The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(25)
Author: Alice Clayton

Sexy lingerie ? Already wearing it.

Hot music for the background? Got it covered.

Clean sheets? April fresh.

Condoms?

Yep, and the pill too.

Wait, condoms? That was a trick question … are you sleeping with him tonight?

I put that question in the “Grace Will Make That Decision Later” box and focused back on the fact that yoga had made me very bendable, and I knew someone was going to be very pleased. Then I would most likely be very pleased.

He would be all about pleasing me.

I let out a hyperactive little squeal as I thought about how thoroughly I was about to be worked. I had the top down and the stereo loud as I drove through the streets of L.A. on my way to Mulholland, singing Dramarama at the top of my lungs. I was driving up Coldwater Canyon when I saw the headlights behind me.

They came up fast and did not back off. I could see a car swerving in my rear view mirror and could hear the engine revving fast. I pressed my foot on the accelerator and maneuvered higher up the mountain. When I took a tight curve, I saw the car get even closer and I realized that it was an old, beat up MG.

It was Jack. He was driving like a bat out of hell … and gaining.

He was pushing me to drive faster.

I smirked in my mirror and put my left hand out of the window. I motioned to him with my hand, telling him to “Bring It!” I shook my hair out of the ponytail I usually wear when I drive with the top down and heard him honk in appreciation.

He was chasing me like Kelly McGillis chased Tom Cruise in Top Gun.

Tires were squealing, brakes were being stomped, other drivers were yelling and pissed. I was already breathing heavily in anticipation of what was waiting for me when we finally got home.

He continued to chase me up the hill, and when I got closer to the driveway of Holly’s house, he swerved up next to me and sped ahead, getting into the spot first. He had parked, jumped out, and was halfway to my car before I had even killed my engine. Music from my stereo screamed into the night as he stalked over to the car.

“You’re f**king nuts!” I yelled, watching him walk toward me.

“I thought you needed a little push,” he answered, closing the distance in three quick strides. I turned my keys off and didn’t even have a chance to move from my seat before he had my hair in his hands, running through it. The music cut off sharply.

Silence.

“Get out of the car, Grace,” he commanded quietly, holding my face between his fingers, pressing the tips to my lips. I kissed them gently and slid from the car.

When I turned from him to shut the car door, he was on me. Arms slid around my waist, hands slipped under my shirt, lips pushed against my neck, hips pressed against my own. The breath was forced out of me with a rush, quickly followed by a moan. He was everywhere all at once.

My hands found his hair, and I tugged his mouth toward mine, greedily kissing him with all that I had worked up in my head since the bar. He spun me, nudging me up against my car. My hands were wild, in his hair, on his face, gripping the back of his neck as he assaulted my own with his kisses. His hands moved to the front of my shirt, snapping two buttons almost instantly. I was suddenly reminded of where we were and I pulled back a little.

“Hey, let’s take this inside, Hamilton.”

“That’s the plan, Sheridan,” he whispered hotly against my neck, moving his hand down and applying pressure against my center. “I’m trying to get inside.”

“Oh. My. God,” I moaned, my words catching in my throat as my eyes rol ed back in my head. I pressed into his touch, deliciously increasing the friction. I was literally panting and beginning to see stars. He continued to twist and turn his fingertips, finding more and more ways to make me moan.

I was a screamer—always have and always will be a screamer, provided it is done right. When it’s off, I’m as quiet as a church mouse.

This man is going to make you lose your voice for days at a time.

I could feel myself beginning to build already, and I didn’t want the first time Jack made me lose my mind to be in my best friend’s driveway. My best friend’s guest bedroom, where I was currently residing? That, I was OK with.

“Hey, mister, come on. Let’s go in the house,” I directed, continuing to kiss whatever was closest to me. In this case, it was his ear.

“If you insist, but then you’re all mine,” he snarled, pulling me off the car and toward the house. There was a frantic moment at the front door when I couldn’t find my key, but once inside, my pants were damn near forcibly removed.

We raced toward the stairs, but as we climbed, our kisses slowed a little, becoming more and more tender, less frenzied. I walked him down the hall to my room and we stood in the doorway. The lights were on and we both hesitated in front of the door. Things were about to change, for the better, hopefully, but definitely change.

“This is my room,” I said quietly, almost shyly. I motioned for him to enter and he did. He looked around, checking the pictures on the dresser, the books on the shelf, the CDs by the stereo, finally settling on my iPod in its docking station.

“I’m dying to know what you have cued up.” He laughed, pressing play.

“No wait, don’t!” I started across the room, cringing at the inevitable.

Jack burst out laughing as old school gangster rap screamed into the room, and he sank onto the bed. The mood had shifted. There was still that smolder, that burn, but this was us after all. There would be laughing along with the loving. I stood in front of him, letting his hands slink up around me to hold my bottom as he nestled his face against my stomach. I could feel his hot breath on my skin and it tickled, pleasantly.

“Ah, jeez, Grace, you kill me. Only you would have this in your iPod.”

“Hey, man, I’m old school. Don’t make me bust out the Eazy-E and the N.W.A. I will go straight up gangsta on your ass. No one is more hardcore than a rich, suburban white girl,” I teased, pressing his face closer to me, running my fingers through his hair the way I knew he liked and scratching my nails through from the top to the bottom.

He made the sound, my new favorite sound, the “Jack’s Happy Sound” that I’d been replaying in my head for the last week. He smelled amazing, again that mix of sun, chocolate, pipe tobacco, and pure unadulterated Hamilton.

He kissed my tummy, turning his face up toward mine as he sighed again, seeming to be completely at peace. I loved that I could do that for him—make him look so peaceful and content.

But hello, what was this? Was he not as peaceful as I thought? He was unbuttoning my shirt from the bottom up, gently pulling it apart as I watched him, then he opened his eyes to look at me and I smiled. Taking in my black lace bra peeking through the linen, he sighed again.