55 - Who Possesses Who?

Jon watched her curvy bottom sway enticingly with each step she scaled and ruefully shook his head.  He was screwed if she ever figured out the number she could do on him with that body of hers.  It took no more than a tempting flash of her light golden skin to get him seventeen kinds of distracted from everything but her.

Go ahead.  Act like it’s just her body that has you infatuated.  You know that all got blown to hell this week.  When you waded through the shit storm and she was still standing next to you on the other side?  Things got real.

Scooping up his leather overnighter, he grunted with a touch of disgust.  It was too early to be losing his head that way.   There was plenty of time for all that mushy, gushy crap later. 

In the meantime, he had a woman to shackle.   Jon’s dirty smirk kicked smile-lines into his face. 

And tackle. 

When he approached the bedroom and paused in the doorway, he found that it was more-or-less dark, illuminated only by the glow of little white Christmas lights.  Evergreen and some kind of berry tickled his nostrils as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, seeking out her shadowy form sitting Indian-style in the middle of the fancy gold comforter.

She had fluffed her hair out again for him, bringing it forward over her shoulders.  That was nice.  It served to highlight the fact that she’d considerably lowered the zipper on her hoodie.  Her cleavage was now on softly lit holiday display.

“It smells awful Christmas-y in here.  I thought you had a fake tree?” he asked, dropping his bag in the floor beside the dresser. 

“I…  Uh, I knew you were spending the night, so I cleared a spot for you in the closet.”  She pointed toward the door that he knew was home to a sizable walk-in.  He’d watched her get dressed in there on the ill-fated morning that he had his head up his ass and walked away with no intention of coming back.

Funny how things change.

“And, I went ahead and put a new toothbrush on the counter,” she added with barely a pause for breath.   “I wasn’t sure about any other toiletries, but the shampoo in the shower doesn’t smell girly if you want to use it.”

Silently following her instruction, he flipped on the closet light and saw that she had, indeed, made space on a shelf – and also scrunched her hanging clothes closer together.  There was a foot-wide expanse of bare rod available for his hanging needs.  Jon smiled bemusedly as he retrieved her gift out from the leather bag and tucked it into his back pocket before stowing the bag. 

He’d never had anybody go to the trouble of arranging closet space and toiletries for him before.

“I know that probably seems weird,” she called, her volume declining rapidly when he emerged and closed the door behind him.  “You’ve spent the night here before, but I’ve never gone into it knowing you were going to spend the night.  It’s been a really long time since I had a sleepover – like never – and I wasn’t sure of the proper etiquette.  It was easier to go ahead and look like an OCD freak and make all the neurotic preparations than to worry about it while you were here.”

While she spoke, Jon had been steadily approaching the bed, his smirk growing bigger with each anxiety-tinged word.  She hadn’t been this nervous since before she stormed the Jamaican honor bar.  Planting one knee in the mattress, he levered forward to curl his hand around her nape. 

“Sheridan?  Breathe, baby.  It was very thoughtful, and I appreciate it.”  He captured her lips in a clinging kiss before settling down on his left side and pushing a fist under his head to prop it up.  “Now,” he prompted, nudging her with his knee.  “Your smelly fake tree?”

Rubbing an easy hand along his thigh, she acted as though she’d forgotten he asked.  Nodding toward the dresser and a little square vase with sticks poking out of it, she said offhandedly, “ It’s just some scented oils to make it festive in here.  Did you forget my little aromatherapy hobby?”  

“No,” he lied.  He had forgotten, or just put it out of his mind since she never really talked about it.  “I just didn’t put the two together.”

“Uh huh.”

Bypassing her blatant – and perceptive – skepticism, Jon pulled a slim gold package out of his back pocket, the metallic red ribbon springing free and reflecting dots of light from the tree.  “I got you something,” he announced needlessly.

She slowly retracted her hand from his thigh to receive the proffered package, a dainty crease etched between drawn brows.  “You do realize this was unnecessary?  I consider this night together such a gift that I don’t need anything else.”

“Oh, gaaaawd,” he groaned pathetically, his head falling forward in agonized defeat.  “You’re one of those.”

“What’s that crack supposed to mean?” The thwap she landed on his arm clearly conveyed how unimpressed she was with his bout of melodrama.

“One of those…”  Finding his falsetto he squeaked out, “’Oh you really shouldn’t have!  My needs are so simple – a twig, a rock…’”

The shock on her face was beyond priceless, and Jon threw his head back cackling when she screeched “Shut UP!” in a pitch so high that he was sure only dogs could hear it.  “I hope you went broke with whatever is in this damn box, Bongiovi, because I’m a greedy, materialistic bitch who’s only in this for the baubles you can give me.”

Snorting rudely, he flipped his hand in the air.  “Just open the thing and pretend that gettin’ a present ain’t a fate worse than death.”

“Fine.   I’m actually excited to see what you picked out for me.”  She worked the bow free from the box without untying it, and fixed him with a wary look.  “Or did your assistant pick it out?”

“Jeri had nothing to do with this one.”

You’ll know that when you see it.

Relief filled him when she haphazardly tore at the paper.  He’d been afraid she would be one to slit the tape to preserve the paper so she could use it again next year.  It wouldn’t have surprised him, but by the time he had the thought and let it go, she was pulling the black velvet box from its protective cardboard encasement.

The hinges were silent when she snapped it open, and so was she.  Sheridan’s mouth puckered into a perfect little ‘O’, but not a peep passed her lips as she intently devoured every detail of the jewelry nestled inside.

Jon had chosen a bracelet for her.  It wasn’t the flashiest in the display case, thus its appeal.  It was a study in understated elegance, making it a perfect match for the woman he wanted to wear it.  White gold links connected to a matching, narrow bar housing a single row of sixteen diamonds. 

For him, though, the piece de resistance was the ring connecting the two parts.  About the size of a quarter, with an open center the size of a nickel, it was actually the centerpiece of the bracelet, despite its offset position and lack of diamonds.  Etched in the curve of the ring was a single word:  POSSESSION.

When she finally rendered herself un-mute, it was with a reverent, “Jon, it’s beautiful.”

“I dunno about beautiful,” he deflected, maneuvering his uncooperative joints into a seated position and reaching for the bracelet.  “But it’s meaningful.  So you don’t forget you’ve been possessed and by who.”

He flipped it over to show her the two tiny words engraved on the back of the diamond-filled bar:  “My Kitten”.

“A girl doesn’t forget a man who possesses her as fully as you do,” she whispered throatily as she carefully touched the pad of her finger to the inscription, making his libido leap to attention.  Sheridan held her wrist out for him to fasten the bracelet.  “But I’m flattered that you rushed right out to find a more durable replacement for your signature.”

The clasp fastened, he allowed the gold to settle against her skin and turned her arm over, touching his lips to the inside of her wrist.  “I already had the bracelet when I did that.”

"Really?"  Sooty lashes fluttered up at him as he relinquished his grasp.  If her eyes were a soft shade of brown instead of green Jon would have called the wide look of surprise 'doe-eyed'.   

"Yes, really.  You were already mine, Sheridan.  That night only proved I was right in claiming you."

Without losing that look, she tipped her head incrementally to the right.  Beyond that she didn’t move.  She was as still as a doe caught without warning in an unprotected meadow.  “I… don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t say anything,” was his gruff solution.  “You kiss me.”

The combination of the gift, the evening and the man had Sheridan’s chest thrumming with a giddy heart.  He was a shot of pure adrenaline.  Danger wrapped in a coat of fuzzy security, coaxing her to take a risk with him – a walk on the wild side.

Tucking socked feet under her bottom, she accepted the invitation.  Sheridan rose to her knees and slowly levered forward until quivering mouths were separated by no more than a shallow breath.  “Thank you,” she whispered before sweeping his lips, gently pulling the lower one for a lazy suck. 

The groan that rattled in the back of his throat as he threaded sure hands into her hair curled her toes, and then he forced a shift of power, exchanging his lip for hers.  The first sharp nip was immediately soothed with the healing swipe of his tongue and followed by an apologetic curling of his tongue around hers, reminiscent of a hug.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured after the delicate ‘smack’  when the suction of their kiss was broken.  His lips glistened in the light, a bit puffy from overuse, and they fully enamored her.  She was struck not just dumb, but stupid by the things she wanted to do to his mouth.  To have his mouth do to her.

Don’t just sit there.  Give him his gift, Sheridan.

“I got you something, too.”  Twisting away, she pressed her torso to the mattress to extend her arm over the edge of the bed and grip the hard painting frame with the tips of her fingers.  With a soft grunt, she sat up and hauled it with her, the blue and white snowflake paper rattling when she stood it between them.

The lesser side of the two-foot-tall canvas and frame stood between them, leaving only her eyes showing.  Spanning her arms the three foot width, she curled her hands around the edges to stabilize it before tipping her chin up to rest on the edge of the package.  Jon was reared back inspecting it with exaggerated curiosity. 

She donned an outwardly confident smile and a case of last-minute jitters had her wondering if she’d made a mistake.  Those jitters were telling her this gift may be too personal or, worse yet, it wouldn’t mean anything to him.  Perhaps this memory was hers alone. 

That would be awkward.

“Merry Christmas,” she forged ahead.  It was too late to do anything about it.  All she could do now was hope the painting was half as significant to him as the bracelet was to her.

Shaggy blonde locks shook sadly, his blue eyes brimming with remorse.  “Baby, I hate to tell you this, but I don’t need another pair of cufflinks.”

“You are such an ass sometimes.”

Swooping in for a kiss, he chuckled.  “Guilty.”

Jon knew the gift was a picture of some kind – the shape was a dead giveaway – but he was exceedingly curious about what hid inside the navy blue giftwrap with the snowy white bow.  Seeing as she’d never been to his apartment, he didn’t know what kind of artwork she would be compelled to choose.

“Go ahead and take it.”

Passing the package into his grasp, she scooched back a bit and gave him space to tear away the paper.  Jon was all guy when it came to this kind of thing.  He wasted no time on formalities or drawing out the anticipation, he just picked a spot in the middle and poked a hole.  Working his finger inside the hole, he moved steadily downward, splitting the paper as he went until the opening was wide enough to slip his hand inside and tear sideways.

The colors that peeked out were… vibrant.  Most everything he could see at first was pink, red or something in between.  It was only he pushed the paper aside, and the canvas was fully revealed, that he saw the halo of black surrounding the dominant slashes of color.

An inky night was split by the lightshow of Mother Nature’s temper tantrum.  The varied hues of pitch were split by jagged streaks of pink-tinged light as lightning rods were hurled into the ocean, staining it such a deep shade of red that it was almost burgundy.

“Does it remind you of anything?”

Sheridan took the crumpled paper away as the painting sucked Jon into the depths of its slightly abstract form, eager to tell its story.  Rather, prompting memories of his own.  No, the sky hadn’t been exactly that color, but he’d seen a storm like that not too long ago.

In Jamaica.

He was awake as soon as the mattress shifted.  Jon watched from behind sleepy eyelids as she slid out of the bed and wrapped his shirt around her naked body.  There were the muted sounds of the bathroom and the kitchen sink as he waited impatiently for her return. 

When she didn’t come back and he instead heard the terrace door, he slid from under the sheet to investigate.  What he found was enough to stir his flagging erection back to life with the enthusiasm of a man half his age.

Sheridan’s face was tipped up to the sky, the gentle breeze that trailed behind the storm sending her hair swirling.  That same breeze was ruffling the tail of his stark-white shirt enough to play peekaboo with the curve of her bare ass.  Each bolt of electricity that struck the ocean’s surface lit the sky and encased her in an ethereal glow, making her seem like a nymph of the night who drew her power from the lightning.

As she drew her power, she also drew him, and for once in his life, he didn’t overanalyze what his goofy song lyricist side was spouting.  He succumbed to it.

“What are you doing?” he asked padding quietly forward, careful not to startle her as he slipped his arms around her waist. 

She shivered in his grasp, glancing back at him in the darkness.  “Watching the lightning.  The way it lights up not just the sky, but the whole sea…  It’s breathtaking.”

The next bolt struck and he followed her gaze out to the water, trying to see what the fuss was about.  All he saw was an organic fireworks display.  Nice, pretty even, but not breathtaking.  Jon stepped closer, his thighs brushing hers in their effort to urge her toward the terrace wall.

“Nah, it’s just lightning.  You’re breathtaking.”  He bent to take a bite out of her neck, unaccountably obsessed with tainting the smooth skin with his presence. 

Just words.  Sometimes he had a gift for the right words at the right time, and Jon had no qualms about using that in his favor.  Adding another page to the story of his life, and the chapter of this one night stand, was definitely in his favor.

He worked his hands up under the shirt, brutalizing her swollen nipples between his thumbs and forefingers as he pushed his hard-on into her softness. 

“Not me, us.  Sex between us.”

Her throatily rasped words had been like a match to a powder keg. 

He picked up her hands and planted them on the coarse stone wall, covering them with his own as he slid his dick into her heat.  Those mysterious feminine muscles hugged him and he shimmied his way in and out of that hug in short thrusts, hard bursts, long strokes, abrupt possession.  Then he did it again in reverse and sideways and up and down until the world started to tilt and the cloud-covered sky became filled with the stars behind his eyes.

Jon tore his gaze from the painting to find her watching him intently, worry etched into the fine lines of her face.  He tried to dissuade her worry by allowing his mouth to curly faintly, but couldn’t make the smile reach his eyes.    The answer to her question was far too introspective and profound to allow for true light-heartedness.

It’s the night Fate convinced Karma to give me what I needed instead of what I deserved.

The attempted smile faded as an unfamiliar feeling took up residence.  One he hadn’t felt for a very, very long time.  Helplessness.  That one thought was enough to decimate the illusion that he had control over what was going on inside him. 

Rather than squirming over the uncomfortable fact that he might very well be at her mercy, Jon claimed the bit of control he did have.  That he would always have. 

“Yeah,” he verified quietly, carefully setting the painting off the edge of the bed and leaning it against the nightstand.  Turning back, he reached for her.  “I remember.”

“Oh, thank G-“

Jon silenced her with a kiss whose scorching heat was stoked by the memory her gift evoked, and made all the hotter by where they found themselves tonight.   Their continually growing familiarity should be breeding sexual boredom, but such was not the case.  He wanted her just as much now – no, more – than he did then. 

Why? 

Because then he loved how she came unglued in his arms.  She was open and uninhibited, giving herself over without reservation.  It was a complete and total turn-on.  But now?  Now he knew that wasn’t part of her usual behavior.

It brought home what he already knew – that HE was the one who made her come unglued into a hissing, spitting, howling feline.   She was HIS Kitten, just like the bracelet said.

Fingers firmly entangled in her hair, Jon eased her down until she her shoulder blades rested against the comforter and she was blinking quietly up at him in the subdued light.  Eyes riveted to hers, he reached for the zippered front of her hoodie, and incrementally eased it down until it fell wide, exposing her bare torso and leopard-clad breasts. 

The look on his face held Sheridan both captivated and breathless.  There was no sexy smirk when he caught glimpse of the printed lingerie, only a soul-searing intensity that he did his best to consume her with before he levered forward on his hands to nip at the ball of her shoulder.

For every concentrated bite, nibble and nip he dotted across her shoulders neck and torso, he followed it with a healing kiss.  The ink on her wrist wasn’t enough.  The bracelet wasn’t enough.  Jon was never going to be happy unless she bore the proof of his passionate possession.  Wriggling under his touch got her hands pinned to the mattress at her sides while he worked his amorous mouth over the tops of her breasts down to her tummy.

Nosing her elastic waistband out of the way, he swiped his thick tongue over her navel and her eyelids drifted shut.  The chills that followed were a direct contradiction to the flames that charred her insides.  There was no comparison between his touch and anything else she’d ever experienced.  It was purely volcanic and held the same mystical lure as the ancient volcanoes, begging her to jump in the midst of the devouring lava so that she could be spewed free at an appointed time – his appointed time.

“Oh, baby.”  Her whispered breath was no more than a ghost of a sound as the coarse texture of his hair tickled between her fingers, but it was enough to give him pause.  The soft swipes stopped just above her bikini-line and the mattress shifted. 

Sheridan opened curious eyes to find him hovering above her, staring intently.  “What is it?”

He shook his head, saying nothing, but the intensity of his gaze held her hypnotized.  There was something lurking in the depths of those gorgeous baby blues and Sheridan couldn’t quite put her finger on what.  It was almost like he was trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle and she was the last piece, but he couldn’t get it to fit the way he thought it should.  He studied her with confusion and a bit of uncertainty as he worked on the solution.  

Before she could ask again, his mouth covered hers and completely derailed any coherent train of thought.

It was the marked end of any verbal communication.  From Sheridan’s perspective, they didn’t need it.  Everything they had to say they said with a touch, a kiss or a look.  The clinging way they embraced throughout their lovemaking – yes, lovemaking – spoke volumes to anyone caring to listen. 

Sheridan cared to listen.  Very much so.  

An invisible tide had shifted tonight.  Perhaps a more accurate description was that an artistic representation of a tide had shifted them tonight.  Jon never told her what was going through his mind after he opened the painting, but she knew he got the sentiment she had intended it to convey.

That night, like tonight, had changed her life forever. 

  

**Next After the Rain posting will be Thursday, March 7 as Audra and I are both off to Florida for this weekend's shows (she's on a plane right now, in fact).  We'll be a little more focused on the real Jon than the fictional Jon for a few days.  :o)  Hope this extra-long chapter will tide you over sufficiently.  As always, thanks for your readership and support!!  ~♥blush

54 - Catnip

Jon’s unhappy eyes dragged Sheridan’s smile down with it.  She was getting published, and wanted him to be excited for her.  Was that so wrong?  Why did he look like she’d just scheduled a root canal for him? 

“She found somebody who wants your writing, huh?  I don’t remember talking to her,” he joked, the ghosts of discontent overshadowed by his light words.

Okay, good.  I was wrong.  He looks and sounds fine now.

“I wouldn’t dream of letting her talk to you,” she chided gently, flexing her toes to continue their subtle game of footsie under the table.  “But the people at Cosmo?  I kind of liked her talking to them.  They want a series of four articles.”

“Cosmo?  The magazine?”

“The one and the same.”  Sheridan nodded her enthusiastic confirmation, waiting for his excitement to build.  It was unlikely that he would be as pumped about it as she was, but he would naturally be thrilled for her.  That’s how relationships went.  You reveled in one another’s accomplishments. 

“Oh.”

Or not.

Fully extending her reach, she lightly curled her fingers over his forearm.  “You’re not exactly brimming with enthusiasm.  What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong.”  The sentiment was polite and politically correct for the situation, but the sincerity behind it was sorely lacking.  He didn’t even break eye contact with the wineglass he was bringing to his lips. 

“Yes, there is.”  Avoidance games weren’t something she had a lot of tolerance for.  If there was a problem, she preferred to acknowledge it, address it and move on.  “Tell me.”

“I said there’s nothing wrong,” he reiterated decisively.  “I’m a little concerned about your new hobby, but I don’t wanna talk about it tonight.”

“Jon, if you have a problem, we should talk about it.  Putting it off isn’t going to solve anything.”

Huffing quietly, he lifted her hand, using a subtle guiding pressure to coax her into standing.  When she was on her feet, Jon scooted his chair back from the table and brought her around to perch in his lap. 

“Sheridan…”  Strong arms anchored her safely in place when he scooted her around so that they could see one another.  “I don’t have a problem, and nothing’s wrong.  I just want to make sure you’re seeing the big picture.  It can wait.”  He brushed back the loose locks of hair from her face.  “It’s Christmas Eve.  Peace on earth and all that jazz.  Let’s just enjoy it… and us.  Okay?”

It wasn’t okay.  If she hadn’t been so keenly anticipating this night all week, she would have put up a fight and demanded that they deal with this here and now.  But…  she had been anticipating and wanted a nice night as much as he did, and that meant she was willing to compromise her beliefs.  Temporarily.

“We will talk about this right?”  Peering down into the blue eyes she could clearly picture without seeing, she admitted, “I can’t see you being the sullen type and not willing to share your opinion, but I want to be sure.”

Those muscular arms locked down around her waist again, hugging her close as he nosed his way into the crook of her neck with a snort.  “Baby, I got no problem sharing my opinion.  You’ll be asking me to keep it to my damn self in no time.”

“Good,” she giggled, squirming in his lap when greedy lips tickled a particularly sensitive spot .  “I hate that passive-aggressive stuff.  It gives me ulcers.”

“Speaking of which...”   He gave her two sharp taps on the butt.  “Hop up.  It’s time for catnip.”

“You brought catnip that will give me ulcers?  What is that?  The gift that keeps on giving?”

His geeky laugh had Sheridan grinning as she cleared away their plates.  Her boyfriend was, undisputedly suave, sophisticated, and refined.   

And yet when he gets tickled, he sounds like such a dork.

It was one of her favorite things about him – that tiny chink in the façade of the ‘perfect’ man. 

“Aren’t you the clever little kitty tonight?” The sarcasm was muffled as he bent at the waist, rummaging in his overnighter.  When he extracted a white box tied up in red ribbon, Jon resumed his upright position and held it aloft.  “It’s not a gift, per se, just something I ran across.  Come open it.”

“Let me clean up dinner before we start opening anything.  It won’t take five minutes and then I can relax.”

“Damn neat freak,” was his only teasingly grumbled protest as he set the package on the table and carried what was left of their place settings and dinner the short distance to the kitchen.  With her guidance, he stowed the placemats and napkin rings, put the napkins in the laundry and tucked the unfinished bottle of wine in the fridge.

In the promised five minutes, everything was restored to its former tidiness and she hovered over him as he patted the couch and taunted her with the beribboned box.  “Come sit with me and open this thing already.”

“If we’re opening gifts, I need to go upstairs and get yours from under the tree.”

“I told you it’s not a gift.  Open this, and then we’ll go up to the tree and do gifts.”  Impatient fingers waved her over.  “C’mon already, Slowpoke Rodriguez.”

“Okay!  Okay, Speedy Gonzales,” she countered on a huff, flopping down heavily beside him.  “I see you’re keeping your gift wrapper in a job.  That white box and red bow look awfully familiar.”

“Hush your sassy hellcat mouth and open the damn thing,” he growled shoving it into her lap and twisting sideways, putting his left leg under him so he could watch while the bow fell away. 

“Oh…  my word.”  There, in a nest of protective tissue paper was a bottle of tequila.  Mind you, not just any bottle of tequila, though…  Sheridan was overcome by giggles, inspecting the designer container. 

Very similar to the ‘Leg Lamp’ in “A Christmas Story”, this bottle was a modeled after a woman’s foot, ankle and lower calf.  The foot, however, was encased in a brown, leopard-pattered high heel shoe,  a delicate gold ankle bracelet looped elegantly around the ankle, and the agave tequila was kept safe inside with an orb-shaped stopper in the same pattern as the shoe – and the lingerie she was now wearing, coincidentally enough.

“You and your cat fixation.  You’re crazy!”

His grin was a mile wide as he hopped up off the couch and foraged in her cabinet for glasses.  “I’ve been called worse, and prob’ly by the guy who sold it to me.  He was lookin’ a little concerned at my selection,” Jon confessed, taking the bottle and pulling the stopper with a ‘pop’.

“You really think you need to get me drunk on Christmas eve?”

“I’m not getting you drunk,” he corrected, handing her a juice glass that sloshed with its splash of Mexican mojo.  “We’re having one drink, because you can’t open booze and not drink it.  The rest of it we’re going to save for body shots.”

Sheridan’s brows arched as he closed the bottle and lifted his own glass.  “Body shots?”

“Oh come on.”  Disbelief seeped from the three short words, before he reverted to the dark voice that sent heated chills through her.  “You didn’t think I’d forget did you?  This tequila is ultimately gonna be sipped from every beautiful bit of your body, but tonight’s just an appetizer.  I’m starting with your mouth.”

The blinding orgasm before dinner may as well have never happened.  Her nerve endings thrummed with heated anticipation of his sipping, wondering if he truly meant that ‘every bit’ bit.  She would gladly be his shot glass. 

Although…

“You’re going to drink tequila from my mouth?” Skepticism tainted her blissfully smutty horizon.  Not only did what he was proposing sound tricky, it was a little bit gross.

He chuckled, swirling the tequila lightly in his glass.  “Obviously not the way you’re thinking.  We’ll both do our own shots, but I’m gonna be all over you before it has a chance to dry on your lips.”

Her nipples stabbed against the leopard lace bra cup and her folds bloomed against the matching panties, rendering yet another pair uselessly wet. 

“You realize there will come a time when it’s takes more than a few words to turn me into a panting, panty-drenched whore?”

“Ooo…”  He sucked air through his teeth, the creases in his cheeks digging deep under the weight of his full grin.   “Baby, if I knew I had that kinda power I would’ve been flaunting it a long time ago.”

“Bull,” she declared flatly, yet with a diminutive grin of her own.  “You’ve been flaunting it since the day we met.”

He held his hands up in helpless defense, thumb and index finger gripped tightly around the glass so that it didn’t tip.  “Pleadin’ the Fifth…  I refuse to answer on the grounds that what I say may incriminate me.  Now drink.”

If he weren’t so damn cute, he’d be annoying.

She held her glass up to match his, a single nod indicating her readiness.  Both simultaneously went bottoms up, and Sheridan had barely pulled the glass from her mouth when it was captured by Jon’s seeking lips.  Hard fingers knotted in her hair as he delved into the soft alcohol-laden recesses. 

Helpless to do anything but whimper, she pliantly submitted herself and savored him as he drank his fill.  His flavor blended with the smooth, crisp tequila in such an intoxicating way that, if she could bottle it, she would be a raging alcoholic inside a week.

“Yeah,” he breathed, the warm air blowing chills over the dampness of her lips.  “Sign me up for body shots.  You make tequila taste better than wine.”

“Mmm…”  His hand was gently kneading the back of her neck, and she leaned in to sip again from his mouth.   She would never tell him something as silly as what she’d just thought, about becoming a raging alcoholic, no matter how tempting.  Only puppy-crushed teenage girls did that kind of thing.  “You don’t totally ruin the taste either.”

“You’ll pay for that, my snarky little kitten,” he chuckled quietly, climbing to his feet and urging her to join him.  “Let’s go upstairs.”

She let him enfold her hand as she slowly rose from the sofa with a cattily arched brow.  “Are you anxious to get your Christmas present?”

“No,” he denied, bussing her cheek and then bringing her ‘tattooed’ wrist to his lips.  It was as though he were slightly obsessed with the souvenir he’d left behind last time he was here. 

She was no better.  Sheridan had taken embarrassingly good care of it, protecting it as much as humanly possible in the shower and during hand washings.   The ink was still dark and very legible, but it was starting to turn the tiniest bit faint and blur around the edges. 

“I’m anxious for you to have yours, though.”  One blue eye winked cockily.  “And to have you afterward.”

Her tummy muscles crinkled with sheer delight.  He could say anything in that husky, sexy, Jersey drawl and she was in.  No questions asked.  Well, only a few questions:  where, when, how and what could she do to help?

“A man who’s a giver,” she cooed, stroking the strong jaw that was starting to show signs of evening stubble.  “I have to say I like the sound of that.”

He leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose, and then immediately swatted her bottom, chuckling at her indignant squeak of protest.  “Then get your sweet ass upstairs.  I’ll grab my bag and meet you by the tree.”

53 Dessert and Dinner

Another glance at the clock showed that it was three minutes later than the last time she had checked, making it ten minutes past six.  The potatoes were in the oven, the filet mignon was ready to go under the broiler, asparagus awaited its time on the stove-top grill, and the salad was chilled.

Tucking one leg beneath her, she perched upon the sofa and snatched up the stereo remote, changing it to contemporary Christmas songs instead of holiday classics.  She grinned when she placed the melody to Jon’s “Please Come Home for Christmas”.

Tapping her toe and mentally blowing Cindy Crawford a raspberry, she smoothed her hand over the faux fur collar of her cardigan.  Its dark chocolate was the perfect foil for the blonde locks that she’d elegantly twisted at the back of her head. 

I’m ready, the food’s ready and he’s late.  Does he realize the waiting is killing me?

Her imminent demise was forestalled by the much-anticipated sound of the door buzzer.  Never had that obnoxious noise been sweeter.  

“Halle-freaking-leujah,” she mumbled, hopping up and very nearly racing to the front door.  After a quick check of the peep hole, she tightened the sweater’s belt and wiped her hands over denim-encased hips – hands that trembled with excitement.  She would pit her level of excitement against any child in New York and their visions of sugar plums. 

This was going to be a Christmas Eve to remember.

Don’t pounce on him.  Show some decorum.

Drawing one last hormone-calming breath, she pulled the door wide with a ready smile lighting her face.  “Hi.”

He wasn’t smiling, but he was still gorgeous in jeans and black leather.  His magnetism was multiplied by the uncontrolled, predatory gleam in his eye.  The tousled mop of golden-hued hair on his head supplemented that idea, bringing to mind a lion’s mane.

Locked in his sights, Sheridan, giddily enough, felt like an keenly stalked gazelle as he broached the threshold with purpose.   Adrenaline surged, causing her heart to race as defensive instincts had her backpedaling and her ballet flats clicked lightly against the hardwood. 

A battered leather bag hit the floor with a muted ‘thud’ a millisecond before his hands framed her face, pushing into her carefully constructed coif with an untamed rumble.  Sheridan gasped softly as the door slammed shut, but that did nothing more than invite his plundering tongue inside her mouth on a voracious exploration.

The guttural moan that rattled deep in her throat was unrecognizable as a human noise.  With the touch of his lips, she’d morphed from a hunted gazelle into a lioness seeking her mate and matching his aggression with equal ardor.  Her arms vined around his neck as her ribcage was compressed by his crushing embrace. 

In the grand scheme of time it had only been moments since they’d last been wrapped this tightly together, but it felt like light-years and that it would be an eternity before it happened again.  Everything had to happen now.  They had to seize the moment before it was no more.

“I want you,” he rasped unnecessarily, his lips shiny from her attempt to devour them.  “I can be civil and polite after, but right now I want you so goddamn bad I can’t stand it.”

“Civil and polite can go to hell.”  Clutching at the shoulder s of his jacket, she jerked at it until it drooped halfway down his back. 

Jon shook it free with a growl, and then reached for the belt on her sweater, tearing at it until he could force it into a chocolate cashmere and fur puddle in the honeyed wood floor.  He ripped at the button on her jeans, shoving them down as she kicked aside her shoes and clawed at the hem of his shirt.

“Fuck!  The hellcat is even hotter than the sex kitten.”  

She scarcely heard him as she wadded the soft gray Henley in her fists and shoved upward.  Suddenly, she thought she might lose her mind if she didn’t get to ravage the rug of downy fur that cloaked his chest and stomach. 

With his help, the shirt went flying and she greedily roved over each strand of hair that marked him as a man. 

“Off.”  He was the one pushing avidly now, at the hem of her shirt.  “And take your damn hair down.”

The pins came out easily, landing on the floor with the rest of their discarded things, as she lifted her arms to be free of the shirt.  A quick shake of her head had the messy waves settled around her shoulders and Sheridan zealously resumed her foray of his chest, but Jon cuffed her wrists in his fingers and pushed her away, scorching her skin with his hungry gaze.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph…”

She savored the thrill of feminine delight that rattled her heated core.  The raspberry silk teddy with the lace-up front had been an extravagant purchase that had just paid for itself ten times over.

“Like what you see?” she purred, encasing his denim sheathed hardness in her palm and squeezing.  Heaven knew she certainly liked what she felt.  And she wanted to feel more of it.

“That thing open at the bottom?” was his gritted response as his belt buckle clanked and his zipper sighed.   Jon toed off his boots as he shoved his pants down.  Her mouth practically watered at the sight of the bulging vein that fed the swollen purple head of his erection.  “Because if not, you’ve got about five seconds to get it off before I shove it aside, and I ain’t promisin’ it will survive.”

Goose bumps did a Bunny-Hop formation down her spine and she brazenly declared, “I’ll take my chances.”

Kicking his jeans away, he spun her around by the elbow, positioning her back at his front and walked her the dozen-ish steps to the sofa.  Every inch of the way she was profoundly aware of his stiffness cradled against her bottom.  Each movement had the smooth firmness chafing torturously against flesh that was hyper-sensitive to his touch, and it made her ache for the relief it promised.

“That’s not the only thing you’ll take,” he hissed softly, planting her hands on the wide sofa arm.  The chocolate chenille was soft and giving when she curled her fingers into it, her hiss echoing his without words.

In fact, those were the last actual words that passed their lips for some time. 

Her skin passed his lips when he sank even, white teeth into the curve of her shoulder and sucked, renewing his mark on her.  Her skin passed her own lips as she bit down on her hand when he gluttonously claimed her desire-slicked sheath as his own.  His finger passed her lips when he offered her the tip of it to suckle while he rocked his hips, the sofa and her world.

What passed through both their lips were anguished cries melded of equal parts desperation, desire and detonation.  They rang in Sheridan’s mind even when she lay slumped over the arm of her sofa, spent and relishing his weight on her back..

“Kitten?” The now beloved endearment rattled heavily in her ear.  That ear was the last stop in the trail of kisses that he’d just blazed all along the curve of her shoulder as an expression of lazy satisfaction.  She, however, still too breathless to answer properly, made do with a weak grunt.

“Should whatever is in the oven smell like that?”

❧❧❧

“Need help?”  Jon sidled up next to her at the kitchen counter and encircled her waist, dropping a splayed palm over her hip.  He was a lousy kitchen helper, but offering got him a handful of her sweet ass – for a minute anyway.

As though she knew his limited helpfulness, she tipped her face up for an indulgent kiss and gestured behind him.  “Salad’s in the fridge.  Grab it and have a seat while I pull these twice baked potatoes out of the oven.  Everything else is ready.”

“Yes ma’am.”  His hand slid away with a lingering caress and he plodded to the refrigerator in his socked feet to complete his assignment.  “I like twice-baked potatoes, by the way.”

“Good thing, since you made me overcook the once-baked variety.”

Chuckling, he winked at her.  Her feigned irritation wasn’t fooling anybody, and he didn’t care about the damn potatoes.  Priorities were made to be followed and taking the well-primed edge off of his pent-up sexual frustration had been Priority One.  “The potatoes weren’t the only things overheated.”

The baking pan rattled as it found a home on the stovetop and he carefully scooted the candles away from the place settings to make room for the wooden bowl.  When he turned, she was all serene smiles as she plated the food. 

“I missed you.”

Her quiet admission was uttered as a simple statement of fact, without turning away from her task.  She didn’t seek his reaction.  She didn’t say it for his reaction.  It just was, and he loved that.

“Back at you, Baby.”

The candlelight danced in her eyes as she delivered his plate and put her own on the adjacent side of the table.  Between that glow and the hair that he’d asked her to leave down cascading around her shoulders, she couldn’t have been any more beautiful.  Even a fancy cocktail dress wouldn’t look any prettier on her than the casual pink sweat suit she’d changed into after saying he’d mussed her beyond repair.

“I brought something for after dinner.”

“Oh?” She slid into the chair, lifting a brow at his casual comment.  They slid the dark green cloth napkins off the table at the same time, Jon smirking as she tucked it into her lap.  The damn things matched the trim on the fancy Christmas plates.  “What did you bring?”

“Catnip.”

“Pour me some wine, smartass,” she laughed, nodding toward the open bottle of Pinot Grigio. 

He grinningly did as she asked, taking care not to spill on her the table she’d decorated so festively for their dinner.  Jon didn’t have a lot of appreciation for candles, evergreen and all the rich shades of Christmas, but he did appreciate that she’d gone to the trouble.

“Mark my words, Kitten.  You’ll go wild,” he predicted, presenting her glass with a flourish before filling his own.

“I thought I already did.”

He chuckled around the fermented sweetness in his mouth.  “Different kind of wild.  At least to start with.”

“You’re an awful tease.”

Dinner was good – great, actually – and the company was even better.  They talked about a little of this, and a little of that:  family, holidays, work.  She told him things had gotten uncomfortable after her date with Rick and that she wouldn’t be doing massage training with him anymore.  Jon skillfully tamped down his pleasure at that bit of information, diverting to the elephant that hovered not so much in the room, but in the hallway. 

“Has your friend Bridget heard anything about a source for our leak?” he asked, burrowing his socked toes between hers and the floor under the table.  It was his idea that a little footsie would distract from any possible lingering friction over this topic.

She carefully aligned her silverware across the center of the nearly empty plate in front of her with a slow head shake.  “No.  Still not a word.  But…”

Why does she look nervous?

“But what?” he slowly asked, not sure he was all that excited about the answer.

Leaning forward on her elbows, a slow grin maneuvered her mouth into the shape of happiness.  “She found someone who’s interested in my writing.”

52 - Car-Pool Tunnel

Sheridan shut off the garbage disposal, then the kitchen faucet and tore off two paper towels to blot the moisture from the freshly prepped asparagus.  Wiping her hands on the towel that was tucked into the waistband of her candy-cane-striped apron, she turned to the refrigerator for the salad ingredients.

Soft Christmas music, candle-lit table, dinner preparations are under control, his gift is wrapped and under the tree…  Everything’s just the way it should be.

Her stomach fluttered with anticipation.  Unable to stop thinking about his naked body pressed against hers, she had found herself in a lingerie shop yesterday, shopping for something a little special.

She hadn’t seen him since leaving Rockefeller Center three days earlier, and she was looking forward to seeing a lot of him tonight. 

On second thought, she realized that wasn’t exactly true.  She had seen him.  Several times a day in the pictures the paparazzi had snapped of them at Rockefeller Center.   There was one in particular…  He had just kissed the inside of her wrist and was giving her the smoldering gaze that spontaneously dampened her dainties.  She’d gone through a lot of panties in the last three days, courtesy of that immortalized moment in time.

Her panties would have to wait though.  She would finish getting this salad ready, toss the potatoes in the oven so that they were ready to bake.  Then she would be free to change clothes and into that new silk teddy. 

Checking the clock, Sheridan found that she had just enough time to do all that.  Jon was supposed to be here around six o’clock.

Merry Christmas to me.

❧❧❧

Jon grumbled at the snarl of traffic preventing his re-entry into the city.  Technically, it wasn’t preventing it so much as hindering it to death. Cars moved at a slow crawl into the tunnel, and he presumed getting inside didn’t grant a magic wormhole that would instantaneously transport him to Tribeca.   The whole thing was an ugly obstacle to a beautiful woman that he had been without for too long.

Five days and he’d gotten to do nothing more than kiss her cheek, kiss her wrist, talk a little dirty to her on the phone at night, and…

And memorize that damn article nearly word for word. 

To say he was frustrated was putting it mildly.

With a helpless sigh, he draped one wrist over the steering wheel and absently counted the number of tail lights between him and a much anticipated Christmas Eve reunion.  Even worse than the mess detaining his reunion, it gave him way too much time to rehash – and stew over – the brief visit with his ex-wife.

It was all fine and dandy at first.  The kids piled into the house with their bags of ‘stuff’ that they couldn’t leave at one house or the other, bestowing  happy hugs and kisses on Mom.  All the kids except Romeo, who begged that Jon carry him in.  Of course, he hadn’t minded a bit.  After spending so much time with them in the past week, Jon was feeling a little clingy himself.  Particularly with Romeo. 

In an effort to reinforce the idea that his youngest never had to worry about being abandoned, Jon had spent extra time with him, even resorting to playing the video games he so despised.  He’d gotten pretty good at Mario Kart, if he did say so himself.  Jake and Romeo only beat him half the time now.

Not only did he soothe the desertion fears, but Jon thought he had also brought a healthy dose of reality to the littlest Bongiovi’s world by laying out the facts about Christmas.  All of the Christmas Day activities that wouldn’t involve Mommy, because Mommy was staying at her house while they went to Gramma and Grandpa’s.

The outcome of his efforts remained to be seen, but he was hopeful, and was riding that proud parenting buzz as Romeo rode his back into the foyer.  The buzz was tragically short-lived when Dorothea zapped him with her disdainful what-the-hell-have-you-done-now look.

He hated that look.

“Jon, could I talk to you in the kitchen, please?”

Letting Romeo slither to the floor, he patted his boy on the back and sent him after his siblings.  “G’wan, buddy.  Lemme talk to your Mama.”

Worried brown eyes looked up at Jon, ripping at his heart.  “Santa comes tonight, Daddy.  We open presents in the mornin’.  You’ll be here won’t you?”

“Yep,” he comforted his son with a reassuring smile and affectionately ruffled his hair.  “Eight o’clock, just like I promised.  Now scoot.”

Appeased, the little guy shuffled off to his room and, probably, another one of those blasted video games.  Jon shook his head with a smile and then turned to the woman who had – regrettably – become his personal ball-buster as of late.

“What’s up, Dottie?”

“Let’s talk over a cup of coffee,” she said, leading the way toward the kitchen.

He grimaced, unhappy about curtailing his return trip, but maintained a light and friendly tone.  “Alright, but I need to keep it short.  I’m supposed to be back in the city by six.”

“And I’m sure what I want to talk about is the same reason you’re supposed to back,” was the wry speculation she offered over her right shoulder.   

“Dorothea…”

“No, Jon,” she interrupted, calmly pulling mugs from the cabinet.  “You don’t get to ‘Dorothea’ me.  Not this time.”

“And why exactly is that?  Did my love life get rezoned into the jurisdiction of your sovereign reign while I wasn’t looking?”

The bottom of a heavy earthenware mug scraped against the marble countertop when she pushed it his way and gestured for him to fix his own coffee.  “Cute.  Amazing what you can come up with when the blood is flowing to the big head.”

“For Chrissake, is this what I’ve got to look forward to for the rest of my life?” he complained, replacing the coffee pot with a clatter.  “We.  Are.  Divorced.  At your request.  Now can we move on and be adults?”

“Oh, I’m very much being an adult.”  She curled her fingers around her own mug, casually leaning against the cabinet and sipping.  “Better yet, I’m being a parent.”

Dark, droplets made almost no visual impact on the black marble when he clunked his coffee onto it with annoyance.  “Stop playing word games and just tell me what God-awful travesty I’ve committed now.”

“I saw the pictures of you playing kissy face with Buxom Barbie while our children ice-skated in the background, unsupervised.”

“Jesus,” he hissed, valiantly trying to keep his pique in check.  Would it be too much to ask that she found a guy to date, so she’d be less obsessive about his dating?  The divorce sucked, but at least there was a definitive end to it.  This had the potential to go on forever.  “You’ve never been a snarky bitch before, or unkind to somebody you don’t even fuckin’ know, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start with Sheridan.  You don’t know shit about her, so drop it.”

“You’re right,” his ex-wife unexpectedly concurred.  “And I apologize.  It’s not her I’m put out with anyway, it’s you.  You don’t have the kids that often.  Why is it so hard to give them your undivided attention?  Or to keep them out of situations where the damn vultures can’t help but swoop in with their cameras?”

Apology or not, he wasn’t any less tweaked with her.  “For your information, that whole thing happened because our oldest son was chasing after a pretty little blonde who happens to be Sheridan’s niece.  He was the one who begged me to invite them skating after he scoped her out the restaurant where we were all coincidentally having lunch.  Stephie, our child who's legally an adult, had Jake and Romeo right there with her.  If Sheridan hadn’t been there I would’ve been on the outside of the rink, further away from the boys than I was on the ice.”

“But –“

He held up a silencing hand.  “No.  That’s the last time I will explain myself to you.  My kids will never take a back seat to anyone.  I’m a damn good father, and you know it, so stop givin’ me a ration of shit that I don’t deserve.”

“I don’t want them in the tabloids!”

“Neither do I!”  A deep breath staved off a full-on CEO flare-up, and continued in a much more even voice.  “But you and I both know that, with my job, there are no guarantees it will happen.  We had this conversation eighteen years ago and agreed that it’s not fair to deprive them of the closest thing to a normal life we can give them.  That includes ice skating.”

Her eyes were still dancing with indignation, and the set of her mouth precluded any kind of Hallmark moment.  Dorothea would love to rip him a new one.  After thirty years, he recognized the signs as plainly as a bright red stop sign.  She opened her mouth, then closed it.  Not once, but twice.

She wasn’t going to give into the urge, though.  Couldn’t. 

Because he was right.

An hour-and-a-half later, he was still hovering on the edge of being pissed, but he was confident he wouldn’t have to address the issue again.  Jon had made his point clear and if Dorothea had any inkling of who he was, she would let him mind his own business and trust him to take care of their children.

Anger and impatience were slowly giving way to anticipation as the hood of his car eased out of the tunnel and into the brightly lit holiday skyline of New York City.  Minutes now.  It would only be minutes until he was knocking on Sheridan’s door.  Minutes until he pushed his way into her apartment and knocked the breath out of her. 

I’ve missed you, Kitten.

51 - Rock On

A bright pink hat and scarf with a flurry of blonde hair between them caught Jesse’s eye as he picked Romeo up from the ice for the third time in the last ten minutes.  His little brother was never going to get the hang of this, and Jesse’s already limited patience just hit its limit when he spotted the girl from the restaurant – Mandi.

Frowning, he realized that Mandi wasn’t unaccompanied.  She was with his dad’s “very good friend”, which he interpreted to mean “girlfriend”.  It was the first time they’d been introduced to someone Dad was seeing, and his feelings were ambiguous.  Yes, his dad deserved to be happy, but – like Romeo – he’d kind of been hoping his parents would reconcile and get back together.

With the shake of his head, he grabbed Romeo by the arm before his butt could hit the ice again and decided his own romantic life was more interesting than his father’s. 

“Steph,” he called to his sister, who was having much better luck keeping Jake upright.  “Help Romeo.  I see somebody I know.”

Her shrewd blue eyes zeroed in on the girl outside the rink and she puckered her mouth into an unimpressed scowl.  “I see who you think you know.”

“Aww, jeez, c’mon Steph.  Cut me a break here.”

Haughtily rolling her eyes, she informed him, “I’m cutting you a break only because I’m curious about Dad’s friend.  Come here Romey.  Jake… stay close.”

 After both little brothers were securely on their feet, she waved to her father, who was sipping coffee along the railing.  A nod of her head indicated the direction that Jesse was going in, and Dad’s eyes followed, lighting up when he spotted the group of females from lunch.  He lifted his hand in a wave of thanks and strolled in that direction, a grin evident even on his scarf-shrouded face.

He really seems to like her.  I haven’t seen him look that happy in a long time.

“Hi.”  The darker haired of the two girls from lunch skidded to a stop beside her.  “I’m Ashley.  Need some help with skating lessons?  I have two cousins about their age and we just taught them to ice skate last year.”

“I’m Stephanie, and sure.  That would be great, actually.  Jake is the one in the red hat.  He’s doing a little better than Romeo.  I don’t think he’s going to fall, but if he does, maybe you could help him back up again?”

The girl’s smile was friendly and she agreed without hesitation.  As she skated toward the middle Bongiovi boy, Stephanie called out to him, “Jake!  That’s Ashley, she’s going to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” he staunchly announced mere seconds before his feet slid out from under him.  “Ouch!  Darn it!”

“Yeah, like I said…”  Extending a hand to the youngest of the brood, she encouraged, “Come on Romeo.  One foot in front of the other…”

Pleased when he managed to scuffle a short distance without landing on the ice, Stephanie dared trust him enough to turn her attention to Ashley.  “So…  What does  your aunt do for a living?”

If this woman was going to date her father, she’d at least like to have the peace of mind that Sheridan wasn’t going to take advantage of him.

Ashley’s bright blue scarf lifted along with her shoulders.  “She used to own a bunch of bookstores, but she sold them to be a hippie – or so my mom says.  Aromatherapy and other weird things, I think.”

A hippie.  That’s… interesting.  And so very not Dad.

“Hello again, ladies,” Jon greeted his girlfriend and the sister that strongly resembled her, pulling his wool scarf away from his mouth to speak.   While his mouth was unfettered, he bent in to press a lingering kiss against Sheridan’s cheek.  She was beautiful with her nose and cheeks the same shade as the hat and scarf matching the cherry-red sweater he knew was under her jacket.  “Fancy yourselves a spin around the ice?”

“Not me,” Sheridan declined with a laugh.  “I’ll end up sprawled on my face like Bambi.”

“Oh, bull.”  So far, Jon liked the feisty Riley.  She didn’t seem to have any trouble speaking her mind, and that pleased him.  Based on their brief phone conversation and the things Sheridan had said about her, he’d been a little afraid she would go all fan-girl when they met.  “You do just fine.  Go get your skates, and get him some, too, while you’re at it.  I want to talk to him for a minute.”

“No.”  The stubborn tilt of her chin delighted him.  “No way in hell I’m leaving you alone with him.  I don’t trust you.”

“Oh, please,” Riley pooh-poohed.  “What am I going to do?  Show him embarrassing baby pictures?  I don’t have any with me.”

“S’ok, Kitten.  I won’t listen to a thing she says.”  Her eyes sparkled when he winked at her.  “Promise.”

With only a minimal amount of grumbling, she got his shoe size and unwillingly trudged toward skate rental.  He was actually surprised at how little of a fight she posed.  Maybe she had an ulterior motive in getting him out on the ice and, if so, he was an idiot for agreeing to this.  He couldn’t skate for shit, either.

“Sooo…”  Riley led in with a discerning lift of the brow that arched over emerald eyes that were eerily like her sister’s.  “How did the whole Christmas shopping thing work out?”

“I’m…  pleased.” 

“Yes, but the question is, will Sheridan be pleased?”

Thinking of the black velvet box that was in the top drawer of his dresser, wrapped in red and gold, Jon could answer with confidence.  “Yeah, I think she will.” 

“That means you’re not going to tell me what you got?”

He tossed his depleted paper coffee cup into the trash bin a few feet away, then turned his mega-watt smile on her.  “That’s exactly what it means.  But I put your insight to good use if that makes you feel any better.”

“I’m a nosy woman, Mr. Bongiovi.  The only thing that’s going to make me feel better is seeing it in person.”

Laughing outright in her face didn’t earn him any favors with Riley, whose blonde eyebrows knit with annoyance.  Yes, he definitely liked Sheridan’s sister.  “Then I guess you’ll feel better on Christmas day, if she wears it, Ms. …” He realized he had no idea what her last name was.

“Mason,” she grumbled good-naturedly, as Sheridan returned clutching both the skates and the new world record for speediest rental.

“Did she drive you nuts?  Or embarrass you?  Or me?” his kitten interrogated with the proficiency of a well-seasoned vice cop.

Jon accepted the scuffed black ice skates with a chuckle.  “No on all counts.  Your sister is quite charming in her own pit bull kind of way, and I kind of like the way she flusters you.  You’re usually so...together.”

“Yeah, well leaving the new man in my life with the woman who knows all my embarrassing secrets is enough to make anybody a neurotic mess.”

“Oh, get over it already,” Riley demanded with a delicate snort.  “Blood is thicker than pheromones.  Most of the time.  Although… my lips would get pretty loose for good seats at Madison Square Garden.”

Throwing his head back, Jon chortled with delight.  Riley Mason was a character, and he loved the way the sisters interacted.  It reminded him of his brothers, without all the bawdy swearing and name-calling.

Sheridan cinched up the last lace on her skates with a feminine grunt and stood, now a good three inches taller than her sibling.  With a glare down her aquiline nose, she condescendingly informed Riley, “Mom still doesn’t know about what happened to her heirloom clock the night of your junior prom, but I do.  Remember that.”

“Bitch.”

“Hey now,” Jon interrupted with amusement, folding Sheridan’s gloved hand in his own leather-sheathed fingers.  “No bloodshed in front of all the little ones.  C’mon.”  He tugged lightly to propel her in the general direction of the ice.  Let’s see if you can keep me from breaking a hip out there.”

Taking it slow and easy, they both managed to find themselves upright and gliding somewhat smoothly through the mid-afternoon crowd.  Jon saw that his oldest son was spinning Sheridan’s niece in a circle and both were laughing, while the other niece and Stephanie were skating rings around his younger boys.  It all felt very…  domestic. 

“Hey, you,” Jon greeted quietly – intimately – as though he hadn’t already said hello twice this afternoon.  “I’m glad you came.”

But she was still stuck back at the edge of the rink with her quarrelsome sister, and quibbled, “Well that makes one of us.  I’m sorry about Riley.”

“Don’t be.  I like her.  I was just thinking that you two remind me a lot of me and my brothers.”  He grinned down into her face as they swung easily around the end of the ice, carving out their own lazy curve.  “Except I’m Riley and you’re Matt.”

“Remind me to send Matt a nice anti-stress oil and diffuser for his house,” she grumbled contrarily. 

This was such a different side to the uber-confident, poised woman he’d come to know so well in the last few weeks.  If he hadn’t already had a major thing for her, this petulant youngest sibling routine would have cinched it.  She was adorable.

“He’s tough enough to take it.  I made sure of that.”  His mind going in a different direction,  Jon recalled the stress he’d inflicted upon her in the last couple of days – stress that could have easily triggered the end of their beginning.  His glee dimmed under the somberness of his next words.  “How about you?  You tough enough to take the shit I threw at you and still want me?”

Wide emerald eyes snapped up, but he was too busy paying attention to where their skates were taking them to meet her gaze.  Her quiet remarks sufficed in the wake of visual reassurance.  “I’m tough enough to take anything as long as I think you trust me.”

This was not a conversation he wanted to have while fearing for his Humpty Dumpty ass, and Jon guided them to the edge of the rink opposite where Riley stood.  Propping one hip against the rail, he kept their fingers locked and peered intently into Sheridan’s face.

“I trust you, Kitten.”  At her single nod, he pushed, “Does this mean it’s alright?  I know this craziness is still going on, but you and me…  We’re okay?”

Those pretty, cosmetically-smudged eyes went soft and she gently extracted her hand from his grip.  Working her right glove free, he saw the blood-red nails that had enamored him the first night pop free.  They were quickly folded in against the chill, and Sheridan pushed back the sleeve of both her jacket and sweater, thereby scooting the tight-fitting bracelet out of the way.

There, looking just as perfect as when he’d left it, was his signature darkening her fair skin.

“If we weren’t okay, I would’ve bleached it into oblivion.”

He had his girl, his kids, the future and a beautiful winter day at The Rock.  Everything, in this moment, was right with the world.   Jon bent his head, lips barely closing over his grin enough to allow a kiss against the delicate pulse-point.  

“Can I just say that I’m very glad you didn’t?”

Her smile was worth a million bucks just then.  And her gentle touch to his face made him feel like a million bucks.  There were good things ahead for them.  He just knew it in his bones.

 “So, tell me…” he cajoled as she poked her fingers back into the protective warm of her glove.  Gliding gracelessly back into the flow of ice traffic, he slid Sheridan a sly glance out of the corner of his eye, completely oblivious to everyone around them.  “You have any more works of literary genius that you’d like to throw my way?  Yanno, to tide me over ‘til Christmas Eve?”

50 - I'm Late, I'm Late

“Sheridan, where are you?” Riley demanded.  “You were supposed to be here twenty-five minutes ago.”

“I know, I know.  I’m sorry, I’m on my way.”

 

She ducked between two slow-moving pedestrians on the sidewalk, rushing as much as high, chunky-heeled boots would allow.  Her morning had taken twice as long as it should have, and put her behind schedule.  Being late was one of her biggest pet peeves.  The only person who hated being late more than she did was her sister – who was waiting at the mid-town Manhattan restaurant where they were to have met, as Riley so concisely observed, twenty-five minutes ago. 

“What’s so important that you snub your favorite sister and your favorite nieces?”

She laughed as she dodged a runner, hitching her sliding leopard-print handbag higher onto her shoulder.  “My only sister and my only nieces.”

“Insignificant details.  Hurry up before Mandi ends up inviting herself to eat with the boy that keeps wandering back and forth from his table to the bathroom.  Did I mention we’re standing right next to the bathroom?”

“At least you wouldn’t have to pay for her lunch.”

“Yeah, right,” Riley snorted over the blare of a taxi horn and Sheridan could just imagine the expression of disdain on her older sister’s face.  “With my luck, I’d end up paying for both of them and his family, too.” 

“Drama queen.”  Checking the sign high on the crosswalk post, she took note of her position and consoled, “I’m only a block away and I’m hurrying.  Get a table.  I’ll there by the time you’re opening the menu.”

“You’d better.  And you’d better be prepared to do some ‘splainin’ as to why you’re so late, Lucy.”

Sheridan bit back the temptation to stick out her tongue at the ‘click’ that announced she’d been hung up on.  Stuffing the phone in her coat pocket, she pulled the black leather collar higher around her ears to combat the whipping wind that always seemed more intense in Mid-Town.

Her nose had just begun to get sniffly when she stepped into the enveloping heat of Mustang Harry’s entryway.  Riley and the girls were being seated at a table near the front of the restaurant.  It only took a handful of steps past the vacated hostess stand to reach the table.  She slid into her own chair just in time to accept the fourth menu from the hostess.

“About time,” Riley sniped, more out of habit than anything else. 

“Hello to you too, my loving sister,” Sheridan sniped right back, shucking her leather jacket and fixing the cowl neck of her ruby red sweater.  She turned to her nieces with a wide smile.  “So where’s the boy, Mandi?  Ashley, is he worth all the fuss?”

“See for yourself.  Here he comes again.”  Riley’s head tipped to the right and emerald eyes rolled to the ceiling before she hid her face behind the tall burgundy-covered menu.  Ashley laughed outright and Mandi did her best to ignore both of them, smiling shyly up at the boy who was making his way from the back of the restaurant to the front. 

Sheridan slid her gaze toward him, trying to unobtrusively check him out.  As soon as she lit on his face, her mouth arced into a frown.  The boy with the shaggy brown hair was broad shouldered in his navy blue school sweatshirt, and he was steering a little boy toward the alcove marked ‘Restrooms’.

“But I don’t have to go,” the brown-eyed imp protested, dimples flashing as he spoke. 

“You heard Dad.”  Shaggy Brown Hair had brilliant blue eyes and smiled awkwardly in the direction of their table – Mandi – on their way through.  “Better now than when we’re ice skating.”

The little one huffed, shoving at the heavy wooden door, and the rest of their conversation was lost when the pair disappeared inside.

Those boys look so familiar.  I wonder why?

“So that’s the stalker boy,” Riley announced, dropping the menu and pursing her lips.  “Now, why are you late?  Does it have anything to do with your traveling companion?  Even if it doesn’t, lie and tell me yes.”

Sheridan smirked behind her own menu, glancing at her nieces.  Seventeen-year-old Mandi looked like a younger version of her mother and aunt with her blonde hair and green eyes, while sixteen-year-old Ashley was dark haired with light grey eyes, favoring her father.  Both girls were beautiful, yet completely different in both their appearance and personality. 

The gregarious Ashley had never heard of the word bashful and never hesitated to speak her mind, while Mandi was a little more demure and reserved.  That’s why Sheridan wasn’t surprised when it was her brunette niece who jumped on the more interesting of her mother’s questions with both feet.

“Traveling companion?  Who’s that, Aunt Sheri?”

“Are you ready to order, ladies?” The handsome young waiter arrived with his little tablet and a smile.

Thank you, God.

They placed orders for an assortment of salads, pasta and sandwiches while Ashley flirted with the young man who was obviously gay.  Stifling a grin at the girl’s fixation of his backside when he walked away from the table, Sheridan slid easily into her tardiness excuse and blatantly ignored Riley’s vague question about Jon.

“I had a doctor’s appointment this morning, and the office was packed so they were running behind.  The pharmacy wasn’t much better and took twice as long as it should have.  That’s why I was running behind.  I’m sorry.”

“Doctor?  What’s wrong?”  Her sister’s motherly instincts leapt into overdrive, while her daughters reverted to texting.  They had no interest in the less-than-interesting health conversation of the older set. 

Mandi’s attention was only diverted from her phone when the male duo from a few minutes before exited the restroom and slowly meandered en route to their table.  They again exchanged smiles and Sheridan chuckled, even as she wondered again at the boys’ identities.

“Nothing major,” she assured Riley, hand delving into her purse to come up with a prescription bottle.  “I have a sinus infection.  Mild so far, but they gave me antibiotics to knock it out before it gets worse.” 

“Oh.  Well take one then.”

She rattled the capsule-filled container with an exasperated sigh.  Riley made her feel no older than her teenagers who were tapping away on their electronically-lit telephone screens. “That’s what I’m doing if you’ll give me time to get the cap off the bottle.”

“Just take the thing and tell me about your boyfriend.”

Both teenagers turned their heads in comical unison, eyes wide.  The ‘b-word’ was enough to warrant their attention, particularly when in conjunction with their very stylish, but stodgy, aunt. 

“Nice, Riley,” she chided after swallowing and carefully re-seating her water glass on the table. 

Her sister was oblivious.  “What?  You’re a single woman.  There’s nothing wrong with you having a boyfriend.  There’s certainly no reason to be ashamed of the boyfriend you have.  Lordy be, I’d take out a freaking billboard if I were you.”

“Yeah, well, thank God you’re not me.”

“Is your boyfriend hot?” Mandi asked bluntly, phone relegated to the tabletop in favor of her favorite topic – guys.  “Because hot is good, but most hot guys are jerks.”

“Well, the guy you keep hitting on must be the nicest guy ever,” Ashley countered, already losing interest in Sheridan’s relationship status.  “Because he’s not hot.”

“Shut up!  Didn’t you see those blue eyes and that smile?  He’s definitely hot.  You’re just blinded by the super-jerk, Dustin.  He’s so pretty that he’s not interested in anything but himself and what you can do for him.”

“Oh, whatev,” the younger sibling scoffed, launching into a comparative debate of Dustin’s assets versus those of ‘Bathroom Boy’.

It was an opportunity that Riley seized to prod her about Jon.  “Seriously, how’s it going?”

“It’s… going fine.  We hit a rough spot after we got back, but I think we’re okay now.  I’ll have to tell you about it later, though.”  She darted her eyes meaningfully toward the still-bickering teenagers.

“You better.”

Ashley nudged her sister with a sharp elbow and sing-songed, “There he is, Mandi.  Again.  I hope they don’t all have to pee.”

At her words, the other three females at the table looked up before they could censor their natural inclination to do so.  Mandi’s face immediately went pink and she ducked her head with a shy smile, all the while never taking her eyes off of the teen boy who was now joined by his two brothers, his sister, and… his father. 

Immediately recognizing the eldest male in the group as Jon Bon Jovi, Riley discreetly fanned herself as they traveled closer.  “Holy hell!  I’m so glad I went to church on Sunday.  God is clearly rewarding my faithfulness.”

Sheridan fought a fluttery stomach and an uncontrollable smile even as she kicked Riley under the table.  The family unit was quickly closing in on them, leaving her only a heartbeat to tersely order, “Behave yourself.”

“If I do, promise me that you won’t.”

That earned her another swift tap on the ankle as Sheridan lifted her hand in a modest wave. 

As soon as Jon registered who was wiggling their fingers at him, a slow grin inched up the corners of his mouth.  “Hold up, guys.” 

His oldest son looked like he just won the lottery, blue eyes twinkling with a pleasure that matched that of his old man’s. 

“Hello, ladies,” Jon greeted them all pleasantly, dipping in to dust a kiss over the outside edge of Sheridan’s mouth.  “Ms. King.  Did you make it to the doctor’s office, yet?”

“Mhm.  Sinus infection and I’m already on antibiotics to…  clear it up.”  She barely kept from smirking as she edited his words for their audience.  She didn't think 'clearing that shit up' was appropriate for the underage company they were in.  He was having the same recollection, evidenced by the mischief dancing across his features. 

“Good.  I’d hate for you to be sick over Christmas.”  He stepped back, dipping his chin toward his children.  “Sheridan, these hooligans are my kids.  Stephanie, Jesse, Jake and Romeo.” 

He pointed to each one in turn, and she took a good look at them – especially Stephanie, who was giving her the once-over in a major way.  Sheridan suddenly realized this was the group of children that she’d run into yesterday coming out of the the Schwarz Café. 

What a crazy coincidence.

“Kids, this is Sheridan King, a… very close friend of mine.”

Of course he wouldn’t introduce her as his girlfriend at this kind of accidental meeting.  Heat surfaced into her cheeks, and she scrambled to cover what could easily become an awkward moment. 

“And this is my sister, Riley,” she introduced with a nod.  “And my nieces, Mandi and Ashley.  Girls, this is Jon – and his family.”

Riley wasted no time in sticking her hand out, and he readily accepted it with a wink.  “Riley, it’s a pleasure.”

Sheridan groaned when her older, mature, matronly sister giggled.  “The pleasure is most assuredly mine, Mr. Bon Jovi.”

“Hey.”  Jon waggled a scolding finger at her.  “None of that Mister stuff.  Makes me think my dad is standing behind me.”

They exchanged inane pleasantries until the other patrons delivered looks of peevish annoyance while squeezing by, and the younger Bongiovis danced with bottled energy and impatience.  Jake tugged on his father’s sleeve.  “Dad, can we go now?  Please?”

“Yeah, okay,” he granted with an affectionate grin, ruffling the boy’s hair.  “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure, but we have a date with Rockefeller Center.  Sheridan…”  One blonde brow lifted.  “I’ll call you tonight.”

She nodded.  “Have fun ice skating.”

There was a subdued cacophony of goodbyes as the Bongiovi clan made their way from the restaurant and Sheridan’s crew had their meals delivered.

“So is that your boyfriend, Aunt Sheri?” Ashley asked, leaning in curiously and paying no attention to her sandwich.

Poking at her salad, Sheridan didn’t look at her, but slowly admitted, “Yes.”

Mandi pushed at her sister’s shoulder with a triumphant crow.  “Ha!  If Aunt Sheri’s boyfriend isn’t a jerky hot guy, then neither is his son!” 

Seeking to avoid being a further part of this conversation, Sheridan dug in her coat pocket in search of the distinctive chime of a text message.

[1:37 PM]JON: Seems Jess has a crush on the blonde niece.  I’ve been encouraged to invite you all skating, if you don’t have other plans.  I knew I loved that boy for a reason.

“Jeez, stretch things much?” Ashley taunted with a dramatic eye-roll.  “Next thing ya know, you’ll be asking to go to ice skating.” 

A cloud of blonde hair swirled wildly around Mandi’s shoulders when she swung a hopeful face to her mother.  “Oh, my gosh, can we??”