The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(31)
Author: Alice Clayton

“It’s cool. I need to run through the shower real quick, and then we can go,”

“Damn. I hate the idea of you showering alone when I’m so close.” He looked at me, then the phone, then back at me again, confused.

I laughed and opened the phone for him, putting it in his hand and kissing him on the cheek. I gathered what I needed quickly and stepped into the bathroom. I was washing my hair when I heard him open the door, still on the phone.

“Gracie, can I use your computer?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag in the front hallway.”

“Thanks,” he said, and I heard the door close.

I finished up, stomach growling loudly now, and began toweling off. I couldn’t wait until the day we could shower together all the time again. I pulled on my jeans and was buttoning my shirt when I heard him coming down the hall.

“Gra-ace,” he sang, and my skin grew hot at the sound of his voice.

I might as well stop buttoning right now. I knew that tone.

***

He’d attacked me in the bathroom, and I quickly gave myself over to our impromptu sexing. It was hot.

Once I untangled myself, the Brit grinned at me sheepishly while I tried to make my shirt button again. But as he’d removed most of the buttons when he ripped it off, no such luck. I scrambled in my bag for something else to wear, and he laughed when I asked him if he found what he needed on the computer.

“Yes, Gracie. I sure did. And thanks,” he said in a low voice, thick with sex. I could feel myself getting worked up again, and I made a mad dash for the front door, pulling him along with me.

“Come on, love. The crab cakes are calling,” I quipped, locking the door and then tossing him the keys.

We drove back the way I’d come this afternoon. The sun had almost set and cast a silvery light along the cliffs as we drove toward Malibu. The radio was loud, the top was down, his hand was on my leg, and I was smiling big.

When we got there, it was crowded, and I felt a little panicked. I suggested we just hit a drive thru, but he insisted it would be okay. He tried to take my hand, but on this one I did stand firm. He frowned, and I tried to gently assure him.

“Love, you know why. Let’s just get through your film premiere, and then we can discuss the potential of ruining your fan base over me, huh?” I tried to joke, as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Whatever you want, Grace,” he said, sighing heavily.

I knew this was tough on him. It was tough on me too. But we’d promised Holly we’d remain inconspicuous, and I intended to keep my promise. Besides, I knew how much they’d hate me, and I tended to think Jack was being a little naïve in his opinion that his female fan base would be so accommodating of him dating a woman in her thirties.

I shook my head. Not tonight, Sheridan. No bad thoughts tonight. Put it in The Drawer.

We got a table outside so we could relax and watch the tide roll in. The evening air was cool, but refreshing, and I was glad I’d pulled on the red flannel Jack always had with him. We spent the evening laughing and drinking beer, getting him ready for the onslaught tomorrow evening would surely bring. There was a huge crowd expected at the premiere, and although he was getting more used to dealing with crowds, it still made him nervous. He still didn’t truly grasp how much his fans loved him, or why they loved him, for that matter. He insisted it was just because of the series, that they were in love with the character. I tried to explain that yes, that was probably it at first, but the pandemonium that ensued with each public appearance could only be explained by his innate charm and self-effacing personality. Not to mention that the boy was stunning.

And the fact that he didn’t get that? Even hotter.

We made it through dinner with no paparazzi and only two autographs, which, according to him, was a light day. We drove back to my house, the moon now shining brightly over the canyons as we played each other songs on our iPods. We needed to sync them up, as we were always arguing over who got to pick the next song and always switching them back and forth.

When we got back to the house, I went around and turned off the lights while he made sure we were locked in for the night. I was in the bedroom plugging in my phone charger when he came in with his own bag.

“Is it cool if I hang a few things in the closet?” he asked, pausing by the closet door.

“Of course. You don’t have to ask, you silly Brit,” I answered as I unpacked a few more clothes and placed them in an almost-empty dresser. I never had moved my clothes in. The ones I hadn’t taken to New York were still in boxes or in storage.

He disappeared into the closet, and I was tempted to follow him in there, but I wanted us to have some quiet times tonight—not another repeat of closet sex, Santa Barbara style. Although that was highly enjoyable.

I realized I hadn’t brought my nightshirt with me, but I spied one of his many T-shirts and slipped that on instead. I was surrounded by his scent, and it made my head swim a little. Hard to explain why that was so comforting. When you don’t see someone for weeks at a time, it’s weird what you fixate on. I was enthralled by the scent of him. I’d roll around in it like a kitten in catnip if it were an option. I missed it that much.

We talked while we got ready for bed, falling back into the pattern we’d established when we spent all our nights together. He brushed his teeth while I put on my lotion, then he watched me brush my teeth. He sat on the counter while I spit out my toothpaste and handed me my little cup of Scope when I was ready. We talked about everything and nothing, catching each other up. He discussed his plans to remodel and make room for the giant shower he still insisted upon, which I informed him sounded great. Provided he pay for it.

I told him about the Time billboard Leslie and I walked by each day when we went for coffee. We discussed at length the fish and chips he had at dinner that night, and the difference between porpoise and dolphins. A pod of something swam by during dinner, and we continued our argument about what made the two different and which we’d seen.

This discussion finally came to a close when I climbed into bed. I dug the remote out from under the pillow, and he shut off the lights. He wore his normal bedtime clothing: boxer briefs. Tonight they were a dark charcoal gray. I wondered if he’d noticed I had trouble keeping my toothbrush steady when I saw him strip down. He walked across the room toward the bed and, with a graceful turn, slipped beneath the sheets. He’d grown thoughtful in the last few minutes, no longer responding to my Flipper jokes.