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

one

No, I can’t do this.”

“You have to do this. You promised you’d try.”

“I know what I said, but now that it’s time, I’m too nervous.”

“A promise is a promise.”

“You can’t make me do something I don’t want to, you know . . .”

“Okay, we’re going to try this again . . . We can go as slow as you need. Ready, love?”

“Jesus, I guess . . . I still can’t believe I agreed to this . . . This hurts so much.”

“You’ll feel better once we get going, I promise.”

I closed my eyes, took a breath, opened them once more, and nodded. His eyes met mine in the mirror, and he grinned that grin he knew always won me over.

I dug my hands into his hair, running my fingers through the silky curls and scratching at his scalp. I blinked back tears. I lifted a chunk straight up, picked up the scissors . . . and cut.

And cut.

And cut.

And cut some more.

He kept encouraging me because he wanted it short.

When he’d first asked me to cut his hair, I’d refused. I told him no way. He reminded me that if he got this done at a salon, it would be on Twitter within minutes, and the paparazzi would surround the place.

“But I love your curls. I need your curls! Please don’t make me cut it. I-I-I’ll do anything!” I begged, kneeling at his feet dramatically. We may have been in the shower at the time.

“Would you not make such a big deal about this? But as long as you’re down there . . .” He grinned, and I stood up immediately.

“Hell no. You cut that hair, and you can wave good-bye to any kind of oral action. Your Mr. Hamilton will not be very happy about that,” I threatened, picking up the shower gel. The scent of coconuts filled the air.

“Bollocks, I can play that game too. You want to go without? I can remove certain things from the menu as well.”

You can’t let him take that off the menu . . .

Dammit. He had me. A day without oral is simply a day not worth living.

So here we were, in the guest bathroom, inches and inches of glorious shaggy blond hair on the floor around us, as his grin got bigger and bigger.

And my frown got, well, frownier and frownier.

By the time he felt I had butchered it successfully, I was almost in a full-on meltdown.

“Jesus, George, I ruined it!”

It was sticking up in places, flat in others, and just generally a disaster area. It looked like a five-year-old had cut it.

“Hmm, it does have a sort of whacked look to it, doesn’t it, love?” He laughed, running his hands through it, throwing an errant curl to the floor.

“I may vomit,” I whined, setting down the scissors.

“Come on, Crazy, finish it.” He pressed the clippers into my hand.

Clippers? “Finish it?”

“How many grunts do you know without a buzz cut?” he asked, trying on his new southern accent. Alabama by way of London, interesting combo.

“When you said you needed to get ready for this movie, I had no idea I was going to have to bear the brunt of it.” I sighed and picked up the clippers after he adjusted the setting. He’d dialed it way down. This was gonna be short.

“How exactly are you bearing the brunt of this?” he asked, pulling me between his legs as I stood before him.

“I’m the one who has to look at you, Sweet Nuts.” I winked.

“Buzz me,” he commanded, eyes twinkling.

I buzzed away. As the hair continued to fall, we talked about our schedules, all the changes that were to come.

Jack’s name was on every woman’s lips across the world, in every woman’s dreams, and on every casting director’s hot list. Holly, my best friend and Jack’s agent as well as mine, had been flooded with offers. Directors, producers, talk-show hosts—everyone wanted a piece of him.

And I had a piece of him. Frequently.

Before the success of Time, a movie based on a series of popular erotic short stories that had been released this past fall, Jack Hamilton had been your average, ordinary British-guy-about-Hollywood. At only twenty-four, he had been in a few small, independent films and acted a bit in repertory theater, but once he was cast as Joshua, the Super Sexy Scientist Guy who traveled through time, seducing women across the centuries, his life changed. He was now one of the hottest young actors in Hollywood, and Holly was determined that he would not just be another flash in the pan.

Holly Newman was a great friend and a great agent. She had a killer instinct and was known for finding new talent. She had carefully crafted the careers of several of the most respected actors currently working, and she was poised to do the same for Jack. Declining several big-budget action films, she now guided Jack to a smaller film: a gritty, documentary-style picture about soldiers in Afghanistan. Jack could easily have headlined a huge summer blockbuster, but instead he chose to work in an ensemble cast, where the story was important.

And what was really important right now was shaving his head. He was a young soldier from Alabama, and he needed to look the part. Sigh.

“Did you just sigh, Grace?”

“I did.” I took one last pass with the clippers and smoothed my hand over his shorn scalp.

“Is it really that bad?” he asked, nerves flitting over his face.

I smiled and scratched at his head. He leaned into it, just as he always had, and I looked carefully at him. The green eyes were the same, beginning to darken just the tiniest bit as my hand stroked the back of his neck. His hands tightened on my hips, drawing me close again. His hair was gone, but the heat was still there. In fact, his features seemed even stronger now. Cheekbones, jaw, everything even more chiseled, and his two days’ worth of scruff even sexier than usual. His tongue dipped out of his mouth just so, teeth then nibbling on that lower lip in the way he knew would evoke a response.

“I have to admit, now that I can truly appreciate it, it’s kind of . . . hmmm,” I ventured.

“Kind of . . .”

“Sexy?”

“Sexy. Really?” His thumbs traced a tiny pattern along the skin just above my drawstring. Which he was now tugging on.

“Yes, yes, it’s true. Even with my butchering your hair, you’re still the sexiest man in America.” I sighed again, this time in a different way, as his thumbs fumbled apart the buttons on my shirt.

“Only America?” He laughed, his newly cropped fuzzy head tickling at the skin below my jaw as he nuzzled into my neck.

“You’re pushing it, George,” I warned, my stern voice giving way to giggles that broke free as he pushed me up against the bathroom door.