The Sequel!

The sequel to Perfect Storm has begun posting, and is called After the Rain.  Come by and check it out!

Caught in the Downpour...

Hot damn.

Lips curved upward in a devilish grin and Jon placed his glass with the rest of the discarded glassware.  Unhurried fingers circled her wrist, drawing her closer.  The candles shrouded them with an amber glow, casting shadows across them both, and he strained to make out the expression in her eyes.  “I do admire a woman who knows what she wants.  Especially when it happens to be the same thing I want.”

“Yeah?”  Sheridan made no move to touch him, nor to break away from his easy grasp.  “Just so we’re clear, what exactly is it that you want?  I’d hate to have some kind of misunderstanding.”

There was no misunderstanding.  None.  Her shallow breathing told him that she was anxiously awaiting confirmation that he was willing to give.

Respecting her decision to limit their touch he, too, made no move.  All he did was tell her frankly, “I want you.  In my bed.  Under me,  over me, around me.  Preferably all night.  That clear it up for you?”

The air hissed through her teeth, and he took that as a positive sign, particularly when she took a step forward and placed a hand on his chest.  “Crystal clear.”  Her wrist rotated in his grasp so that she could grip his arm the same way, locking them together in a human handcuff.  “Just wait until I’m gone before you put the notch in the bedpost.  Mmk?”

He jerked sharply, unbalancing her enough to tumble into his chest.  Stabilizing her with a strong arm around her back, he dipped his head.  “Cute.  Now shut up and kiss me.”

Sheridan’s panties went instantly damp.  The cocoon of darkness only made her more conscious of the voice husky with desire.  And the heat of the breath seeping from his nostrils as the wide mouth settled over hers with authority.

Melting into his arms, she moaned her surrender when his thick tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting of tart wine and… him. 

You only kissed him once.  It shouldn’t feel like you’ve been without his lips forever.

But it did.  The slide of his tongue was intoxicatingly familiar in its plundering exploration.  It showed no mercy, yet no force.  He was staking his claim and she reveled at the sheer masculine arrogance in taking what he wanted.

Jon’s free hand fisted at the dip of her back while hers burrowed under the untucked tail of his shirt.  The gentle indentation of his navel passed under her thumb in her agile exploration of the smooth, flat expanse of his stomach.  She’d just moved upward, curious about the musculature of his pectoral muscles, when he pried his lips away, leaving her gaping breathlessly.

“My bed or yours?”

What did it matter?  She’d drop to the floor and spread her legs if he would promise to settle between them with that unmatchable weight of intimacy.

“Yours,” she mumbled, nipping at the dimple at the center of his upper lip. It was amazing that she could form a coherent thought, but she managed to locate a small pocket of practicality tucked inside the cloud of lust that fogged her brain.   “I have an early flight.”

“Your wish is my command.”  Sweeping in with another fleeting kiss, he twirled them both around and guided her through the partially open door on the opposite side of the room.   The scent of cologne was stronger in here.  Or was she just becoming more attuned to his smell?  The drawn curtains made it even darker in here than the rest of the suite, so maybe her other senses were compensating for the limited vision.

“Stay right here, baby,” he commanded, a possessive palm sliding over the curve of her bottom when he left her standing next to the big, king-sized bed.  “Gonna grab the candles so we can see.”

God, yes.  One quick pass over his stomach had told her the man was built.  She wanted to see what that solid wall of flesh looked like, up-close and personal.

Her eyes had barely had time to roll back in her head with the ecstatic thought than he’d returned with the mood lighting.  One sturdy pillar plunked onto the table at the near side of the bed, and the other was parked on the opposite, along with a small paper bag.

She had no more than a passing curiosity as to its contents before he was plastered against her back, pulling her hips to his and bending to nip at the curve of her shoulder.

“Mmmm…”

“Like that, do ya?” The words tickled her neck as he moved upward, nipping a steady trail toward the tender spot behind her ear and indulging in his oral fixation when slowly licked along the shell of her ear. 

“S’ok,” she mumbled, grinding shamelessly into his groin before spinning in a wobbly circle and pouncing on his shirt buttons.  “I don’t need seduced, I need skin.”

Okay, so she wasn’t into the game playing most women wanted.  Jon could respect – hell, maybe even love – that. 

Let’s make it, baby.

He pulled the cloth out from beneath her fumbling fingers, yanking the shirt over his head and throwing it to the side.  “Then lose the dress, and get your sweet ass in bed.”

“As soon as you lose your pants, I’ll lose my dress,” she countered feistily, reaching for the button and zipper on his jeans and dropping to her knees.  Spreading the denim placket wide, she unhesitatingly pressed her lips to the treasure trail guiding the way from his stomach to his groin.

“Oh, no you don’t.”  Jon curled his fingers around her biceps and hauled her back to her feet.  “The warm and wet I want around my cock isn’t your mouth.  Not this time, anyway.”

Sheridan’s heart raced and the muscles between her legs clenched.  If she did it two or three more times she would probably come without any other stimulation. 

She wanted stimulation.  Desperately.

“Then get your damn pants off,” she demanded saucily, her dress dropping to the floor in a frothy heap.

Jon kicked away the denim and watched the flamelight dance across her bare breasts.

There was something about tan lines.  The way her skin was a dark, golden shade at the upper part of her breasts, but the rest of them…  Unsullied by something as harsh as the sun, they were pale like vanilla ice cream with a tempting, rosy fruit at their tips. 

Pulling at his neck, Sheridan attempted to devour his mouth, submerging herself in its wickedly delicious depths.  Tracing her tongue along those beautiful white teeth.  Nipping at him with hers.

“Oh my, God,” she tore her mouth from his, pushing at his sternum, wild-eyed. “Condoms. I don’t have

any. Please tell me you do. Please tell me you do…”

Hauling her back against his chest, he mumbled into the soft spot behind her ear, “Room service

brought more than food. It’s all good.”

Relief swam through her veins.  To get this worked up and be cut short due to a technicality would suck. 

Jon pushed her back onto the bed and reached for the paper bag.  Money talked, and he evidently had enough of it to breach the normal job description of room service.

“How do you like it, baby?” 

Again with the clenching of her most intimate muscles.  Her womanhood was grasping for him already.  Crawling up into the center of the big bed, she watched him tear open that magical foil wrapper, its sound like a call to arms. 

“Top, bottom, doggy…  I don’t care as long as you’re fucking me.”

His dick jerked violently as he put the condom on.  He hadn’t thought he could be any more turned on, but damned if that didn’t send another jolt through him. 

“Up on your hands and knees, then,” Jon ordered gruffly, condom secure and climbing onto the bed with her.  “Gives me something to hold onto.”

Sheridan rolled her bottom lip in over her teeth, going sloe-eyed even as she flipped over to comply with his request.  Pushing the palms of her hands into the mattress, she wiggled that hot little ass of hers, in an effort to find a comfortable spot for her knees.

“Spread ‘em wide.”  He crowded in close behind her, dipping a finger into the velvet valley spread before him.  Jon growled appreciatively at what he found.  “You’re wet and ready aren’t you, baby?”

“God, yes.”  She was blatant with her want, looking back over her shoulder.  “So, so ready.  Come on.  Let’s get it on, hand—Unnh!”

The air was forced from her lungs with his possession.  Admittedly, it was a little more forceful than he’d intended, but she was so damn wet, he slid balls-deep into the slickened sheath with one smooth stroke.  Her body offered no resistance to his invasion, molding to him like a tailored velvet glove.

“Ohhhh, that’s good, baby,” he approved, pushing his splayed palms up her back and grinding that little bit deeper.  “Tell me what’ll get you off.”  He retreated part-way and plunged again with an easy thrust.  It wouldn’t take much for him and to ensure she didn’t get left behind, he snuck a hand around to the tuft of peach hair between her thighs. 

When he unerringly found her clit, stiff and swollen, she hissed like an angry cat.

“How ‘bout you just do what you do, there cowboy?”  Her eyes were closed, forehead furrowed with annoyance – or was it concentration? “Pretend I’m a steel horse and fucking ride already!”

Nobody had to give him an engraved invitation.

Sheridan bemoaned the loss of his hand between her legs, but the bemoaning turned to real moaning when his hard fingers clamped around her hipbones and he slammed hard enough to scoot her knees forward.  “Ohhhh, that’s it…”

Levering her torso weight onto one hand, she picked up where he had left off, flicking a finger over the turgid bump of flesh that was now aching.  She was a professional at this part.  She could do this any time.  His job was to play her body that way that only a man could.  To become a living, throbbing part of her for an explosive moment in time. 

His breath was coming in shorter, controlled bursts as he found the rhythm that made her knees and elbows tremble. 

“Mmmmffff.  Mnnnhhh.  Good.  So… so good.”

There was nothing like being fully possessed by a man who knew what the hell he was doing.  Swiveling his hips to hit that sweet spot, throwing his abdomen forward for that extra slap of flesh. 

The tempo didn’t slow, but the fierceness ebbed as he released her right hip and slid the wide hand around to cup her breast and sharply tweak the sensitive nipple.  The intense pleasure/pain had barely registered when those beautiful white teeth sank into her shoulder.

It set her on fire.  She worked her clit with rapid-fire precision, he pummeled her like a rutting animal from behind and waged an intense assault on these other parts of her body.

“Oh God.  Too much.  Gonna…  Nnnngggggggh!” 

“Yeah, baby.  Come…  Come for me pretty… girl.”  The encouragement spilled hot over her shoulder and he sank his teeth into a new spot.

She drank a lung full of air as the sensory overload spread from her core to her limbs and soared out through tingling fingers and toes.  “Yes.  Jesus, yes!”

The low, keening roar vibrated against her skin when a definitive, deliberate thrust brought him this side of Nirvana.  He groaned and convulsed against her back, hips blindly going back another two or three times so as not to miss an ounce of gratification.

Sheridan fell forward with a groan, and he rolled away, their limbs still a tangled, sweaty mess.

Itch.  Has.  Been.  Scratched.

Damn, had it been scratched.

❧ ❧❧

The pilot announced the approach into LaGuardia and Sheridan stretched, still tired and achy from her adventure the night before.  Then she smiled more smugly than the Cheshire Cat. 

Damn, it was it worth it.

Jon was a rock star in her book, but it had nothing to do with his ability to sing.  After their first explosive bout of sex, they’d taken a breather to recuperate and actually nibbled on the food that room service brought.  Nibbling led to nibbling, and they’d explored their oral pleasures on the suite’s couch. 

That beautiful set of teeth was inclined to do more than smile, and her chest and shoulders were bearing the evidence of his fondness for biting.  It had driven her to wear a hooded jacket over her tank for the trip home.

Retiring to his bed after, they napped until she awoke to find his hands roving her body, erection pressed into her backside.  That had been the most erotic of their couplings.  It was completely dark by that time and, with the power still out. It was like a ghost taking advantage of her.  She couldn’t see him, only feel the pleasure body wrought on hers.

She shivered, drawing the flight attendant’s attention.  The pleasant young man, stopped by her seat, smling.  “We’ve only got a few more minutes before landing, but would you like another blanket?”

The privileges of first class.

Sheridan politely declined and he went on his way. 

The shiver was a pleasant memory of a wonderful night that had ended just after daybreak, when she slipped from his bed to shower and catch her flight.  She had a feeling she would be shivering a lot in the coming days and weeks.  Those kind of memories could sustain a woman a lifetime.

But I’d rather not wait a lifetime to do it again.

❧ ❧❧

Jon stretched, the bright sunlight streaming through the bedroom window an unwelcome disruption to his sleep.  Normally he was ready to go with the sun, but this morning he was still tired and achy for some reason.

He rubbed at the smoothness of his chest, stopping curiously when his fingers found instances of not smooth skin.  Angling his chin downward, he looked to see what had happened and found raised scratches angling from collarbone to nipple.

A satisfied grin spread over his stubbled face as easily as melted butter.

There was a very good reason he was tired and achy.  It was because of the voracious appetite of one ravenously hot Ms. Sheridan…

Damn.  I don’t anything about her.  Do I even remember her last name?  I know she told me...

Frowning, Jon was surprised at the pang of disappointment that realization brought with it.  Half the time he didn’t remember his bed partner’s first name beyond the introduction, much less been interested in remembering her last.

His typical reaction would be to call someone and have them find out.  That’s how he rolled.  If he wanted to know, he did.

This time, though, he was oddly at peace with it.  Sambora had finally brainwashed him after all these years.  He was sure of that because the thought that gave him peace was…  If he was meant to know, Karma would work it out. After all… she had given him the perfect storm.

❧  The End… for now ❧

Feel the Thunder Rumble...

Jon grinned.  “Is it all that bad?”

The grin spread when she nodded and whirled sharply away on her heel.  “Yes.  If I’m going to be a statistic, I prefer not to be bothered by it during the act, at least.  I can feel like shit about it tomorrow.”

He would have reached for her, but she was already well into her suite and he hesitated to barge into her domain uninvited.  Instead, he leaned a lazy shoulder against the door facing, watching her scramble toward the bar.

“There’s no obligation here, Sheridan.  I hate to think you have to be drunk to have sex with me.  My ego isn’t fragile, but… damn.”

The little bottles clattered as she reached in and grabbed a couple of them, apparently at random.  “Oh, wanting to have sex with you is not the problem.  My hormones staged a ticker-tape parade the minute you opened that door.  No, no.” A glass clunked onto the table besides the bottles she’d toppled there, and she reverted to the kitchen in search of ice.  “Having sex with Jon Bon Jovi is the catalyst to this little morality baptism by alcohol.”

Uninvited or not, he breached the threshold, planting himself between her and the booze. “Your hormones weren’t the only ones celebrating, baby.  I’m hoping that the minute my tongue slides against yours, you’re not going to care that it sings for a living.”  Jon angled his head into his shoulder and shrugged indifferently.  “If you’re brave enough to try it.”

Ice cubes slipped from her fingers with two muffled ‘plops’, bouncing on the floor.

“Is that a dare?” Her voice was breathy, with just a little catch at the end.  “Because I can’t say no to a dare.”

He couldn’t say no to that sultry vixen voice.  If this woman was half as spunky naked as she was fully dressed, there were fireworks in his future.  “Triple-dog dare you…”

Her eyes flew wide for half a second, appalled that he had the nerve to call her out like that.  But, unless he missed his guess, the ultimatum lit her fuse much as it had his own.

Bring on the fireworks…

Sheridan inhaled deeply, straightened her spine and set her jaw, taking the two baby-steps that would bring her into his personal space.  If she inhaled like that again, her breasts would now scrape against his chest.

Inhale, dammit.

Their chests maintained the illusion of propriety as impossibly soft fingertips flowed over his jugular and hooked into the fine hair at his nape.   A nearly inaudible, “Bastard,” breezed over his mouth an instant before she took seductive possession of it.

Jon couldn’t swallow the quiet groan that rumbled in the back of his throat when the cool silk of her mouth warmed itself on his.  Itchy palms roved her from thigh to waist before fusing to her bottom.  He jerked her roughly forward, bringing her hips flush against his as he pushed his tongue through the inviting portal.  He didn’t know about her, but that first slide of tongue-on-tongue rendered him give-a-shitless about his job.

God, she tasted good.  Sweet.  Seductive. 

“God, you taste as good as you look,” she breathed into his mouth before jerking her head back to glare at him in the fading light.  “I don’t do this.  Ever.  I’m not a slut.”

Talk about your U-turns…

“And I’m not a man whore.”  He lifted one corner of his mouth in a self-deprecating smile.  “In this millennium, anyway.”

A loud knock infiltrated the silence and saved Jon from further explanation.  He swept in for another taste of her mouth, and reluctantly disengaged himself to answer the door.  “Room service is here.” 

“Mm.”  Retreating, she smoothed her hands down over the clingy orange fabric of her dress, almost self-consciously. 

An inquiring eyebrow lifted, and he gestured toward the forgotten honor bar bottles.  “You gonna down those while I’m gone?”

“Guess you’ll find out when you get back.”

Hell yes, she was going to down at least one of them.  The candlelight tinted his white shirt a golden shade as he moved by the table in his living area.

Shaky fingers unscrewed the mini-bottle of vodka as he disappeared around the corner.

Jon Bon Jovi, she thought, pouring the vodka and returning to the kitchen for a second attempt at ice.   It was every fan girl’s wet dream.  Wasn’t it? 

The cubes splashed into the colorless booze, rattling against the glass as she swirled the glass and allowed the cold to seep free.  Impatient, she flicked her wrist and demolished the drink in three pathetically big gulps.

It was embarrassing.  That’s what it was.

Why are you embarrassed?  You didn’t stalk a rock star.  You had a visceral reaction to your hotel neighbor, who happens to be a rock star.

“Hey.  Wanna eat over here?” his voice projected from next door.  “Seeing as the wine and candles are here already.”

She wasn’t hungry.

Or at least she wasn’t that kind of hungry.

It was tactless to admit that, so she calmly placed her glass down and tried to play along with the illusion.  The one where they weren’t both thinking about being hot, naked and sweaty instead of what was on the damn room service cart.

“Sure.”

A cloak of contrived casualness draped over her, and she strolled through the connecting door to find the scene set.  The candles had been separated so that one was at each end of the cocktail table and their warm glow forced the gloom away from the couch.  A platter of meat, cheese, fruit and shrimp took center stage with a couple of plates, and Jon was pouring a white wine into glasses.

“You want this, or are you already liquored up?”  The quiet teasing amplified the charming quotient.  Given a chance, she might even like this guy.

One night.  One shot deal.  There’s no getting to know each other.  You both know what the agenda is.

“I just had one,” she admitted, accepting the glass.  “Couch or dining table?  I’m guessing couch since you’ve got the spread all set here?”

In his mind, the couch was more casual and casual meant comfortable.  He wanted her comfortable enough to…  Well, comfortable.  It also kept her exposed.  Her legs wouldn’t be hidden under a table and he could covertly ogle them and imagine them either spread wide or clamped around his waist.

Hell if he was saying that out loud.  The wine silently slid into a second glass, this one a little fuller than the first.  She had a head start on him, after all.

“Couch, unless you prefer something else?”

The heavy bottomed bottle met solidly with the table, any noise of it masked by the rain that had gathered momentum and was falling in sheets outside the glass door.  There was no sign of it letting up anytime soon.

 Sheridan took that as a sign.

Nostrils filling with the scent of candle smoke and the faint aroma of some kind of manly cologne, she let the smells fortify her courage and bent to put her glass beside the bottle.

“Actually…”

“Yes?”  Flames flickered in his wine as he cradled the delicate stem in his fingers, waiting for her to finish the thought. 

Fingers.  Oh God.  To feel a masculine touch against her skin…  The flesh sprang into goose pimples at the thought of those fingers tugging at her exceptionally sensitive nipples, which were already jutting into the cups of her dress. 

She’d obviously lied about being a slut.  Only a slut would do what she was about to.

“I’d really prefer the bedroom.”

Here Comes the Rain...

Jon swatted the shower-damp hair from his forehead.  After vacation, it would be time for a haircut.  Checking his reflection in the mirror, he mentally added highlights to that salon appointment.  His hair was too close to natural again.  He should at least look like he’d spent some time in the Jamaica sun.

Dipping into the closet, he pulled out a white button-down and pushed his arms through the sleeves.  Folding the sleeves back twice to bare slowly tanning forearms, he patted his jean pockets to make sure his wallet was in one, and his cellphone in another. 

The phone was a nuisance, and he was ignoring it for the most part, but he carried it in case the kids needed him for some reason.

Pushing his bare feet into a pair of leather flip flops – it was the tropics after all – he threw a necklace on to negate the bareness of his recently waxed chest, and was ready to head out for a while.

Let’s go see what the hotel restaurant has to offer.

His hand froze over the doorknob, as the strains of “Start Me Up” made an impression on his consciousness. 

After I turn the damn stereo off.

His finger was within centimeters of the power switch when Mick’s lyrics came to an abrupt halt.  Jon’s first thought was that it was a really sensitive switch, but then the heavy silence settled in around him.    Checking the couch-side lamp, he saw that it had gone dark, casting the room into a murky grayness. 

The electricity had gone out.

Tre-fucking-mendous.

Was it just his unit, or was it the whole building?  The whole resort?

Finding it more logical to look outside for a widespread problem first, he strode for the balcony door, sliding it back just far enough to lean out.   Gazing out across the neighboring balcony, he could see that the buildings in the distance were glowing through the downpour. 

That answered that question.

He was drawing his head back inside when he caught a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye.  Dangling from the plant holder on the adjoining balcony was a very distinctive black and yellow polka dotted bathing suit. 

I’ll be damned, he mused with a wry twist of his lips, and locking the door.  Beach Bunny is my neighbor.

The thought had no more congealed in the forefront of his mind than a sharp knock shattered the heavy silence.  Believing it was someone else checking the extent of the power outage, Jon’s legs ate up the short distance to the front door.  Swinging the wide, he was greeted with nothing but an empty hallway.

The knock came again and, with a furrowed brow, he swiveled his head in search of the source.  The only other alternative was the connecting door between his and the one next door.  Head cocked to the side, he walked slowly toward it, the quiet and long, gray shadows giving the suite an eerie, horror flick feel.  He found the door, disengaging the lock and twisting the knob.

On the other side was, indeed, the woman from the beach.  More precisely, the woman from the beach wearing an eye-popping dress, with her hair wetter than his.  Her fist was raised in the air as though she were prepared to knock again.

“Hi,” she greeted him with a forced smile that drove away the dimness.  In close proximity, Jon could see the woman had likely never heard the word homely in her life.  She was Barbie-doll pretty, but with intelligence shining behind the luminous eyes of indiscernible color.  “Do you have a cup of electric I could borrow?”

The question was quiet, with just the hint of a lilt coloring it with humor.  Pleasant.  Feminine.  Just like it should be. 

A lazy grin kicked his mouth up on one side and he leaned on the doorknob with a regretful shake to his head.  “Sorry. Fresh out over here, too.  I was about to come knocking on your door, as a matter of fact.”

God he was handsome.  At least what she could make out was.  The five o’clock shadow at his jaw lent him an air of roguishness and made his teeth seem as white as his shirt.  His boyishly mussed hair flopped impertinently over his forehead.  His eyes were…  gorgeous.  Or at least she assumed they would be, in better lighting.  And he smelled good.  Like a man.

Why couldn’t she have run into him at the bar?  After her hair was dry and makeup applied?  Karma was being a bitch today.

“Well, damn,” she cursed under her breath, then shrugged.  What else was there to do? “C’est la vie.  Guess I’m wearing my hair up tonight.  Sorry to bother you.  Thanks…” 

She took a step backward, and he saw that her blood red toenails matched the fingertips curled around the door in preparation to reseal the juncture of their rooms.   Taking special note of her bare ring finger, Jon decided that couldn’t happen.  Not just yet.

“I’m Jon, by the way,” he casually tossed off, extending his hand.  “Looks like I’ll be your neighbor for a few days.”

Sheridan allowed her fingers to be engulfed by a wide, manly ‘paw’ that was surprisingly gentle.  Its warmth reached much further than her palm.  “Regrettably, only today.  I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Then you should let me take you to dinner tonight.  You know, seeing as I won’t get another chance.”

Don’t fight the man, Sheridan.  He’s pretty and he’s charming.  There are worse ways to spend a meal than across the table from him.

“Who am I to deprive you of the magnificent opportunity of my company?” she drawled, unable to keep a genuine smile from sweeping her face upward.  “God, I actually said that with a straight face.  I should get an Oscar.”

Hot, smart, and a sense of humor, Jon thought.  I think I’m about to jump back on the one-night-stand wagon.

He summoned his best Jersey boy drawl and shook his head.  “I don’t got one of those, but I know a restaurant across town that used to have a helluva Steak Oscar, if you don’t mind braving the rain.  And, of course, if you don’t like beef, they’ve got all the requisite seafood and chicken stuff, too.”  Frowning, he realized it was a new millennium.  He was leaving out something.  “I don’t know about vegetarian, specifically, but I’m sure they can accommodate that, too, if it’s your thing.”

Sheridan laughed easily, adding cute to his list of attributes, “Don’t worry, honey, I’m a carnivore, and Steak Oscar sounds to die for.”  With a disparaging gesture toward her head, she asked, “Can you give me a few minutes to fix this disaster?  Shouldn’t take long.”

“Oh, yeah.  Take as long as you like…”  Jon struggled to remember…  “I don’t think you told me your name.”

Of course I didn’t.  That would be because I’m suffering a hormone induced bout of idiocy.

“Sorry.  Slightly distracted by the utility impairment.  It’s Sheridan.  King.  Sheridan King.”

“Pretty name,” he complimented, dipping his chin in approval.  “Well, Ms. King, you take as long as you need.  Tap on the door whenever you’re ready.”

❧❧❧

Jon was surprised that the tap came a mere ten minutes later.  Continuing to work the cork out of the wine bottle before him, he chose to finish his task, and called out, “It’s open!”

A loud ‘pop’ echoed through the eerily quiet suite about the time that the door latch released.

“Hello…”  She took a tentative step over to his side of the line, and the sparkling gold heels left dime-sized indentations in the carpeting.  Her hair was no longer hanging it wet ropes, but fastened to the back of her head in some type of female hair construction that he couldn't put a name to if he tried.  

It made him smile though, along with the anticipation of a pleasant evening of getting to know a woman.  Just a normal date that had at vague shot at ending in bed.  It had been a while. A long while.

“Hi there.  That was quick.”

She sliced a zigzag pattern through the air with a careless hand.  “Trained professional and all that.”

“Really?  Are you a cosmetologist?”

The elegant nose wrinkled before the confusion cleared from her face.  “No,” she clarified with a laugh.  “I meant a professional woman.  I’ve been doing my face for… a while.  You get the hang of it eventually, and twisting my hair up takes all of two seconds.”

“Ah.  My misunderstanding.  Sorry.”  Stemware gave a melodic clink as he hooked the wineglasses in his hand and looped his thumb and forefinger around the wine bottle’s neck.  “I have some bad news.  It’s damn near impossible to get transportation tonight.  Due to the severity of the storm, they’re shutting everything down, including a bunch of the roads.

“But…”  He held the wine and accompanying paraphernalia enticingly aloft.  “…I had wine in the fridge, and room service is actually eager to get the cold food out of the kitchen.  They’re sending up a tray of assorted cold cuts, shrimp cocktail and all that… if you’d like to stay and join me?”

Sheridan wondered at the wisdom of staying in a darkened hotel suite with the intent to share wine with a man she didn’t know.  A shiver of trepidation slunk down her spine. 

Not smart, no matter how hot he is or how strong your urge to scratch is.

“As enticing as that sounds, I think I’ll just go back to my suite.”  She eased toward the connecting door with a polite smile.  “I have some more packing to do anyway.  It was a pleasure meeting you, Jon…”

“Whoaaaa… Hold up a minute.”  The various types of glass hit the living room table with a clatter, and Jon reached for her elbow.  It was nearly in his grasp before he thought better of it.  She was already skittish.  Manhandling her wasn't going to play in his favor.

Hand back at his side, he dissented, “You’ve gotta eat don’t you?  There’s no point in both of us being alone...”  He pointed to the sky that was steadily turning a deeper shade of pitch. “…in the dark.  We can talk, have some wine and a sandwich.  Pass the time together.”

She pulled at the corner of her mouth, rolling it between her teeth indecisively before exhaling.  With arms crossed at her waist, she cocked a hip and said bluntly, “Look, to be real honest, I don’t know you.  Hell, I can’t even really see you.  Single woman in the black-as-night hotel suite of a stranger reeks of a bad horror movie plot.  I can’t, in good conscience, subject myself to that no matter how attracted I might be.”

She admitted attraction.  Score. 

He got the insecurity, really.  Women’s safety and all that, but he was a nice guy – except for work sometimes.  He sure as hell wasn’t going to hack her to pieces to make worm dirt.  Maybe his own dose of honesty would soften her resolve a little.

Maintaining a comfortable distance between them, he placed casual hands at his waist.

“Since we’re being honest, attraction is why I don’t want to let you go back through that door.  I watched you walk up from the beach earlier, before I knew you were staying in the adjoining suite.  You drew my eyes like a magnet.  Now, granted, I wouldn’t have stalked and hunted you down.  I’m too old for that shit.  But Karma brought you knocking on my door, baby.”

“Karma’s a bitch,” she muttered, remembering her earlier complaints and tacking lack of transportation to the list.

“She might be, but right now…”  He reached forward and slid an exploratory palm against hers, not actually holding her hand, just letting her know that he wanted to. “… it feels an awful lot like she’s my bitch.”

Her chin tipped pugnaciously upward, but her hand stayed put.  “You’re awfully arrogant, aren’t you?” 

“I have my moments.”  He pushed his luck a little further, folding just the tips of his fingers around the edge of her hand.  “You never know.  You might find out that the arrogance is well-deserved.”

Tinted lips parted on an inaudible gasp.  The only question was, shock or arousal?  What had drawn that sexy little breath from her, and caused those bountiful breasts to thrust forward?

Her fingers folded around his hand in a reciprocal ‘hand hug’, and Jon could feel the heat of their flesh melding together. 

He wanted her.  He didn’t know a damn thing about her, other than her name and she was beautiful, but he wanted her. 

“If you’re staying in the penthouse, you can’t be all bad, right?” she quietly reasoned.  His love line scraped against hers as he twisted, aligning their fingers to interlock and silently reinforcing her appraisal.  “I’d like to you know your last name, at least, before I decide.  But I’m warning you, if you say Doe, we’re done here.”

He chortled softly.  “A woman of your generation doesn’t recognize me.  I don’t know whether to be offended or relieved.”

“I couldn’t pick you out of a lineup at this point.  I can tell you’re handsome, but so are a million other men.”

“Ouch.”  He shrunk back from her, clutching at his heart.  “What?  You couldn’t say hundreds?  Or thousands?  You hadda go and lump me in with a million other guys?  I’m hurt, baby.”

“Beauty of that is, I don’t know you well enough to care.” 

He threw his head back and the laughter rang throughout both suites.  Jon loved a woman who could hold her own.

“I’m glad you’re amused.”  The haughty little way she held her head was sheer sexy.

“Listen, lemme go dig out some candles.  The concierge said they should be in the cabinet.”  The shadows had grown longer and he had to use his hands to find the correct cabinet door.  Opening it, he rose his voice to be heard.  “You can put a face to the name, which happens to be Bongiovi, to answer your question.”

He stopped, two thick pillar candles in hand, and listened carefully.  Sheridan wasn’t saying anything.  Had she bailed as soon as his back was turned?

No, he discovered upon reentering the living area.   She was still standing right there where he’d left her.  The only difference was, now, she visually tracked his every step back to her side as though dissecting him with her eyes.

“You didn’t say anything.  I thought you abandoned ship while I wasn’t looking.” 

“Bongiovi.”

Ah.  So she did know who he was.  He made a valiant effort to disguise the amusement that wanted to surface by grabbing his lighter from the table.  “Yes ma’am.”

“Shot through the heart Jon.  Bon.  Jovi.”

The snick of his lighter masked his quiet laugh.  “Not exactly what’s on my birth certificate, but yeah.  I take it you’re familiar with the name?”

Familiar with the name?  Familiar with the name??  You could say that.  Her older sister, Riley, had dragged her along to so many concerts through the eighties and nineties that Sheridan still had a month’s worth of t-shirts in her closet.  How the hell had she not recognized him?  Was she so desperate to get laid that she let a few shadows give her a frontal lobotomy?

He was lying.  He had to be.

“Just light the damn candles.”

To Jon’s credit, he refrained from comment, staying bent over the table and intent upon his task.  When the second candle was blazing brightly, he put the lighter down and turned to face her.  One candle was in each hand, effectively lighting both sides of his face.

Jesus, Joseph and Mary, it’s Jon Bon Jovi.

While considerably older than the young man who had adorned her teenage bedroom walls, he was also considerably more handsome.  Yes, the arrogance was there, but it was more of a quiet confidence than his younger self, who strutted like a proud peacock across that stage.

“Sheridan.”

She blinked, coming out of the cloudy haze of memories and astonishment to see that he’d put the candles back on the table.  Their dancing flames were lighting the room in a soft glow.  The shadows were still there, but different.  “Sorry.  I zoned out there for a minute.”

“I noticed.”  The wide hand that she’d touched twice now came to cradle the ball of her shoulder.  Gentle movement of a lazy thumb against her bare skin cranked up the heat of his touch by a good ten degrees.  “I’m just a guy asking to spend the evening with a girl.  That’s it.  No strings.”   Her other shoulder was now draped with matching heat, and he dipped his head to catch her eyes.

Blue.  She knew now his eyes were blue.

“I already told you that I’m attracted to you, but we can just talk, if you want, or…”  There went that thumb again, its crazy little pattern making her half-crazy.  “…we can not talk.  Your choice.”

A very un-ladylike gulp echoed loudly in her head.  Jon Bon Jovi.  She couldn’t have sex with him.  Falling among the minions of women who bedded a rock star wasn’t on her bucket list.

Maybe it should be.  You were attracted to the man that opened that door.  You didn’t know who he was, but your body was ready to throw a Welcome Home party in his honor.

“I…”  Sheridan cleared her throat and spoke with more authority.  “I’m going to need to empty the honor bar in my room before we go any further.”

Clouds Rolling In...

Clouds swirled in a maelstrom of light and dark in the sky above.  The Caribbean was an angry shade of blue clashing with the confederate sky, and a warm breeze carried tidings of a tropical storm.  As if on cue, lightning flashed in the distance, the deep rumble of thunder only a half-step behind.

Jon tipped his head back and exhaled, the acrid cigarette smoke cloaking him with the exotic scent of eau-de-cheap-bar.  His board shorts rustled as he shifted his ass in the unforgiving metal chair to accommodate the left cheek that had gone numb. 

You’d think these damn expensive resorts would have more comfortable balcony furniture.

Absently scratching his bare chest, he noted that there were a few die-hard beach bunnies determined to get their sand time in.  Didn’t seem to matter that it was five in the evening and a storm was rolling in. 

One in particular caught his attention as she rose from her prone position and dusted the sand from her bottom.  Jon stood, ambling over to the balcony wall for a closer look.   

It wasn’t so much her, really, as the swimsuit she was wearing.  The one-piece tank suit reminded him of the eighties with its neon yellow structure, slashed in half by a black belt and covered with silver-dollar sized polka dots.  In the eighties, Richie had worn a shirt for an interview that was remarkably similar, and Dave had been in a jacket that color.

He smiled fondly, flicking ashes over the railing.  He was starting to get the itch again.  It was about time to herd up his band of gypsies.

Enjoy your fucking vacation first.  You know what the doctor said.  You’re too stressed.

Too stressed.

The thunder rumbled again, in agreement, and the tropical breeze that was blowing the storm in carried the smoke away from him and out over the dusky sand. 

He was on vacation alone.  Divorced and the kids were with their mother.  He had nothing to do but think and worry.  How could he not be stressed?

Taking another drag on his cigarette, he allowed lazy eyes to flick over the yellow and black covered curves of the beach bunny.  She was shaking out her towel, and her towel wasn’t the only thing shaking. 

She could help me relieve some stress.

Her facial features were a blur at this distance, but with a body like that?  Well, a man could forgive a lot of homeliness.  Long, toned legs went all the way up to her ass, which was curvy enough to grab onto, but not enough to smother him.  The indentation of her waist was tiny, or at least appeared so in comparison to the feminine hips and generous breasts that were threatening to spill from the modest suit.

Beach Bunny was stacked.

Grinding out the cigarette against the stone barrier of the balcony, Jon laid the butt on the edge of the wall close to the neighboring balcony.  The wind immediately caught the little filter and pushed it over the edge and to the other side.

Dammit.

He would have to climb over and get it, but it could wait until Beach Bunny wrestled her oversized bag onto her shoulder and trudged her way up to the resort hotel.  Jon watched intently, her blonde braid swinging like a pendulum between her lightly bronzed shoulder blades.  They, and her entire back, were left bare by the deep cut of her swimsuit.  He could almost see the dimple above the swell of her ass, it was cut so low.

As she neared, more details came into focus.  There were little wisps of gold that whipped around her face, having escaped their confinement.  A pair of sunglasses, that would dwarf her fragile face, were perched irreverently atop her head.  Blood red nails hiked the obviously heavy bag higher onto her shoulder.

Blood red nails on your fingertips…

She was almost directly beneath him now, and he could see that homely wasn’t a factor.  Not only was the girl – woman – stacked, she was easy on the eyes, too.  From his angle not so far above her, he could make out a dusting of freckles across her chest and shoulders.    And now that she was closer, he could see her golden blonde hair was more of a strawberry blonde, to go with the freckles.

He’d no more made the observation than she disappeared, with another clap of thunder, inside the hotel.

Nice new addition to the spank bank.

Straightening from his hunched position, he stretched his arms out over his head and arced backward to loosen his back muscles.  It was times like this that he regretted swearing off one-night stands.  She would have made his bed a lot nicer place to be tonight. 

❧❧❧

Just my luck, Sheridan King thought.  Last day in Jamaica and it decides to let loose with a tropical storm.

She’d been here only two days, but her vacation getaway was already being cut short.  Todd, whom she left in charge of her chain of independent bookstores, couldn’t seem to get a grip on what he was supposed to do.  He’d called so many times – as had all the assistants – that it was just easier to go back home than continue fielding the crises from the Caribbean.

With a sigh, she dumped the ridiculously huge beach bag onto the ‘penthouse’ unit’s sofa.  Sunglasses were pulled from her head and bounced from the protruding towel to settle on the sofa cushion. 

Penthouse was a subjective term in this case, but it sufficed well enough for this tropical resort.  This and a connecting unit comprised the entire top floor of the building.  So, half of the top of a three-story building was classified as a penthouse.

Squirming uncomfortably she ran a palm over the top of her head in an effort to tame the tendrils blown loose by the wind.  The elastic band was freed from her hair, and she finger-picked the braid loose, making straightaway for the bathroom.

Biggest downfall to the beach:  sand in your crack.

A quick shower took care of the unwanted sand, and Sheridan folded herself in a fluffy towel, allowing her wet hair to hang loosely down her back.  She scooped up wet swimsuit from the counter and padded out to the balcony.  Even when the rain started, the slight overhang would keep it from being in direct rainfall.  It would at least dry out a little more before she had to pack it.

The wind was madly whipping outside, and every palm tree that she could see was leaning to the left.  Sliding the glass door, she peeped her head out to check the neighboring balcony, wet locks of hair slapping against her neck.  There hadn’t been anyone out there since she got here, but earlier in the day there had been noises from the other side of the wall, so she wanted to be sure.

Coast clear of any occupants, she felt safe in just her towel and slid the straps of the suit over the hanger she’d left out here for this specific purpose.  Suit safely flapping from beneath the potted plant on the wall, she ducked back inside, closing and locking the door behind her.

Yes, it was easier to go back home to deal with Todd’s mess, but it made her resentful.  The man who was supposed to be her right hand couldn’t do shit.  It was a chain of bookstores for Pete’s sake, not brain surgery.  Order the books, distribute to the outlets, talk to the managers once a week, collect the money.  How hard could that be?

The whole point of this trip had been to escape reality for a while.  Maybe find a handsome man to scratch an itch.  It had been so long since she had sex, God knew she could use not just a scratch, but a full exfoliation.  

Business consumed Sheridan’s life.  The single, homey bookstore had been her baby and, like a child, it had required nurturing.  Lots of nurturing.  That nurturing was what led to a second store and a third, until she had fifteen in the Northeast, with plans to expand into the Midwest via Chicago.  Unfortunately, that nurturing was what also led to her divorce. 

Ian had complained she never had time for him – time for them.  She couldn’t deny it.  She loved him the best way she knew how, but work was her true soulmate.  It never let her down, and flourished under her love and care.  She owed it everything she was today.

Unfortunately, that left a serious hole in her personal life.  Not even so much her personal life, but her sex life.  At thirty-nine, she was hitting her midlife stride.  It was the only thing she could attribute to the insane amount of batteries she was going through in recent months. 

She’d never been one to crave sex.  It was okay, and on the rare occasion her partner was able to get her off, it was slightly better than okay.  That’s all.

But nowadays – perhaps because she didn’t have access to it on a regular basis – she craved it all the time.  She found herself giving men the once-over, where she wouldn’t have looked at them for more than a polite smile before. 

Mature men, of course.  She may be horny, but didn’t have it in her to be a cougar.  No, men matured into handsome, knowledgeable devils.  Knowledge was good, and she didn’t want to have to be the one to bestow it.

Suitcase packed except for toiletries, yellow swimsuit, night clothes and travel clothes, she zipped the bag with a delicate frown.

Maybe she should head down to the bar.  Grab a cocktail before dinner and see what the crowd looked like.  See if, perchance, there was a handsome man in search of a little company for the night.  After all, this would be her last opportunity for that exfoliation…

What the hell?

She ferreted out the short orange dress she’d just packed away, thankful for its wrinkle-free material and built in bra.  The dress had been an impulse purchase during a shopping spree of sedate black dresses for business dinners.  Its splash of vibrant color had caught her eye and made her smile inside.  She bought it without even trying it on.  When got it home, it was really too short, and the plunging halter neckline too revealing, but she refused to return it.  Wasn’t that the point?  She may never wear it again, but, by God, she was wearing it tonight.

Besides, she still had pretty good legs, if she did say so herself.  A little shimmery lotion would make them look even better in the high-heeled gold sandals.

Tiny, white bikini panties made the dress feel all the more decadent when she slid it over her head and arranged the thin chiffon into place.  A quick look in the mirror confirmed that her full C-cup breasts were presenting a united front and an abundance of cleavage, and that her ass wasn’t hanging out the bottom of the dress.  She had a good six inches of flouncy hemline before that happened.

Nodding with satisfaction, she backtracked to the bathroom for some lotion and the hairdryer.