39 - Picture This

Sheridan awoke under the now-familiar weight of a masculine forearm around her waist and instinctively wiggled her shoulders back into the warmth of Jon’s bare chest.  When his only response was a sleepy hum and the cinching of his arm, she smiled. 

For someone who doesn’t cuddle, this is becoming awfully easy to get used to. 

Careful not to wake him, she turned herself over with a minimum amount of fuss so she could study his sleeping form.  Disheveled dirty blonde locks were pointing every which way, and without the deliberate style, she could see silver peeking through the blonde.

Idly, she wondered what he would look like if he let the gray have its way.

“You’re staring at me,” he mumbled, barely cracking open one lazy eye.  “I can’t sleep with you staring at me.”

“Then wake up,” was her reasonable solution as she feathered back the hair at his temples.  A soothing thumb automatically shifted to his forehead when it wrinkled grumpily.

“Gimme a better reason to wake up.”

Laughing softly, she eased her face closer, pursing her lips to deliver a soft kiss on the end of his nose.  “Like what?  Coffee?  Hot shower?”

“Nuh-uh.  Those are consolation prizes for havin’ to wake up.  I want enticement.”

Rolling over to his back, he scrubbed an invigorating palm up and down his face, and then opened his mouth to gather enough oxygen for a jaw-popping yawn.  Shaking his head against the pillow like a wet dog as the last of the yawn worked its way out, Jon slid an arm under her and dragged her into his side.  Expectant blue eyes peered down his nose, much too sharp and alert for a man who had just opened his eyes for the first time that morning.

“You were already awake.” 

“Yes, but I was trying not to be.  You ruined that by starin’.”

Sheridan was in serious trouble when she thought he was cute while being an unreasonable ass first thing in the morning.   She let out a little gasp of surprise he pulled on her again, hauling her on top of him.  The hem of her borrowed t-shirt bunched up above her thighs when she straddled his naked hips.  Satin panties were the only barrier between his sex and hers when he cradled his laced fingers in the small of her back. 

“So…  entice me, Kitten.”

The cocky little smirk dressed in morning beard stubble was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.  His rumpled hair, sleep-puffed eyes and pillow creased cheek didn’t belong to a rock star.  They belonged to a thief.  They belonged to the persistent, sexy, unabashedly honest and affectionate man who had stolen her heart.

I love him.

Her heart raced too fast when she was side-swiped by the realization.  It slammed her in the chest like one of the debilitating asthma attacks she’d had as a young child.  Her lungs seized as though flash-frozen, refusing to allow air to escape and Sheridan held very still, still trying to fathom the readily-admitted awareness.  Logically, she’d known that thought was tucked in the very back of her mind, but she didn’t expect it to come tearing out now.

You can’t love him.  Like him.  Be enamored with him.  Let him make you horny.  Hell, crave him, but it’s too soon to be talking love.  Way too soon.  You barely know the guy.

That may be true, but she everything she did know was pretty compelling. 

She knew that he loved his kids.  At least twice a day he’d called to check in with one or the other of them, if for no other reason than to ask how their day was going.

She knew that he was fiercely loyal.  Seeing him with Richie this weekend had made that crystal clear.

Most of all she knew that, so far, Jon had accepted her for exactly who she was.  He’d gotten more mismatched pieces of her than anyone else ever had – including her husband.  They didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but there was nothing she hadn’t been comfortable telling him, or doing with him. 

Sheridan had been around the block enough to know that was… special.  He was special.

“Hey..”  His forehead furrowed again, this time with concern instead of annoyance.  He touched a finger against the wildly beating pulse in her neck, asking apprehensively, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”  A warm smile found its way out to reassure him.  “Of course.  It’s December and I’m waking up next to the beach and a really hot guy.  What’s not to be okay?”

A slow, inviting grin slid over the perfectly wide mouth at the same time callused fingertips curled over her hip bones.  Holding Sheridan immobile, he tipped his pelvis so that the length of his arousal was cradled by her silk-clad labia. 

“Let me make it okay-er,” he purred, with the most deliciously carnal glint in his eye.  “Take your panties off so I can fuck you.”

With a slow shake of her head, she tut-tutted sadly.  “It’s time to turn in your Rock God membership card, Stud.  If you can’t work your way around a pair of panties, you’re an embarrassment to…. OH!”

The suddenness of his thrust pushed the air from her lungs with a squeaking gasp. 

“Baby, nothing has ever kept my dick from doing what it wants to do.  If you don’t wanna play civilized, all ya hadda do was say so.”

OOoooh yeah….  That was something else she knew.  The man turned her on like no other, and he knew how to make good on it.  The things that he did to stoke her fires…  Well, frankly, he knew more about what her secret buttons were than she did.

“I’m saying so.”   She flattened her chest against his and contracted her inner muscles.  “And for the record, I never want you civilized in bed.  Now fuck me.”

About the time he growled and slammed deep enough to bounce against her cervix, Jon’s phone vibrated on the night stand.

“Ignore it,” he ordered before nipping her collarbone and driving deep again. 

She had no problem with that.

Losing herself in his grip, the way he filled her, the way he made her feel…  Sheridan didn’t give the phone a second thought again until after her thighs had ceased to quiver and Jon sweetly touched his sated lips to hers.

“Baby…  Lemme see if it was one of the kids.”

She immediately slipped back to her side of the bed with a lingering touch on his cheek.  When he rolled over with a groan to scoop up the phone, she dropped her feet to the floor.  It was her intention to get a shower while he took care of whatever he needed to.

“Dottie.  What’s up?”

She heard the greeting to his ex-wife and was about to close the bathroom door when her own phone pealed out on the opposite side of the bed.  From the sound of it, Riley was calling, and it brought a frown to her face. 

That’s unexpected.

She swept around the bed, hurriedly snatching up the device and swiping a finger over the screen.  “Hey, Riley.  What’s up?”

Jon fell back into the pillows with a grunt of annoyance, flicking a glance toward Sheridan.  Her face was drawn with anxiety when answering the call, then her eyes flew wide and she whirled to look at him.  He nodded and pointed to his phone.  Apparently her sister was calling about the same thing Dorothea was.

“Nice pictures of you and the blonde with the big boobs sharing cotton candy on the pier, Jon.  When you said something came up to keep you in California another day, I didn’t realize it was your dick,” the woman he’d spent the better part of his life married to, drawled snidely.  “I’m sorry that your children put a cramp in your social life.”

“I.  Am not.  Doing this now,” he bit out, infuriated that a woman who had always been so even-keeled and reasonable had lowered herself to being a stereotypical ex-wife.    “We can talk tomorrow when I pick up the kids.”

She was silent for a moment, before churlishly demanding, “What time will you be here?”

“I don’t know.  About two, I guess.”

“Romeo has an appointment with Dr. Rennicke at four.”

He swallowed a sigh, knowing that she was daring him to make a big deal out of it.  He was not going to let anything ruin this last hideaway day, where things were pretty well perfect.  God knew once they got home, perfection would be hard to come by.  “I’ll take him.  That’s not a problem.”

An abrupt, “Fine,” and Dorothea had hung up on him.  Capturing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, he squeezed away the dull ache that had begun to dance there and flicked into the web browser on his phone while he listened to Sheridan’s conversation.

“I… haven’t been seeing him long…..  My God, Riley, no!!  I am not going to get you an autographed picture of his ass…..”

He smirked.   There were certain constants you could count on in the universe.  Jon Bon Jovi fans with ass fetishes topped Jon’s personal list.  It gave him an oddly comforted feeling as the tabloid pictures loaded.

“Hell, no you’re not going to meet him!”  Sheridan ranted lightly, falling back onto the bed and scooting so that her head rested on his stomach.  “You can’t be trusted not to embarrass me or yourself!  God, not to mention Mitch and the kids.  No.  Absolutely not.”

When her head began bobbing spasmodically because of the laughter shaking his belly, Sheridan turned her head to scowl at him.  “This is not funny,” she hissed as he flicked through the photographs with his thumb.

They were most likely from a fan’s cell phone.  Squinting, he saw that the shots were taken in front of the trapeze school.  Sheridan was shaking her cone of cotton candy at him and laughing up into his face.  Jon looked amused and turned on.  Typical when he was with her.

Would anyone else be able to read that particular combination of thoughts on his face?

Dottie did.  That’s why she was so pissed.

“Riley….  Riley!  I am not having this conversation right now.  Probably ever, for that matter.  Oh my God.  Like I would tell you if we were in bed together now.”

Jon couldn’t pass it up.  He tried – for about half a second.  Or less.  Projecting his voice enough to reach the phone’s mic, he announced, “We are in bed together, Riley, but don’t worry… we finished the important stuff before you called.”

Sheridan shot up into a seated position and prodded a punishing finger into his side.  “You’re not helping!”

He shrank away to minimize the hit, grinning at her annoyance.  The little bit of pain didn’t stop him from snickering as he appreciated the flush of anger highlighting her cheekbones. 

“What are you, thirteen?  You can’t possibly neeeed  to talk to him.”  The sentence was no more out of her mouth than Jon was waggling his fingers, demanding the phone. 

“No,” she refused, slapping his hand away.  “Nothing good can come of this.”

“Lemme talk to your sister,” he coaxed quietly, pleased with the brainstorm that was forming on the horizon.  “And I’ll let you talk to one of my brothers.”

“Why would I want to talk to one of your brothers?”

Jon shrugged carelessly.  “Hell if I know, but it seemed like a fair trade.  I can go with sexual favors instead.”

He laughed outrageously when an incongruously calm feminine voice bellowed from Sheridan’s hand, “Take the sexual favors and give him the damn phone!”

“Gimme….”  He wiggled his fingers again before twisting his body close enough to wrap his fingers over hers.  She clutched at the phone, refusing to relinquish her hold on it.  Instead, she chose to give him a look he hadn’t seen since Catholic school and a very cranky nun.

“Jon, I’d really rather not.”

Still holding her hand inside of his, he leaned around her back to whisper in her free ear, “Let go of the phone like a good girl, and go get in the shower so I can speak to your sister.”

“Don’t talk to me like a child.”

Her outrageous petulance had him chuckling again as he kissed the shell of her ear.   “Then stop acting like one.”

She went still against his chest for an instant, and then huffed indignantly.

“Riley, don’t embarrass me.”  That was the only thing she said before surrendering control, all but shoving the phone at him.  In a move that his seven-year-old would be proud of, she stuck her tongue out as she scooted off the bed.  Jon was surprised she didn’t go all-out and blow a raspberry.  “I want to talk to both brothers,” she proclaimed haughtily on her leisurely stroll to the bathroom.  When she reached the doorway, she paused, turning to regard him with a proudly arched eyebrow.  “And I want the sexual favors.”

38 - Something a Little More

“Do you wanna go out to dinner or stay in?”

Jon used his thumb to tap on the scarlet nail of the big toe tucked up against his leg.  He and Sheridan were snuggled into the suite’s couch in shorts and t-shirts, each immersed in their own little electronic world since returning from the pier late this afternoon.  His was a phone full of text and email messages, hers was a mysterious tap, tap, tapping on glass.  He’d tried to catch a glimpse, but she kept the screen tilted at an angle that prevented him from seeing exactly what she was up to.

She looked up from her iPad, eyes taking a moment to focus before she lifted a single delicate shoulder with indifference.  “Doesn’t matter to me.  Whatever you feel like.”

“I’d kinda like to take you out. How does seafood sound, since we’re right on the ocean?”

Powering down the small tablet, she bent at the waist and eased it onto the coffee table before burrowing her spine into the corner of the couch.  With a tranquil smile, she folded her arms and added another item in the ‘things to know’ column. 

“Not really much of a seafood fan, but if it’s what you want, that’s fine.  I’m sure there will be something on the menu that I like.”

“No shit?” he asked curiously, letting his phone fall to the cushion beside him and picking up her foot.  “Shrimp?  Lobster?  Crab?”

She drew up her nose in a genteel gesture of disgust.  “Just broiled or fried fish.  No shellfish.  I don’t like the texture.”

“Hm.  One more thing I learned today.”

“What else did you learn?” she asked with an innocent smirk, if there was such a thing.  Obviously, she had the fortune teller on her mind.  He, however, was thinking of something else entirely.  He couldn't get Karl and Suzanne's daughter off of his mind.

Jon locked his fingers around her ankle and tugged, making her squeal as her bottom skidded over the cushion until it was right next to him, and she had both thighs arranged over his lap.  It gave him the perfect angle to sweep in and take her mouth in a brief kiss. 

“I learned another example of what a selfless person you can be.”

“Stop,” she protested with a frown, curling her fingers into the hair that had gotten too long on his neck.  “I hate that word, because nobody's truly selfless.  Don’t try and make me into some kind of saint.”

He chuckled, bussing another kiss along the underside of her jaw.  “Why would I wanna do that?  I like you better as a sinner.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Sheridan drawled, knotted fingers tilting his head back by the hair she held prisoner.  Her perfectly arched brows drew down over accusatory eyes.  “You think I’m a devious bitch who stalked you and is scheming to get pregnant to have a famous baby daddy.  Then I’ll sell my story to the National Enquirer and make millions when the baby comes out of the womb with a full set of huge, blinding-white teeth.”

That wasn’t funny in the least.  Jon still felt bad about the way he overreacted at the goddamn fortune teller’s tent.  He had no explanation as to why he went all pissy at first glimpse of the girl who was going to be ‘seeing’ his future, or why he took so much stock in her transcendent prophecies. 

If he believed in any of that crap, it might be because he was afraid she could actually see things about him that he couldn’t.  It interfered with his illusion of control. 

Jon was grounded deeply enough in reality to know that he wasn’t always in control.  However, the ability to pretend had given him a essential edge in many a sticky situation.  It made the difference between sink or swim, and he didn’t like his mojo being screwed with.

Regardless, it wasn’t justification for being a prick to Sheridan.

“I apologized for that.”

“You did,” she agreed, incrementally easing her fierce grip on his hair.  “And I forgive you, but it’s going to take me a little longer to forget.”  Prettily painted fingers crept around to his chest, where she used one of them to tap against his sternum.  “You do remember that you’re the one who kept after me, right?  I wanted to leave it all in Jamaica, but you were like a tenacious bulldog and wouldn’t let it go.”

He placed two light fingertips over her lips.  “Sheridan.”

“What?” she mumbled from behind her impaired mouth, making him smile. 

He should be freaked-the-fuck-out that he spent so much time smiling when he was with her, but it had always been that way, from that first instant in Jamaica.  There was just something about Sheridan King that made him happy on the inside, and it was only getting stronger.  He couldn’t even say it was the sex.  Jon just liked being with her.  Things were easy and relaxed and… comfortable. 

Man, you’re getting old when you’re just as happy to sit beside a hot woman and check email as you are to fuck her.

“I remember quite well,” he assured her quietly, recognizing the growing fondness in his heart as the beginning of something big, but still unwilling to label it.  “It’s proving to be one of the smartest things I’ve done in a long time.”

Emerald green eyes went from fiercely snapping with indignation to shimmering like two soft, jiggly orbs of lime Jell-O.  The mental description made Jon’s lips curl ruefully.  Only a parent comes up with lime Jell-O in one of the noteworthy life-moments.

Relieving his fingers of silencing duty, he glided them along the fine line of her jaw to slip into the free-fall of honey-blond locks that settled into a pool around her shoulders.  He finger-combed the curtain of silk and closely studied the play of thoughts across her face.

Sheridan was actively weighing what he’d said against what she’d heard and comparing it to what she felt and what was appropriate to express.  It took a minute before she got all those things reconciled and became content to flick her eyes back and forth between his, not saying a word.

“What?” he whispered softly against the corner of her mouth just before touching his lips there.  “You run out of things to bust my balls about?”

“For now,” she whispered back, just as softly. 

Sheridan proceeded to slowly and systematically taste the full width of his bottom lip with a series of gentle nibbles that spread from left to right, and had Jon winding her hair into his fisted hands by the time she got to the far corner.  When the bottom had been fully explored, she made a leisurely return trip over its upper mate, while Jon’s fingers flexed with the effort it took to remain still and let her have her way.  She, at long last, completed her lenient torture by pressing a sweetly pliant tongue between the two well-sampled halves of his mouth’s entrance.

“Mm.” 

Her flavor was becoming addictively familiar, and he drank of it with as much reverence as he would give to the finest wine.  Sipping, not gulping.  Savoring, not devouring, until he was punch-drunk on the headiness of her taste.

“Closer.”  Jon tapped an open palm on her hip, wordlessly guiding her to plant one knee at either side of his waist and straddle him.  When she willingly accommodated his wishes by settling her slight weight on his lap, Jon pushed leisurely hands under the thin cotton of her top.  He glided  past the indentation at the small of her back to seek the delicate curve of her shoulder blades.  With the flat of his palms, he pressed her into his chest and then tucked her head into his shoulder and held her there, liking her weight against him.

“Jon.”  Sheridan’s quiet murmur was accompanied by a leisurely roll of her hips.  The carnal awareness that had been politely holding itself at bay, suffered a swell of curiosity.

“What is it, Kitten?”

She smiled against his cheek, delicately undulating against him.  “I love it when you call me Kitten.”

“Do you?  How do you feel about being my Kitten?”

Her shorts had ridden up high on her thigh and he snaked his fingers in the leg opening.  He wasn’t so much looking for sexual contact, although it might seem that way.  Right now, it was more about the intimacy.  It was about knowing that he could burrow his hand in the crease of her thigh and leave it there.  Then, if the notion struck him, he could brush his thumb over the tiny puff of hair that crowned her slit. It didn’t all have to be about fucking.

“Let’s just say that I’m glad you have the tenacity of a bulldog.”  Her warm breath heated the skin behind his jaw, before nuzzling the same warm spot. 

Call him a greedy bastard, but he wanted more than that.  Working his finger under the thin elastic band at her groin, he scraped the callused tip over the plump feminine lips hiding inside, arrogantly gratified when they parted for him. 

“You belong to me.  I don’t do jealousy, but what’s mine is mine.  You’re my Kitten.”

“Mm.”  She nipped at his earlobe while lazy fingers traced the shell of his other ear.  “You can’t own and not be owned.  It’s a two-way street, mister.  Cleavage for trousers.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so.”  She’d moved around to his Adam’s apple, bathing it with her tongue before taking an easy bite.  “Tell me who you belong to, Jon.  I want to hear you say it.”

Her quiet assertiveness was arousing.  He had a thing for confident, independent women.  More than that, he had a thing for confident, independent women who weren’t afraid to let their soft side show once in a while.

His fingertips drew lazily over the downy soft flesh that surrounded her sex.  There was still no true physical intent behind the touch.  He was just enjoying the privilege.  “After you.”

“I never walked away from you.  Tell me Jon.”

“You walked away from me in Jamaica and never looked back,” he disputed softly, urging her thigh further up on his hip to get better access.  “Now tell me, Baby.”

“Touch my clit.  Please.” 

The breathy plea hit him low in the gut and tried to force him into daredevil jumping the bridge from intimacy to carnality. Fortunately, he had that whole illusion of control thing going for him.

“I will, pretty girl.   Just tell me what I wanna hear and I’ll make you fly.”

She grumbled under her breath and the dainty huff that came out of her nose upset the tuft of hair she was nuzzling.  “I’m yours.”

Yes, he’d demanded the words.  Cajoled and wheedled until they finally spilled begrudgingly from her lips.  But they didn’t satisfy him that way.  He wanted sincerity to accompany the words.

His free hand buried itself in bundle of gold tresses at the back of her neck and tugged until her eyes were only inches from his.  Pupils contracted and then dilated around enchanting green irises once she got a good look at him.  He wasn’t playing games anymore.

“Sheridan.  Do you mean it?”

She snorted softly with a slight shake of her head.  Cupping a palm around his jaw, she dusted a lingering kiss over his mouth and scolded gently, “Silly man.  I’ve been yours since the first night in Jamaica, when you triple-dog dared me.”

Corny-ass sunshine filled his heart.  In an effort to keep his mouth occupied so that something unexpected didn’t come toppling out, Jon craned his neck to steal her lips.  The words stayed firmly inside and didn’t escape as he made love to her mouth.  The kiss, however, contained more of that unspoken sentiment than the actual phrase could ever hope to.  It was one of those rare occasions where he was better at proving it than saying it.

“Hey.”  She pushed back with a frown, licking at kiss-slickened lips, disappointingly underwhelmed by his handiwork.  “Don’t you owe me something?”

With a wicked grin, he immediately slipped into the wet valley between her legs, dredging the folds  in search of the spot that requested attention.  One firm flick over her clit had her tightening up, preventing him from doing anything further.

“Mm…. Not that, Bongiovi,” she chided with a disdainful scowl.  “You know what.”

Yeah.  He knew what.  He’d spent a lot of years being ‘owned’, and never expected to find himself in this position so soon after.  If ever.  But the truth was the truth.

“Kitten…  My ass is a hands-on Smithsonian exhibit during concert season, but other than that, this old bag of bones belongs to you.”

37 - Zee Truth

“No.”

“Yes, Jon.  You promised.”  Sheridan reminded under her breath, shoving the recalcitrant Indian-giver under Madame Zizska’s canopy.  She was amazed how obstinate he’d become once they’d gotten a glimpse of Madame Zizska.  Expecting to find an ancient gypsy-esque woman in a turban with a huge wart on her nose, both of them had been temporarily rendered mute when catching sight of the tiny woman – girl – stationed at the purple-velvet-draped table.

“That’s when I thought there was a grownup doing this, not my daughter’s roommate.”

Having been quicker to recover her composure, Sheridan decided that she didn’t care what the mousy little fortune teller looked like.  So what if she could pass for an Ivy League college student in her pin-striped, button-down shirt and khaki shorts?  It wasn’t like she had to have a license to make this stuff up, and a good theatre major could be even more entertaining than a stereotypical fortune teller.   

Chewing her bottom lip with careful consideration she gave the plain, mousy girl another once-over.  Harvard had a Theatre program, didn’t they?

“Not only am I psychic, I can hear, too,” the bespectacled young woman informed Jon dryly.  Flipping her long, unremarkably brown braid over her shoulder, she tucked a tattered receipt into the book she was reading and regarded with eagle-eyed expectation.  “And since my psychic powers tell me that you’re going to do exactly what your girlfriend tells you to do, sir, please…”  A sweep of well-manicured fingertips gestured to the camping chairs positioned in front of the table.  “Have a seat, and tell me what you’re curious about.”

“I’m curious as to how much you’re ripping people off for,” Jon muttered, slumping into the nearest of the two chairs and draping his wrists over his knees.  Eyes wandering aimlessly, Sheridan knew he would’ve done a quick about-face if she hadn’t prompted him into the chair with a gentle nudge.

Even as she was nudging, she’d had to bite the inside of her jaw to keep from laughing at his increasingly familiar little-boy sullenness.

“You’re stifling my energy, sir.  I’m through talking to you.”  She pointedly swiveled her elfin chin to Sheridan.  It was stunning how her whole countenance changed when wide lips curved into a thoughtful smile.  “You, though.  You really are curious about something.  What is it you want to know?”

Jon leaned back in the chair, wide-spread knees bouncing on impatient toes as he smothered a snort with his hand.  He was visibly unimpressed by the plain brown wrapper around the mystical Madame.

“I… I don’t know, Madame Zizska.”  Sheridan considered with a frown as she perched on the edge of the vacant camp chair.  “There wasn’t anything specific.  Your sign just caught my eye.”

The girl’s smile was kind, as though she were explaining to a small child that the grass was green.  “Please call me Zee.  The sign caught your eye, because you’re wondering about something in your future.”

Jon muttered something Sheridan couldn’t understand, but that earned him a psychic stink-eye from the pint-sized purveyor of premonitions.  He cleared his throat and spoke more plainly.  “Could we move this along?”

“Be patient, sir, and I’ll even answer your question.”

His head whipped up with a surprised frown.  “What question?  I don’t have a question.”

“Of course you do.  Everybody has questions.”  She returned her attention to Sheridan and leaned forward over the card table, holding out a petite palm.  “May I have your hand please?”

Sheridan was fully enamored with the girl who was treating this as practically as a medical appointment instead of some ethereal rite of mysticism.  It seemed the most natural thing in the world to do as Zee bade.   

When she had possession of the requested hand, Zee shoved her wire-rimmed glasses further up onto her nose and studied the lines in Sheridan’s palm.  She traced a clear-polished fingertip along each of the deepest creases, inspecting them closely for a long moment before slowly rotating Sheridan’s hand to look at the side.  A serious pucker dug a miniature trench between the sorceress’s eyebrows, and she turned the hand again, to rove astute eyes over the knuckles and back of Sheridan’s hand. 

“I see a woman who has always lived in the light of what others think and expect of her.  Always examined every possible consequence and weighed every decision. Prepared for the worst possibility in every situation. Set a goal and made a plan to achieve that goal.  A rule follower until she was made to break the rules.  Now she sees that life won’t end if a few rules are broken.  It’s giving her new eyes with which to view the world, and she likes her place in that world.  That’s who I see you as.”

The analytical synopsis was uttered in a soothing monotone while lightly tracing each line on the front and the back of Sheridan’s hand.

My God, this girl really is psychic.  Either that or I’m as easy to read as an eye chart.

“As for the future, I have good news and bad news,” Zee continued in the clinical vein of a medical appointment.  She didn’t release Sheridan’s hand, but cradled it in between hers as she locked a sympathetic, pale-gray gaze on into Sheridan’s eyes.  “The good news is… that which you desire will be yours.  The bad news is that it will not be an easily travelled path.  Roadblocks and trials will come in many forms, testing you and your heart along the way, the most significant of which is that of an innocent child.  I can’t shake the overwhelming presence of a child in your life.”

The girl squeezed her hand reassuringly when a chill raced down Sheridan’s spine, turning the sixty-degree California day into a sub-zero New York winter.

Was this a generic fortune telling spiel that Zee had prepared for the masses?  Or was she answering the question Sheridan was too embarrassed to voice in front of Jon?  The one her inner twelve year old was screaming at the Magic 8 Ball clutched in her hormonally charged hands? 

Will Jon and I be together forever?  Or at least for a good while?

If it was specifically geared at Sheridan and her ‘desire’… what about those roadblocks and trials?   And…

When she was able to make her slackened jaw work again and form words, Sheridan could only think of one thing to ask.  “A… child?” 

“Jesus.”  Jon had remained respectfully silent up until that point, but the snarkily hissed epithet summarized his opinion of the services rendered thus far.  If there was any doubt, it was erased by the heavy ‘slap’ of his palm coming to rest on the table.  He was ready for this to be over.

Zee’s fingers seized tightly over Sheridan’s hand, and her eyes widened almost imperceptibly when they darted to his features made stony with doubt and mistrust.  “Don’t ridicule.  I now know that the child will be yours.”

A thousand frantic muscles contracted mercilessly in Sheridan’s womb when he pinned her with eyes that were nearly arctic blue in their ice-cold disapproval. 

“Is this a cute way of telling me you aren’t really on birth control and are trying to get pregnant?”

“No!”  She snatched her hand from the preppy witch wanna-be and whirled on him, completely aghast and insulted.  “I can’t believe you would think that, much less say it.”

Zee took the opportunity to interrupt and extended an arm across the table to forcibly latch onto and flip Jon’s hand.  She was only able to garner a quick glance at the meaty palm before he re-appropriated it with a disgruntled huff.  Curling it into a fist, he planted it on his knee and scowled at an unflappably serene fortune teller.

“You…”  The gray eyes went from speculative to piercing.  “…should believe what your heart tells you.  Friends will act as enemies in turbulent times, but there is one person on whom you can trust to speak the truth.  Keep an open mind and spirit.”

“Alright.  I’ve had all the fun I can stand.”  Jon pushed to his feet, and dug out his wallet with jerky motions.  “I can’t believe I’m going to pay for this garbage.”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Sheridan retorted quietly, still stung that he believed she would entertain such devious thoughts.  “I’ll reimburse you when we get back to the hotel.”

“Zelda?  What is wrong?  Why is there unrest in my tent?”  The softly accented voice put an immediate stop to the squabbling.  All three heads swiveled to the diminutive woman in the brightly colored skirt and top, with the huge gold hoop earrings.  The woman with the long, salt-and-pepper hair and dark eyes, who looked every bit the stereotypical gypsy.

“Grandma.”  Zee’s eyes darted nervously between her grandmother and their customers.  “I thought you wouldn’t be back for another hour or so.”

“And that is why you have decided to gypsy around and stir an argument?  Because I was not here?  You know better than to use the gift to call trouble.”  She shook a gnarled finger at the younger woman and then regarded Jon and Sheridan apologetically.

“I am Madame Zizska, and I apologize for the turmoil that Zelda has created, however unintentionally.”

“Zelda?” Jon couldn’t resist jibing with a half-smile.  “As in ‘The Legend of Zelda?’”

“My father designed the game,” Zee muttered with a roll of her eyes, before defending herself to the family matriarch.  “I said nothing but the truth, Grandma.”

“The truth has many meanings and interpretations.  It is not our place to assume the first interpretation is the best or most significant.”

“It’s alright.  She’s an insightful young woman,” Sheridan assured Madame Zizska, and then harshly bumped her foot against Jon’s.  “Given then proper respect and attitude, I’m sure her comments would be received as very relevant and astute.”

All three woman turned expectant eyes on him, causing him to dip his head and shift uncomfortably.  “Yeah, it’s okay,” he finally relented with a rueful laugh.  “My attitude sucked, so I was looking for something to be ticked about. Here.”  A hundred dollar bill curled in the ocean breeze when he offered it to the younger of the two women.  “It wasn’t garbage and I’m perfectly willing to pay for it.  I’m sorry.”

Zee glanced at her grandmother, but firmly shook her head.  “Thank you, but I can’t accept that.  It’s not my feelings that you hurt.”

Sheridan took the money from his hand and made her own effort at paying.  “Please.  Take it.  You gave a wonderful palm reading.  I assume you’re talking about my feelings being hurt, but I assure you they aren’t.  They would be hurt if you didn’t take his guilty offering, though.”

“Please take it,” Jon encouraged, slipping an arm around Sheridan’s waist.  “I’m gonna make things right with her, but I need to make them right with you first.”

The humble admission was a balm to her wounded pride, and she waggled the bill at Zee with a wink.  “Go on.  He’ll pay me, too.  I promise.”

After receiving a subtle nod from her grandmother, Zee captured the money between her thumb and forefinger, pushing it into her pocket.  “Thank you, and good fortune to you.”

Jon and Sheridan returned the thanks as they linked fingers and strolled from the tent, talking quietly as they ambled down the pier. 

Zizska rested a bony hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder and the two watched after them, pleased to see that the couple seemed to be no worse for the wear after their visit. 

“I couldn’t see if they will survive what’s ahead of them,” Zee complained with an unhappy frown.  “I tried, but I don’t know what the outcome will be.  The clouds were too dark and too thick.”

Madame Zizska flounced down into one of the camp chairs with a heavy, contemplative sigh.  Wise old eyes sought out young, wistful ones with a sad smile.  “Sometimes, my child, you don’t see because there is no more.  Perhaps their future has yet to be determined.”

36 - Acrobats and Eggs

“You really wanna fuckin’ get on that thing?”  Jon looked skeptically at the teenage girl strung up with wires, dangling from a swing high above the Santa Monica Pier. 

The black and red banner read ‘Trapeze School’, and the activity surrounding it had enamored Sheridan for a good fifteen minutes.  After watching an assortment of thrill seekers fly through the air, it looked to be as easy and natural as walking.  Anyone should be able to do it, shouldn’t they?  Gravity and the fact that she was forty years old didn’t enter her mind a single time.

She leaned into him, bumping against his shoulder with a laugh.  “What?  Are you scared of heights, old man?”

One blonde eyebrow slid disdainfully up to the brim of his military-style cap and arctic eyes warned Sheridan that she was treading on thin ice.  “You obviously never went to a Bon Jovi  concert in the eighties.  I fuckin’ flew every night, Baby.  Been there, done that, got the bank account to show for it.”

Laughing even louder, this time she hip-checked him, being careful not to get her ponytail in the sticky pink cone of cotton candy.  “You are… the… most arrogant.. ass!”

“It’s only arrogant if there’s no substance behind it,” he corrected with a dismissive shrug, swatting her away when she tried to stick a puff of spun sugar to the end of his nose.  “I’m all substance, and I’m not wearin’ no damn steel G-string as proof.”

Two young boys flew by before she could continue her taunting.  They nearly plowed Jon and Sheridan over in their haste to get to the trapeze line.

“Slow down before ya hurt yourselves,” Jon called after them, shaking his head with a rueful laugh.  “Reminds me of my kids.  Jake and Romeo would eat this stuff up.”

An imaginary cloud passed into the sunshine of her good time, causing her stomach to knot angrily.  Tossing the remains of her cotton candy in the nearest trash can, Sheridan discreetly slipped her hand into his and nodded to a bench that had just become vacant. 

“Can we sit down and talk a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.”  He allowed himself to be guided to the edge of the walkway and frowned a bit as they settled onto the hard, wooden bench.  “You got all serious on me.  What happened?”

Sheridan looked at their intertwined fingers, her scarlet-tipped fingers alternated with his thick, blunt ones.  It was the epitome of masculine versus feminine, although it had nothing to do with what was on her mind. 

“Nothing happened.  Those two boys just made me think of something…”

“You’re not nervous about meeting my kids, are you?  I can understand where it might be a little intimidating – especially considering my younger boys– when you haven’t had kids of your own, but we don’t have to do that right away.”

He was actually being very sweet, she thought, taking a glance at his thoughtful eyes.  Sheridan had survived Riley’s two girls and Cole’s twin boys.  His kids couldn’t be any worse.  That wasn’t what she had on her mind, either.

“Actually, that’s not entirely true…” she quietly contradicted, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake by doing this.  He’d been so trusting on this trip, letting her into some of the secret corners of his life…  They were moving further down the relationship road.  She might be further down the road than she knew, because it seemed right to share this with him. Her family didn’t even know, but she wanted to tell him.  How crazy was that? 

Don’t admit it if you’re not ready, but don’t lie to yourself.  Whether you meant for it to happen or not, you’re falling for him.

Maybe she was.  Maybe she already had.  Today wasn’t the day for soul searching, and she was already about to bare more of her very private self to him.  Yet another part that only he would know.

The way you’re letting him in…  He’s going to have the power to decimate your heart when he walks away.

She gagged the annoying voice in her head.

“Remember when you asked me if I had children?”

“Yeah…”  His forehead furrowed, understandably confused as to where this was going. 

“I wasn’t completely honest with you.”  She immediately gripped his hand, refusing to allow him to snatch it away when it was his first reaction.  He didn’t like being lied to, and she understood that, but if he would just listen before he got upset...  After she further qualified her statement, Sheridan was confident that he would understand.  “Please don’t.  Not until I finish.”

At her words, he stopped and Jon released the insistent pressure he was exerting.  With a slow nod and guarded eyes, he allowed her to keep his fingers locked between hers, murmuring a wary, “Okay.”

“I’m not sure how well you know Karl,” she began, using her other hand to sandwich his and stroking her thumb along the ball of his thumb.  “But he and Suzy have been married about fifteen years now.  Since the day after Suzy and I graduated college.  You might have noticed that he’s quite a bit older than her?”

“I hadn’t really paid much attention, but yeah, now that you mention it.”

“Well, that made him anxious to have a baby as soon as they got married and Suze was all for it.  Since she’d grown up as a lonely, only child, it was her intention to have three or four kids.  She figured the sooner the better.”

A small child and her parents walked by, drawing her attention.   The little girl’s red hair and brilliant green eyes struck a chord and Sheridan’s heart pinched.  She could have been a miniature version of Suzanne. 

Or Madison.

“Sounds reasonable,” Jon’s commentary drew her out of her musings.  “I take it that didn’t work out?  They have a kid, though don’t they?”

“Yes.  Madison.”

“Didn’t she get sick the night of Karl’s party?”

“That’s right.”

Everything had been flowing up until that point, but the conversation seemed awkward now.  There was no way to seamlessly lead into the rest of this story. 

You started, now finish.  It’s not that big of a deal, you know.  People do it all that time.

But she didn’t do it all the time, and it was a big deal to her. 

“So, anyway…  They tried for several years to get pregnant, but they just couldn’t make it happen.  After multiple visits to countless specialists, the end-result was that – for whatever reason, and despite the fact that her body went through the monthly motions – Suzanne wasn’t producing eggs.   I believe that the charming diagnosis was ‘barren’.”

The hand he’d been so eager to jerk away earlier, now gently compressed in a ‘hand hug’.  She concentrated on those square-tipped fingers and the comfort they tried to offer when he said, “That had to be difficult to hear.”

“Mm.  Not just for her, but for those closest to her.  Karl, obviously.  But I was almost as devastated as she was.  Children weren’t something I’d necessarily thought about, yet Suzy’s excitement and continued hope sucked me in.  Every month, I’d be right there with her, either in person or by phone as she took that test.  Then, when she found out it was never going to read positive, she fell into the deepest depression.  I would’ve done anything to put the smile back on her face.”

The memory of those dark, gray days chilled Sheridan even in the radiant California sunshine.  It had been awful to see Suzanne’s dreams come crashing down around her, leaving her devastated and forlorn.  Sheridan hadn’t been able to stand it.

“And I did.”

“What exactly does that mean?” he gently requested clarification.

Tipping her face up to his, she squinted one eye and told him, “It means that, unbeknownst to my family – husband, parents, sister, brother – I underwent an egg harvest and donated a number of eggs to Suzy and Karl.   Madison was the result of the second fertilization atempt.”

“So,” she told him with a sheepish smile.  “I might not have any children of my own, but my DNA is alive and well.  That’s my deep, dark secret.”

Jon stared at her, taking in her beautiful features and a little bit awed.  His gut had told her she was much more than…  Well, just more.  The proof that she’d given him, though…?  Whether it was her intention or not, it made him feel things he wasn’t ready to feel yet. 

So he played it off with lightness.

“That’s all ya got?  That’s your deep, dark secret?” His tone was playful when sliding a hand into honey-gold waves and pulling her in for a kiss that told more of what he was thinking than his actual words.  Carefully parting their lips, he butted his forehead against hers and continued his act of nonchalance.  “I can see I have my work cut out for me, here.  You need a good corruption if you’re gonna keep up with me and mine.”

Her breath was sugary sweet when she laughed softly into his face.  “She’s still got a lot of eggs put away for a rainy day.  I might have a whole DNA distribution army before it’s over.”

“Please…” he snorted, rearranging his pose and tucking her into his side in such a way that they were both looking at the trapeze school.  This weekend had been an eye-opening experience in more ways than one.  Any feelings he’d been holding in reserve when it came to Sheridan were fighting their way to the surface, and he didn’t want her to catch a glimpse of them just yet.  Not when he wasn’t ready to deal with them himself.

“Half the people I know have somebody else raising their kids.”  Jon tugged playfully on a silky blonde lock and rested his lips alongside her temple.  “You’re gonna have to come up with something better than that, Kitten.”

“I’m never going to be good enough?  Is that what you’re saying?”

You’re probably too good.  That’s what I’m saying.

But he didn’t let her hear that thought.  Instead, he lifted an arrogant shoulder and tilted his head into it.  “If good is bad, maybe.  But we can work on it.”

She went rigid next to him, and Jon feared he’d taken the teasing too far until she pointed a cherry-red nail at a spot just down the pier.  “Hey, look.  It’s a fortune teller.”

Following her finger, he saw that she was right.  There was a funky, hand-lettered banner hanging from a makeshift canopy.   MaDaME ZizsKa KnoWs aLL.

“Reminds me of Madame Marie’s setup in Asbury Park before she made the big time.”

“Wanna get your fortune told?”

He rolled his eyes, finding it hard to believe a smart woman like Sheridan would buy into the hokey crock of a fortune teller.  “Baby, I make my own fortune.  You’ve gotta know that stuff is a buncha shit and that the ‘Madame’ is more likely to run a whore house than predict the future.”

She tried to disentangle herself from his grip, but Jon held tight as she struggled.  “Oh, for God’s sake Jon.  I’m not naive.  Of course I know that, but if you’re not going to let me on the trapeze then I have to find another way to humiliate you.  It’s either this or a bicycle built for two.  Now what’s it going to be?”

Tossing his head back, he cackled, both enchanted with her and grateful for the lightheartedness that had reclaimed their afternoon. 

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m gonna be spotted on a bicycle built for two.  Not happenin’, Baby.”

“Okay.”  She bounded to her feet when he let her squirm free.  Waggling her fingers, she beckoned for him to join her.  “Fortune teller it is.  And, to show you that I’m not entirely cold-hearted and unfeeling, I won’t even make you pay for your own humiliation.”  Popping up on tip-toe, she bumped his lips with a quick smooch and wrapped her mouth around a devilishly innocent grin.  “This one’s on me.”

35 - Saturday Morning

“Dammit…” he breathed, dick knocking angrily against his zipper.  He’d spent too much time with Social Sheridan the last couple of days.  Kitten had snuck out and sunk her claws into him while his head was turned.  “This side of you floors me every time.”

“Floor?  It would be a shame to pay all this money for a nice suite, and then do it on the floor.”  Hands still immobilized over her head, she arched her back and propelled her breasts toward him.  The blatantly stiff nipples protruded through the thin layers of her clothing and gouged his bare chest.  “Don’t you think?”

“Little girl…”  Jon rolled his hips, proving that his erection was every bit as hard as her nipples by burying it in the soft plane of her belly.  “I’m about to drop your panties around your ankles and bang your sexy, smart ass right here against the wall.   Don’t try me.”

Angling her head a bit to one side, she sighed softly against his ear and mused, “I think I just came.”

Jesus H. Christ, he enjoyed this sex kitten.  Ready and raunchy, she was any man’s bedroom fantasy come to life.  She knew just which buttons to push and, with her around, he would never need any damn little blue pills.

A crude hand plundered under her shirt, ruthlessly roaming the smoothness of her abdomen and then roughly palming a heavy breast.  “Nah.  You scream louder than that when I make you come.”

She hissed.  Honest-to-God hissed against his jaw and bucked her hips with enough force that he had to plant his heels in the carpet to keep from going off-balance.  “Then stop screwing around and make me scream.  Tequila can wait.  I can’t.”

This was absolutely nothing like what he had planned, but he was up for it.  Damn, was he up for it.

Abruptly releasing her wrists, his hands went to the button at her waistband and pulled with no mercy until it popped free.  Zipper was the next victim, quickly followed by jeans and panties being shoved impatiently down to her thighs.  It gave just enough leeway to force his hand into the gap and find her saturated slickness.  Two fingers voraciously burrowed into her grasping heat while his thumb attacked the pulsing nub that breathed with a life of its own.

Her surprised gasp at the abrupt intrusion melted into a porn star whimper when he withdrew his fingers and gave a hard flick of his thumb. 

“My girl is so fuckin’ wet and ready,” he growled, his other hand executing a punishing grip on her left hip.  “If I put my face down there, I’d drown.”

“God, you’re filthy.”

His dick surged at the breathily moaned words.  Jon couldn’t stand it anymore.  He spun her by both hips to the nearby couch.  The teeth of his zipper rasped in a timbre that matched his voice.  “And you crave my filth.  Now grab the arm of the couch and bend over so I can get my dick inside that hungry pussy.”

She shoved her jeans down to her ankles while his dropped to his thighs, bending as he asked without a peep of protest.  On the contrary, she peered over her shoulder with such lust, that when the pink tip of her tongue licked over her top lip, his dick jerked with another surge of blood.

“Hold on.  Gonna be hard and rough.”

Her keening cry was as that of a cat in heat, and it magnified into a full-blown yowl when he slammed into her without further warning.  The delicate white globes of her bottom jiggled from the impact and he groaned at the visual, his palm itching.  Still buried deep inside her grasping channel, he landed a firm ‘smack’ on one cheek.  Sheridan’s squeak of surprise had her inner muscles clutching at him even as his handprint materialized in a rosy shade of pink.

“Jon!”

“I warned ya, Kitten.”

With that, play time was over.  One wide hand splayed over her hip and the other stretched forward to twine in the cascade of blonde waves as he pummeled her from behind.  The dainty grunts that rattled in his ears as she accepted his punishment only made him swell bigger and pound harder.  Jon curled both hands around her waist for support when the couch slid a bit from the impact. 

“Is that all you’ve got,” she panted, knuckles white against the cushions.  “I thought...  you were going to... make me scream.”

Another sound ‘pop’ gave her butt cheek a second handprint and she growled, grinding her hips into him.  Challenged and ready to blow, Jon bent low over her back, his punishing right hand now snaking around to find the hard little pearl straining to escape from her humid folds.  It stood stiff and proud, demanding attention that he was eager to give.  Flicking, rubbing, tugging and teasing….

“Oh Goddd….” It wasn’t a scream.  More of a quiet mantra that Sheridan repeated over and over, punctuated with short hisses of sucked air.

“You will scream… for me,”  he predicted ominously, harsh breath rattling in Sheridan’s ear.  He would make damn sure of that.   Her hair tickled as he nosed it out of the way. 

By God, he might not be able to dance, but he had unfailing rhythm.  Fingers skated in the pot of sex honey, while his hips fervently pounded a different, staccato beat.  Both were a sensual onslaught that had her hair damp from the exertion of holding back. 

“Don’t ever…  deny… what I can do to you.”  With that, Jon’s teeth greedily sank into the curve of her neck.

He may as well have been chewing through her restraint, because Sheridan let loose with a wail.  Her strangled shriek peaked and ebbed with the contractions of her inner walls, and the rippling of that sensitive tissue along his length had Jon singing along in perfect harmony. 

❧❧❧

“Hi.”  Sheridan looked up from her spot on the suite’s sofa and couldn’t stop the easy, contented grin from sweeping over her face.  She was completely and totally relaxed, thanks to the massage Jon had so thoughtfully scheduled for her this morning.  The massage therapist had been outstanding, and although Sheridan didn’t say anything, she had picked up a few pointers during the fifty minute session.

“Hi.” 

Jon swept off his hat and flicked it onto the coffee table before stooping to kiss her.

Wrinkling her nose, she shrunk back after only a quick peck.  Sweat may look sexy, but it didn’t feel, smell or taste all that sexy. 

“What?”  He put on a playful scowl, and chucked her under the chin with a wink.  “I run five miles on the beach to keep my ass in shape, and this is the thanks I get?”

Unfazed, she arched a haughty brow at him as he fished for a bottle of water in the mini-bar.  “Excuse me?  I believe you and your in-shape ass were paid sufficient homage last night.”

The unrestrained laughter that resonated throughout the suite delighted her.  Carefree Jon was a guy she really liked, and Sheridan was smart enough to know that he wasn’t always this way.  Even though he was ‘taking a break’, she’d spotted Workaholic Man in brief, intermittent spurts during their time together.  It wouldn’t take much for him to take the weight of the world on his shoulders, so she appreciated this for what it was worth.

“True enough,” he admitted dropping heavily onto the couch and slumping toward her.  “But that homage was a two-way street.”

Without a doubt.  After the first round of hedonism, they had gotten around to tequila shots, and Jon sipped from her as though she were fine crystal.  She could still feel the texture of his hair-covered stomach on her tongue, and taste the tang of his lime-drenched skin.  Tequila sex was off-the-charts good, ranking near the top of her ‘do-over’ list. 

“No argument,” she readily acquiesced, dropping her hand comfortably onto his thigh and fingering the hem of his long running shorts.

He returned the favor, wrapping his fingers around the knee that was exposed by the opening of the plush hotel robe.  She hadn’t felt like putting anything more on when the masseuse left a little while ago. 

“How was your morning?” he asked conversationally, picking up her hand and folding it in his.

“It was amazing.  Thank you for arranging the massage.”

“You’re welcome.”  He touched his lips to the back of her hand.  “I thought you should be on the receiving end once in a while.”

“Mm.”  This felt so normal.  So right.  He was so easy to be with.  Going home and back to their regular lives would be a bit of a letdown. 

But you’ll have the holidays to keep you busy, and your new project.   It wouldn’t hurt to mention that to Jon, so he doesn’t get blindsided by it.

She would, but not right now.  Right now she wanted to hide under a big umbrella on the beach with a matching miniature umbrella sticking out of her drink glass.

Sheridan shifted onto her left hip, cheek resting comfortably on the back of the brightly patterned floral sofa.  Jon followed her movement, pivoting his head so that their noses were only a short distance apart.  The need to touch that ruggedly handsome face became overwhelming, and she lifted her free hand to stroke lazily along the contour of his jaw.   The salt and pepper stubble tickled her palm.

Good looks, yes, but more importantly, he’s got a good heart.  Does it get any better than that?

“You’re a pretty likable guy, Bongiovi.”

He snorted softly.  “Don’t you mean fuckable?”

“That, too,” she teased with an affectionate smile, acknowledging that he was fuckable and then some.  “But I like you aside from that.  Enough that I’m not looking forward to the end of this little pit stop in paradise.  Are we still set to fly back tomorrow?”

“Funny you should mention that…  I was gonna ask if you’d like to stay an extra day.  I’m not quite ready to let go of the sunshine and seclusion.”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

“Good.”  He inched forward until their lips touched in a soft kiss.  “I’ll call Dot and then grab a shower.  Whatcha wanna do today?”

She grinned against his mouth.  “Besides you?”

“Besides me,” he chuckled, releasing her hand so that he could slide his under her robe.  Palming the smooth bare thigh he found, he reminded her, “I’m an old man.  We have some time in between rounds.”

“You’re not that old, but I’ll show you a little mercy,” she conceded, slipping from his grasp and standing to cinch the belt on her robe a bit tighter.  “Santa Monica Pier?”

“Sounds good.  I haven’t been there in years.”  He pushed against the couch cushion pushing himself more fully upright, leaning forward and propping his forearms on his knees.  Smiling at some unspoken memory, he looked up at her, saying, “Last time I stayed here, I don’t think I went more than ten feet outside my door.  Just far enough to hit the sand and sun.”

That was the second time he had mentioned a previous visit.  Sheridan couldn’t help but wonder who had accompanied him on that visit.  Was this a spot he frequented with his women?  It wasn’t really any of her business, but she was curious just the same.

“So you’ve been here often?  Or just the one other time?”  Yes, it was a stupid ploy to get information from him, she thought, freeing her hair from its ponytail, then re-tying it.  Amazing how a forthright woman was reduced to subtlety and roundabout coercion when the ghosts former girlfriends and wives nipped at the edges of Nirvana.  She should just ask if he brought all of his bed buddies here.

“A couple times.  Once by myself, and once with a friend.”

Friend was code for woman.  Right? 

“A friend like me?”

Oh for God’s sake, Sheridan!  Stop playing games already.  If you have a question, ask it in no uncertain terms.  If not, move on!

Jon pushed to his feet, meeting her eye-to-eye.  “You’re not my friend.  You’re not even my lover.  You’re my girlfriend, Sheridan.  The only one since the divorce.  Is that what you wanted to hear?”

She respected his forthrightness enough to offer him the same.  Never dropping the blue-green visual connection he’d made, she said plainly, “No.  I like hearing it, but I don’t need our relationship status repeated on a recurring basis.  You were clear about the role you wanted to play in my life, and I expect that you’ll tell me if that changes.  What I really wondered was whether you made a habit of bringing women here.”

Eyes wide, he cocked his head to the side.  “I’ve liked your honesty from the beginning, but are you always going to be so blunt?”

“I…”  She was a little bit embarrassed.  “Probably.”

He laughed and curled his fingers around the robe’s belt, pulling until she topped forward into his chest. “Good.  And what if I do make a habit of bringing women here…?”

She arched a snobby eyebrow at him.  “Then you’re a tacky creature of habit.”

“Tacky creature of habit?”  He shuddered melodramatically and rocked his head back and forth.  “Thank God I’m not one of those.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m not,” he confirmed, sweeping in for a quick kiss.  “Not this time, anyway.  John Shanks and I holed up here for a weekend during the Lost Highway era.  No women.  Ever.”

The fact that her heart sang at that tidbit of information made her something emotionally equivalent twelve-year-old girl.  Sheridan was certain of it, but she didn’t care.  Having a man’s respect was something to giggle about in her world.

“Have I mentioned that you’re a pretty likable guy, Bongiovi?”

34 - Are We There Yet?

“Are we there yet?” she teased in a whiny, singsong voice. 

Jon hit the turn signal for the next exit off of the Santa Monica freeway, his smile flashing in the headlights of an oncoming car.  “Almost.”

“In four hundred feet, turn left,” the robotic voice of the GPS instructed. 

Richie’s party was undoubtedly still in full swing, but Sheridan had been uncomfortable there.  Despite the previous night’s occurrence, their host was drinking enough to keep up with the rest of the guests.  He might not get drunk, but he wouldn’t be feeling a lot of pain tonight and she couldn’t shake the awkwardness she felt around him. 

Sensing her discomfort, Jon had leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Did I tell you I had a surprise planned?  Go pack your stuff.  I’ll make our excuses and tell Rich we’re heading out.”

Within twenty minutes, they had stolen away in one of Richie’s cars – a silver Aston Martin.  Their weekend bags were in the trunk and one of Richie’s acoustic guitars tucked in the back seat.

“What’s that for, and where are we going?”

He chuckled quietly and told her practically nothing, “That’s for playing and we’re going someplace where we can play.  It’ll be less than an hour.  Think you can be patient that long?”

“Hmpf.”  The mock indignation was belied by the soft hand she casually rested on his thigh.  “Only an hour?  So much for Paris.”

“Would you rather spend time traveling…”  He waggled his eyebrows and copped a lecherous grin.  “…or playing?”

She snuggled down into the seat, the luxurious leather perfectly cradling the contours of her body.  “Mm.  Depends,” she mused, swiveling her head to the left and eyeing him appreciatively.  His chiseled features were at the mercy of oncoming traffic, first hidden in shadow, and then bathed in light.  He was a beautiful man.  “I can’t play a musical instrument, so traveling sounds like more fun.  Yahtzee, though…  I do love to play a good game of Yahtzee.”

“One of the kids might have put it on my phone, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Smiling serenely, she turned her head in time to catch a glimpse of a highway sign.  “So did you have this kidnapping up your sleeve all along?”

“Kidnapping?  You mean I’m taking you against your will?”  He frowned, and then nodded thoughtfully.  “Not that I’m opposed to the idea of taking you against your will…”

A shiver rocketed down her spine like a sharp icicle.  Sheridan couldn’t say she was all that opposed to the idea either. 

“This isn’t exactly how I had it planned, but yeah…  I knew I wanted us to have a little time away from reality.  By ourselves.”

Sheridan barely kept herself from snorting in a very undignified manner.  “Because we live such ‘real’ lives.  We’re in a pornographic fairy tale right now, Jon.  It’s not like work and responsibility have reared their ugly heads too much in our short time together.”

“Jesus.  I was trying to be nice,” he huffed with a conspiratorial wink.  “I really just wanted to fuck you someplace warm, that didn’t have my best friend snoring just down the hall.  The plans were to spend one more night at Richie’s, but, after last night, I moved the timetable up a little.”

Pulling against the confines of her seatbelt, she stretched to put soft lips against his jaw.   “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  His eyes never left the road, but she reveled in the slight curving of his mouth.  After that, the bulk of their trip was carried out in a companionable silence, scored by the musical genius of The Rolling Stones, Beatles, and half a dozen other classic rock gurus. 

When the GPS trilled, “Your destination is on the right,” Sheridan ducked her head, peering out the windshield for a clue as to what their destination might be.

The hotel was lit with what seemed to be hundreds of lights, with one bulb shining on each balcony.  Between that and the festooned shrubbery at the entrance to the drive, Sheridan had no trouble making out the sign that read “Shutters on the Beach”, but the name didn’t mean anything to her.  It wasn’t a chain hotel, and she didn’t frequent this coast, so it was unfamiliar.

 “Shutters?”

“Yeah.”  The car easily slipped into Park.  “I’ve been here once before.  It’s nice.  Quiet.  Right on the beach.”

One valet magically appeared at the driver’s door, and his counterpart stealthily eased Sheridan’s side open and offered her a hand.

“Good evening, and welcome to Shutters.  Checking in, sir?”

“Yes.”  Jon slipped the man a folded bill, as he called for a bellman.  “Be nice to the car, would ya?  My friend is very protective of it.”

Without bothering to look at the denomination on the offering, the young man smiled widely.  “Absolutely, sir!  I’ll treat it like it was my own.”

“Better yet.  Treat it like it was your father’s.”  A restraining hand gripped the valet’s arm before he swooped into the driver’s seat, and Jon’s shaggy head dipped meaningfully.  “You get me?”

“Loud and clear, sir!”

Sheridan leaned into Jon with a playful nudge in the ribs when he came to escort her into the lobby.  “As annoyed as you were with Richie last night, I’m surprised you’re so protective of his car.”

“Hmm.”  Jon glanced down at her and lifted a considering brow. “You want I should tell him to rough it up a little?  Sideswipe a Jag or Beemer with it?”

Rolling her eyes at him, she enjoyed the lightness they shared.  Things had gotten too heavy at Richie’s, and she very much appreciated this little escape. 

Her level of appreciation hit a new high when they stepped through the door of the Beach House Suite.   It was large, light and airy, with shuttered French doors leading to at least three balconies – well, porches, since they were on the ground floor – that she could see.  Any lingering tension vanished as soon as Jon closed the door behind the bellman.

“I love it,” she pronounced, eyes devouring everything about the casually opulent accommodations until he caught her by the waist and pulled her close.  Sheridan smiled up into his face, complimenting, “This is what a beach escape should look like.”

“Almost, but not quite,” was his contradiction as he bent to nip at her neck, laving the mark with his tongue to ease the sting.  “There should be hot, naked women.  That’s what a beach escape should look like.”

Sheridan tilted her head, granting him better access to her neck, a privilege he immediately took advantage of.  When he seized the tender flesh between his teeth and clamped down, she sucked in a wounded breath before her body translated the pain into desire and shot it directly to her core. 

“I thought you’d given up marking me,” she mentioned breathily, tunneling her fingers through Jon’s hair from nape to crown.  It was tacky and crass to wear the proof a man’s incivility, but the intensity and heat with which he branded her was a hardcore dose of sexual excitement.

His tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat, swirling languidly in the shallow notch before nibbling again.  This one went straight to her nipples and she could feel them instantly digging into the textured lace of her bra.

“I’m a possessive biter.  Get used to it.”

The skin on her thighs danced with goose bumps beneath the black denim of her jeans, and he yanked down the scoop neckline of her top.   Sheridan almost toppled off the heels of her boots when Jon’s tongue snaked into the exposed valley between her breasts, sending her rock hard nipples into a state of petrification. 

“Jonnn…”

His breath huffed over the quivering flesh.  “You smell like limes.  It makes me crave tequila.”

Neither of them drank anything at the party, in the interest of setting a good example for Richie, but how much more intense would this be with a little alcohol buzz?

“I want tequila,” she rasped, dragging his face from her bosom.  “I want to drink it from your hairy, rock-hard abs.  I want to get drunk on you.”

“Damn, I’m glad I had the bar custom-stocked.”

She drank in his lusty grin and heated gaze the way she wanted to drink shots from his navel – greedily and with excited anticipation.  “Does that mean we have tequila?”

“We have more tequila than you can shake a piñata stick at, my thirsty Kitten.”

Planting her palms against the dark fabric of his button-down shirt, she lifted a questioning brow.  “But do we have limes?”

“Scurvy…”  He pulled her hands away and bent to lick at her lips.  “…will not be an issue.”

She giggled softly, and directed her fingers to the top button, pushing it through the hole to reveal the first slice of his delectable chest.  Making her voice as deep as humanly possible, she winked at him and invited, “Then let’s get it on, Baby.”

Jon’s blonde brows immediately slammed down over troubled eyes.  He gripped her shoulders and pushed her far enough away to get the full impact of his stern glare.

 “Promise me you’ll never do that again.  I am not fucking Barry White.”

She sank sharp teeth sank into her bottom lip to keep from laughing like a loon as her fingers continued their mission.  He could be a royal ass from time to time, but there were times when she wanted to kiss him until neither of them could breathe.  Men his age weren’t supposed to be cute, but he was.  Or could be, anyway.

“I don’t think he swings that way, Stud,” she told him on a sad sigh, the last button slipping free. 

Sheridan was dumbfounded, as always, and stopped to visually devour his beautifully sculpted torso, sexily framed by open shirttails.  Eventually, she wouldn’t feel the need to observe a moment of silence when he went from dressed to undressed, but… 

God, the man has the most amazing body. 

“You…”  Her wrists were locked up in a hard one-handed grip, and he backed her against the nearest wall, pinning them above her head.  “…are gonna get your ass spanked, Ms. Comedian.  That really wasn’t where I wanted to take this tonight, but you’re not giving me much choice.  Discipline before drunken debauchery.”

Heat flooded from her chest, up her neck and into her face.  Whether it was from embarrassment or desire, she wasn’t quite sure.

Yes you are.  You’re so turned on you can’t stand it.  Now what are you going to do about it?  Tequila or torture?  Choose wisely….

His handsome features were fuzzy in such close proximity, so she gave up trying to focus and closed her eyes, blindly straining forward.  She had no trouble finding his hard, familiar lips, and flicked a sultry tongue out over them. 

“As long as it ends with you fucking me, I don’t much care how we get there.”