The Redhead Plays Her Hand (Redhead #3)(54)
Author: Alice Clayton

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. “Brilliant,” 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.

“Can’t wait to see you on that stage, Grace. You look stunning,” he replied, kissing me square on the lips.

“She’s gonna kill you.” I laughed as Holly came running over.

“Ack! You smudged her lipstick! And you, with a big kiss mark on your cheek? It’s like you people have no idea what I’m trying to do here.” She fussed over both of us, surprising Jack when she licked her fingers and started rubbing his face.

“Ew!” he exclaimed.

Laughing out loud, I let Michael lead me away from the room and down to the limo.

Which is where I now sat, moments away from walking the red carpet with my very good friend, who had written something so amazing it actually led to my being here. This was as much an acknowledgment for him and his work as it was for me.

My phone buzzed again, another text from Jack.

Not nervous. Just wish it was later tonight. When I have you all to myself again.

My tummy whooshed, going silly once more at his devil words. If the world only knew—seconds before stepping out on a red carpet—the dirty texts that were flying back and forth.

My face grew hot, and I glanced up at Michael, who was texting as well.