeezing his hand before starting after Holly.

  “I’m sorry, Grace,” he called after me.

  “Hush. You be careful,” I called back, meeting his eyes, which now looked red and tired. Letting Holly lead me back into the crowded club, I took one last look at Jack, head hanging.

  This was not good.

  “So that was weird,” I said twenty minutes later. Holly and I were packed into her car and speeding up Robertson toward the canyons.

  “That? That was nothing. This was just your first real taste of it. It’s gonna get worse. You remember what it was like at his premiere, don’t you?” She passed me her bottle of water. Now that I was outside the club, I could feel my dress sticking to me. I rolled down the window and let the breeze fluff out my hair and clear my brain a little. On the way back out of the club, I had noticed how packed that dance floor really was.

  Holy shit, did I really let Jack almost give me an orgasm in the middle of that club? Hollywood . . . Damn, it’s a powerful drug.

  “I remember. They barely paid Nick and me any attention at first. They sure went crazy when Jack showed up, though.” I winced, thinking of that night.

  “Pfft, they barely paid any attention to you until one of them figured out you were the unidentified redhead. I was doing damage control all night! Gimme that.” She gestured for the water.

  I winced again, remembering when a photographer had made the connection that I’d been the one connecting with Jack for months. There weren’t many pictures of us together, but before Time had come out, we’d had a few weeks of relative anonymity early in our relationship. We didn’t really think too much about showing affection in public, and the pictures were still out there.

  “That was a bad night all around.” I grimaced. Many cocktails and a shaky sense of self combined into not one of my better moments. I’d almost lost Jack for good.

  “Listen, I know he doesn’t always want to listen to me, but my job—in fact, my only job—is to make his life work for him. That’s it. He needs to remember that.” She turned onto Laurel Canyon.

  I thought about what she said carefully before I answered. Soon she’d be doing that job for me. Maybe. Possibly. “He knows, Holly. He’s just having a little trouble with all this. It’s so much to get used to. I think he’s doing pretty great, all things considered.”

  “Sure, but it’s my job to consider all things, and we still have to figure out what we’re going to do about you two.”

  “What about us?”

  “Asshead, listen. When you two first got together, it was manageable. He hadn’t really hit yet, and you, well, you were nobody.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You know what I mean.” She laughed, turning into my drive. She killed the car and the lights, and we sat for a moment in the quiet. “Now he’s the guy everyone is clamoring for, and you’re about to take off on your own path. The same rules don’t apply.”

  “So what are you suggesting? That we go public? I thought you said his fans wouldn’t stand for that.” I sighed, running my fingers through my hair and crinkling my nose at the club smell that lingered.

  “They won’t. They definitely won’t,” she said, worrying at a fingernail. “Eh, let me think on it. Let me figure out a few things. Don’t worry about it.” She grinned.

  “You coming in?” I asked, gesturing toward the house.

  “Hell no. I’m exhausted. I’ve got meetings all day tomorrow. Say good night to Jack for me, will you?”

  “Will do.” I slid out of the car but turned back toward her as she called my name. “Yes?” I asked through the window.

  “He won’t want to hear it from me, but Jack needs to be careful with Adam, okay?”

  “Adam? Why?”

  “Just tell him to watch it.”

  “Anything I need to be worried about?”

  “I don’t think so. Not yet anyway. Just mention it?”

  “Sure thing. Call me tomorrow.”

  “’Night, asshead.”

  “’Night, dillweed.” I snorted as she pulled away.

  I walked into the house, the weight of the evening hitting me like a ton of bricks and making me very tired.

  Watch out for Adam?

  Hmmm.

  I showered the club stink off, and as I thought back over the night, I was still glad I’d gone out. Did things go a bit far? Yep. But damn that Jack, when he wanted something, he got it. And that included an almost peep show on the dance floor. Images of what could have happened if someone had gotten that on their cell phone made me shiver, even under the hot water. Images of how he’d made me feel made me shiver again, for a very different reason.

  I wrapped my hair up in a towel, threw on a cotton nightie, and padded around the house while I waited for Jack to come home. I was a bit surprised he was still not here, but I knew Bryan would get him home safely. It was not uncommon for him to drive around for a while if he thought someone was following him. A sad but true commentary on our lives together.

  And you want this career too?

  I do.

  As I passed a mirror on my way to the kitchen, I stopped and scrutinized a bit. I saw where there could be a bit more cheekbone. I made a mental note to find a trainer this week.

  Tomorrow.

&nb
sp; I made another mental note to find a trainer tomorrow. Damn.

  I went into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of red, and headed out to the patio to wait for Jack. Curling up on the love seat, I let myself relax into the night. I had barely started to worry again about what was taking him so long when I heard a car pull into the driveway. Moments later I saw him walking through the house via the big windows that lined the living room. He made a weavy sort of path toward the patio. He knew where I’d be.

  “How’d everything go?” I asked as he stepped out onto the flagstone. His eyes were bloodshot, his feet heavy as he went to the chair opposite mine. He sat down heavily, slipping off his jacket and turning to me.

  “C’mere,” he said, his voice quiet but his eyes beginning to darken.

  “So . . . I take it everything went okay?” I pulled the towel off my head and shook my hair out a bit. “I was getting a bit worried, but I figured Bryan had you stay for a bit so you could—”

  “Grace?” he interrupted.

  “Yeah?”

  “C’mere,” he repeated, beckoning me forward with two fingers. I let myself be beckoned. As soon as I was close enough, he pulled me down onto his lap, pressing the entire length of his body to mine. Whiskey heat poured from his skin, dark and the tiniest bit dangerous.

  “I don’t want to talk about tonight,” he whispered into my skin, his jaw sandpapering my neck in a very good way.

  “Don’t you think we should? I mean, what happens if—”

  “No more talking tonight,” he muttered, his mouth crashing down onto mine.

  His lips were sure and insistent, his tongue exploring my mouth with a need that was answered quickly by my own.

  His hands pushed up my shift, searching, needing, finding my skin. I shivered at his touch, not just from the chill of the night but because his hands on me always caused the same effect. I needed him, always.

  “I need . . . Christ, I just need,” he stammered between rough kisses on my lips, my cheeks, just under my ear.

  “What, love, what do you need?” I asked, arching into him, holding him to me.

  “Fuck, Grace, I need this.” He groaned, his hands strong and not at all gentle. I didn’t always need gentle. And he needed me.

  Deft hands made short work of my nightie, and he bent his head to my breasts, dragging his warm tongue across me, making me pant, making me need him even more. I straddled him, legs parting on either side of his. He brought me closer, pressing my heat against his as he rocked upward, nudging me farther apart as I groaned shamelessly. His eyes were wild as he gazed up at me, biting down on that lower lip in a way designed to make every thought I ever had about sexing it up outside melt away. Neighbors? Who cared, this was the canyon. Canyon sex was the best.

  I pushed up his shirt, hissing as I felt his warm skin along my own. Heat bloomed between us, wrapping us in our own little hot pocket of lust.

  Strong hands and calloused fingers shoved open my thighs. He found me instantly, being well acquainted with the landscape. My own hands scrambled to unbutton his jeans, raising up on my knees. This brought my breasts within reach of his lips again, nipples hardening beneath the work of his glorious tongue. I found him, hard and wanting in my hands. I twisted this way and that, seeking friction, any friction I could get, pressing his hands hard into my soft skin.

  “Fuck, Grace, I can’t wait,” he groaned, pulling me down on top of him, pushing inside me. I moaned loudly as he filled me, thick and wonderful. His mouth opened at my neck, teeth grazing and nibbling, then biting down hard as he pushed farther into me. I threw my head back, riding him, reveling in the strength he was using on me, his body owning my own, completely and totally. His thrusts were punctuated by his voice, delicious and dirty, raining down obscenities as he guided my hips into his, pushing and pulling me on top of him, impaling me with his body. I let his arms hold my weight, arching back. His hands imprinted into my skin, fingers grasping and leading me in his pace, fast and furious.

  “Mmm, Jack,” I sighed, my eyes opening to take in the dark night, the stars above me twinkling, as the star below me thrust, low and deep.

  I gasped as he pulled me up flush against him, my hands clasped behind his neck, his arms locked around me as I stared down into his eyes. His brow furrowed, and he was frantic, groaning as he drove on and on, not stopping, my cries echoing throughout the night as he ravaged me. He angled his hips suddenly, and then he was there, pressed perfectly against the spot, that spot that he alone knew and knew well enough to coax out something so intense.

  What Jack Hamilton was capable of doing to my body could not be defined. I came apart in the Southern California night, strung out and unaware of anything in the universe other than the feeling of him inside me, exactly where he should be, his own body taut and tight as he groaned through his own little piece of pleasure. The star had exploded.

  He clutched at me, shaking as I shattered, face nuzzled into my breasts as his breath came as heavy as he did.

  “Love you, Grace. Love you . . . so much,” he sighed moments later, eyes sleepy and sex filled as he gazed up at me. I kissed him again and again, brushing my lips across his nose and eyelids, feeling the stubble of his new haircut rough against my mouth.

  “Love you too, Jack,” I murmured as he gathered me closer still, unwilling to leave my body.

  The canyon was finally quiet. I put my star to bed.

  five

  I woke up the next morning pleasantly sore and rolled away from the wall of man who made me so. He grabbed for my breasts in his sleep, finally searching out a pillow instead and settling back. I perched on my hip, watching him as the morning sun danced across his frame, highlighting the red in his slight beard. I ran my hand across his newly shorn hair, delighting in the feel of it against my palm as he leaned into me, even in his sleep.

  I thought back to the night before, color flooding my cheeks as I remembered how out of control we both were on the dance floor. Usually the voice of reason when it came to public displays of affection, I’d thrown all caution—and very nearly my dress—into the wind last night. Steps away from where the paparazzi had been waiting, I’d let the most beautiful man into my knickers. I had to be more careful. But when his hands were on me, it was hard to remain in control. Still, the thought of all those Hollywood chippies surrounding us last night—all of whom had fast phone fingers and could have tweeted our soft-core porn shots around the world . . .

  You’re in the right town if porn is what you’re into.

  I shuddered again at the could-haves and the close calls and continued my survey of Jack’s sleeping self. I found those green eyes locked on me.

  “What are you thinking about, Crazy?” he purred, his voice still thick with whiskey and sleep.

  “When did you wake up?” I asked, curling into his side and relishing in his warmth.

  “Just a minute or so ago. What are you working yourself over about so early in the morning?”

  “Early? It’s almost noon, Jack.”

  “I’m an actor. That’s early.” He grinned, pinching my bottom. “What’s got you so twisted up already?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re worrying. You’ve got frown lines on your forehead.”

  “Remind me to tell you about things to never talk about with your older girlfriend.” I winked before he pushed me back against the pillows and nuzzled his way into my neck. I scratched at his head while he played absently with my breasts, sending the tiniest of shock waves down to the tips of my toes.

  “Just thinking about last night. Kind of strange, huh?”

  He hummed Jack’s Happy Sound into my skin. “You mean when you let me get into your knickers?”

  “Which time?” I laughed as his hands became less absent and more determined.

  “You were quite the bad girl, Gracie,” he whispered into my neck, hands beginning to dip lower and lower.

  “Hey, handsy, don’t you think we need to talk about last night?”
I asked, trying to distract him, which was never easy to do.

  “About what?”

  “Um, let’s see, we were almost attacked by photographers.” I laughed, lacing my fingers through his and bringing them safely above the covers.

  He stilled. “What is there to talk about?”

  “Listen, I know you’re more used to it than I am, but I still think it’s a bad idea for us to be photographed together. Holly says—”

  “Oh bollocks what Holly says. It’s ridiculous that I can’t even go out dancing with my girlfriend without it becoming a major event.”

  “Major event?” I asked as he rolled away.

  He grabbed his phone from his nightstand and scrolled through. Finding what he wanted, he handed it to me, sitting up in bed.

  I looked and drew in a breath.

  TMZ. Pictures of us first from when we tried to leave together. I was mostly hidden behind him, but you could see the red hair.

  Hearthrob Jack Hamilton seen at Bar the Door last night. Is this the elusive redhead? Later that same night, he was snapped leaving the same nightclub with frequent party boy Adam Kasen, a blonde, and a brunette. Way to go, Sexy Scientist Guy . . .

  He looked irritated in the first shot, drunk in the second.

  “You left with Adam?” I asked, placing my hand on his back.

  “It made sense at the time. Bryan thought it was a good time to go, Adam needed a ride, and we thought it would pull the focus from the earlier shots. Guess I was wrong. Now I’m leaving a nightclub with star fuckers.” He groaned.

  Interesting. He’s never called himself a star before.

  But he is. He’s a bona fide Hollywood movie star.

  “I think I’m going to stay home next time you go out on the town, Jack. Not really my scene anyway.” I sighed, handing him his phone back.

  “Probably best until your series premieres. Then you’ll have people trying to take a shot at you too,” he said over his shoulder.