71 - Welcome Back

“Ah ah!”  Jon admonished, his lightly restraining grip bringing her to a halt as she prepared to enter the penthouse suite immediately behind the bellman.  “What’s your hurry?”

She blinked up at him with sleepy eyes and made a concentrated effort to stifle her crankiness.  This whole pregnancy thing was a pain in the butt so far.  All she wanted to do was sleep or lie around like an oversized slug.  Even the hour long in-flight nap hadn’t made a dent in her fatigue. 

“There’s a bed in there that’s calling my name.  Very loudly.  Don’t you hear it?”

He grinned down into her face, the affection in his eyes making her feel like a spoiled brat for being whiny.  “What you hear is coming from the bed alright, but I think it’s the Ghost of Orgasms Past doing the calling.”

Sheridan’s chin fell to rest against her sternum while her shoulders shook with silent laughter.  Jon trying to be cute was irresistible, but if he…  if he wanted to have sex tonight?  That was going to be challenging without a very large pot of very strong coffee.

I really need to find out why caffeine is so damn detrimental to unborn children. 

“Am I going to interrupt the making of new Orgasms Past if I hurry in there?  Because I’m telling you now, if there’s somebody in there having an orgasm, I’d like another room, please.”

His laughter bounced jovially along the quiet corridor and a warm palm nestled into the curve of her back.  Leaning in, he pressed an easy kiss onto her forehead and promised, “If there’s somebody in there having an orgasm, I want the manager’s head on a platter.  Just gimme a minute to stick my head in and make sure everything is in order.  Okay?”

“Oh my word…  What have you done?”

“Be quiet and let me look.”  He released her arm and nodded to the bellman that had delivered their luggage and was now leaving.  Inspecting the nametag on his chest, Jon requested, “Samuel, man.  Keep an eye on her.  If you can keep her safely outside the room until I come back, there’s a big tip in it for ya.”

“Aye, sir.  I will stand right here and keep da lovely lady comp’ny while you tend to your bid-ness.”

“Jon, you have got to be kidding me.”

He shook his head and held up a single finger.  “It’ll just be a minute.”

“So are ya here on a long holiday or a mini one, if ya don’ mind my askin’?” Samuel the Bellman inquired pleasantly when the door had clicked shut behind Jon, leaving Sheridan standing awkwardly in the hall beside an empty luggage cart. 

Knowing that it wasn’t his fault she was being kept separated from a good night’s sleep, Sheridan dredged up a sociable smile and fingered the neckline of her too-warm sweater.  It had been a frigid fifteen degrees at the Teterboro airport, but it was seventy-five in Jamaica and she hadn’t thought to wear something lighter. 

Naked in a cool bathtub with lots of bubbles.  That’s where I’d like to be right now.  Come ON, Jon.

“Just a mini one this time around.”

“Oh, so ya been here before have ya?”

The sociable edge dropped off of her smile.  Being here, in this corridor, with its distinctive tropical bouquets decorating the hallway tables and flooding the air with their accompanying aroma gave her an odd awareness.   It stirred deeper recollection of memories that she thought that she already recalled with vivid clarity. 

Chill bumps formed along her arms and legs when the mental image of Jon’s seductive smile, shadowed by flickering candles, invited her to revisit that pivotal night.  She’d known at the time that it was going to change her life, but she hadn’t realized to what extent.  How could she possibly?

“Yes, in the midst of a storm.  My… fiancé and I were caught in a power outage here at the hotel.”

Her smile flickered as she contemplatively tilted her head at the slightest angle.  Forehead furrowed, she acknowledged that it was the first time she’d ever applied that term to Jon.  Sheridan wasn’t quite sure it was appropriate, since he hadn’t really asked her to marry him.  Did it still count?

Of course it does you silly woman.  You’re too tired to think rationally.  Betrothed equals engaged equals fiancé.  He’s your fiancé. 

“Okay, I think we’re good,” Jon announced, popping himself back out into the hall and extracting his wallet.  Pressing a bill into the hotel staffer’s hand, he grinned conspiratorially.  “Samuel, man, thanks for your help.  ‘Preciate it.”

“Oh, ‘tis my pleasure sir.”  He nodded politely to Sheridan.  “Here’s to a holiday filled wit’ Jamaican sunshine dat is as radiant as you are, miss.”

When the man ambled down the hall with his bell cart to call the elevator, Jon dipped his head to murmur, “I leave you alone with another man for two minutes and you’ve already got him charmed.  I better get that ring on your finger, stat.”

She flicked her eyebrow up into a knowing arch.  “You’re not worried about a ring.  What you’re thinking is that I might actually be handy to have around for your public functions – even the Democratic ones.”

He chuckled and placed a quietly smacking kiss against her ear.  “Yeah, well, there’s that, too.  If you’re gonna roll with me, social skills are a big plus.  It’d be nice to have somebody pick up the slack.”

“I tell you what…”  She slowly twirled toward him, bringing an open palm to scrape over the salt and pepper whiskers that coated his jaw.  “You help me navigate these crazy pregnant waters, and I’ll make sure you come off looking like a well-heeled rock star whenever we’re out in public.  Deal?”

The laughter that she expected didn’t come.  Instead of taking her remark with the light-hearted humor that she intended, the glimmer in his eyes faded and his smiling features reassembled into something far more serious.  Somber.

“Definite deal,” he concurred, capturing the hand resting on his stubble and turning his lips into it.  With the incline of his chin, he coaxed her eyes to his.  “We’re good together, Sheridan.  You see that don’t you?  Baby aside, we’re a helluva team to beat.”

“That means you trust me to help you duck paddle when you get tired?”

“I do.  And do you trust me to make sure you don’t bite your tongue off during an epileptic cat seizure?”

She rolled her lips inward and bit them to keep from giggling.  When he got it in his head that he was cute, there was no dissuading the man.  She had a feeling she was stuck with the epileptic cat from here on out.

“I do.”

His arms lazily draped around her waist, hands knotting together in the small of her back as he captured her lips in a slow, sweet kiss.  It was all she could do not to melt into a puddle of goo at his feet when he softly rumbled, “Good, because everything else is just… shit that comes and goes.  We’ll share our lives together and that’s all that really matters.”

“Wow,” she breathed, flicking her tongue out to sip at his bottom lip.  “That was very profound.  You should maybe think about being a songwriter or something.” 

Now he smiled, somewhat bashfully.  “Nah, that one’s Sambora’s.  In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not a real romantic guy.”

“I beg to differ,” she contradicted, tracing a gentle red fingernail down his throat until she reached his sternum and tapped lightly.  “Any man that sends an honor bar and a phone programmed to tell me that Karma is calling…  You’re harboring a little bit of poet’s soul down in there somewhere.”

“Come Valentine’s Day you want a bouquet of tequila bottles instead of roses, then?”

“As long as they’re full… sure!”  She smiled dotingly up into his face, her heart full for this cut-and-dried man who had trouble showing his softer side.  “I love you, Jon.”

“Love you, too, baby.”  His kiss held all the tenderness she would ever need from him.  “Now…  before we go inside I’m givin’ you fair warning.  Commit this to memory because you’ll need to refer to it on a regular basis.  When I forget your birthday, or our anniversary, or when I’m being a general all-purpose prick, remember that I can occasionally be thoughtful.”

With that, he pushed open the door and ushered her into the darkened suite. 

Dark, that is, except for the subtle light emitted by four pillar candles.  Their warm flames danced in the breeze that the open door stirred, throwing shuddering shadows over the coffee table and sofa and, in those shadows, Sheridan could make out two stemmed glasses separated by what appeared to be a wine bottle.  Behind those was a platter bearing assorted fruits and iced shrimp.

He had recreated their first ‘date’.

It was almost enough to make Sheridan misty-eyed.  She might have thrown herself against him with a teary kiss if they hadn’t already suffered such an enormous amount of ‘heaviness’ in the last few days.  Last few minutes even.  There was only so much sentimentality and heartfelt emotion she could take and Jon had a lower tolerance for it than she did. 

“Well?”  he prompted with a gentle nudge.

Sheridan sighed, deciding to spare him the blubbering gratitude and tossing her handbag toward the couch.  “I simply must meet your assistant.  The woman has done nothing but cater to me for weeks.  I’d like to personally thank her.”

“What the hell?”  The door slammed heavily behind him and he used rough hands to spin her by the waist.  “You want to thank my assistant?”

“Well, yes.  This wouldn’t have been done without her.  What did you tell me her name was again?”

He snorted down into her face, his expelled breath warming her twitching lips with a blast of heat.  “Her name is Jeri and it wouldn’t have been done if I hadn’t told her to do it.  C’mon now!  Give credit where credit’s due.”

She cocked her head curiously to one side while slowly walking her fingers up the front of his button-down.  “I thought maybe you’d rather have something else besides credit,” was her pondering response.  “Because this little scene has stirred all kinds of physical memories.”

“Oh yeah?” His hands climbed from her waist to cup the heaviness of her breasts and found two prominent points in the front of her sweater.  He rubbed at them and the candlelight made his grin positively feral, clenching Sheridan’s stomach in all the right places.  “I was gonna ask if they were good memories, but these two little stiffies answer that question.”

“I wanted you that night,” she confessed quietly.  “I didn’t care about food or wine or coming off as socially adept.  All I cared about was the way you made me tingle in all the right places.”

“Do I still make you tingle?”

“More.”

Fatigue completely forgotten, Sheridan arched into his touch.  Her own hands roamed the now-familiar plane of his chest, the toned muscles of his biceps – the firm curve of his backside.  Then, she’d had high hopes that he could fulfill the promises his body was making. 

Now?  She knew he could.

“All this food’s going to waste again, isn’t it?” he murmured against her lips while his hands were busy tunneling under her sweater. 

“God, I hope so…”