The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(48)
Author: Alice Clayton

He looked so sad, so concerned. He was as torn up about this as I was. I felt terrible seeing him look so conflicted.

Fix this. Fix this now.

I watched him run his hands through his hair again, and before he could place his right hand back on the steering wheel, I caught it, and brought it to my lips. He turned quickly to look at me, his eyes surprised and … relieved?

“Hey,” I whispered.

“Hey, yourself.” He smiled back, face lightening immediately, then dropped our hands to my thigh, where he immediately brushed up my dress so he could rest them on my bare skin.

I felt his hand on my skin, and I felt a sense of calm, of peace, of quiet settle over me.

I felt a sense of grace.

We pulled into Geoffrey’s, one of my favorite restaurants. It was in Malibu, on the water, perched on top of a beautiful cliff overlooking the Pacific. I’d never told him this was one of my favorites, but he knew. We held hands as we walked into the restaurant, and the host took us straight to one of the tables right in front, the ocean spread out before us. They both went to pull out my chair, and I grinned when Jack won out.

After tucking me in, he sat across from me, and I was reminded again how truly striking this man was. He was beautiful, just beautiful. We smiled for a moment, waiting for the waiter to finish explaining the specials. We picked out a bottle of wine together and then settled into another silence, watching the tide ebb and flow below us. This silence was much better than the last one.

“So, should we talk about it?” he asked, brushing a piece of my hair back behind my ear. He’d been watching me struggle to keep it unstuck from my lip-gloss.

“We can, but it doesn’t change anything. It would be great if we could walk right into a crowded Hollywood club holding hands in front of all the paparazzi, but we can’t.”

He smiled at the thought, curling his hand around mine.

“No, I suppose we couldn’t,” he sighed, the same concern flashing through his eyes again. I was determined to not have those gorgeous green eyes look like that again.

“So, let’s just cross that bridge when we come to it. Besides, my ass will be far away in New York, and then you can make sure to slut it up playboy style again.” I smirked, pulling my dress a little lower and exposing just enough of my br**sts to pull his focus. Sure enough, like a magnet, his eyes were drawn there, and when he looked at me again, the green was on fire.

The waiter brought our wine, and after we ordered, Jack raised a glass to me.

“So, here’s to our second meal at the beach, and may this one be seagullshit free.”

“That might be the best toast I have ever heard in my entire life,” I added, clinking his glass merrily and sipping the wine we had chosen.

We laughed, and then Jack leaned into the table a little, taking my hand again.

“So, I have something I would like to propose.”

“Hamilton, be careful. The first night we met you told me that we would engage in a tryst, and that happened didn’t it?” I thought of that magical night, when the dirty martinis had flowed as freely as the banter.

“I remember, Sheridan, and I’ve quite enjoyed trysting you. But this one is different.”

“Oh, do tell,” I teased, sipping my wine, delighting in the feel of his fingers tracing circles on the inside of my palm. He had it open on the table, fortuneteller style.

“I have to go out of town this weekend, to Santa Barbara,” he started, and I felt my face fall. I only had a few days left, and he was leaving. This sucked so much ass. His eyes were down, staring at our hands. Then he looked up, staring at me through his lashes.

“I want you to come with me. Will you come?” he asked, his words rushing out. Like I would ever say no to that. Like I would ever say no to him.

Fantastic, hotel sex.

I maniacal giggle escaped before I could catch it.

He caught it. “What are you thinking?” he asked, the corner of his mouth turning up in that sexy half grin that made my knees go weak.

“I was thinking: fantastic, hotel sex,” I admitted, still not containing the grin that was ear to ear.

“Hotel sex?” he asked, blinking. Understanding now dawned in his eyes, and they burned into mine.

“Hmm, hotel sex. The best kind of sex.” He chuckled lowly.

“Hotel sex, where Grace doesn’t have to be quiet,” I purred.

“Hotel sex, where Jack doesn’t have to be quiet either,” he answered right back, making my tummy clench at the thought of Aggressive Jack making another appearance.

“Hotel sex, where we will finally have the sex … is it wrong of me to want to skip dinner and drive to Santa Barbara right now?” I asked, only half kidding.

“No, it’s not wrong. I’ve half a mind to drive you there right now. You could use a good shagging,” he answered, raising the inside of my palm to his mouth, pressing his sweet mouth to it, and then darting his tongue out to lick it lightly.

My mouth hung open as I contemplated his words.

He wants to shag me.

He wants to shag me.

Why did that sound so dirty, sexy, and all around nasty? I got shagged in Santa Barbara, and all I got was this fantastic orgasm. It had a nice ring to it. I was sooo going to get shagged.

About time.

After dinner, we drove back to Hol y’s. This time, we were touching the entire time. When we paused at the light at Santa Monica and Coldwater Canyon, his hands had been unstoppable, roaming all over my legs, my arms, over my dress, under my dress.

Whenever we stopped at a stoplight, he would lean over and kiss me like someone was going to take my lips away from him, and he was determined to get all he could, while he could. I was a little free with my hands as well. I had already unbuttoned nearly his entire shirt, his jacket long since abandoned to the back seat. When I noticed we were at a particularly long light, I had a brilliant idea.

I pulled my eyes off him long enough to press the button that controlled the convertible. He was in the middle of kissing me and struggling to get past my seatbelt enough to allow his fingers the access he needed to make me all shivery and silly. He noticed the top going up and he stopped suddenly.

“Did I do that?” he asked, looking confused. “I was nowhere near the button.”

“No, Sweet Nuts, but you were getting close to the button that matters. I did it. I thought we could use a little more privacy,” I teased, pulling my dress up high enough that he could see the white lacy boy shorts I was currently rocking.

He inhaled sharply, eyes going dark green again. I had come to recognize the eyes going dark as portentous of good things to come.