The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(39)
Author: Alice Clayton

Second, I needed a place to live. Holly called an agent she knew well in New York who worked a lot with stage actors, and they assured me that they could find something temporary near the theater. Until then, I would be staying at a hotel.

Third, I had a house that I hadn’t even moved into yet. I had most of my things in storage and the rest at Holly’s. The contractors were almost finished with everything. In fact, Chad had given me a move in date of early next week.

I would move in just to move back out again.

Most of the new furniture had already been ordered and was due to begin arriving tomorrow. Chad agreed to sign for all deliveries, and I would worry about placing the furniture later, as long as they were moved into the right rooms.

Finally, I had to tell the Brit.

It wasn’t as if we had known each other that long, and while yes, we seemed to be getting along famously, there had been no declarations. There had been no awkward conversations or uneasy confessions. We hadn’t defined anything, simply because there was nothing to define. We were at the very early stages of whatever this was, and there really was nothing more to say.

Sure, Grace, it’s indefinable. Stop thinking about him for ten minutes, even five minutes. You can’t do it.

It was true. He had gotten inside the walls and wasn’t budging. Whether or not this was too early, this was going to suck.

Later that night, I had finished dinner. Hol y was out with a client, and I had the house to myself. Jack was working on his reshoots, and I had missed a call from him earlier. His voicemail was sweet. I might have listened to it three times.

“Hey, Crazy. I have no idea what time I’m going to get out of here, probably pretty late. Lane, back off … no, you don’t know her … oh, piss off, will you? Sorry about that. Do you want me to come by tonight? It could be after two. Let me know. I don’t want to wake you. Is it crazy that I want to see you, though? Ah, Nuts Girl … right then. Speak to you later … it’s me, George, by the way.” Click.

It’s me, George, by the way … funny.

I did want to see him, no matter what time it was. Now that I knew I had ten days, I seemed desperate to see him as much as possible. I found myself being drawn to my laptop. I still had not Googled the Brit. It was time.

I started with images … nice. He really was so pretty. A lot of the expressions in all his pictures were somewhat weird. He did have a lot of pictures with that signature smirk, that Johnny Bite Down that I found impossible to resist. And why would I, really?

Then I moved on to the fan sites. There were a lot. Then I YouTubed his ass.

I watched his interviews, I saw his paparazzi shots, and I saw the videos fans had made about him. I even watched interviews from when he was in His Better Half, which was the small independent film he had shot before being cast in Time.

As I watched, I became more and more sad. He was so freaking great. He was exactly the same way in real life as he was in all those interviews. He was so adorable with the press. I could tell he was really nervous but very honest.

I had no idea he had such a fan base. I had no idea these stories were as popular as they were. He’d had a nice respectable career up until now, but once he was cast as Super Sexy Scientist Guy? He really was about to be huge.

What the hell was he doing with me? Was he with me? Did I want him to be with me?

Of course you do.

Ah, and here was Jack out on the town. Mostly he was photographed with other scruffy hipster guys, all with ball caps as well. Did I miss the memo about ball caps? Then a few pictures with a brunette … wait a minute, there were more than a few with this brunette, and on separate occasions.

I found one with a caption.

“Newly cast Time hunk Jack Hamilton and actress Marcia Williams still refusing to acknowledge their relationship.” Huh. Curious. Well, it’s not as if he didn’t have a past before me. I mentally pushed this tidbit away and resumed my cyber stalking.

It was late. I ran through the shower quickly, just in case Jack did come over. I put on the T-shirt he had left behind. It was huge on me. I slipped under the covers and watched Golden Girls. I sent him a quick text before succumbing to sleep.

Hey, George by the way. Yes.

Definitely come over.

Gracie

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was being cradled to a warm chest and kissed repeatedly.

“Hmm? What?” I asked stupidly, opening my eyes.

“Shhhh, go back to sleep, Grace. It’s just me,” I heard my Brit say. I smiled through my sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” he whispered, turning me on my side and pressing me into his nook. His hands slipped under my shirt and he ran them up and down my back. He kissed my hair and started to soothe me back to sleep.

“How did your reshoots go?” I started, but he stopped me.

“It’s late. We can talk in the morning … go back to sleep.” He shushed me again. This time I listened. I drank in his scent, my own personal S’more, and drifted back to sleep.

The last thing I heard him say was my name, whispered with contentment.

3:17 a.m.

I woke up hearing a phone vibrate on the nightstand. It was on Jack’s side.

He rolled toward me, away from the offensive sound, still asleep as it vibrated even louder.

“Ugh,” I mumbled, crawling over him to turn it off. The sound was driving me crazy. I was laying across his chest, trying to get to it. In his sleep, his hands came up to my br**sts and he muttered, “Fantastic.” I smiled through my own sleepy haze. He really did love my boobies. I grabbed at his phone and punched at random buttons to turn it off. The room fell blessedly silent.

Yawning, I started to put it back on his nightstand.

His nightstand?

I was putting it back on the nightstand, when I saw that he had gotten a text. Angel Grace and Devil Grace fought for 1.7 seconds … guess who won?

I opened the text, sent from M.

Hey, where did you go?

You disappeared.

I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye …

Marcia

Dammit.

Chapter 17

I did sleep that night, but it was a thin sleep. I tossed about, not caring whether I woke him up or not. But he slept peacefully, totally knocked out.

I thought about what that text might have meant, and I went through all of the likely reasons why this girl—the same one he’d been photographed with and publicly questioned about the nature of their relationship—would be texting him at such a late hour. There were many reasons, and most of them were innocent.