Part 5: Savor

At the tone, the time will be five fifty-eight.

The old school voice echoed in my head as I checked the clock on my phone again.  Two minutes before six with no sign of Jon in the bar and my mind was playing that game that most women engaged in when their appointment (not date) didn’t arrive as scheduled. 

Did I remember the time correctly?  The day?  Is there more than one bar in the Intercontinental?  Did he mean this Intercontinental or the one on East 48^th? 

On and on and freaking on, I second-guessed myself while sipping an Irish coffee and feigning indifference.  The man had my number.  If he changed his mind, he would call or text because he was a decent, upstanding guy.  I believed that.  I had to.

“Ms. Valentine?”

Redirecting my eyes from the iPhone to the bearded bartender who presumed first name was my last, I smiled and responded as though he knew what he was talking about. “Yes?”

“I just got a message that your room is ready.  The key’s waiting at the front desk.”

Holy... Mother... Dump truck.

If I needed proof that I wasn’t sitting in this hotel by sheer coincidence, there it was, because I know for a fact that the man owns an apartment here in the city.  He has no personal need for a hotel room.  An infestation of anything wouldn’t dare show its vermin face in a building priced like his and I hadn’t heard anything about a massive fire in Manhattan.  

That meant….

Well, that could mean many things and all of them had my toes tingling. 

“Thank you,” I told the bearded barkeep with enough confidence to make him believe that was the precise message I’d been waiting for. 

With one last fortifying drink of coffee, I calmly gathered my purse and wrap to slide from the bar stool and make my way toward the lobby.  That outward calm was not indicative of my inner spastic self, though.  I’m fairly certain that my knees wobbled as I stepped on the elevator and hit the button for the twentieth floor. 

I was positive that my hands shook when inserting the keycard into a digital lock that, presumably, would put me in an isolated room where Jon Bon Jovi awaited.  The light blinked green to invite me into the spider’s den, although it felt felt awkward to just strut through the doorway, so I hesitated on the threshold until his head turned in my direction

“Hi.”  His smile was open as he rose from the sofa, but I couldn’t gauge the sincerity of his eyes at this distance.   When he crossed to the door with both hands held out, the shimmer of blue diamonds was evident.  He was pleased to see me.  “Lemme take all that for you.”

He had manners, too.  It was one of those things that shouldn’t be surprising, but because of his Jersey boy image, it kind of was.  The guys from Jersey that I knew were not well-schooled in the social graces.

When he took my bag, wrap and room key – and slipped the room key into his pocket – I realized it wasn’t only manners at play.  Perhaps his mama did raise him right, but he was taking advantage of that raising by ensuring that I didn’t hang onto his room key.  That made him smart in my book. 

Then again, he’d probably done this countless times before and had written a “Hotel Hookups for Dummies” book that was the true source of his vast wealth.    If not...  Well, it was a viable option.  Being a financial manager, I might suggest that to him – depending on how the rest of the evening went.

“You mentioned white wine,” Jon remarked after putting my things on the desk.  “I have some, if you’re interested – or there’s coffee.”

My eyes flicked to the coffee table where both were at the ready, along with a fruit and cheese tray.  It was a lovely layout, but enclosed in this room alone with him…  I couldn’t have cared less. 

“Whatever you’re having.”

“I hope I’m having you.”

Did I just hallucinate?  Because he said it so nonchalantly while tipping the wine bottle over the glasses, that I couldn’t be entirely sure. 

“Come again?”

This time there was no misunderstanding when he turned to offer me a filled glass and a tilted smile.  “Again?  I usually have to sing for a woman to come while still fully dressed.  Guess I’m better than I thought I was.”

Okay, so not only was he handsome, generous, mannered and sexy as hell… He was cute.  I might allow him to be the exception to my witty repartee rule of thumb.

“You’re potent.  No doubt about that.”  The smile I offered was intended to be coquettish, and it must’ve at least landed in the general neighborhood, because he winked at me before sitting in the far corner of the sofa.

“Join me,” he invited, cradling the wineglass and crossing his legs.  “Let’s talk.”

Taking the opposite end of the couch, I mirrored his pose by cradling my wineglass and crossing my legs – strategically so.  The hem of my dress inched up to expose the just the barest edge of my black stockings.

“What would you like to talk about?”

“You,” he said simply. 

“I don’t see myself as all that interesting.  I’m a cheapskate, workaholic, coffee-addicted Bon Jovi fan.”

That was the dust jacket version of the story of my life.  Ha.  Story of my life, as in “Story of My Life”.  It was a clever moment of amusement which I didn’t share.  My peculiar sense of humor was under a gag order tonight.

“You’re more interesting than you give yourself credit for, Valentine,” Jon corrected me with a secretive smile.  “I saw you in the diner the other day.  Noticed you as soon as you walked in.”

I swallowed my wine and tipped my head curiously to one side.  “Oh, yeah?  Yesterday?”

“No.  The day before.  When you picked up the tab for my coffee.”

That was interesting.  As far as I’d been table to tell, he and Dave were both absorbed in their conversation about… whatever they were conversing about.  I couldn’t recall them looking at anything outside of the corner booth.

“I never would’ve known.”

“That was the point,” he chuckled softly, and I was completely smitten with the twinkle of humor that had been in his eyes since I walked through the door.  “I’ve been out of the game a while, but it’s nice to discover I still know how to play.”

“So when you came back yesterday…”

“It was the next step to here,” came the quietly confident confirmation that made my girly parts start head-banging against my panties.  “I wanted you in my bed.”

I…  I….

“Are you flippin’ kidding me?” I blurted out with total incredulity.  “Because, I have to tell you, I never imagined that you’d be the type to do the elaborate song and dance – no pun intended – that prefaces the man/woman mating ritual.”

His bark of laughter was short and Jon’s accompanying smile crinkled the corners of those shimmering eyes.  “You’d be right.  No song and dance here.  Just a quick meeting to confirm that your personality was comparable to your other assets.”

“And your friend’s visit today?”

One shoulder lifted negligently.  “All his own doing, although he did tell me about it.”

I was a little suspicious about that, but not enough to make a difference.  “Okay.”

“Is that your agreement to get naked with me?”

A ripple of anticipation slithered down my spine and kept tumbling until it hit my very core.  Uncrossing my legs and scooting to the edge of the cushion, I carefully and deliberately placed my near-empty glass on the coffee table as I said, “Yes.”

“You might want to hold onto that agreement for a few more minutes,” he cautioned, and I found that, when I turned to look at him, his eyes had darkened.  “Until I spell out the terms and conditions.”

This.  This is how I had imagined him in at least a hundred fantasies – the calm, cool, collected and very in charge CEO of his own major corporation, wrangling the impossible deal with finessed ease.  It was so… freaking… sexy that I almost thought the convulsion between my legs was an orgasm.

“Go ahead.”

I inspected the display of chest hair peeking from behind pearl gray fabric that was unbuttoned beyond the limits of conservative, with my eyes traveling up to his throat.  My tongue tingled at the thought of licking that very enticing Adams apple.

“Tiny,” he commanded my attention.  “Look at me.”

Guilty eyes slipped up to find one eyebrow arched high in his smirking face, but he didn’t reveal any sense of amusement beyond that. 

“This is one night only.  I won’t call.  I won’t text.  I won’t fall in love with you.  If that’s what you need or want, then we’ll finish our bottle of wine and a car will take you home.  No hard feelings.”

My throat was dry – Sahara Desert dry, and my skin was as hot as if I were baking under the scorching sun.  With his left hand tucked between the thighs of crossed legs and fine glassware dangling from the fingertips of the right, he was both relaxed and fully in control of the situation.  It was evident that Jon meant what he said, right down to the “no hard feelings”, and I appreciated the honesty.

“And if that’s not what I need or want?”  I inquired softly.  “Then what?”

“Then…”  His slowly curving smile was filled with wicked promise.  “I admit that I like it a little rough and make no apologies for it, because I’ll defile you in all the very best ways.  You’ll come.  You’ll scream.  And when you wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll ache deep inside…  A woman thoroughly fucked by a man who knows how to do it.”

I had died and gone to Heaven.  Or was terminally ill.  Had someone contacted Make-a-Wish on my behalf?  Because this is exactly the scene I had replayed a thousand times in my imagination – only it was sooooo much better in real life. 

“That,” I murmured, looking right into his eyes so that he couldn’t possibly misunderstand my sincerity.  “Is precisely what I want.  More than my next damn breath.”

I was rewarded with a smile that was both dazzling and contemplative, as though he hadn’t allowed himself to yet plan beyond this moment.  Now that he had my compliance, though, desirous thoughts tumbled in his mind.  They were easy to see, but hard to read because of the whirlwind pace with which they flashed through his eyes.  It was a stark contrast to his next lazily drawled words. 

“Then I suggest you get your ass over here.”