60 - Company's Coming

Greetings out there in Fan Fiction World!  For those of you who may have missed a comment made on this story a few chapters back, we would like to quote a little excerpt (Thank you, T!):

“Comments are like payment to a fan fic writer, and the only payment we get. Don't cheapen them by giving basically the same one over and over....like you do by constantly saying how much you dislike Sheridan.”

We firmly believe that everyone is entitled to their opinion and encourage you to share it – positive or negative.  If you think we’re disrespecting the story and our characters, please call us out on it.  We WELCOME your thoughts and input!!   

However… 

Brow-beating us with the EXACT SAME negative remarks chapter after chapter serves only one purpose:  Discouragement.  And it takes its toll on creativity in a big way.  You have no idea how many times I’ve told Audra I don’t want to finish this story.  I don’t want to write it, because no matter what hits the screen, we get the same reaction. 

Don’t worry.  The story WILL get finished.  If we have to disable Anonymous commenting to do it, we will.  But we really, really don’t want to do that.  

Please be respectful of ALL of your fan fic writers, not just us.  There’s a LOT of work that goes into one of these things.  If you can’t respect the women who write it, please respect the hours upon hours they devote to bringing their characters to life for no other reason than your enjoyment.

Love you all and sorry for the sermon.  Hope you understand….

Now on with today's installment!  :o)

♥blush & Audra

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“I’m on my way,” Sheridan told him, the blaring car horn in the background confirming that she meant it literally.  “Can you let your doorman know so I don’t have to stand around explaining myself with umpteen bags of groceries breaking my arms?”

Jon immediately rose to his feet, making for the intercom system beside the elevator door that opened into the upper level of his duplex penthouse.  “Yes, dear.  But they’re kids.  Unless those bags are full of chips and M&M’s I think it’s a waste.”

“Maybe, maybe not.  See you soon…”

Guffawing softly, he tucked his phone away and made arrangements for her to come straight up to the lower level, identifying her as a female visitor, laden with bags, who would be arriving in the next few minutes.  The new doorman – he couldn’t remember the guy’s name yet – readily guaranteed Jon that he would be happy to take care of it.

From the way the young man effused the promise, Jon assumed ‘happy’ meant he would wet himself with excitement if he could make a good impression on one of the tenants.  The newbies were always the most eager to please, and sometimes that was a good thing.

It’s all a good thing.  Friday afternoon.  My girl is on her way over for the evening to make a million unnecessary party preparations.  I can probably coax her into the spending the night… finally.

He didn’t know how it happened that, in all their time together, they hadn’t spent the night in his bed, but he had built up a peculiar need to see her there.  To smell her homegrown aromatherapy concoctions embedded into his pillow. To pin her to the wall of his shower…

Enough.  Keep it up and you’ll be nailing her in the coat closet before the groceries get put away.

It wasn’t like he’d gone without for any extended period of time.  It had only been yesterday morning that he woke up with her rubbing against him like a very sexy kitten in heat.  He’d barely rubbed the sleep from his eyes before he’d taken some of that heat for himself and added another one of her cat scratches into their now very-scarred bedpost. 

Punching the coffee maker to brew some coffee for them, he grinned to himself.  Pretty soon it was going to be nothing but splinters.

She would like that.  Knowing that she was the one responsible for destroying the proverbial bedpost she was so obsessed with in the beginning.

He damn sure liked knowing she was bundled up under turtlenecks and scarves because of his marks of ‘ownership’.   She quibbled about it on occasion, but as his part to mollify her half-assed objections, Jon had stepped up and owned his responsibility.  In his bedroom was an obscene assortment of designer scarves from department stores around the city.  Jeri had delivered them to him that morning, acting as though a mountain of silk was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Her discretion and willingness to serve were well-appreciated and he proved that with the healthy salary he doled out.  In his eyes, she more than earned it with every off-the-wall phone call or text message from him that she fielded without batting an eye.

Jon’s head popped up at the sound of the elevator and, thinking of multipurpose uses for those scarves, he fought to keep it to one head.

You’re a horny old bastard. 

Boot-heels tapping on the mahogany hardwood, he rounded the corner from the kitchen to the foyer with a wide smile as the elevator doors slid quietly open.  “Lemme help you with those bags, Baby…”

“Thanks, honey, but I’ve got them.”

Jon’s smile froze in place. 

The woman in the elevator was laden with bags, but they weren’t grocery bags.  Her load consisted of  Abercrombie, Banana Republic, Bergdorf’s and an assortment of others.  While he may not have recognized the logos on a portion of the parcels, he had no trouble recognizing the woman carrying them. 

“Dorothea.  I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Really?” she asked, stepping into the small vestibule and putting her bags neatly in the corner before removing the plaid wool coat he’d gotten her for Christmas last year.  Placing the coat on a hanger in the closet, she closed the door and turned to him with a look of innocence.  “When the doorman waved me on up, I assumed you had some Spidey-sense that told you I was stopping by.  Or maybe I thought those unreturned phone calls this morning had given you a clue.”

The phone calls she’d mentioned hadn’t gone answered unintentionally.  One had come while he was in the shower, another while he was talking to Shanks on the other line and, after checking the voicemail that had been left with the first missed call, he knew she was pissed about something.  He hadn’t felt like dealing with it at the time. 

Now that he thought about it, the phone might have also beeped while he was talking to Sheridan a few minutes ago. 

Three strikes and you’re out in left field with your ex when your girlfriend shows up to play house.  Avoidance ALWAYS bites you in the ass. 

His best shot at avoiding this head-on collision of women was to expedite Dorothea’s ‘visit’.

“I’ve been busy today.  I was going to call you back, but since you’re here now, what do you need?”

“Busy today?” she inquired with a cluck of her tongue, circling around him and following the scent of coffee into the kitchen.  Seeing as it had been her kitchen up until a few months ago, she was well-familiar with where to find the coffee cups even without the assistance of the glass-fronted cabinets. 

“What about yesterday?  Or Wednesday?  I asked both Jesse and Steph to have you call me, and I’m pretty sure I sent you two text messages to the same effect.  I get faster response in the middle of a tour.  Call me crazy, but I can’t say that I’m a fan of the Jon who’s so in-fuck-tuated with his new bed buddy that he can’t be bothered to discuss his children.”

Do not engage.  That’s only going to drag it out into an ugly argument.

Jon was quite proud of himself for sounding relatively normal when he asked again, “What do you need, Dorothea?”

She lifted an eyebrow as she sipped her coffee and leaned against the sink, telegraphing that she knew he’d taken the high road.  She didn’t understand it, but she knew.

 “This party you’re supposedly having here for Jesse tomorrow night.  I assume you’ll be supervising.  Closely.”

“I’ll be here all night.”

Dorothea snorted unkindly as she stirred creamer into her coffee, shaking her head as though he were a fool.  “Being here doesn’t constitute supervision.   Jesse says you’re doing this because he’s met a new girl, and I know I don’t have to remind you that he’s your son.  Supervision is not optional, Jon.”

And that new girl is my girlfriend’s niece.  Teenage hormones are to be checked at the door and Jesse will be well-aware of it.

“He’s your son, too, and there’s going to be a dozen or more kids here,” he informed her blandly. 

Jon deserved a medal for not going ballistic over this sniper ambush taking place in his own damn kitchen.  If it weren’t for the clock ticking down to Sheridan’s arrival, he wouldn’t be this low-key or diplomatic.  Given Dorothea’s current attitude, he’d do or say just about anything to get her the hell out of Dodge before Miss Kitty showed up.

Dottie has always been the Queen of Propriety, you schmuck.  What makes you think she’ll behave any differently today than she ever has?

Because, when Sheridan came into the picture, she’d morphed into some heinous stereotypical ex-wife he didn’t recognize.  His Zen and always-reasonable Dottie had become a snarky bitch, seemingly always spoiling for a fight.  At the very least, she now found verbal fault with everything Jon did nowadays.  The only exception had been Christmas morning, when everything had been nearly picture perfect, but that was because they didn’t spend a moment alone.

“And what about the younger boys?” she asked.  “What do you intend to do with them during this all-night party you have planned?”

A soft chime indicated that the elevator had dispatched a passenger to the penthouse. Jon acted as though he didn’t hear the discreet sound even as it echoed in his ears as loudly as an air raid siren.

Dammit…

“Romeo and Jake are having company, too.”

“Oh?”  Her eyebrows puckered with consternation as he backpedaled just outside the kitchen to be in full view of the elevator doors.  “I just talked to Margie today.  She didn’t say anything about Austin coming to a party.”

Austin was Romeo’s best friend, and clearly Dorothea had lost her mind if she thought he was going to host a full-blown party for the under-ten crowd in addition to the teen gathering.  That wasn’t happening.  As it was, he was counting on Sheridan’s nephews to entertain his two boys without a lot of grown-up required activities.

“These are new friends,” he evasively clarified – even though that was an oxymoron - his eyes darting from her to the elevator and back again.  “Look, I appreciate the advice, but I’ve got this under control.”

At that moment, mahogany doors slid apart, inviting a somewhat windblown Sheridan into his foyer.

“I thought you were going to tell the doorman I was coming?” Weighted down with at least five earth-friendly grocery bags, his kitten huffed a bit when she put her first foot on the hardwood floor.  “I had to practically show him my birth certificate to get up here.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, reaching for the bags and taking them from her.  “There was an unexpected mixup.”

When he turned toward the kitchen, Dorothea was fixing him with her patented Dick-Shriveling Death Glare, guaranteed to cause more effective shrinkage than a January polar bear swim in the Hudson.

“Tell me that’s not who I think it is.”  Courtesy of the wall separating the kitchen and the foyer, Sheridan couldn’t hear Dorothea ominously hissing at Jon.  She may, however have heard the coffee mug being unceremoniously clunked it on the countertop, Jon thought as the dark liquid splashed droplets on his counter. 

“I probably got too much food,” Sheridan’s breathy voice went from muted to crystal clear when she rounded the wall to join them in the kitchen.  “But I would rather…  Oh.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize you had company.”

Her footsteps had stopped abruptly, but Jon didn’t pause in his mission, putting the groceries on the counter that flanked the sink.  When he turned, it was to find the two women engaged in a silent standoff.  Dorothea’s arms were folded at her waist, her hip propped against the stovetop.  Sheridan pushed her handbag higher onto her shoulder as she brushed a disobedient tendril of hair from her cheek.  Her eyes were completely discernible. 

He hadn’t been to church in a while, but surely God remembered who he was.  Right?

Jon offered up a silent prayer that this would be short, sweet and uneventful.

“Sheridan, this is my ex-wife, Dorothea.  Dot, this is Sheridan.  My… girlfriend.”

59 - Private Matters

She couldn’t explain why that struck her the wrong way, but it landed with the impact of a professionally swung baseball bat.  After spending three days missing his presence wandering around her apartment, she’d expected to want to drape herself over him like a cheap suit.  Instead, he was doing his best to aggravate the life out of her. 

“Yes, well, what if I don’t think it’s time?”

“I think that’s too bad,” he informed her, with what she supposed was supposed to be a temper-diffusing smile.  It didn’t work. 

Sheridan deliberately evaded the hand that was trying to hold hers.  “Look.  I was perfectly willing to listen to your laundry list of objections the other night, but you decided we weren’t going to taint the evening with such things.  Tonight apparently doesn’t get that same consideration, because you’ve been argumentative since you walked in the door.”

“I haven’t been any different than I ever am,” he protested, making a show of folding his hand around her forearm and refusing to let go when she attempted to pull away.  “You’re the one who’s PMS-ing.”

Despite the likely accuracy of his accusation, she still leveled him with a cold glare.  “Because the blunt honesty of a woman should always blamed on the menstrual cycle?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”  Dropping his head with the hiss of exasperation, he waited only a heartbeat before lifting his chin and looking her defiantly in the eye.  “Well if we’re gonna fight, we may as well get everything outta the way.  I don’t want our sex life published.  Period.”

So this was all about him.  Did he think someone would mysteriously divine the size of his dick from a couple hundred artistically smudged words that could have been written about a bartender?  Or a bus driver? 

Catching him by surprise, she freed herself and stood, taking herself and her half-full glass to the kitchen.  She put the stemware carefully on the counter before turning toward him and crossing her arms.

“Funny, I don’t recall fucking you in a car.  How does that constitute our sex life?”

“You know good and goddamn well that story was about us,” he argued from the couch. 

“You know that and I know that, but for the average reader it could be about anybody.  There were only a handful of real instances in there.  The rest was my imagination!”

“Anybody who links us together is going to assume it’s about me!  I’ve fought my whole life to keep my personal life out of the public eye and I sure as hell don’t want this kinda thing shoving its way to center stage.  I have kids, Sheridan!  And God forbid that Dorothea figures it out.  That would be all I need!”

Sheridan had been annoyed before, but now she was livid.  It was the kind of mad that didn’t blow-up into a tension-relieving explosion, but the kind that nearly paralyzed you with a numbing calm.  Her blood boiled, but the ice water coursing through her veins was what stepped forward when she frostily intoned, “You did not just bring your ex-wife into this.”

“No, I didn’t bring my ex-wife into it,” he mocked with an angry shake of us head.  Unable to contain his agitation any longer, Jon rose to his feet and planted them wide.  “I brought the mother of my children into it.”

She’d read a magazine article about punctured lungs once in a doctor’s waiting room.  It hadn’t mentioned that it could happen while immobile, yet she was sure that was what happened.  If her lung wasn’t punctured, then Jon had punctured something just as soft in that general area. 

Just because she’s their mother doesn’t mean he’s placing her on a pedestal.  That wasn’t intended to put you in your place, Sheridan.  It’s just a statement of fact.

“My divorce isn’t like yours.”  He went on, completely unaware that she couldn’t breathe.  “I can’t just walk away from her and never look back.  Dorothea and I didn’t divorce our kids, so our lives are always going to be intertwined.”   

“I’m childless, not a simpleton!  I get that, but neither your ex-wife OR the mother of your children is going to dictate what I do in my life.  And the way you’re acting about the whole thing, not only are YOU not going to dictate, I don’t know that I’m going to listen to your opinion.”

He scraped a frustrated hand through his already tousled mop of hair and blew out a harsh breath.  As harried as he looked, Sheridan didn’t feel any sympathy.  He’d been a jerk.

“Kitten…”

“No,” she interrupted when he started in with the placating tone.  “You don’t get to pull out the pet names when we have a disagreement.  There won’t be any ‘Honey… Baby… Kitten’ to try and soften me up.  I won’t stand for being treated like a silly little girl.”

“Goddamn it!” 

Jon took several long strides toward her, approaching with such a fierce scowl that made Sheridan instinctively retreat, only to find the island countertop in the small of her back.  In the blink of an eye he had her penned in, with an arm on each side.

“You don’t want it softened?   Fine.  I’ll give it to you point-blank.”  HIs decibel level fell several notches when he adopted a low growl.  “You said it was the most fabulous sex of your life.  Well, you’re not the only one, and I don’t fuckin’ want to share it – or you.  With anybody.  Is that clear enough?”

Dare she believe that she was the most fabulous sex in the life of a man who spent decades as Hugh Hefner’s gypsy prodigy, traveling the world in a mobile equivalent to the Playboy mansion?  Or was he domineering enough to play whatever card necessary to get his way?

“No.  It’s not.”  Her voice wasn’t any louder than his, but the growl was replaced with cool detachment.  “It’s just sex, isn’t it?  What difference does it make?”

Her biceps were subjected to a hard grip, and Jon spun her around, eyes spitting fire.  Sheridan’s pulse raced, but she wasn’t sure if it was fear or arousal pushing the accelerator on her heart.  Playful, agreeable Jon was adorable, but she found angry Jon embarrassingly hot. 

“Just sex?” he demanded, walking her backward one step in the direction of the couch.  “JUST sex?  If it was JUST sex you would have fucked Trouser Tom when I walked away.” 

He forced her another step back. 

“If it was JUST sex, Sheridan, I wouldn’t have come back here asking for more.  I would’ve fucked any one of the dozen women who ogle my ass every day.” 

Another step and her knees hit the back of the couch. 

“Don’t try and bullshit me, KITTEN.  You’re MY sex kitten and you know it.”

She stiffened even as her traitorous body went tingly at the forceful declaration, openly defying him.  He was exerting a gentle pressure on her arms in a clear bid to plant her on the sofa, but she refused to budge. 

“If I know it and you know it, then what’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem?” he parroted softly, shaking his head.  “You aren’t going to be happy until you have my balls on a muthafuckin’ platter, are you?”

“Just tell me, Jon.”

“Fine.”  His grip eased as he slid open palms up to her shoulders and sighed.  “If you publish us, it MAKES it ‘just sex’.  The kind of physical relationship we have doesn’t just happen.  At the risk of losing my balls AND my Man Card, I don’t want it cheapened when some sexually frustrated women Jills off to it and then lines the bottom of a birdcage with the leftovers.  I don’t want a parakeet shittin’ on our Karma.”

‘I don’t want a parakeet shittin’ on our Karma’? 

That was as close to hearts and flowers as he’d ever come and, possibly, ever would.  Unwanted amusement danced through the mist of her fizzling anger, and Sheridan felt herself start to soften around the edges.   She wondered if she could get that put on a t-shirt. 

“’Jills off’?”  she inquired, not letting that amusement seep into her monotone question.

The squiggly lines that had been carved into his forehead disappeared when his eyebrows dipped together as if he couldn’t believe that was what she chose to focus on.  “Yeah.  Female version of ‘jacks off’.  Jack.  Jill.”

“I see.”

They stood practically nose to nose, his socked feet bracketing hers.  Sheridan could feel when he held his breath, waiting to see where else the storm front was leading. 

You might just be surprised Mr. Bongiovi.

“Prove it.”  She belligerently tipped her chin, her carefully intoned ultimatum showing no trace of the humor or softness that were quickly overshadowing ire. 

“Prove what?”

He sounds absolutely pissy.  Good.  Welcome to my world this evening.

“Prove it’s not just ordinary sex.  Prove that what you give me I can’t get anywhere else.”

The fingers that had rested so carefully on her shoulders, now dug into her flesh through the hoodie jacket she was wearing.  “Prove it?” he rumbled angrily, lightly pushing her onto the sofa. 

This time, she allowed herself to fall and he leaned intimidatingly close, forcing her back into the cushions to escape the barely-contained fury.  One harsh hand jerked down the hoodie’s zipper to divulge that she was wearing nothing beneath it but a skimpy red lace bra.   His eyes darkened from stonewashed denim to a deep indigo blue.

“I’m not going to prove a damn thing, but I will teach you a lesson.”

Sheridan sucked in a sudden breath when he roughly – punishingly – mauled her, pushing the red  lace away and harshly tweaking the deplorable nipples that were already stiff and begging for his touch.  They were no more at full, rigid attention when he planted a knee at each side of her hips to bend and capture one in his mouth.  Pearly-white teeth were bared not in a smile, but a devouring bite when he clamped down on the ruby-red tip.

“Jon!”

Intending it to be an admonishment, she was mortified to hear the breathiness that clearly marked it as arousal.

“Ever scream for anybody else with a single suck?  Huh?”  His right hand continued to work the other nipple crudely with his thumb and forefinger as his question dried the saliva coating the first one.  He burrowed lower, and those piranha teeth clamped down on the fleshy underside of the breast with every intention of leaving a lasting mark.  “And now your fucking panties are sticky, because you get off on my crazy-ass need to brand your naked skin.”

He was right.  His obsession made her heady.  It was like he couldn’t control himself.  He had to put his imprint in her flesh, and her folds were swelling with the feminine power that gave her.  Sheridan squirmed against cushion, seeking the bare friction that the soft cotton panel between her legs could offer.

At the top of her breast this time, another punishing bite had her arching against him and his wicked chuckle chilled her.  The fine hair at the nape of her neck stood at attention. 

This exercise was proving nothing other than she was at his mercy.  Sheridan had known he was right about the explosive uniqueness of their physical relationship, but spitefulness had coaxed her into taunting him.  To make him think it was ordinary.  Run of the mill.

“Is that just sex, my horny little kitten?” he demanded when, shoving the jacket away and making the ball of her shoulder his next victim.  Jon pushed the hard denim that housed his rigid arousal into her tummy, prompting a pitiful mewl from the back of her throat. “Tell me, goddammit!”

She wasn’t trying to be defiant, but the words simply wouldn’t form.  Her mouth moved helplessly, but the air wouldn’t fill her lungs to honor his dictatorial request.

Jon angrily threw the jacket and bra behind the couch and put all of the weight on his right knee so he could push his left hand into the elastic waist of her pants.  There was no gentle searching or exploration.  The broad, callus-tipped fingers were determined and relentless in seeking out the folds that were already weeping at his attention. 

“Hot, drenched and begging to be fucked,” he hissed in her ear, nipping at the lobe when a squeal of surprise slipped free at his abrupt invasion.   One, if not two, of those talented fingers was already buried to the hilt in her desperately grasping channel.  “The fine and proper Ms. King is dying to be the big, bad rock star’s fuck toy.  I bet she’d do anything so she could come.”  His thumb raked over her clit, his overlong thumbnail adding a peculiar sensation to the pleasure and making Sheridan shudder.  “Anything.”

“What…  What do you want?”  Air from somewhere forced its way into her vocal cords.

“Oh, Kitten,” he chuckled mirthlessly, diving in for a nip at the sensitive tendon in her neck while his fingertips moved to form the perfect chord deep inside her.  “You know exactly what the fuck I want.”

An evil imp made her do it.  She couldn’t help it.  As tortured as she felt, and as close to the edge of release as she was, Sheridan couldn’t keep herself from uttering something inane in place of the words he was insistent upon extracting from her.  “Fine.  I’ll suck your dick.”

“Ohhhh… you stubborn mother fucking little wench!” 

His hand left her bereft and unsatisfied as he stood, pulling Sheridan to her feet in front of him.  Before she had time to stabilize herself, he was shoving her pants and panties to the floor and spinning her one-hundred and eighty degrees. 

“Grab the back of the couch!”

Automatically responding to the authority in his brusque command, her fingers curled into the cushion.  She had just gotten her grip and wondered what he was up to, when a loud ‘slap’ resounded through the living room and was immediately followed by a stinging on her right buttock.

He just spanked me!

He’d threatened in the past, but this was the first time Jon had ever put a hand to her and God help her…  She liked it. 

“Again…”  The gasping plea snuck out before she could call it back and her backside wiggled its invitation. 

He didn’t speak, merely delivered a matching swat to her other buttock.  It left her skin tingling and ignited a faint buzz deep inside.

Oh my word.  I’m going to get off just from being spanked.

“A… again.”

There was a soothing swipe across the lightly pulsing flesh before another smack hit her ears and her cheek.

“Oh, God…”  Her head fell forward as the buzz grew stronger and her knees started to tremble.  “Jon.  Again.  Please.”

“No.”

In total disbelief, she whipped her head around to find him unbuckling and dropping his pants to the floor.  The light caught the shiny moisture on the head of his dick just before he swiped it away in the process of stroking himself. 

“Give me what I want, and I’ll take care of you.  All night, as much as you need, but you’re going to tell me first.”

Determined to have her own way, Sheridan turned to him in full-on seductress mode.  Gentle nails scraped up the side of his neck as she plastered her naked body against his and swiped her tongue over his bottom lip.  “Fuck me, baby.  You know you want to.”

“More than I want to breathe,” he admitted, much to her surprise.  He put both palms over her butt cheeks and hauled her close, his arousal a hard ridge across her stomach.   “But more than that, I want to be right.”

He felt so good against her.  His hands were softly rubbing the spots on her backside that she knew had to be pink.  His chest hair tickled the nipples that were still so hard they were about to pop.  His hard, hairy thighs tickled the sensitive inside of her much smoother one when she hooked a leg around him. 

He was right and she was tired of playing cat and mouse.  She wanted her orgasm and he was the only one who could give it to her the way she craved.

“It’s more than just sex,” she whispered against his jaw between soft kisses.  “It’s soul-searing.  Nobody has sex this good.  I never have before and I never will again.”

“Thank you.  And you’ll pull the article?”

His hand had come from behind, teasing at her entrance and stroking the sensitive folds that ached for nothing more than his undivided attention.

“I’ll try,” she conceded on a soft sigh.  She needed him and what he made her feel.  If this was that important to him, then so be it.  “If it’s too late, I’ll make them use a pen name.”

“That’s my girl.  Now let’s just hope this thing doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass.”

Sheridan wriggled into his now very giving touch, saucily smirking up into his gorgeous face.  “The ass?  Well, that IS one place you haven’t bitten me….” 

58 - In the Know

“Hiya, Jack.”  Jon juggled the bottle of wine with the Chinese takeout sack as he passed the understated desk tucked just inside Sheridan’s building and punched the elevator call.  “How’s life in the fast lane?”

The doorman laughed, shrugging his shoulders almost comically.  “I wouldn’t know, Mr. Bon Jovi.  The fast lane doesn’t run through this lobby.”

“Ah, I bet it veers through here once in a while.”  Jon stepped in the car and pushed the button with his pinky finger.  “Take care, man.”

“You, too, sir.  Tell Ms. King I hope she’s feeling better.”

Forehead wrinkling, he nonetheless called out, “Sure thing,” as the doors slowly ate away his view of Jack’s concerned face.

It had only been three days since Jon had seen Sheridan.  They’d come back to her place Christmas night.  Since he left on Sunday afternoon, he’d been working, humoring Richie that the whole damn drunken debacle had blown over, or spending time with the kids. 

But he’d talked to her every night.  Well, not last night because she’d fallen asleep before he got home from dinner with John Shanks, but they’d texted.  She hadn’t mentioned being sick.  Nor had she mentioned it when they texted earlier today, making dinner plans.

When the elevator deposited him in her foyer, he was annoyed that the doorman knew something he didn’t.  Bypassing the doorbell, he tucked the bottle of wine under his arm and knocked loudly.  When she didn’t answer in the first five seconds, he then followed up with the bell.

His fist was lifted to knock – pound – again when the deadbolt rattled and the knob slowly spun. 

“Where’s the fire?” Sheridan asked, blinking sleepily up at him with foggy green eyes.  There was a red crease in her left cheek where she’d been sleeping against something besides a bed pillow, and her ponytail was a little crooked.  Sexy didn’t even begin to cover describing the comfy, rumpled kitten look.  The burgundy velour hoodie of her sweatsuit was unzipped far enough that Jon almost forgot why he’d been impatient.

“Are you sick?” was his socially inappropriate greeting.  He did tone the bluntness down with a kiss over her creased cheek as he stepped inside.  His mother or Miss Manners wouldn’t kill him now.

“No, why do you ask?”

She took dinner and the wine from him as he shrugged out of his jacket, frowning as he hung it over the back of the nearest dining chair.  “Jack said that he hopes you feel better.”

“Oh, that.  Jack is very sweet.”

Unconcerned, she didn’t break stride as she unloaded cartons of rice, Schezuan chicken, pepper steak and egg rolls.

Jon folded his arms over his chest, propping one hip against the kitchen island.  She wasn’t telling him anything, which was unlike Sheridan.  He was a little irritated that she was playing ‘keep away’ at this stage of the game.  “You wanna tell me why he thinks you’re sick?”

A narrowed gaze slid toward him, tinged with her own touch of irritation as the obligatory assortment of Chinese condiments hit the countertop.  Soy sauce, duck sauce, hot mustard and fortune cookies skittered across the surface from the upended paper bag that she was now folding with a piquish frown.

“I don’t know, Jon.  I came in earlier today with a couple of grocery bags.  Maybe it’s because when he commented that I looked tired, I tried to make polite conversation.  I told him I’d been fighting a sinus infection for the last week and the damn thing doesn’t seem to want to go away.”

He personally thought she was being more snappish than the question warranted, but seeing as that was also unlike her…  It bugged him.

“Hey.”  Jon stepped in behind her, sliding his arms around her unprotected waist as she reached up into the cabinet for plates.  Gingerly twirling away from the cabinet in his embrace, he peered down into her face.  “Why didn’t you tell me you still weren’t feeling good?”

“Because it’s a sinus infection, not cancer or typhoid,” she huffed, leaning hard against the circle of his arms.  Not really trying to escape, but disgruntled enough not to feel cuddly.  “It’s not even worth mentioning, and I wouldn’t have if Jack wasn’t so nice.  I feel like I need to chit chat with him when I come through the lobby.”

“There’s no reason to be bitchy, Kitten.”

Bad choice of words. 

Green sparks lit from angry eyes and her mouth flattened into a hard line.  “And there’s no reason to greet me with accusations at the door, like I’m hiding something.”

“Alright,” he acquiesced.  “You’re right.  Let’s start over again.”  Jon schooled his undaunted smirk into a more congenial smile, full of agreeableness as he inclined his head for a brief kiss.  “Hey, baby.  How was your day?  I brought Chinese.”

As though she couldn’t help herself, Sheridan’s eyes drifted shut and the annoyance melted away under a reluctant grin as she shook her head.  He could understand.  Sometimes he couldn’t believe himself, either.

“Hi, yourself, you socially uncouth ass.”

His head fell back with a bark of laughter and he hauled her close, bending to nuzzle into her neck even as she pushed at his shoulders.  Her half-hearted attempt to break free was short-lived and protesting hands ended up curled around his neck.  They stood that way for a moment, absorbing the physical nearness that had been absent as of late.

“So how was your day?” Jon prodded again, reluctantly releasing her so that she could get the dishes to plate their cooling dinner.

“Lazy.  I went to the market for a few things and did some writing.”  She served Schezuan chicken onto a bed of rice while he opened the wine, her mouth bending into a slight frown.  “I didn’t realize how much I was going to miss the massage therapy classes – or at least the way they got me out of the house.  I can only tinker with aromatherapy so much before the odd blend of smells bothers my stupid sinuses.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, setting down the filled wine glasses and accepting the plate that was now adorned with an eggroll.  “Couch or table?”

“Table.  I’ve been on the couch all afternoon.”

He caught the placemats she tossed at him and fixed them at their usual seats, putting the plate on his.  She brought her plate and silverware and he went back for the wine.  Placing her glass on the table, he noticed the food that she’d chosen for herself. 

“No chicken?” he asked, sliding into his chair and pulling a napkin into his lap.

“Sinuses.  The smell got me when I opened the carton,” was her somewhat apologetic explanation.  Schezuan chicken was kind of their ‘thing’ since discovering they both had a passion for it.  “But the pepper steak looks great.”

Nodding his understanding and sympathy, Jon dropped back to her earlier comment about getting out of the house.  "Why don’t you come over to my place tomorrow night?  We can make plans for the underage set’s New Year’s shindig.”

She agreed and they spent the rest of their meal throwing around entertainment options for the youngsters, and she went off on a food tangent.  Personally, he’d call Sal’s pizza and be done with it, but she was set on more of a “party” spread. 

In his personal experience, planning was a waste of time.  Judging by his kids and the friends they had over, teenagers would listen to music, talk and eat pizza.  Little kids would listen to no one, bellow like banshees and eat pizza.  What was there to plan?

But he let her do her thing, agreeing here and offering some input there until dinner and the ensuing cleanup was done.  Then he coaxed her back onto the couch to broach the other topic she’d mentioned.

He kicked off his shoes and stretched out as she settled into the sofa’s corner, placing his head in her lap.  Jon loved this part of their dinner nights almost as much as he loved the sex that would surely follow.  When her blood red fingertips started rifling through his hair, he tipped his head back to see her face. 

“So…  You’ve been writing.”

“I have,” she amusedly confirmed, still raking light nails over his scalp.  He was seriously obsessed with her fingernails, and leaned into the gentle touch.  It never felt this good when he scratched his own head.

“Is this for business?  Or my pleasure?”

“Maybe a little bit of both.”

The fingernail fun dropped off his radar in a hurry.

Shit.  That means she’s really going to publish.  I was hoping that was going to fade away into oblivion.

“Can I read it?”

A little line furrowed its way from one blonde eyebrow to the other.  “It’s not finished yet.”

“Please?”  He pulled out all the stops, sitting up and twisting so that she could see the pouty lip and puppy dog eyes. 

While there was a part of him that was concerned that she was going public with this stuff, there was that other, horny, part of him that wanted to know what she’d come up with this time.  Maybe it wasn’t even worth worrying about.  She might have watered everything down for a grocery store magazine.

“You realize this is uncomfortable for me, right?” she asked, bending forward to retrieve her iPad from the coffee table and bringing it to life with the push of a button.  “Watching you read.”

“Then take a nap,” he suggested, sitting upright and accepting the tablet with a smile.  “That way you don’t have to watch.”

Sheridan grunted softly and stood, picking up both of their glasses and retreating to the kitchen to refill them.  When she pulled the cork from the wine, Jon turned his attention to the screen in front of him.

I had never liked the rain before.  Not that I’d ever had a fear of it, but, much like the rest of the world, I preferred sunshine to clouds – particularly when vacationing in the tropics.  Sunshine is a mandatory requirement for a memorable Jamaican getaway.

Or so I thought. 

I am a successful business woman who slides happily between my silk sheets every night knowing that my business is far more satisfying than a lover.  Why, you might ask?  I’m a reasonably attractive and intelligent woman, but those very qualities tend to intimidate men.  Once intimidated, they hand over their balls and start following the orders I’m forced to issue – because they are clue-less and do-less.

After the divorce, I decided that a vibrator was far less trouble and ultimately more satisfying.  Not only had I never liked the rain, I had also never realized how easily my cemented opinion could be swayed on both subjects.

One rainy Caribbean evening accompanied by thunder, lightning, a blackout, and one outrageously hot man…  In all fairness, the storm and power outage were merely incidental.  That outrageously hot man could sway a woman’s opinion on pretty much anything, with one brilliant blue eye tied behind his back.

“Uh, could I borrow a cup of electricity,” I mumbled when he opened the door that connected our penthouse suites, foolishly holding my hairdryer aloft.

Everything after that was blurred in the shadow of his brilliant smile, although I’m certain there was a bit of drooling on my part.  Somehow, despite that, I can also vaguely recall flirting, wine, candle light, dinner. 

There’s one other thing I can recall, and this is with a startling clarity.  For once in my very staid - and two years’ celibate - life, I threw caution to the wind and grabbed onto my good fortune with both hands.  Literally. 

It was easily the most fabulous sex of my life.

“Celibate for two years?”   Surprise had Jon’s head popping up to seek out her face as she none-too-gently stuffed the cork back into the wine bottle.  She’d been celibate for two years before they’d hooked up?  She hadn’t told him that.  “And the most fabulous sex of your life, huh?”

He tried for about a second to rein in his prideful gloating, but couldn’t resist grinning cockily as she rolled her eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you this was awkward?  You’re not helping.”

Why was it so good, I still catch myself wondering, but deep-down I know the answer.  This man, like no other I’d ever known, simply oozed power, which is odd because that’s normally a turn-off for me.  I realize that’s a contradiction in terms, but powerful men who have to exert their power to be powerful are, in effect, powerless. 

Not so with my sexy storm man.  He had the charm to offset the arrogance which he'd had the nerve to tell me might be well-deserved.  His self-confidence had my panties dripping with the first smug quirk of his eyebrow.  

Arrogance was evidently an aphrodisiac, I thought, unknowingly squeezing my thighs together.  The throbbing between them was further fueled by hard fingers encircling my wrist, promptly stealing my breath and the control I usually clung to with a vengeance. 

I was surprised to find that I didn’t mind relinquishing control to this man, because he didn’t actually take it.  He shared it. 

The Greek god that I was about to find statue-stiff in all the right places wasn’t intimidated by a strong woman.  He got off on it and for every bite mark he left on my neck or shoulder, he would take away matching scratch on his back or that perfect backside. 

I couldn’t wait to

His head snapped up when she reclaimed her corner of the sofa and sipped at her freshly filled glass.  “You stopped in the middle of a sentence,” Jon accused.

“I told you it wasn’t finished.”

“Finish the damn sentence.”

Sighing, she lifted the iPad from his hand and flicked her eyes over the last paragraph.  “Do it.  I couldn’t wait to do it and then do it again,” she supplied, sliding the device back onto the coffee table.  “So what do you think?”

He thought that it was hot-as-hell looking inside her head, but it carried an element of exposure that he wasn’t sure he wanted in the public eye.   Their sex life was off-the-charts good, but it was theirs and he didn’t want to belittle it by putting it on a supermarket newsstand.  And, God forbid, what if someone made the connection that this pseudo-porn was written about him? 

It’s better than the flat-out porn that those so-called fan fiction writers put out there for God and my mother to see.

But he wasn’t dating those porn writers.  He was dating this one.

She called it erotic fiction, not porn.

Whatever.

“Kitten…”  Jon pussied out and reached for the fermented fortification swimming in his wine glass.  A healthy swallow later, he picked up again.  “Remember when you told me about your Cosmo thing on Christmas Eve?”

She stilled, her tone going from playful to somewhere in the neighborhood of accusatory.  “Yes.  You wouldn’t talk about it.”

“No,” he corrected gently, reaching for her hand.  “I said it wasn’t the time to talk about it.  Now it’s time.”

57 - It's All Fun and Games

“It has nothing to do with Jon.”  The woman he presumed was Sheridan’s mother slanted her eyes at him briefly, apology shining in their depths.  “It has to do with protecting your heart until you’re sure.”

“She’s right,” Jon concurred, ruefully tilting up the left side of his mouth.  “As most mothers tend to be.”

Sheridan’s curtain of blonde waves shook along with her head as she rolled her eyes.  Taking the wine from him she greeted him with a soft kiss on the cheek.  “Hi.  Sorry about that.  Jon, this is my mother, Pam Norris.  Mom, this is Jon.”

“Hello, Jon.  Please accept my apology, too,” the older woman who bore facial features reminiscent of both daughters requested as she flicked a stove knob.  The over-sized bubbling pot instantly went from a full boil to a simmer.  “That could have been an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

Jon’s hand settled in at the small of Sheridan’s back after he brushed her cheek with a return kiss.  “No apology necessary for sound maternal advice,” he assured her with a wide grin.  “My mother taught me that.”

Pam laughed and turned back to her dinner preparations.  “Cole, tell Riley to come and help by mashing the potatoes.  Tell everyone else to get themselves to the dinner table.” 

While the rest of the family, whom he’d been introduced to in the living room, filed in to the large country-style table, Sheridan pulled him to the side.  “I really am sorry,” she murmured, resting a light hand on his chest.

“Don’t be.  My mom told me something very similar today.”  

“Johnny, honey, you’re feeling a little adrift.  It’s understandable, considering how long you and Dorothea were together, but don’t be in a rush to find a security blanket.  Enjoy being commitment-free for a while.  The last thing you need is another responsibility.”

“Mom, she’s not a responsibility.”

“Maybe not now, but when real life sneaks into the bedroom…  It’s just another weight on your shoulders.”

Having Sheridan hear that would’ve been much more embarrassing to him than what he’d just stumbled into.

Knowing he would never be sharing that particular dose of motherly wisdom, Jon switched trains of thought.  He reached up to finger the leopard-print scarf that he’d given her for her birthday.  It was looped closely around her neck, beneath the collar of her shirt, and he smiled knowingly.  She was camouflaging last night’s souvenirs.  “Nice scarf.”

“If you don’t keep your Dracula tendencies under control, I’m going to need a lot more of these.”

Her words were bitten out quietly, but the glint of humor in her eyes and the slight blush assured Jon she wasn’t all that upset about his newfound oral fixation. 

“I’ll get Jeri on that first thing in the morning.”

The hand that was resting so tenderly against his chest pushed his shoulder back with a laugh.  “God, you’re awful.”

With that, she grabbed onto his hand and led him to the table, where her family members had already begun passing around serving dishes that were heaped with food.   His still-full stomach groaned in protest, but he put on his game face, slid into the chair beside his girl and accepted the mashed potatoes with a smile.

Dinner was very similar to the holiday festivities at his parents’ house.  Everyone talked at once, the kids happily squabbled with one another, there was lots of laughter and affection was evident even when they disagreed.  It almost held a Norman Rockwell quality.

Between answering the family questions that he was peppered with, he learned that Sheridan’s father and brother were both lawyers and Riley’s husband – Mitch? – was a stockbroker.  Jon toyed with the idea of letting him pitch some investment recommendations. 

Down the road, maybe.

It was nice that Riley had gotten past that star struck stage, because having your girlfriend’s sister ogling you like a piece of meat was awkward.   He’d only caught her staring at him a couple of times, but Cole’s wife wasn’t quite past the novelty.  Jon couldn’t help but laugh to himself when she jabbed Cole in the ribs for trying to get her attention.

And Sheridan’s niece…  Jesus H. Christ she was a ballsy little thing – just like her aunt.

“So, Mr. Bongiovi, why didn’t you let Jesse come with you?” the perky little blonde asked with a piranha-esque smile.  “He said he asked and you said no. He would have been welcome to come.   Wouldn’t he, Nana?”

“Mandi!”

Jon dipped his chin, smothering a smile as he waved away Riley’s outrage at her daughter’s bluntness.  Resting his forearms on the heavy maple table that made the oversized eat-in kitchen feel homey with its honeyed warmth, Jon met the teenager’s gaze. 

“I appreciate the hospitality, but Jesse had already made plans to spend the night with a friend.  At our house you don’t cancel a commitment just because something better comes along.”

“Oh.”  Wide eyes that leaned more toward brown than the green of her female relatives fell to her plate. 

“But…”  Jon held up a single finger and winked conspiratorially.  “We did discuss the possibility of having a New Year’s Eve party.  I think he might’ve said something about inviting you.”

“Hey!” her sister interjected with a glare.  “You can’t do that.  It’s tradition that we all go stay with Aunt Sheri on New Year’s Eve!”

Mandi rolled her eyes.  “Ashley, you’re too young to understand, but sometimes your priorities change.”

“Oh puh-leeze!  You’re only a year older than me!”

Jon put a hand over his mouth to stifle the laughter that threated to spill out.  These two spirited young women made him appreciate his daughter  - more specifically, his only daughter.  God knew what He was doing by predominantly filling the Bongiovi house with boys.  Jon would lose his mind in the midst of multiple teen girl drama.

“Girls.  That’s enough.”  Mitch Mason didn’t need to raise his deep bass voice to put an end to his daughters’ bickering.  The single word had both their mouths snapping shut, even though Mandi  snuck an eye-roll in there as a silent last word.  “Mandi hasn’t even been invited yet, and if she is your mother and I haven’t agreed to let her go.  No offense, Jon.”

“None taken.” 

It had never been Jon’s intention to piss one sister off by appeasing the other.  He was off to an out-fucking-standing start with Sheridan’s family.  With the next breath, a glimmer of brilliance distracted him from his own ass-kicking.  What if he could appease both of them at the same time?

In any successful merger, there is compromise.  Business 101.

He put his open palm on Sheridan’s thigh and leaned close, the soft, citrusy tendrils tickling his nose as he whispered, “Wanna chaperone a party with me?  That way you can still spend New Year’s with your nieces – and me.”

“It’s not just the nieces,” she whispered back, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth.  “It’s the boys and Madison, too.”

Two… four… five of hers, then his three boys and maybe Stephanie.  And whomever else Jesse got the wild hair to invite.  His condo was going to be overrun with hyperactivity and hormones.  What the hell had he been thinking?

That you want to make your boy happy and spend New Year’s with your girl.  How much trouble can a few extra kids be?

He shrugged, still keeping his voice low.  “So? The younger kids are all about the same age.  I’ve got two living rooms.  We can put the teenagers on the second floor while we entertain the little kids downstairs.  Jake and Romeo would love having partners-in-crime. ” Squeezing the thigh that was still under his grasp, he dangled what he hoped was the most enticing carrot.  “And this way, I get to kiss you at midnight.”

The rest of the table was totally unaware of their exchange as conversation continued to chatter around them.   Ducking her chin into her chest, the dancing green iris gleamed wickedly at him from the corner of her eye.  “Hm.  I have to admit that makes it a little tempting.”

“Kitten,” he rumbled, lips tickling the shell of her ear as he pressed close so that no one could overhear.  “Don’t make me turn your bratty ass over my knee in front of your Mama and Daddy.”

Pulling away with a haughtily lifted eyebrow, she was full of piss and vinegar when inviting him, “Try it, big boy, and see how far you get.”

Sheridan King was one of the devil’s minions.  He was sure of it.

And she delighted him beyond all reason.

§§§

“I’m in Hell,” Jon muttered under his breath as he scrubbed a hand down his face.  The poor man looked positively miserable.

“Oh, stop!  This is what we do on Christmas.  It’s fun!”

“Like a fuckin’ root canal.”

Sheridan had come to the conclusion that she harbored sadistic tendencies.  There was no other plausible explanation for why she wanted to giggle at Jon’s painful squirming on the loveseat beside her.  Who would’ve guessed that he despised board and party games?  Considering how antsy he was now, as Mandi and Ashley made preparations, he particularly loathed charades.

“You’ve got four kids.  How can you not like to play games?”

“I don’t like to play games because I’ve got four kids and I suck at this shit.”

The giggle started to slip away from her, but she held it to a soft snort in her best effort not to ‘poke the bear’.  He was pretty cute when he was being surly.  Even cuter when he smiled through it so that her family wouldn’t know he was dying a thousand deaths as Riley acted out the song she’d drawn from the hat  – “Wanted Dead or Alive”. 

The pained groan was so soft she would’ve missed it if he hadn’t followed it up with a scarcely audible, “Oh for chrissake.”

It must have been one kindred spirit seeking another when her father paused by the loveseat on his way to the bar.  “Jon, care to join me for a drink?  These girls get a bit cutthroat over charades in my humble opinion,” he confided.

Jon practically leapt to his feet, barely escaping Ashley’s evil clutches as she brought him the hat for his turn. 

“Daddy,” Sheridan admonished with a cluck of her tongue.  “Cole and Mitch are playing, too.”

“So they are.  C’mon, Jon.  Let’s christen that bottle of Scotch you were kind enough to bring.”

She chuckled at the two of them as they escaped to commiserate.  Her father had never been much of a game person either, but he had always purposed that it kept the family close.  For that reason alone, he willingly submitted himself to the tradition – for about an hour.  Then he slipped away to the bar and watched them all carry on without him, a sappy smile on his face.

A few minutes later, when she thought to slide her attention that way and check on them, Sheridan was punched with a pleasant surprise.   Her dad was chattering away about something – probably the society’s bastardization of the American dream, if history was any indicator – and Jon was nodding his agreement.  While he was clearly listening to everything her father said, his eyes were glued to her.

 And his mouth?  Well, it was wearing the Bongiovi version of her daddy’s sappy smile.

Blinking away the irrational sentimentality that misted in her eyes, Sheridan returned his smile and fondly stroked the bracelet at her wrist without breaking visual contact.  This had been a good Christmas.

A very good Christmas.

Another apology

I thought I was going to be able to make my regular Monday post, but between Jovi, travel, work and home, it's just not happening.  Old Mother Blushy's cupboard is bare, and the lovely Ms. Audra is in the same boat I am.  I hate that, but I don't know what else to do.   The stress is making me crazy and the few words I manage to get written through my anxiety attacks are pitiful.  Y'all don't deserve that.

I have two more shows this week (Sunday and Thursday).  Let me get through those and I'll push myself back on track with the story and posting.   It kills me to do that, but Jovi only comes around every so often, you know?  I'd really like to be able to enjoy it.

So,once again, my apologies.

It's my intention to post a Thursday chapter and I'll do my very best to honor that intention.   In the meantime, here's a reminder of why I'm gone.  Enjoy the pics and videos from my travels.   :o)  ♥ blush

56 - Sage Wisdom

It had been a late night, but even so, Jon had been awake for some time when he felt Sheridan stirring next to him. 

“You’re awake,” she mumbled sleepily, squinting in the light of the Christmas tree that had burned all night.  The strands of little bulbs had offered enough light for him to spend the last half-our or so lost in the tropical storm painting she had chosen as his gift.   “What time is it?”

Running an open palm from the top of her head to the center of her back as she snuggled into his chest, he pressed a kiss at the crown of bed-tousled locks.  “A little before six, I guess.”

“Too early for Christmas morning.”  She burrowed her face into him with a delicate groan, now draped across his torso like a sunning cat.  “Why are you up?”

“I gotta go pretty soon.”  As much as he wanted to be with his kids, leaving her this morning was gonna bite a big one.  After several days apart, he just wasn't ready to let her go yet.  Sure, he would see her later today, but that whole meeting the parents thing…  Wayyy too many years had passed since he’d done that scene, and Jon couldn’t say he was eager to do it now.  Sure, it would likely turn out fine, but nothing changed the fact that it was awkward as hell to look a man in the eye when you were fucking his daughter.

“So soon?”

“Yeah.  I promised Romeo I’d be there by eight and it’s about an hour’s drive.”  He jerked his chin lightly toward the painting propped on top of the dresser.  “And I’ve been looking at that for a while.”

Head came up and she gingerly planted her chin in the center of his chest.  “Yeah?  You don’t like it?”

“Just the opposite.  It stirs good memories.”

Her smile was lazy, but no less vibrant for its wistfulness.  “For me, too.”

“I’m glad.”  Using his fingertips, Jon pushed the hair away from her face and traced along her forehead, down to the tip of her nose.  “Kitten, I want you to do something for me.”

“Just because I’m half-asleep is no reason to take advantage of me.”  A perfectly shaped eyebrow arched suspiciously.  She had no idea that her fresh-faced, sleepy look was about the least intimidating thing he’d ever seen in his life.

He snickered softly.  “I’ll take advantage of you when you’re awake, asleep or anywhere in between.  Because you like it.”

Her face crumpled into a disgruntled frown, and she huffed.  The warm puff of air tickled as it blew through his chest hair.  “Don’t go confusing the matter with facts, Bongiovi.  What is it you want?”

“Next time I’ve got my kids, and you feel those creative… juices flowing…  Why don’t you send me another one of those emails?”

“Huh?”  The chin that had been propped in his sternum lifted and turned to a more quizzical angle. 

He nudged the corner of his mouth into a half-smile, but Jon was solemn when saying, “That night on the balcony would make a great bedtime story.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am.  I bet you could write the hell out of that."

“Wow.  I think I’m flattered.”

And Sheridan was still feeling that way many hours later when the twin hellions she called nephews were tearing through her parents’ Stamford, Connecticut home like wild men.  Well, she felt that way when she had a moment to think about it, in between dodging seven-year-old tornadoes and fielding questions from Mandi and Riley about when Jon would be there and if he was bringing his kids. 

Leaving her father, siblings, their spouses and children in the living room of the lodge-style house, she slipped away, seeking the refuge of the kitchen.  There, she took in the array of food that was either prepared or nearly so:  turkey, ham, dressing, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, corn, broccoli casserole, homemade rolls and a bakery-worthy assortment of pies.  Those smells prompted an overwhelming nostalgia of Christmases past and made Sheridan feel like a young girl again.

“Mom, can I help with anything?”

Pam Norris looked up from the napkins she was folding, her hair still more copper than silver even at sixty-seven.  With a smile, she declined.  “No, honey, I think I’ve got everything under control.  Why don’t you have a cup of a coffee?  I just made a fresh pot.”

She had smelled that around the same time her mother offered.  It was the one scent that didn’t quite live up to its part of the olfactory orgasm that encompassed the rustic kitchen.  One good whiff of coffee could usually send Sheridan into an aroma-induced bliss, but it wasn’t doing the trick today. 

“Maybe later.”  Leaning over the pan of dressing, she inhaled.  The sage flooded her nostrils chased away the oddly-offensive chicory.    “Mmm.  That smells so good.  I love your dressing.”

“I know you do.  That’s why I’m making extra for you to take home.”  A wise emerald eye winked knowingly.  Her mother had always had that maternal insight as to what pleased her children.  Based on past performance, there was likely an extra pecan pie tucked back for Riley, extra ham put away for Cole, and the molasses and sugar cookies that were always stashed for the grandchildren.  Even the teenagers still asked Gramma’s ‘special’ cookies.

“When is this young man of yours going to get here?  Dinner will be ready shortly.”

Checking the clock, Sheridan did the mental calculation.  It was almost five, and Jon had texted her when he was leaving his mom and dad’s house at three-thirty.  She’d insisted that a ninety-minute drive was too far for him to come, but his logic had reasoned it was only forty-five minutes past Manhattan and he had to go that far anyway.  Of course, he’d tacked on a teasing reminder about promising Riley he would be here.

“He should be here any time now.”

Her mother nodded and went back to her napkins, nonchalantly asking, “So tell me again where you met this man?”

With a sigh, she twirled the Possession bracelet around her wrist and repeated the same thing she’d told her twice already today.  “We met when I went to Jamaica in August and a mutual friend recently re-introduced us.”

“Mhm.”

Sheridan bristled at the disbelief in her mother’s voice.  “You act like you don’t believe me.”

“Of course I believe you, dear.”  She pulled an oven mitt from the hook beside the oven before reaching inside to remove her traditional homemade rolls.  “Bring the bread basket, please.”

Obediently grabbing the evergreen lined wicker, Sheridan put it on the counter and began transferring the heated bread from the baking sheet that Pam had extracted.  “Then what is it?”

“Well, it’s none of my business…”

No, it probably wasn’t, Sheridan thought as the older woman busied herself around the kitchen to avoid looking at her daughter.  Not knowing what was going through her mom’s worrisome mind would drive her crazy, though. 

“Just tell me.”

“Honestly?  I’m a little worried about you.”

“Why is that?”

With a tiny frown, her mother turned from the refrigerator and meticulously placed the retrieved milk and butter on the other end of the counter, where the mixer was standing at the ready to whip the potatoes.

“It’s only been a short time, yet I can already see that you have feelings for this man that you never had for Ian.  With his career and the women attached to it, I’m concerned that you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak.”

Truthfully, other women had never crossed Sheridan’s mind.  Perhaps that was naïve of her, but Jon Bon Jovi could have his choice of women and he’d had the freedom to choose them for months now.  He didn’t have to persistently pursue her, but he had.  No, they didn’t have a formal commitment, but she was inclined to believe he wasn’t fickle.

The sleeves of her white blouse were folded back to leave her wrists exposed, and the bracelet’s diamonds winked in the light as the doorbell chimes sing-songed through the house.

Possession.

“Mom, I appreciate the concern, but you’re worrying over nothing.  I’m not a brainwashed groupie, nor am I threatened by the women who are.”

That garnered her mother’s annoyance, evidenced by the sharp look of reproach and a slightly condescending, “Yes, but while you’re not being threatened, please don’t dismiss the fact that they exist.”

This… warming was coming from the same woman who had been onto Sheridan for ages, telling her to get out and find a nice man.  The same woman who had told her the massage therapy classes and aromatherapy dabblings were admirable personal growth, but they weren’t going to keep her bed warm at night. 

Well, she’d found a nice man.  One who warmed her bed with sheet-singeing heat. 

She plopped the basket on the holiday table bedecked in all of its holiday glory.  The deep burgundy tablecloth was echoed in the pattern dancing around the edges of the ivory dinner plates that reflected the light of the rustic ‘chandelier’.  Furthering the Christmas cheer was an evergreen centerpiece with the same burgundy dotted throughout it in the form of winter berries. 

“What’s with the negativity?” Sheridan demanded curiously, leaning on one of the ladder-back chairs.  “I thought you’d be happy that I’m not squandering my time on meaningless hobbies.”

The eyes inherited by all of the Norris children grew wide with surprise.  “I am happy, and I never said anything you do is meaningless.  I only said those things were no substitute for someone who can walk by your side and share your joys, fears and sorrows.”

“And without meeting him, you don’t think Jon is that person?”

 “A-HEM.”  The loud, male throat-clearing came from the kitchen doorway and both mother and daughter twisted their heads  to find that the origin was Cole.   Standing just over six feet tall, with a shock of graying auburn hair, Sheridan’s handsome brother looked a bit uncomfortable.  “Sheri, your guest is here.”

At his side was Jon, sinfully sexy in a black sweater and jeans, holding a bottle of wine and looking  endearingly embarrassed over his ill-timed arrival.