nineteen
The next morning I was up and out before eight. I zipped through Starbucks to grab a venti Caramel Macchiato with three sugars (a drink Leslie had started me on—I would really miss that little shit) and ran errands all morning. I got them all finished and even managed to pick out a fantastic Christmas tree. If you shopped for a tree on the right side of Doheny (which I did), they’d deliver it to you! I also picked up a new iPod for Nick. He’d left his at the gym a month ago, and every e-mail I’d gotten from him since lamented the loss. I even got him a Hello Kitty case, because I was a bitch like that. And I knew he would secretly love it.
I got home just in time to sign for all the boxes delivered from storage, and I set to work immediately. By early afternoon, it was really starting to look like my house. Pictures were placed, although not hung yet. Books were back on the bookshelves, dishes were in the cupboards, and I was a mess. When I got the text from Jack saying he was getting ready to leave Chicago, I knew I had only a few hours left, so I kicked it up a notch.
I got all my Christmas decorations out and arranged them around the house. I probably owned more Christmas decorations than anything else—more than half the boxes from storage were marked XMAS. I raced around like a madwoman with my ass on fire, and I finally placed the last Santa mug on the kitchen counter and hung the last of the stockings by the chimney with care. I had added a new stocking this year, for the Brit.
I glanced at the clock and realized Jack’s plane was due to land any minute. I quickly prepped the dinner I’d planned by dicing vegetables for the salad and setting the table. I wanted to test out my new gas grill and make Jack play barbecue man for me. Then I set out the steaks to take the chill off and was frantically chopping shallots for the salad dressing when the phone rang. It was the Brit.
“Hey,” I said, running around the kitchen like an insane person. I still had potatoes to peel and asparagus to clean. I was panting.
“Hey, yourself. Are you out for a run?” he asked.
“No, just finishing up a few things. Where are you?” I asked, trying to slow my breathing.
“Just got in a car and I’m headed your way. I can’t wait to see you, Gracie,” he said, his voice full of intent.
My heart flipped—both at his voice and the realization that he was so close and I still hadn’t had a shower. Why the hell had I decided to cook tonight? I should have just ordered from Chin Chin.
“Mmm, I can’t wait to see you either. I’m just getting ready to run through the shower.”
“Hmm, I could use a shower too. Sure you don’t want to wait for me?”
Jesus Lord, that was tempting. I quickly sniffed my armpit. “Um, no, I’m going to go ahead, but there will be fresh, clean towels for you when you get home.” I smiled as I thought of him naked in my shower. Where he belonged.
“Okay, I’ll see you soon. And Grace?”
“Uh-huh?” I said, struggling to take off my shoes and stay upright as I headed straight for that shower.
“I’m hungry,” he growled, then hung up.
Once again, Jack Hamilton had made me lose all power of speech.
Twenty minutes later, I stood in the bathroom with wet hair and a bloody armpit. What was it about razors and my pits that seemed to argue every time? I dabbed Neosporin on it, contemplating whether I had time to dry my hair, when I caught a look at the clock in the bedroom. Nope, wet hair it is. I ran a comb through it and made sure to put on some lotion. Which burned the shit out of my freshly shaved legs. I hobbled into the bedroom and threw on my white polo sleep shirt while I decided what to wear.
I went into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine to steady my nerves. But as I poured, I missed, spilling wine all over the counter. Cursing, I grabbed a dish towel to wipe it up. Finally sipping my wine, I looked around at the room and noticed I hadn’t lit the candles on the table yet. I quickly did so, wanting everything to be perfect. As I glanced around the kitchen and dining room, everything seemed to be in place.
Table set? Check.
Salad made? Check.
Potatoes prepped? Check.
What was I forgetting?
Fucking put some clothes on, Grace.
Right!
I threw the dish towel back toward the counter and started for the bedroom. However, I miscalculated and the dish towel fell short—right on top of one of the candles. With a whoosh, it ignited. I squealed and turned to run to the sink for some water but tripped over a footstool and went down with a splat.
“Ooof!” I grunted as all my breath left me. I was struggling to stand when I saw a blur run past me and dump a bottle of water on the dining room table. As I lay on the floor in my white polo, legs twisted and naked bum showing, I parted my hair so I could see.
There stood Sweet Nuts, dumping the rest of his bottle of water on the now smoking dish towel and appraising the situation. He turned to look down at me, dropping his duffel on the floor.
He cocked his head and smiled curiously. “What the hell are you doing on the floor when your house is on fire, Crazy?”
“Oh, shut it, Hamilton,” I sighed, banging my head against the tile floor. Ouch.
“You know I can see your business, right?” he asked, bending down to offer me a hand.
“I’m aware of that. Maybe this is the homecoming I had planned,” I said, mortified.
He swiftly pulled me to my feet and slapped me on the bum.
“That’s how to keep your lady: barefoot and half-naked in the kitchen.” He laughed.
“Ass,” I said, wrapping my arms around him. He smelled like airport and gorgeous.
We hugged for a moment, swaying gently while the scent of wet, burnt cotton bloomed around us.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered into his chest.
“Me too. Otherwise it would have gotten a little crispy in the kitchen.” He kissed the top of my head.
“Hey, I need a real kiss, please,” I pouted, sticking out my lower lip.
“Oh, I haven’t begun to get to the real kissing yet,” he said softly, bringing my face closer to his and brushing his lips against mine. I sighed into his mouth and his hands tightened on my waist. As things became more intense, I heard a knock at the door.
“Dammit, if that’s a carload of Joshua-seeking women, I’m not here.” He groaned, then lifted his eyebrow as I flashed him my naked buns on the way to the door. “Don’t you think you should put some clothes on before you open the door?”
“Hmm, you could be right. If it’s the Christmas tree man, tell him I’ll be right there. If it’s a carload of women, you’re on your own, dear.” I laughed and skipped off to the bedroom to find some shorts.
Turns out it was the Christmas tree man. As I supervised the placement of the tree, I encouraged Jack to go take his shower and get comfortable. I was going to do all I could do to get him in the holiday spirit. Including a little stocking stuffer . . .
Once the tree was in the corner, beautiful and smelling piney, I tipped the guy and closed the door. With a smile on my face, I headed to the bedroom. I’d heard the shower turn off moments before, so I was hoping to catch him before he had a chance to cover up that fantastic body. I crept into the bedroom, and there he was. Sprawled out on the bed in his boxers. Hair standing on end, legs akimbo.
Sound asleep.
I smiled as I watched him, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. He looked so sweet, so vulnerable. I sank down on the bed next to him, and he rolled over toward me in his slumber. His arms reached out and he mumbled, “Tits, please . . .”
I sighed and slipped into his arms. Snuggled in, with his ever-present hands on my ever-constant boobies, I let my Brit sleep.
I must have fallen asleep as well, because when I opened my eyes, it was fully dark. I forgot where I was for a second, and my body tensed as I became aware of someone in the bed with me. As I struggled to sit up I heard, “Shhh, sweet girl. It’s me.”
I felt his warm breath in my ear, and I remembered where I was—and who was with me. I sank back into his arms, his lips still near my ear.
“Mmm,” I moaned, then sighed as I stretched out against him. My legs tangled with his, and I clutched his hands against my breasts. His mouth kissed my neck and slowly worked down toward my shoulder. He nudged my shirt down a little so he could kiss my shoulder, and I felt my toes curl.
“That feels nice.” I sighed again with contentment, my tummy flipping at his touch.
“That’s good to know,” he whispered in my ear, his tongue darting out to lick my neck.
“Jesus, that feels nice too.” I chuckled and arched my back, pressing my breasts into his hands in a very pronounced way. His fingers swept across me, unbuttoning my shirt slowly. He moaned in my ever-loving ear as his hands, warm and soothing, touched my bare skin. As I arched again, I pressed my bottom into him, and he hissed as I made contact with a very specific part of him.
“Now that? That feels nice,” he said, pressing into me farther, his boxers barely concealing his—ahem—intent.
His hands found my now-naked breasts again, and he slowly began to tease me, ghosting his fingers across my heated skin, dragging up and down the sides, sneaking underneath, finally capturing my nipples in his hands as he groaned in my ear again.
Sweet Jesus, the man was talented.
I snuck my arm behind me, clutching his hip and pulling him closer. His right hand left my breast and his fingers walked down my side to my hip, Yellow Pages style. I giggled as they slipped beneath the waistband of my shorts and grabbed my curves. He pulled me back against him suddenly, and we both moaned at the contact.
“Gracie . . .” he said, in that accent, in my ear, and I felt every molecule in my body reach out and call to him.
He quickly removed my shorts and pressed his hand between my legs. I cried out at the feel of his fingers as they moved into me. I struggled to drag his boxers down as well, needing to feel him flush against me, with nothing in between. His hands left me for mere seconds, and when he returned, I could feel his warm skin press against mine in the most heavenly way. We both made quick work of my shirt, tossing it to the floor. He remained behind me, and as he worked me with his fingers I rocked my hips against him.
“Inside, please. I need you inside,” I cried.
And he obliged. He slid into me, invading me completely. He anchored my hips with his hands, and as I pushed back against him, he stopped his motions, then pushed in again, making us both crazy.
“God, I missed this,” he said softly, and I nodded in response.
I couldn’t speak. The feeling of him back inside my body was overwhelming, and I was stunned silent.
We kept a slow pace, our hips moving together, our hands entwined as he kissed my neck, my shoulders, my back, my cheek. I turned my head so I could take his sweet tongue in my mouth, gazing into his eyes as he worshipped my body with his own. Making me his once more. We moved and slipped and slid and rocked, and what was mine was his.
His hands clutched my breasts once more, circling fingers and pinching and teasing and tantalizing me with his love.
My hands were lost in his hair. I kept my body flush against his as I lost myself in the waves of pure, intense pleasure that worked their way from the tips of my toes to the center of my being.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I whispered, and I began to shiver and shake in his arms, in his embrace, with him inside me. He drove into me, chanting my name in my ear as he felt me coming around him. I was silent as my own tiny universe cracked open and left me floating. I was aware only of his love, his touch, and the feeling of him as he stayed in my body, in my mind, in my heart.
He collapsed against me, cradling me to him as tightly as our bodies would allow. He told me he loved me again and again, and I smiled into my pillow as I felt him kiss me. Bliss.
Moments later, he rolled away and sat up. He stretched and messed his hair with his fingers. As he scratched his head, I could see how long his curls had gotten. He gazed around the room, then glanced down at me.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” I answered, smiling up at him.
“Did I totally ruin dinner?” he asked sheepishly, looking at the clock on his side of the bed. His side.
“Yep. You owe me thirty bucks for the steaks, moneybags.” I laughed, poking him with my toe.
“Grace, what’s this on the nightstand?” he asked.
I grinned and didn’t need to look. I knew what it was. I’d put it there. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like a bowl of candy.”
“You’re a genius. That’s exactly what it is.” I laughed, sitting up against him and peeking over his shoulder. There, on his nightstand, was a crystal dish with individually foil-wrapped candy.
“You’re sharing candy, Nuts Girl?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes. I’m tired of being the emotionally stunted one in this relationship. I’m an adult, and I can share. Besides, I have my own. On my side,” I said, pointing to the identical dish on my nightstand.
“Wow, that’s progress.” He whistled, laughing at me.
“I know!” I said, launching myself at him and stealing a candy from his dish.
“Hey!” he said as I unwrapped it.
“Shhh,” I answered, placing the chocolate between his lips. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.” I smiled.
He grinned that sexy half grin and kissed me sweetly. He tasted like s’mores.
The next morning in the shower, we discussed our plans for the coming days.
“So, I’ve got interviews this afternoon, and then I’m supposed to go to this party thing at some restaurant, but I can get out of it if you want me to—the party, not the interview. Spin ’round,” he said.
I turned so he could rinse my hair. As soon as it was clean, I grabbed some shampoo and began to wash his hair.
“No, it’s cool. I’m having dinner with Holly tonight, so I’ll just see you back here afterward. At some point we need to pick a menu for this holiday shindig. Anything particular you want? Okay, rinse, please,” I instructed, trying not to notice the way he was rubbing my nipples persistently.
“I want a traditional American Christmas dinner, so make what you’d normally make,” he replied, releasing me so he could stand under the water.
I began to lather up with shower gel and offered him some. “Okay, then I need to head to the store today and start getting shit together. We only have two days.”
“Let me know what you need help with; I can always pick up some things on my way home tonight.”
“What the hell are you going to drive, by the way? Your car is toast, and I need my car today.”
He grinned sheepishly and stood under the water again. He didn’t answer.
“What’s going on?” I nudged him out of the way so I could rinse off. He smirked. “What did you do, George?”
“Well, I might have bought a new car. It’s being delivered today. I hope you don’t mind, but they’re bringing it here,” he said, shutting off the water and getting out. He grabbed two towels and handed me one as he started to dry off.
“What did you buy?” I asked, wrapping my robe around me and putting my hair up in a turban.
“Just something sporty.” He looked sheepish again, and also a little guilty.
“How cute are you?” I asked, setting my lotion bottle down so I could admire him fully. His towel hung low on his hips, and he ran his hands through his damp hair, making the curls jump and twist the way I loved.
“Why cute?” he asked, looking at me in the mirror.
“You feel guilty for wanting to drive something new, don’t you?”
He looked down again. “Yeah, a little,” he admitted, and his cheeks turned pink.
I turned him around to face me and wrapped my arms around his waist. His hands found the small of my back and settled there.
“You deserve everything you have, and everything that’s coming to you. Enjoy it, love. If you want a fun car, then get a fun car. It’s okay to have fun with this, ya know.” I kissed his chest and then rested my head against him.
His chin settled on the top of my turban. “I am having fun,” he said.
“Good,” I answered, and hugged him more firmly.
Soon after we stood in my driveway, admiring a bright, shiny, new silver Porsche convertible. He was grinning.
“Wow, this is fun,” I said, walking around and admiring it.
“Mmm-hmm,” he said, sliding in and twirling the key ring around his finger. “Wanna go for a spin?”
“Hell yes!” I cried and jumped in. He slid on his Ray Bans, and we were off. We drove Mulholland for a while, then made our way back down the canyons. We were close to his apartment.
“When’s the last time you were at your apartment?” I asked as we pulled into a gas station. We needed to put the top up, now that we were back in town. A redhead in the front seat was just asking for a TMZ headline.
“Hmm, what month is this?” He smiled as we finally figured out how to operate the top. “Actually, right after the movie came out, some fans posted my address on the Internet, so now there are always a few girls outside waiting for me—when I’m there,” he said. “They’re usually pretty cool. They just want to say hi when I come out in the morning to get the paper. Sometimes I talk for a bit. It hasn’t gotten too out of hand, and I’ve been traveling most of the time anyway.”
“Ugh, that’s so weird.” I shivered in dramatic disgust.
Top in place, he returned to the driver’s seat and his hand made its way back onto my knee. I smiled, and we were off.
“They’re not really pushy—other than the fact that they’re stalking me outside my apartment—but it would be nice to go home and not have to deal with that,” he said, his voice dropping just a bit.
I knew better than anyone how grateful he was for his fan support, but he needed some anonymity as well.
“No worries, love. I can handle it,” he said, kissing my hand firmly as we drove through the streets of Beverly Hills.
Once home, I started to make a list of the things I needed at the grocery store, and he settled onto the couch. Within seconds I heard the TV click on. I smiled at how at home we both seemed here. I went in to see if he wanted to come to the store and got pulled onto his lap. I kissed him soundly and told him I was heading out.
“Do you want to come with me?” I asked, nuzzling his ear until he cried uncle. “We could dress you up in a hat and glasses. I might even have a wig around here somewhere.”
“No, I think I’ll stay here. I can help you when you get back.” He smiled and ruffled my hair.
“I’m going to be making piecrust,” I said, snuggling into his arms.
“Okay, sounds good,” he replied.
“You want to help me make piecrust?” I asked in disbelief.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Is there somewhere you want to go, friends you want to see? Aren’t you going to be bored? Making piecrust?”
“Are you kidding me? For the first time in weeks, the phone isn’t ringing, no one’s telling me I have to go somewhere, no one’s knocking on my door asking me for an autograph, and I can pick my nose if I want and not worry about it ending up on Perez. Making piecrust sounds about fucking perfect if you ask me.” He laughed and lay back on the couch.
“Okay, then. Piecrust it is. Want me to pick you up some Fatburger while I’m out?” I asked, extracting myself to grab my purse. I heard a moan behind me. I turned, and he was smiling hugely.
“Grace, I knew I was right to keep you around,” he said, winking.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I winked back as he threw a couch pillow at me. I paused when I got to the door and looked back at him. “Is it me, or did we just say the words pie and crust like seventy times?”
“We said piecrust a lot. Piecrust, piecrust . . .” he answered, saying it differently every time.
I left him mumbling to himself. With a giant grin I walked out to my car, which now looked a little paltry next to his Porsche, and slid in. I turned on the tunes and realized life really didn’t get much better than this.