The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(55)
Author: Alice Clayton

I leaned against his shoulder, and he brought his arm up around me, letting me snuggle into his side.

“It’s a damn good thing we’re back together, Nuts Girl,” he said.

“Mmm, yes it is,” I said, snuggling closer to him and letting my leg drape over his, angling me toward him.

“Especially since the last time we had sex you had a T-shirt on your head for most of it. That’s hardly the way to go out.” He laughed.

“As I recall, you were not complaining for long.” I giggled as I let my hand wander across his tummy, my fingers grasping here and there at the little hairs on his happy trail.

“Oh, God, no, it was amazing as always, but hardly the way you’d want to do it if that was gonna be our last f**k,” he said seriously, his eyes twinkling and betraying his tone.

“That’s crass, George,” I sassed, letting my fingers dip below the top of his halfway-unbuttoned jeans.

His long fingers began to work the buttons on my shirt, and my pulse raced instantly.

“Did I tell you, by the way, how much I enjoyed that earlier?” he whispered, his tongue grazing the skin my opening shirt revealed.

I shivered and felt my skin tighten. “I had a feeling,” I said, pulling open the last few buttons on his jeans.

He knelt in front of me, finishing with the shirt and parting it before him. He left kisses on my skin as he moved down my body, stopping to look back up at me with a devilish grin. As soon as he was able, he was between my legs.

Yes.

He kissed up and down each thigh, making me shake each time he pressed his lips to my skin. “The thought that I’d never taste you again, Crazy? Almost more than I could stand,” he whispered, as he kissed my sex softly.

I moaned thickly and let my head drop back to the pillow.

“The thought that I’d never get to watch you come again? Impossible.” He groaned and swept me open with his magic fingers. His tongue found me instantly, perfectly, and my entire body tensed, then relaxed under his mouth.

There truly was no man better suited for me in the world. He was mine, I was his, and that was the truth.

I let myself go, let myself feel everything he was giving me. His hands, his lips, his fingers, his mouth, his tongue all flowed together into one insane moment, and as I felt my body contract, tighten, and then unleash, I was filled with the most sublime sense of awe. I was blessed.

When he marked me with his brand, my breath left me. I belonged to him completely. I would never belong to anyone else. He called me his Nuts Girl, and I knew this was the man I was put on this earth to love. And I finally knew I was strong enough to be his girl.

When he entered my body and filled me up, there were tears—my own and maybe even a few of his. But we smiled as we came together, in every sense of the word. I said, he said, we said, “I love you,” and it meant everything.

And when the lovin’ was through, and he was behind me, arms tucking me in and hands on boobies, I was content. Blissfully content.

We were silly, we were unique, we were thankfully not normal, and we were perfectly matched. George and Gracie were back.

***

Jack could only stay one more day. He was booked so solidly with interviews, it was amazing he’d managed to come out at all, but the man was determined. Thank God. He accompanied me to the theater that night and watched the show a second time, cheering loud and proud all over again. After the show, I futzed in my dressing room and had just finished scrubbing off my makeup when I saw him walking down the hall. I started to open the door wider for him when I saw Michael round the opposite corner. They almost collided, and when each realized who the other was, they both tensed. I considered going out to referee, but stepped back to listen instead.

“Hey,” Michael said, determined to be nonchalant.

“Hey,” Jack said, intentionally nonchalant as well.

Boys…

“It’s great you could be here. I know Grace is thrilled.”

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?” Jack responded, a pronounced edge to his voice.

“Hey, man, you should know. Grace and I? Friends. That’s it. I thought there was something there, but I was wrong.”

“Yep.”

“So, I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yep,” Jack said, continuing down the hall toward where I was hiding behind the door. He stopped a few feet away and turned back around.

“Hey, O’Connell,” he called.

“Yeah?”

“It’s a good show, man. It’s good,” Jack conceded, smiling a little.

“Thanks. Grace makes it better,” Michael called back, smiling as he walked away.

“Grace makes it better,” I heard Jack repeat slightly snarkily under his breath. Then he walked into my dressing room with a genuine smile on his face.

“Hi,” he said, closing the door.

“Hi yourself,” I answered, primly tightening my robe around me. He studied me carefully, then took my hands and kissed them each in turn before kissing my lips once, twice, then a third time, sweetly and succinctly.

“Beautiful,” he whispered and pulled me into a bear hug. He lifted me off the floor, and I laughed at the tightness of his arms. He let me go finally, and his eyes were shining as he looked at me. “Are you gonna go all Broadway on me now, sweet girl?” he asked, chucking me under the chin.

“Not unless you go all Hollywood on me,” I answered, messing his hair.

***

We spent another quiet, but not so quiet, night at his hotel, and the next morning I rode with him to LaGuardia. I sat on his lap in the cab, holding him tightly. This time it was going to be even harder to let him go.

We’d spent the night catching quick cat naps between love and talk. I told him I’d like the chance to apologize to Marcia, and perhaps we could all get together for dinner the next time I was in L.A. Who knew when that was going to be, but I was hoping for Christmas.

We were never going to have the kind of relationship that allowed us to see each other every day, at least not for the foreseeable future. And Jack would probably never come home from work with a briefcase after a hard day. He’d probably never cut the lawn on the weekend. And while I do own several aprons and make a kickass meatloaf, I’d likely never be the “little woman,” marinating in a traditional house in the suburbs.

Neither of us really wanted that, but I did disclose a little fantasy I had about role playing: me in an apron and him with a briefcase. He agreed wholeheartedly, providing of course that I wear high heels like Donna Reed. And we both dissolved into laughter when I mentioned I’d also wear my pearl necklace. We watched as the Manhattan night gave way to a gray morning, then showered quickly and headed out.