The Redhead Plays Her Hand

by Alice Clayton

  “I can see you’ve thought this out, George.”

  “You have no idea how much I thought about this.” His gaze smoldered as he parted my shirt and revealed me. And the green goes dark . . .

  “Hello, girls, I’ve missed you.” He grinned wickedly, ghosting his fingertips over my breasts, taunting and clearly delighting in the feel of his hands on me, on my skin.

  Arching into his hands, with my shirt hanging down low on my arms, I let my fingertips come down and move across his body, reacquainting myself with his long, lean torso, the sprinkle of hair on that blessed happy trail, the muscles that flexed as I moved closer to Mr. Hamilton.

  “Mmm, Grace . . .” He moaned as I brushed against him, scooting backward on the bed and away from his hands. He leaned up on his good arm as I tugged on his boxers, lifting up just enough so I could pull them down. I sucked in a breath at the sight of him, smooth and firm and exactly what I needed.

  I trailed my hand up the inside of his thigh, listening to his breathing change as I got closer. I leaned down to press the tiniest of kisses on the very tip of him. He bucked off the bed, groaning at the slightest touch. I smiled to myself, then put us both out of our misery.

  As I took him into my mouth entirely, the words he uttered through clenched teeth were equal parts obscene and nonsensical. Nice to know I hadn’t lost my touch. His hand buried itself in my hair, urging me as I took him in again and again, swirling my tongue and paying special attention to that area riiiiight there . . .

  “Fuck, Grace. Fuck.”

  Exactly.

  Slipping out of my panties faster that you could say “Get it,” I crawled back up his body, straddling his hips as he grabbed my curves and guided me down onto him.

  Jack. Inside. Perfect.

  Frozen in place at the exquisite, I let him fill me, took him in and felt him touch every part of me. We were both still, just letting the moment wash over us. His eyes bore into mine, his hand tightening on my hip as he slid deeper, inch by perfect inch, to penetrate me completely.

  “Brilliant,” he whispered, his accent breaking the silence and sparking me back to life.

  “Brilliant,” I agreed, and began to move.

  Rocking over him, letting the sounds he made guide me, I slid him in and out, pressing and pulling into me. I matched him groan for lusty groan, arching my back as I rode him, first slow and then faster as the tension built. His hand snuck down between us, twisting and seeking and making the dots behind my eyelids begin to blur into a firestorm.

  “You. Feel. Incredible,” I panted, his fingers now holding steady with that luscious pressure that detonated some-where deep inside me, rocketing me forward onto his chest as I split into a thousand pieces and fell apart. And as I fell, I saw the face I loved, that beautiful face set tight in passion. Jaw clenched, forehead furrowed, lips chanting my name over and over again as he exploded inside me.

  Jack. Inside. Perfect.

  When I could lift my head again, my body spent and deliciously sleepy, he rolled me over onto my side, snuggling in behind me and throwing his arm over top, creeping out of the sling just enough to grab a handful.

  “I missed this,” he whispered in my ear, letting out a contented sigh.

  I burrowed deeper, wrapped up and warm. “Me too.”

  Now Jack was back.

  twenty

  Jack was back, but all was not roses and tidy strings neatly tied up. He’d made an ass of himself but good, and he had some work to do. Over the next few days, all the chickens came home to roost, and he had more problems than he’d bargained for.

  He had to start with Holly, who, while glad he was safe and seemingly off his bender, had gotten the brunt of his nasty while in Vegas, and she let him have it. She came over the night after we got back, and I hightailed it right out of the room when I saw how this was going to go. But he needed to hear it; he needed to know how his actions had affected people. And he did know it. He told me later he was okay with her yelling at him because he knew he deserved it. He also knew she wouldn’t yell if she didn’t care.

  They came to an agreement about future promotions: that he would have more control over events and interviews he agreed to. He would do what he needed to do to promote his projects, but he’d have final say in how extended he was.

  The conversation with Lane went much easier, in the way conversations between two guys almost always do. Lane came over a few days after Jack was back, took one look at the now barely there black eye and bruises, and started laughing. Slapping him on the back, Lane followed Jack out to the patio, and I could hear them trading insults within minutes. Honestly.

  The real trouble Jack had got himself into was legal, and there was a lot of it. The club owner, that guy’s partners, and at least half of the people who were there that night were suing for damages. Hospital bills, loss of income, property damages—they saw the opportunity to go after a celebrity, and go after him they did. But he handled it. He met with his lawyers and began the process of settling out of court for most of the charges. He didn’t face any criminal charges, and for that we could be thankful. No embarrassing trial, no media circus. It could be managed as privately as possible.

  The media? They had a field day. They printed accounts from people who were there that night and posted as many pictures as they could from all the nights when Jack looked drunk and disorderly. Most of his fans stuck with him, however, posting letter after letter in chat rooms and on message boards. They told him how much they loved him and how they hoped things were getting better.

  It was funny how people who had never met him, would probably never meet him, felt they knew him. And while there were always going to be fans who thought he belonged to them somehow, that they were entitled to know everything about him no matter how personal, most of them just adored him and wanted him to be happy. They loved their Super Sexy Scientist Guy, sure, but it now became clear they loved Jack Hamilton just as much. Not all celebrities get a second chance the way he seemed to be. Fans could be fickle and turn on a dime. But they loved him, and they rallied.

  And speaking of celebrity, Adam was everywhere: still out every night, always where the cameras seemed to be, and always just available enough for comments. Jack had spoken to him a few times, and their lawyers had spoken a few times as there was a shared responsibility for some of the actions of that night, but Jack hadn’t seen him since we’d been back in L.A.

  One night, flipping through channels before bed, Jack stumbled onto a gossip show, and there was Adam, outside a club in Hollywood with three girls and a bunch of cameras, totally in his element. He watched it for a few minutes while I stood in the doorway, not saying a word. He glanced at me, then back at the TV.

  “That guy’s kind of a dick,” he said, then changed the channel.

  He didn’t even see the pillow coming when I threw it at his head.

  Jack stuck pretty close to home during this time, not quite cocooning but just . . . breathing. He read scripts, he helped me run lines, and he eased back into a tentative friendship with Michael, which had always been tenuous at best. Michael continued to be quite protective of me, and he didn’t go as easy on Jack as Lane did. But as a week passed, and then another, things began to get back to normal.

  But it was us after all, and the normal was never actually normal. A point proven once more by a phone call from Holly one afternoon. A call she asked us both to be on.

  Perched on Jack’s lap, I took the call with him from the patio. In the shade of the lemon trees, we exchanged pleasantries with her until she cut right to it.

  “So, Jack, I got a call today asking if you’d be interested in presenting an award at this year’s Emmys.”

  I felt Jack freeze underneath me. He hadn’t been out since that night in Vegas, had declined every interview request, and essentially hadn’t been seen since everything had exploded. I scratched at his scalp a bit, letting him feel me. He patted my leg absently, taking a deep breath.

  “Hmm, w
ell . . . I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. You?”

  “Actually I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Holly countered. “It’s a good way for you to be seen again. You’re a film actor, and the Emmys always has a few movie stars. They’ll be thrilled if you say yes. You can wave to fans, the red carpet is always an easy line to work—no tough questions. Plus you look pretty great in a suit.”

  He looked at me. I shrugged to say, It’s up to you.

  “I’ll think about it. When do I need to let you know?”

  “Soon. It’s kind of a last-minute thing, but it could be a great way to get you back out there.”

  He rolled his eyes at that, but in a good-natured way. He’d stuck close to home, but he was getting a little stir-crazy, I could tell. It was time for the movie star to head back into Hollywood. But on his terms. He drummed his fingers on my thigh, thinking it over. “You know what? Fuck it. I’ll do it.” He smiled.

  “Well, hold on there, Brit boy. There’s something else to consider.” She paused, and the drumming on my thigh stopped. “They want Grace to present as well.”

  Come again?

  “Sorry, Holly, they want me?” I’m amazed I remembered how to speak.

  “Sure. Your show’s a fucking hit. I’m surprised it took them this long to ask, but that’s showbiz.”

  Holy shit. I drummed my own damned thigh.

  “But wait, so Jack and I’d be at the same awards? This isn’t the same as us being at a party, same-place, same-time kind of thing,”

  Jack started to fume. I put a finger to my lips to shush him. I wanted to hear this. It was something we had to consider.

  “Well, that’s the real question, isn’t it?” Holly said. “How do you want to play this off? You know how I feel. I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to go public. Jack is a huge draw, and girls want to know anything and everything about him. Knowing that he is officially off the market? Won’t go over well.”

  Jack was about to come out of his seat. Good thing I was sitting on him.

  “And for the record, Jack, because I know you’re about to come out of your seat, I’m thinking about Grace too. Coming out publicly as your girlfriend affects her as well. You saw how much hate she got when people first just started thinking you weren’t single. You let everyone know she’s your main squeeze? That opens up a whole new level of bullshit for her.”

  Jack came out of his seat. I signaled for the phone.

  “Hey, Holly, let us call you back, okay?”

  “Sure, sure. Is he pacing?”

  “He’s pacing.”

  “Are his nostrils flaring?”

  “A bit. Let me call you back.”

  “Grace, this is huge for you. You two do whatever you want, and you know I’ll support it. I work for you. Don’t forget that. But if you’re asking me my professional opinion, it’s to not go public. Pure and simple.”

  “I hear you.”

  “The Emmys, Grace. They want you to be a presenter. Next year? You’ll be nominated. I promise you that.”

  My heart left my body, flew around the backyard, and starting picking lemons off the tree. Holy shit, this was big-time.

  “Call me back and let me know, fruitcake.”

  “Yep,” I breathed, and hung up, not taking my eyes off Jack, who had stopped pacing and stood before me, tense. “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “I think you should go. One hundred percent you should go,” he said instantly.

  “And you? You still in?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I think maybe this is one you should do alone.”

  “Now wait a minute. We both need to go.” I pulled at the bottom of his shirt and moved him in between my legs as I sat on the back of the love seat. “I bet Holly has a plan already of how we could both go and still keep up appearances. You know she’s thought this through from every angle.”

  His hands went automatically to my hips, and he played with a loose string at the end of my skirt as different arguments were fought across his features, all without saying a word. “How do I say this without sounding like a pompous ass?” He took a breath. “I don’t want to make a night like this—a big night for you—about me. And if I’m there, I’m afraid that’s what it will be. That’s what they’ll make it into.” His eyes were sad.

  “Oh, is that all? Pfft, I can handle that.” I took his hands and wrapped them more snugly around my waist. “I’m going to the Emmys, George, like, on purpose. Going to the Emmys. Presenting. At the Emmys—did I tell you that part?”

  He smirked, letting me draw him in. “You mentioned something about that. I suppose I’ll have to go too, make sure you don’t get into any trouble.”

  “Trouble. Ha. Not me,” I teased, raising my eyebrows as he wrapped his strong arms around me and picked me up, my legs crossed behind his back. “I’m glad you’re doing this. In fact, I think I’ll even wear a slutty dress for you that night, just to drive you crazy.”

  “Fucking Nuts Girl,” he growled, racing me across the yard and into the house.

  “I need to call Holly back. Wait, wait, slow down, slow down, slow— Mother-of-pearl, that feels good . . .”

  True to form, Holly had indeed had a plan ready to go in the event we both said yes. Reluctantly (some of us more reluctant than others), we all agreed it was best for all involved if Jack and I continued to keep our relationship private and not for public consumption. Jack didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all, but when he looked at it objectively, he knew it was still the best course of action.

  The plan was remarkably simple: We’d take Michael and Holly as our plus ones. Holly would arrive with Jack, which made sense. Actors took their managers to premieres and award shows all the time, and this way she could be by his side to help manage the questions he’d be asked on the red carpet, just in case a reporter forgot their manners. Michael would go with me, which was again something totally within the realm of the possible. As the creator and head writer of a hit show—a show I starred in and had been invited to the Emmys as a representative of—not to mention being lifelong friends, his walking the red carpet with me would not only make perfect sense, we’d also give them a great story.

  We could both go. Separately. And together. Kind of?

  And so we found ourselves together in the line at the biggest awards show in television—just in separate limos. We texted each other.

  Nervous?

  I smiled down at his words on my phone.

  A little, you?

  I looked out the window at the line of cars, wondering how close to the front we were.

  Jack and I had spent the day at the Peninsula hotel getting ready, and by that I mean it took me all day to be buffed and sprayed, teased and twisted, then poured into a dress and sewn in place while he stepped into his suit ten minutes before we left.

  And damn did he look good. He ran a hand through his hair, called it good, and was ready to go. Every female in the room sighed when we saw him. It was impossible to be that close to sex incarnate and not need to steal an extra breath or two.

  But it seemed all he could see was me, in my not-so-slutty dress after all.

  Dressed by a new designer who delighted in working with an actress with curves, I was draped in green silk that shimmered and slithered with every step. I was old Hollywood meets the twenty-first century, and my earlobes sparkled with emeralds that hadn’t been outside a vault since Eisenhower had been in office, on loan from Van Cleef & Arpels. The gems were big enough to choke a horse, and they hung heavy, dripping with sprays of diamonds and barely dusting my shoulders. An emerald the size of a quail’s egg sat on my left hand, catching the light.

  And while I could’ve hung a rope of the same around my neck and played Dynasty with the big girls, I kept to what I knew. As Jack’s eyes moved over me again and again, I traced the necklace he’d given me, feeling the words he’d had engraved there.

  After a moment, he grinned that wicked grin. “Brill
iant,” he pronounced, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. My glam squad sighed in chorus behind me. “Quite a rock you’ve got there,” he remarked, his fingers pressing around the ring, feeling the band. He turned my hand over and pressed a wet kiss in the center of my palm, still fingering my ring.

  “There’s a guard over there who came with the jewelry. He’ll have you up against that wall in seconds if you try to steal my bling,” I joked as his eyes flicked over my shoulder. Looking back at me again, he said in a voice low enough for only me to hear: “Speaking of up against that wall . . .”

  I must have moaned louder than I thought, as the entire room burst into embarrassed giggles.

  “Okay, you two, get it out of your system now,” Holly warned, breezing into the room, all business but dressed in a red sequined gown that said the opposite of business. This was the likely reason Michael’s eyes were bulging out of his sockets.

  I shook my head to clear it, still swimming in the images Jack had planted in my brain. Me up against the wall, his hands slipping beneath my skirt, sliding down my body and pressing his tongue against my—

  Ding dong.

  Gross.

  The doorbell brought me back to the present, a present where Jack chuckled, knowing exactly where my brain had been.

  “Okay, people. First limo is here. Michael, you’ll take Grace. Jack and I will follow in a bit,” Holly instructed, moving efficiently through the room toward the door.

  With this schedule, I’d be arriving well ahead of Jack. I’d likely be through the press line and inside before he even arrived, almost completely negating the possibility of us being photographed together.

  Moving as quickly as I could in my dress, which was literally only a breath bigger than I was, I went to say good-bye.

  “See you there but, you know, not see you there.” I pressed a kiss on his cheek.