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.”