Текст книги "The Redhead Revealed"

Автор книги: Alice Clayton

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter 6

The rest of the weekend flew by, and it was Monday night before I knew it.

We’d spent the rest of Saturday afternoon in his hotel, passing more time in that blessed shower. You’d think we were part fish the way we splashed around. Saturday night we went to see a show. I had been saving Wicked to see with him. I knew he wasn’t so fond of musicals, but I thought this one would hold his interest.

True to form, I cried like a baby, and he seemed surprised at how affected I was. He enjoyed it, although he didn’t sob like I did when Elphaba sang “Defying Gravity.” Really no one did. It seemed I would continue to make an ass of myself whenever live theater was concerned. I enjoyed this show so much I actually forgot Jack was there, and I was surprised to find him next to me at the end when we all filed back into the lobby.

“You were lost in your own little world, Gracie. I watched you as much as I watched the show,” he said, holding my hand and helping me throw away all the crumpled tissues I’d shoved in my pockets and purse during the show.

Sunday morning was chilly and wonderful. We spent the day at MOMA and went to Mott Street in Little Italy for dinner. We sat family style with other diners at a lovely old restaurant, passing plates and plates of food and carafes of cheap red wine.

And we spent every night rediscovering each other’s bodies again and again. We did spend one night in my apartment, but we preferred to spend the others at his hotel, languishing in the giant bed and taking advantage of the room service the film company was paying for.

Monday we had plans to sightsee, but we just couldn’t seem to make it out of bed. We tried several times, but in the end gave up and gave in to our insatiable need. We ordered room service for all three meals that day—perish the thought. We didn’t even leave the room to have housekeeping come in, although Jack did sneak out into the hallway (wrapped only in a sheet, mind you) to steal some chocolates off the maid’s cart as she was making up the room across the hall.

Late Monday night, we did something we’d never done before.

Heavens no, not that…

We took a bath together.

We filled the giant tub with bubbles, turned on the jets, and had a little bath time. Jack sat with his back against the marble, and I tucked contentedly between his legs, lying back against his chest. He ran the sea-wool sponge up and down my arms and squeezed the water and bubbles over my chest. Something about seeing my boobies covered in soap, he said, made him all kinds of happy.

I could feel how happy he was.

I snuggled against him, the water lapping gently at my warm body, not needing anything else in the world. I’d even planned ahead and ordered an ice cream sundae, which was now perched precariously on the side of the tub. I was being kind and letting him share my lovely sundae. Since I so rarely indulged like this (although I was kind of on a roll this weekend…), I tended to guard my goodies like a mama bear with her cubs. Except I was protecting something even more valuable—ice cream. I maneuvered the spoon up behind me and toward his mouth.

“Thank you,” he said through a mouthful of ice cream and chocolate sauce.

“I thought I ordered nuts on this. Where are the nuts?” I exclaimed, digging through the concoction.

“You’re looking for nuts, Miss?” he asked, trying to dip my hand below the water.

I laughed and shrugged him off. “Not until we finish this lovely dessert. Then I’ll be happy to attend to your personal nuts.” I giggled, spooning sauce and finally finding the hidden nuts. I forced another bite on him, then settled back against his chest once more, scooping up my own bite.

“Gracie, I don’t know how you’re not the size of a bus, the way you eat. I love it! Too many girls just eat lettuce and drink bottled water. It’s nice to be with a real woman.” He laughed, smoothing his hands along my skin under the water, along my stomach and hips, beginning to work his way toward my thighs, and specifically what was between my thighs.

I stopped cold, the spoon clenched between my teeth. “Wait, what?” I asked, my breath stuck in my throat.

“You heard me. It’s amazing that as much as you eat you’re not a little butterball—not that you couldn’t stand to gain a little weight. I bet your tits would be even more fabulous…” He trailed off, chuckling and kissing the back of my neck.

He must have felt how tense I was, because he stopped. “Grace? What is it?” he asked, trying to turn me around.

I removed the spoon from my mouth and set the ice cream down. I faced him. “I look the way I do because I work my ass off. Why do you think I’m constantly going for a run, or going to the gym, or running off to another yoga class? You think it’s easy to look like this? I have to stay ahead of everything I eat. Don’t think for a second that I won’t be at the gym as soon as you head back to L.A.,” I said, my voice getting low again. I pulled myself out of the tub and shrugged into a robe, still dripping wet underneath, bubbles everywhere.

“Where are you going? What the hell just happened?” he asked, his eyes wide at my current state of crazy.

I went into the other room and grabbed my wallet. I came back into the bathroom, where he was still sitting in the tub, looking dazed. I took a picture out and handed it to him. I watched as his eyes grew wide. He looked up at me, then back to the picture, then at me again. His eyes grew thoughtful, then sad.

“Grace,” he said quietly, handing me back the picture.

I took it from him, wiping the bubbles off the edges before allowing myself to look at it. It was a picture of me from two years ago. Once I’d started making plans to lose weight, my trainer had taken a picture of me: one I was to keep with me in case I ever needed additional inspiration. It was me at my heaviest, and while you could tell it was me, there was a sadness in this picture that always made me refocus when I wanted to skip that early yoga class or get overly indulgent with my desserts. I never wanted to go back to that girl again, but there were days I felt she’d never left.

I don’t want to go back to that girl either. She was hell on the social life.

What social life?

Exactly.

“So you see, the butterball comments hit a little close to home with me,” I said, taking another look at the picture, then shoving it back in my wallet. I went to put it back in the other room, and when I returned to the bathroom, he was wrapping a towel around his waist.

He saw me come in and sighed heavily. “Grace, this weekend seems to be nothing but miscommunications for both of us. I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. How was I supposed to know you had a…um…well…a…” he stammered, searching for the right words.

“A weight problem? A giant ass? Big ol’ fatty thighs? You’re right. You didn’t know. Now you do. Will I always look like this? I hope so—at least for another few years until gravity really starts to take hold and I have to start getting Botox and everything else women have to get nowadays to stay young and beautiful,” I said, feeling myself tense.

“Botox, right. You will never need Botox.”

“Ha! You want me all frowny and haggard looking? And what are you going to do when my precious boobs start to droop, huh? When you have rock-in-the-sock to hold on to every night—how sexy will that be?”

“Rock-in-the-what? Crazy, you are crazy,” he soothed, crossing to me and pulling on my robe ties when I tried to walk away.

“Oh, please. You really think Demi keeps Ashton with her charm? No, she keeps herself looking as young as possible for that guy, and I guarantee you she kills herself at the gym to do it,” I muttered, letting him pull me to him.

“Did you ever stop to think maybe he’s with her because he loves her? Because for whatever reason, those two met and fell in love, even though it doesn’t make any sense?” he asked, brushing the hair that had fallen out of my clip back from my face.

I looked at him for a moment, then hugged him fiercely. “Why the hell do you love me so much? Seriously, I am fucked up and nuts,” I said into his chest, still wet from the bath. I could feel him chuckling.

“You think I don’t know you’re nuts? I’ve known that all along. Don’t fool yourself. And like I’ve been telling you, I like nuts girls,” he said, kissing the top of my head.

“Well, you sure can pick ‘em if that’s what you’re in to.” I chuckled. I couldn’t believe we’d almost had another argument over something so silly.

Except it wasn’t silly. It was part of my past, and it was something I thought about daily: when I tried to skip a run, when I thought about having an extra late-night snack. I was always potentially a bag of Chex Mix away from a full-on food free-for-all, and even though Jack helped by munching the dreaded Melba toasts, my need for careful control was always with me. I could never let down my guard, or I’d go back to exactly who I was before. And in this industry, that was as good as suicide.

“Hey, Crazy?” he asked, his voice muffled by my hair.

“Mmm-hmm?”

“You know I love your body. I mean, come on, you’re beautiful. But it’s you, my Grace, who I fell in love with—the Chex-eating, foul-mouthed, funny girl. And nothing’s going to change that.”

I felt tears prick at the back of my eyes, and I blinked them away. I leaned back to look up at him, wet hair falling in his eyes, strong arms encircling me, smelling like bubble bath and chocolate sauce.

“George, I could not love you more.”

“Mmm, me too, Gracie,” he said, leaning down to kiss me softly.

Our kisses became more urgent, and soon he was sneaking his hands inside my robe. My skin tightened, as it always did when his hands were on me, and I found myself being walked backward over to the bathroom counter.

He spun me about so we both faced the mirror, and our eyes met. He smiled gently at me, the green in his eyes beginning to darken. He slowly finished untying my robe and parted it, returning his hands to my skin. He placed his hands on my hips and pulled me back against him. I could feel him pressed against my back, and he was more than ready.

With his eyes still locked on mine, he gently removed the robe and let it fall to the ground. I watched him in the mirror as he watched his own hands travel over my body. I flinched slightly, bowing inward and reflexively trying to hide my body from him—the way I would have done years ago. He was having none of it. His hands, sure and strong on my skin, urged me to stand tall. He moved them from my hips up to my arms, then gently glided them back down from my shoulders to my elbows, finally grasping my hands and bringing them up over my head to tangle in his hair.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he kissed my ear. I shivered.

He returned his hands to my body. Again he let his hands move across my skin, trailing his fingers down my arms and cupping my breasts in his hands.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, kissing my other ear. I moaned softly.

He let his hands move further down my body, resting on the gentle curves of my hips, his perfect fingers splaying out to capture as much of my skin as he could hold. “Beautiful,” he groaned, his lips hovering near the base of my neck as his gaze moved from his hands back up to my eyes.

As our eyes connected, I studied him from under my eyelashes, my skin on fire from his caresses. His hands began one more trip, gently moving from my hips down to my thighs, which he nudged open with his leg. I arched my back, pressing my bottom back into him as he brought his hands between my legs and stroked me. We both moaned at the same time, feeling how ready I was for him.

“Beautiful,” he hissed, and kissed my shoulder.

I watched him in the mirror, his breath getting faster. Pressing back against him again, I watched a wicked grin creep across his face. Hmmm…I let my hands untangle from his hair and slowly placed them on the counter in front of me. Never leaving his gaze, I raised one eyebrow and leaned forward.

He got it.

He pushed my legs open further, and I leaned further forward on the counter. He winked, and I moaned. He slid himself inside me, and I struggled to keep my eyes open, it felt so wonderful. He filled me completely, and while his fingers worked my sex, he stroked that magnificent spot—that was named for him expressly—from the inside again and again.

“You. Are. Beautiful,” he whispered in my ear, punctuating each word with a thrust.

“Jack, oh, God, Jack…” I chanted as I watched the two of us in the mirror. This was new, totally new. To have him inside me like this felt totally different. And to be able to watch us together—it was amazingly erotic.

It was the closest we’d ever get to making a celebrity sex tape.

He continued to murmur the word “beautiful” over and over as he made love to me with such passion and caring. I almost couldn’t believe I would ever get enough of this man. When we were both close, I leaned back against him, feeling his warm skin against mine. I closed my eyes, feeling my insides contract as he crashed into me, bringing my orgasm, sweet and hot.

I screamed his name as he altered his stroke, hitting me in a different place and bringing a second and third in rapid succession. Then I watched his face through my own blurry eyes as he came inside me, collapsing against me, with the word “beautiful” still pouring from his perfect lips.

He leaned on me, breathing heavily as he wrapped his arms solidly around my waist, cupping my breasts in his hands. “That was—” he started to say.

“Beautiful,” I finished, smiling at him in the mirror

We stayed up that night watching a Friends marathon, laughing uproariously. But when the episode came on with Monica in the fat suit, he clammed up.

“Don’t be an idiot,” I said. “Monica in the fat suit is hilarious. I’ll be offended if you don’t laugh.” I chuckled, hitting him with a pillow.

He gave in, and we both laughed at her dancing with the sub sandwich. When we finally did go to sleep that night—me on my side, him behind me with boobies in hand—he said, “Grace, explain what rock-in-the-sock has to do with your breasts.”

“What?”

I’d been almost asleep.

“When you were talking earlier about your boobs drooping—what do socks have to do with it?” he asked, his chin on my shoulder.

“Picture a sock, and then drop a rock in it. What happens to the sock?” I explained, rolling my eyes a little, glad he couldn’t see my rueful smile.

He was quiet a moment, then drew his breath in quickly. “Ew, Grace, that’s awful,” he muttered, gaining a tighter hold on my still-firm boobies.

I laughed. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll keep them worthy of your devotion for a long time to come. You don’t want to know what I have to do to keep my oonie nice and tight.”

“Jesus, Grace. Enough.” He cuddled me tighter.

I laughed again, thinking back to the days when push-up bras were just for prom and Kegels were just a myth in Cosmo.

***

And here it was. Tuesday afternoon already. He didn’t want me to ride with him to the airport. He said it was silly for me to go all the way there just to turn around and have to ride back into the city.

I protested, but he won. So we waited in my apartment for his car to come, spending the last few minutes cuddled on the couch. I sat on his lap, and he had his arms around me, his head tucked into the space between my neck and shoulder. I played with his hair, and he traced circles on my back as the time ticked by.

“So, you’ll be back when you’re on the press tour, right? That isn’t so far away—only a few weeks.”

“Not too long. And then back to L.A. for the premiere, and you’ll be there for that, right?” he asked, kissing my neck and then re-snuggling.

“I already told Michael I’d need that weekend off. It’s really close to the preview dates, but it should be okay. Even if I have to fly out and back within twenty-four hours, I wouldn’t miss your big night.” I smiled, kissing the top of his head in return.

“And then I’ll be back here for your opening night, and I might even be able to stay an extra day. Holly’s coming for your show, right?”

Holly. Hmm…I hadn’t spoken to her this weekend, and there were going to be some choice words when we talked. I still was upset that she hadn’t told me about Marcia.

“Yes, she’ll be there. In fact, she even talked about coming out for Thanksgiving, since I won’t be able to make it home.”

“That’s right, Thanksgiving. You Americans sure do like your holidays, don’t you?” He smirked, nibbling at my ear.

“Yeah, you’ll have to explain Boxing Day to me sometime,” I sassed, scrunching into a little ball at the feel of his lips teasing my skin.

“Sorry, I know that tickles. I’ll behave.” He laughed, tucking me back onto his lap. We were quiet a moment, and then he said, “So I think the worst is over, don’t you?”

“The worst?” I asked.

“I mean, we went several weeks without each other, but in the next month or so we’ll see each other more often. I think we handled the separation quite well, yes?”

Sometimes I forgot just how young he was, and other times I couldn’t forget no matter how hard I tried. He needed reassurance just as much as I did. This was just as tough on him as it was on me.

“Yes, I think we did great. And I do think the worst is over. Think about all the time we’ll have together when the promotional stuff is through—you can stay here as long as you want,” I said, grinning big.

“Oh, Grace, well, as soon as the premieres are over, I’m headed to London for the holidays and probably most of January. When will you be done with your show?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet. Depends on the reviews it gets. We’re closing down for the holidays, but we could be back up again right after. It’s all still up in the air.”

“Well, we don’t have to decide anything right now. It’ll all get figured out,” he said, with an air of finality.

Damn. I missed our days in L.A. together—before he was being shunted off everywhere to promote his film and when all I had to worry about was auditions and getting my freelance work turned in on time. When we could spend all the time we wanted together. We hadn’t fully realized just how much time we’d had. We’d been spoiled.

Everything happening to us professionally was amazing, but personally, I craved a drive up the coast and Fatburger like nobody’s business.

Just then his phone beeped. It was the driver waiting downstairs. I felt my throat tighten. It seemed I’d just said goodbye to him in L.A., and now I was doing it again. He reached for his bag, but before he could pick it up, I threw myself into his arms for another tight hug.

“I love you,” I said, crushing myself to him.

“Mmm, Grace, I love you too,” he replied, lifting my chin to kiss me softly on the lips.

We took the elevator down, holding hands. Actually, I had threaded my arm through his and had a firm hold on both his hands. I didn’t want to let go. When we got outside, I saw a town car waiting. I raised an eyebrow malevolently and smirked. “Sure you don’t want me to come with you?” I asked, gesturing to the backseat.

His eyes lit up, but then he smiled sadly. “No, love, you stay here. I don’t think I could handle the plane ride with a send-off like that. We’ll save it for when I come back.”

He handed his bag to the driver and opened his arms to me once again. He pulled me tightly to him, resting his head on the top of mine, his hands firmly on my hips.

“Miss me, okay? And tell those fangirls to quit grabbing your ass. I might just have to play a little grab-ass myself,” I warned, hugging him as tightly as I could. I could feel him laughing.

“You have no idea how much I will miss you, Crazy.” He sighed, pulling back to give me one last kiss.

“Call me when you land,” I called after him.

“I will, love.” He slipped into the car.

I watched it pull away, my fingers at my lips—the last place he’d kissed me. I went back up to my apartment and started to clean furiously, keeping the tears at bay. When I finally finished, it was late. I took a quick shower and climbed into bed. As I settled in, I noticed I’d missed Jack’s call while I was in shower.

I dialed voicemail and heard his sweet voice in my ear:

“Hey, Nuts Girl. Just landed and there were actually paparazzi at the airport. Can you believe that? Bizarre. Anyway, you’re probably asleep, but I miss you already. Call me in the morning? Love you. Say hi to the boobies for me. Bye.”

I flipped on the TV and Golden Girls appeared.

The tears flowed.