The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(61)
Author: Alice Clayton

“Grace, don’t you think it would be nice to go out for breakfast?” he chided, still pushing me toward the bathroom.

“Well, actually, no. I was thinking maybe we could have a little breakfast in bed, if you know what I mean,” I teased, reaching out to pull him closer to me.

He laughed, but stil held me at arm’s length. “I always know what you mean, Grace. Subtlety isn’t one of your gifts. But I need to square some things away for this shoot today, and this way we can spend at least part of the morning together.” He patted me on the head like a child.

“Now, be a good girl and scoot. Off you go,” he replied, finally succeeding in pushing me into the bathroom and closing the door.

“Good girl, my foot. You sure wanted me to be a bad girl last night,” I muttered, wondering at this odd morning behavior. Maybe Jack was strange after a good night of Grace and her magical oonie.

“What was that, Nuts Girl?” he asked through the door.

“I said, good girl, my foot! You sure wanted me to be a bad girl last night! ” I shouted back.

His response was silence … he really was in rare form this morning. I turned on the water, anxious to get back under this rain shower that I’d enjoyed so much yesterday. I realized this was the third shower in a row where I was without my chief hair washer, and I missed him. Ah well, better get used to it.

As I stripped down, I heard a rustling. The little shit had shoved a note under the door. What, were we twelve?

Nope, twenty-four.

I picked it up, and read:

Grace,

You are my favorite girl, good or bad.

But I must admit, I am leaning toward bad.

Johnny Bite Down

I laughed, wet my fingertip, then traced the shape of my hand, with my middle finger conveniently pointing up, and shoved the wet note back under the door. Even over the water, I could hear him howling.

It was so easy to crack him up.

Fifty minutes and two blocked attempts at nookie later, Jack had me seated in the restaurant and was ordering us breakfast. He was looking fine, with about two days worth of insanely good stubble. We were both dressed casually. He was in jeans and a black t-shirt, while I went with my standard yoga pants and camisole. Since I didn’t know if I would be going to the photo shoot today, I had a backup plan to fit in a run on the beach.

We talked about silly things, inane things. The amazing hotel, whether or not to go out for dinner tonight, whether we would have time to do some sightseeing tomorrow before we had to head back to L.A.

My flight to New York was on Tuesday at noon, and while I was excited, I still couldn’t help but get a little lump in my throat every time I thought about it. His week was shaping up to be busy. He had three interviews on Monday and already one scheduled for Tuesday.

We ate our pancakes and drank our juice, and he buttered my toast for me. I noticed at least one table that had figured out who he was, but he still showed as much affection for me as he did when we were in private. I found this to be both sweet and a little infuriating. It was as if he was determined to show Holly she was wrong about his fans. I wasn’t crazy about being the sacrificial lamb, though.

When I was finished, I stretched my arms over my head and noticed he was done as well.

“You ready to go back to the cottage? We still have a little time left before you have to leave … we could have some sexy times,” I teased, running my fingers down his arm in what I thought was a seductive way.

“Oh, Gracie, you are killing me,” he said, reaching for me. “Last night, it was really great, you know?” he replied, bringing my hand up to his mouth, kissing my fingertips.

I heard a gasp from behind me, and I knew the girls that recognized him were either fainting or plotting my demise. I understood it, I had the same feeling when I found out Alyssa Milano had been dating Corey Haim.

I still harbored ill will toward her.

I tried to pull my hand away discreetly, but he kept it tightly in his grip.

“Hey, come on. You know what Holly said. We’re not acting very smart.” I smiled at him, trying to get him to understand.

“Bollocks. I say we do and act how we want,” he said firmly, his brow furrowed.

“Yes, I agree bol ocks, except that when these pictures come out, it’s me that’s going to have to deal with it. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet,” I answered.

“Grace, how do you feel about me?” he asked quickly, staring into my eyes.

“What? What do you mean?” I replied, nervously darting my eyes around.

“It’s a simple question. How do you feel about me?” he asked again, reaching over and scooting my chair closer to him. The dragging of the chair across the tiles caused another table to look over, prompting another round of gasps.

Jesus, did only women who follow movie stars eat in this restaurant?

“Jack, I … ”

“Pardon me, but are you Jack Hamilton?” I heard a timid voice ask. I swiv-eled my head around, grateful for the interruption, and I saw a woman, about maybe mid-twenties. I smiled at her, but she was oblivious to everything but her Joshua. I understood.

As Jack began to talk to her, a line began to form, and as I sat back and watched Jack chat with his fans, I could sense his nervousness come out more and more. He was kind and sweet, and to the untrained eye, he seemed totally comfortable. But I saw things, little things. He tucked his legs closer to him, ran his hands through his hair. He made the funniest expressions with his face. It was like he was one big eyebrow. He smiled at me occasionally, and while most of the girls kept their eyes on him the entire time (and really, why wouldn’t they?) I could feel their eyes on me, sizing me up, trying to figure us out.

Ah well, I had been trying to do that very thing since he started texting me all those weeks ago.

Eventually, it was just us again, and we started walking back to the cottage.

We were holding hands when we both noticed some of the same girls hovering about fifty paces back, and that’s when I saw the camera phones coming out again. They had taken plenty of pics of him back in the restaurant, but now they were getting shots of him with me, holding my hand, and I knew that was bad news.

I dropped his hand like a hot potato and he grimaced, but didn’t attempt to capture it again. I smiled at him understandingly, and he said, “For you, Grace, because I know you’ll take the brunt of it. If it were up to me, I’d have you up against that tree over there,” he said seriously, pointing at a large Spanish oak.

“I know you would, George. I know.” I laughed, winking at him.