51 - Stubborn O'Hara

As Cassidy blindly watched the Nashville sidewalks spur to life, part of her regretted not taking a little longer in the shower or on her phone, talking with Libby and texting with David.  Blowing off David’s silly compliments about the pictures and assuring her sister that they’d be sent along when Cassidy had them were more pleasant than eavesdropping on Jon’s phone call.

His wife obviously wanted him home and, while he wasn’t tripping over himself to accommodate her, Cassidy detected no signs of bitterness.  Yes, he’d acquired a thread of steel in that one response but, for the most part, there was nothing other than… cordiality. 

It provided convincing proof that Jon wasn’t spinning tales when saying he got along with his wife, and it also gave Cassidy concrete confirmation of why he saw no reason to divorce.  Why would he?  As long as he and his wife were on the same page, living amicably while he still got everything he wanted…

From his perspective, it had to be nothing short of ideal.

Curling her arm more tightly around herself, she used coffee to drown the disappointed gremlins that clawed at her stomach. 

It wasn’t that she was disappointed by discovering he had a decent marriage, since he’d already told her that.  The disappointment came from Cassidy acknowledging she was something he wanted – and was about to lose.

“Sorry,” he apologized as he approached from behind to curl his arms atop hers.  “I thought I’d be finished by the time you were.”

Her head swiveled gingerly to offer a smile over her shoulder.  “No problem.  Libby didn’t yak my ear off like I thought she would or I wouldn’t have been out so quick.  She wants to see the pictures.”

“I’ll send them to you,” he promised and placed a gentle kiss below her ear.  “One of the few times I ever downloaded pictures of myself, but I kinda liked ‘em.”

“Mm.  I expect I’ll be keepin’ ‘em, too,” she confessed.  “I wasn’t totally kiddin’ about the selfie.  Just wish I’d gotten one at the studio to commemorate workin’ with a legend.”

“I think Obie took some while we were working.  Check with him.” 

His presence at her back disappeared and she peeked around to find him moving toward the desk, where he snagged his phone from the surface.   When his heat once again warmed her spine, he snugged one arm round her while the other lifted the phone in front of them.

“What are you doin’?” she laughed quietly as his thumb activated the camera feature. 

“You wanted a selfie, so we’re taking a selfie.”

When he struck the button that switched the camera focus from the view of Nashville to their faces, she couldn’t help but smile.  His chin was tucked into the curve of her shoulder and, while the smile beneath his bedhead wasn’t vibrant, it carried the same tranquil contentment that shone in his eyes.  How could she resist a memento that documented her ability to content this complex man, even if only for a short time?

“Okay.”  A moderately commanding finger jabbed at her ribs.  “Say ‘happy’.”

“Happy,” she obediently parroted and smiled as though their future held nothing but rainbows.  In that moment, wrapped in his arms and wearing nothing but his shirt, she chose to pretend that was the truth. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to be delusional for a split second, would it?

Her daydreaming served a legitimate purpose, as it turned out, because the resulting photo was…

“Beautiful.”

“Not bad,” she downplayed, while thinking the very same thing.  “Send me that one, too?”

Cassidy gently eased from his embrace and the tail of his white shirt tickled her thighs as she went to the room service cart to warm her coffee before claiming one of the chairs in the living room.  It was actually a perfect shot that displayed how good he looked next to her.  She was going to spend a lot of time gawking at that one. 

His fingers tapped and swiped, resulting in the distant chime of a text message from the bedroom, before he returned his phone to the desk. 

“Done.” 

Grabbing his own coffee cup, he turned to accept the carafe from her and gave himself a refill as well.  It was returned to the cart in short order and he followed her to the seating area to occupy the end of the couch nearest her chair. 

When he brought the balls of his feet up to the edge of the coffee table, Cassidy’s eye caught on the dull dragon tattoo that encircled his left ankle.  It was nearly as faded as the two on his shoulders, and their neglect had her wondering he regretted them.

“If you had it to do over again, would you?”  The question was accompanied by a bump of her big toe against the faded dragon scales.

“What?”  He turned his ankle as though he’d never seen it before.  “That tattoo?”

“Any of the tattoos.  I hear some folks get buyers’ remorse and, since I don’t have any personal experience to draw on, I was curious about yours.”

“Tattoos wouldn’t suit you,” he observed while sipping his coffee.  “And mine were impulsive decisions, so I can’t really say whether I’d do it again.  Aren’t we supposed to be talking about something else?”

When she shrugged, Jon’s scent wafted from the button-down she’d borrowed from him, and Cassidy subtly tried to inhale it all before she was forced to deliver the unwanted news.  In the grand scheme of things, she’d chosen the path that most protected them both, but it didn’t mean she liked it – or that he would.

“Not much talkin’ to do.  You’ve prob’ly got a lot of Titan stuff to get done today and, while you do that, I’m gonna go find a new hair color.  If I can entice you, then we’ll have another romp between the sheets before I head back to Pasquo to pack my things and disappear again.  That about covers it.”

His feet dropped to the floor and Jon leaned forward to prop finely muscled forearms on his knees with the coffee cup suspended between them.  “Not quite.  Putting aside the major flaws in that plan, the biggest problem I have right now is that you still haven’t explained the self-imposed witness protection program.”

Nor did she expect to do so.  Bringing the details of her poor judgment to light would put him in an awkward position and she just wasn’t willing to be an even bigger factor in compromising his integrity.    

“The details aren’t important,” she deflected.  “Hopefully, it will only be a short time until life returns to normal.”

“The more you avoid the question, the more determined I become to know.”

Sighing, she levered up to place her cup on the coffee table and regard him directly.  “You knowin’ isn’t gonna change anything.  I’ve still gotta do what I have to do.”

Jon mentally rolled his eyes.  This stubborn Scarlett O’Hara independence shit was kinda cute, but it was also starting to piss him off.  There were a million arguments just waiting to be made here – he could help, he might have a better solution, he wouldn’t have to worry that some psycho redneck was going to tie and gag her with a rebel flag… 

All of those were valid rebuttals to her asinine unreasonableness, but each of them led to the likelihood of her shooting out more unreasonable garbage until he was full-blown pissed.  She was his cloud of happy and, as he’d already said once this morning, Jon didn’t want to argue with her. 

He did want to know what in the hell was going on, though, and he had an idea of how to make that happen.

Calling up his most engagingly understated smile, he put his empty coffee cup on the table alongside hers and rose to extend an inviting hand.  The surprised confusion that mottled Cassidy’s features had one side of that smile kicking a little higher, but she did accept his grasp and the silent invitation to stand with him.

When rosebud lips parted to ask questions, he dipped low to swallow her curiosity.  The coffee was deliciously richer on her than it had been from his cup, and Jon angled his head to drink more deeply.

“Mmmmmmmm.”

Her purr was a soft, sensual stroke of velvet that invited him to not only drink but drown in their intermingled flavors.  It would be easy, so very easy, to lose himself in the erotic fusion of their mouths.  He could carelessly find himself surrendering to the sultry lips that suckled at his, or falling prey to the flirty tongue that chased his in search more intimate indulgence.

But there was more than an orgasm on his agenda.

“Well, that’s a pleasant change of topic,” she murmured when he grudgingly pried free of her mouth.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Smiling down into her eyes, Jon lightly tugged her hand as encouragement to follow him to the bedroom.  “You wanted to entice me for a romp.  Consider me enticed.”

“There’s no way you just got turned on like a light switch,” she chuckled from behind him.  “But the lure of sex with you is invitin’ enough that I’ll put aside my good sense for a few minutes.”

He approached the foot of the bed and released her hand, hoping like hell that it would be longer than a few minutes. 

“Why don’t you unbutton that shirt?” he suggested while circling to his side of the bed for the jeans he’d kicked there last night.  “But keep it on.  It has a definite appeal.”

Her throaty laugh was nothing short of dirty hot and, when he picked up the jeans, Jon looked up to discover her eyes carried the same sentiment.  He also took note that his white button-down now hung open at her midline, covering the rounded edges of both bare breasts yet exposing her from neck to tiny white panties.  It looked far better on her than it ever had him, he thought while pulling his belt free from the denim.

“Ohhhh…  It’s my very favorite masculine accessory.” 

A wide grin could not be suppressed.  Her bizarre infatuation with his goddamn belt still mystified him, but he had counted on it and was going to take full advantage of her little fetish. 

“So is it this belt,” Jon inquired conversationally as he stroked the leather and slowly approached her.  “Or belts in general?”

“Mm.”  Her riveted eyes briefly tore from the object of her fascination to meet his before flicking back down again.  “Might just be yours?  I’ve never been quite this enamored with one before.”

“Hey.”  Jon quietly requested that she redirect her attention back to his face, and he received reluctant compliance.  “You remember me saying I’m gonna tie you up with it someday?”

A slow, steady nod assured him that she did and the dilation of her pupils publicized the idea as an arousing one.  She was on board.  He knew it as well as he knew his own name, but Jon would still do the right thing and offer her the chance to refuse. 

“Just so there’s no misunderstanding…”  A lazy wink had her biting at her bottom lip.  “’Someday’ arrives in about three seconds.  You ready?”

Cassidy was a good looking woman at any time but, Jesus Christ, she was gorgeous with the bloom of desire in her cheeks.  And when she held out her arms in mute submission…? 

Who in God’s name cares why she’s in hiding? 

Okay, he did.  Not as much as he did a few minutes ago, but the need to know still gnawed – nibbled – at him.

“I take that as a yes,” he murmured, placing the leather gently against the delicate skin of her inner wrists. 

“I’m trustin’ you to be a gentlemanly scoundrel.”

Chuckling at her very Southern oxymoron, he pressed his thumb against a spot about six inches from the end of the belt and anchored it there while binding the remaining length around her wrists– once, twice, three times.  When he was able to wedge a finger between the belt and her arm, he found the fit to be restrictive but not over-tight.  That satisfied him and he fastened the untethered end into the buckle.

“I don’t think you’ll have too many complaints when I’m done.”

It would be incredibly convenient if the hotel bed was one of those four-poster deals, but it was the standard garden-variety with the headboard attached to the wall and no footboard.  He was willing to be as creative as his environment required and Jon glanced around to survey the room’s offerings.

Nightstands, chair, bed, dresser, television – nothing that would help enforce Cassidy’s captivity if she grew tired of it.  He was just going to have to hope she was pre-disposed to play along until the very end.  

In the even that she wasn’t…  Well, Jon was bigger and stronger than her.  He would still get what he wanted.

50 - Sacrifice & the Status Quo

Water sluiced down Cassidy’s back, so near scalding that she momentarily considered dialing back the temperature, but decided against it in the end.  The little bit of discomfort was a nice distraction from the rat’s maze that her mind was rolling through like last week’s dust bunnies.

She was sorry that Jon was out there making an obligatory call to his wife because those pictures made it look like he was drooling over Cassidy’s boobs.  That being said, she supposed that there should be some sort of sacrifice when one consciously chooses adultery, and maybe this was his. 

He would, no doubt, survive it.

The person she felt bad for was the woman on the other end of the line.  As far as Cassidy knew, his wife hadn’t asked for this – even if she suspected that it was happening.  Vague suppositions about the nameless, faceless women whom her husband may or may not be dipping his wick into could be easily dismissed.  Being force-fed a visual that seemingly provided confirmation was something else entirely, and Cassidy sympathized with Dorothea Bongiovi. 

Don’t you think you have enough of your own worries without takin’ on hers?  Their marriage is none of your beeswax. 

Cassidy’s head rolled back and forth on her neck as she begged the muscles to unknot beneath the brimstone shower spray. 

Managing the details of her trials and tribulations wasn’t something that usually daunted Cassidy.  She wasn’t daunted now, in fact – she just didn’t want to do it.   Avoidance was much less taxing than trying to slog through the swampland of tedious practicalities that had to be addressed.   

Coffee would boost her willingness to take on the unwanted chores of choosing a fresh hair color, adopting an alternate name, locating a different town and acquiring another job that paid cash so that she wasn’t required to supply a Social Security number.  Oh, and digging up the damn gold.  She couldn’t forget that.

Easy, peasy, right? 

The groan of disgust echoed off the glass and tile shower. 

Damn you, Uncle Stanley, for being a greedy SOB.

Then there was this thing with Jon – and her faux music career.  The option of continuing either had been taken from her with the click of the shutter and she regretted the loss more than was appropriate.  There was no way they could maintain a secret relationship since those photos had surfaced and insinuated things that were true.

You’re not a stupid bubble head.  You knew all along that those weren’t goin’ anywhere, so don’t you dare mourn a selfish indulgence that you’ve thoroughly enjoyed. 

Mourning was not on her itinerary but the reminder to herself wasn’t unwanted.  Like Jon, she had no regrets and didn’t want sadness to taint the irreplaceable memories that had come with meeting him.  Cassidy wanted to covet her mental pictures and videos of this time so that she could indulgently revisit them whenever she needed a happy brainwave.

Her family be damned, this was going to be a period in her life which she remembered fondly.

Family. 

Libby. 

It wasn’t likely that her sister had seen the pictures, considering she wasn’t much of an internet surfer, but Cassidy should probably tell her anyway.  Perhaps she’d get the picture from Jon and send it.  At the very least, it would be nice to have the photo for herself.

Maybe that seemed a little like acquiring the gun that a shooter had used in an assassination attempt, but the remark about getting a selfie with him wasn’t completely facetious.  It had occurred to her sometime during the past couple of days that she would appreciate having a photograph, and she wouldn’t turn her nose up at one that blatantly showcased his desire.  It was, after all, the basis of their… friendship.

With her hair washed and body bathed, Cassidy took just a moment to rest her forehead against the tile wall and savor the pelting water.  Once she stepped out the glass shower door, she would have to start corralling ducks and putting them in order whether she felt like doing it or not. 

An extra hand in choosing their order would be much welcomed. 

Lord, it’s me again.  I reckon You already know what’s goin’ on with those photos.  I’m gonna trust that You have this under control for whatever suits You, but I’d appreciate a little direction for myself.  Where am I gonna go to find another job that won’t ask for ID?  Where is Beauregard Beasley?  Why can’t this be over?  And if You could smooth things over for the Bongiovis that’d be nice, too.  Sorry for bein’ so needy today.  Some days are just a little more challengin’ than others, as I expect You know.  Thanks for lendin’ an ear and keepin’ things from goin’ too crazy.  In Jesus’s name, Amen.

###

Jon stood, once again, in front of the window and gazed out up on the view of Nashville with the nubby carpet digging at the soles of his bare feet.  He’d put on athletic shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt to receive coffee from room service and held a steaming cup of it in his left hand while waiting for Dorothea to answer the phone. 

“Good morning.”  Her tone was so friendly that it was hard for him to believe she had an agenda that included ripping him a new ass. 

“Good morning,” he returned cordially, twisting to park his coffee on the dining table before crossing an arm over his waist and returning to the view.

“Sleep well last night?”

Was that sarcasm?  Or his conscience superimposing a layer of derision over an innocent question?

“I slept okay,” he provided neutrally, electing to take the question at face value.  “How are the boys?” 

Jesse had returned to Notre Dame after Spring Break a couple of weeks ago and Stephanie had her own apartment in New York.  With their two oldest living a mostly independent life, the two younger boys were the only ones still underfoot.  Although at eleven and thirteen, they weren’t really small enough to be classified as “underfoot”.  They were around and required reining in from time to time.

“They’re fine.  Jake is supposed to ask a girl to the spring dance today and he’s a little nervous about it.  Romeo has decided he wants to play soccer or baseball this summer, so I’m trying to find a league.  Nothing earth shattering.  The most excitement here has been my phone blowing up with those damn pictures.”

The emergence of the topic that he’d been expecting had Jon turning away from the city and taking a seat at the desk to restlessly tap his thumb against it.  On a positive note, she didn’t seem angry. 

“You know those aren’t what they look like.”

“They never are,” she observed dryly.  “Who is she?”

God, he hated having to downplay who Cassidy was – who she was to him – even to his wife.  Temptation enticed him to give up the truth, but he didn’t possess a precise enough definition of what the truth was.  She was still just… Cassidy and he didn’t think that answer was going to fly. Even so, it was best to keep it simple.

“Cassidy. Obie’s newfound talent.” 

“And where was Obie?”

Jon had no goddamn idea.  He didn’t even know if Obie was still in Nashville when those pictures were taken or if he was fucking around with hot rods in Jersey.  Admitting that wasn’t high on his priority list and, to avoid doing it, he provided the reason for Cassidy’s presence.

“I had a business meeting and Cassidy is friends with the guy, so she joined us.  You remember me telling you I met one of the Titans’ owners?  She’s the one who introduced me, annnndd…”  He created a dramatic pause and mental drumroll.  “… last night he offered me first bid on the Titans – sole ownership.”

There.  That should put the spotlight on something he actually wanted to talk about.

“Wow.”  The quietly lackluster response was as far removed from Cassidy’s reaction as an ant was from an elephant.  “This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.”

“Damn right.” 

His chest puffed figuratively out as he waited for the expected pat on the back.  She might not be excited about it, but she would commend his accomplishment.  Dorothea was great about acknowledging that kind of shit.

“Well… congratulations.  When are you planning to come home?”

His figurative chest deflated. 

Okay, this was weird, even for her.  After being at his side for the two decades he’d been lusting after a football team, it was finally within his grasp and she wasn’t even trying to act like she cared.  That was out of character. 

“I hadn’t thought about it.  Why?”

She sighed quietly.  “I mentioned that it was time to have that talk and I’d rather have it in person.”

Jon’s gut roiled and he pushed himself out of the desk chair to retrieve his cup.  Her unusual behavior had him dreading the talk that he hadn’t been dreading before and, if his stomach was going to churn like a washing machine, there should be something in it.

“Okay.  When?” he asked after taking in a swig of coffee that wasn’t cold but far from hot.

He had no idea where their talk was going to take things, but a change of some kind would inevitably follow and change wasn’t his favorite thing.  The familiarity of the status quo made him comfortable and this conversation wasn’t going to end with him keeping his quo. 

Stop being a pussy.  You were the one who wanted to have this talk in the first place, remember?  Open marriage and all that? 

He had, but now that Dorothea was the one driving it…?  After seeing his picture with Cassidy…?  Jon was no longer confident that the final destination was one where he wanted to arrive. 

“Today.”

He detected movement in his peripheral vision and turned to find Cassidy on the verge of stepping into the living room.  Her hair was freshly dried, but she wore no makeup – only his white button-down shirt and a frown.  While the vision of her bare legs beneath the tail of his shirt provided new insight on its appeal, the frown didn’t belong and he wasn’t going anywhere until it was erased.

Seeing the phone pressed to his ear, Cassidy put her hands up in silent apology and started to backpedal to the bedroom, but Jon stopped her with a shake of his head.  He pointed toward the room service cart in a mute offering of coffee, and she nodded her acquiescence before moving in that direction.

No.  There was no way he was leaving Cassidy today – or maybe tomorrow either.  He wouldn’t board a plane for Jersey until they found a definite solution to the problem of her unwanted exposure.   There were “complicated” things she needed to explain to him, and then they would formulate a game plan that would keep her off her family’s radar until the gold situation was resolved. 

The exact details of “resolved” needed laid out for him, too.  Running a race was fine, as long as there was a concrete finish line somewhere in the distance, and he needed to know where it was.  Without that understanding, he couldn’t gauge how close they were to the end of the race.

“I can’t get away today.  How about Saturday?”

“Tomorrow.”

Fuck.  Negotiating with Dorothea had never been easy once her mind was set.  He knew that, but it had been so long since they’d engaged in it that her demanding counter-offer surprised him. 

Leaning his ass against the edge of the desk, Jon’s eyes locked on the beautiful redhead who noiselessly sipped her coffee.  She had taken up his spot at the window to survey what he assumed was pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk in front of the hotel and, even with the frown, she radiated a serenity that he envied.

“Night.  Tomorrow night,” he firmly declared to his wife, hoping like hell she’d accept that without further debate.  He wanted this phone call finished, but tomorrow night was his final offer.

“Fine.” 

“I’ll text an ETA when I board,” was what he offered in lieu of gratitude for her consent.   It was just as well that he didn’t verbalize it, because her next statement incited enough annoyance to blow his gratitude to Hell.

“I’d appreciate if you could manage to stay out of the tabloids in the meantime.”

49 - Girls on Film

It was still dark outside on this Thursday morning, but the current text chime was the fifth during the past ten minutes.  Someone obviously wanted Jon’s attention, despite his intention of sleeping until the goddamn sun was up, and he smacked a hand over the offensive device.  Palming it, he then pivoted his wrist until it was face up and squinted one eye at the screen. 

It was 5:45 and of the eight text messages showing, three were from his publicist, Ken Sunshine.  Two were from Dorothea, and three had come in late last night from Dave. 

Of those messages, the ones from Ken were most concerning.  It had been a long time since he’d gotten any of the early morning emails, calls or messages that usually indicated damage control, and Jon couldn’t think of anything that could have blown up enough to catch Ken’s attention.

Unless Richie’s got something going on and Bon Jovi’s catching the fallout.

Jon levered up on one elbow and swiped his thumb across the screen to find that was not the case.  This had nothing in the world to do with Richie.

[5:40 AM]KEN: These are on AP this morning. Who is she?  They don’t have her name.

Above the typed text were two pictures of Jon and Cassidy, both taken outside the restaurant last night after they’d left Clay.  Each could be perfectly innocent but, after manipulating his fingers to blow up the first one, he found it unlikely that anyone was going to willingly make that assumption.

When Cassidy had stumbled, her plunging neckline had plunged a little deeper than was socially acceptable, and it had taken a moment for her to right it.  This photo had her standing on her own two feet, but Jon still had both hands around her waist and his eyes were obviously riveted to the overexposed cleavage.  He’d never seen desire on his face before, but he figured that’s probably what it looked like.

Moving on to the second one, he damn well knew that’s what desire looked like on Cassidy’s face. 

This picture was an immortalization of the moment when she had smiled so sweetly up at him with so much want brimming in her eyes that Jon feared she was going to kiss him.  That fear didn’t come through the camera lens, though.  His reciprocal smile was… wolfish?  Horny?  Lecherous?  Something well-beyond business associates, at any rate. 

Whoever snapped these photos had done so at the worst possible moment.  Actually, the photographer had probably gotten plenty of perfectly mundane pictures in that same minute, but only the most damning frames were profitable.

Jon flipped onto his back and saved both pictures to the phone.  He had dealt with far worse, but this was still more than the average pain in his ass.  Yes, he’d expected someone to see them together, but a quiet dinner with a third person in the corner of a busy restaurant wasn’t the same as the two of them, alone, raping one another with their eyes. 

It pissed him off because he hadn’t wanted to publicly link himself to Cassidy.  No public link meant that it would be that much easier to keep their relationship in the shadows.

So much for that. 

You didn’t fuck her on the sidewalk.  Ken won’t break a sweat on this one.  Forty-eight hours, tops, before nobody remembers it happened.

[5:49 AM]JON: New singer Obie & I are working with. She tripped. I caught her & she thanked me. End of story.

More or less.

[5:50 AM]KEN: Do I need to get involved?

There was no way to recall the photos, and there were more condemning ones of him out there, anyway.  The black and whites taken in a hotel bed with a topless girl’s hand down his pants…  Those were the gauge he measured by, and these weren’t even in the same embarrassing ballpark.  Deciding that the only thing his publicist could do was spin the story so it wasn’t detrimental, and since Jon viewed it as an inconvenience rather than damaging, there was no point in wasting the energy.

[5:52 AM]JON: No. Let it run its course.

Flicking back to the list of texts, he tapped on Dave’s to find the same “sweet smile” picture Ken had sent, accompanied by a message.

[1:18 AM]DAVE:  Hottest up 2 the min Jovi news alert I evr got.  Thought u might wanna c how pretty u 2 are 2gether. 

[1:18 AM]DAVE:  U DID make it 2 the room b4 givin her what those eyes beg 4, rite?

Jon grunted with annoyance and ignored his friend to see what Dorothea wanted.  The first message was nothing more than the same picture he’d already seen twice, and he swore silently.  Surely she wasn’t going to pick now to call him out on his questionable actions?  After all these years?

[5:30 AM]DOROTHEA: It’s time for us to have that talk.

Or maybe she was.  That message was so ambiguous that it could go either way. 

“Goddammit.”

He didn’t yell, or even speak as loudly as he did during normal conversation, but the sound was still disruptive enough to rouse Cassidy.  She rolled over and scooted into the circle of light cast by his phone to swipe a concerned hand down his bicep. 

“What’s wrong, baby doll?” was her sleep-husky inquiry as he fired off a message to Dorothea stating that he would call shortly.

The easy – and kind – thing to do would be to blow it off as nothing and let her go back to sleep.  That’s what he should do he always handled his own problems.  Hell, this didn’t even qualify as a real problem, but a nuisance.

However, two things made this time different.  One, Cassidy should be aware that her uncle and cousin would be able see her image on innumerable online outlets, if they were so inclined.  There was every possibility that she wasn’t going to be happy about this, but she needed to know that her undercover life might have been exposed.

Two was more complicated and not necessarily a valid reason for parking his irritants at her doorstep.  Cassidy had been the one to help him handle his real problems when no one else could and, even if she did nothing but continue to glide that pacifying hand along his arm, sharing this with her was going to make him less disgruntled.

He pretended it was more about her need to know than his selfishness.

“There are pictures of us last night,” he mumbled, turning the phone so she could look at the most popular shot.  “I got this one three times – from David, my publicist and my wife.”

“Oh.”  She withdrew the touch that he’d found calming and eased onto her back, snugly drawing the covers over her bare breasts.  “Guess I don’t have to worry about takin’ that keepsake selfie with you now.”

He waited for something beyond the mild sarcasm, but she didn’t seem inclined to offer anything further and his silent swearing became more creative. 

“That’s it?” He put the phone back on the nightstand and snapped on the lamp.  She didn’t sound pissed off, but pissed wasn’t the only antonym for happy.  There was always the remote possibility of grief, and seeing her face might help him gauge which direction she was leaning. 

“What would you like me to say?” she offered politely, blinking up at him without any obvious emotion.  “It’s not ideal for either of us, but your biggest problem is your wife.  Seein’ as y’all apparently aren’t that close, the impact on me carries the potential to be a whole lot more life alterin’ and I’m just tryin’ my best to cipher out an appropriate course of action without the aid of caffeine.  That’s all.”

Her altered life was something that had been niggling at the back of Jon’s mind.  Every time he thought about her hiding from her family, the less sense it made. 

“Explain to my why it could be so life altering,” he bade.  “Because I’m not getting the whole name and appearance change thing, or the refusal to fly when you have a valid ID.  Yeah, you have something they think should be theirs, but if it’s as secretive as you’ve led me to believe, then they aren’t going to involve the police.  As long as you’re not in their line of sight, why all the subterfuge?”

She pushed an agitated hand into sleep-mussed hair, shoving it away from her face before pulling the same hand free to let the locks cascade around her features. 

“It’s complicated.”

Jon was starting to get really sick of that goddamn word.

“Big fucking surprise there,” he responded with flat disdain.  “That pretty much covers everything since the day I met you.”

She turned her head sharply to fix him with an offended frown.  “I didn’t proposition you, nor did I decide I was your muse.  My presence here is strictly at your request, so there’s no need to take that tone with me.”

“That’s bullshit.  If the attraction wasn’t mutual, you wouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t attracted,” she bit out in response to his sarcastic petulance.  “But a lot of those complications you’re practically cussin’ about are a direct result of the ring on your left hand.  Don’t blame me for all of ‘em.”

“God,” Jon groaned, fingers digging into his eyes before sliding down his cheeks with a sigh of disgust.   She was right.  They both came with their fair share of complications.  “I do not want to argue with you.”

“Then don’t.”  The simple rejoinder was followed by her tossing the blankets aside and sliding from the bed.  “I need coffee and a hot shower so I can think.”

That was the moment in which he strongly considered that it wasn’t a good idea to pursue a relationship with her. 

Considering his marital status, it was an extremely bad idea.  When factoring in her identity crisis, it escalated to massively bad.  Throwing their professional interaction in there…  Well, rolling all the complications into big, ugly ball brought the final tally on the idea of their relationship to an enormously, monumentally, immensely bad idea. 

He had enough aggravations in his life to drive his blood pressure through the top of his skull.  To intentionally invite another stressor into his life – and ask it to stay – was suicide.

If it was anybody but Cassidy, he would grab his guitar and head back to Jersey without a backward glance – but he hadn’t been coughing up a line of bullshit when saying he’d never met anyone quite like her.  She carried that damn happy cloud even when she wasn’t happy, drawing him like in like a moth to a flame – and he liked it.

He wanted to be with her because she was the calm in the middle of the storm.  She offered him a place to catch his breath and unknot the twisted ball of yarn that his mind had become.  With a gentle smile and some common sense, she was gradually unraveling the whole mess and knitting it into… socks.  Something he could use.

Calm in the middle of the storm and socks?  Stay out of the Hallmark store. 

In a non-melodramatic way, she’d given him his life back.  What had he given her in return?  Her shot at a music career was Obie’s doing, since Jon had nixed any notion of her participation in his band.  Dave had given her practical piano skills. 

Shoes.  He gave her shoes. 

If he actually wanted this thing to continue, he was going to have to do better than shoes. 

Those pictures are obviously a bigger issue for her than you imagined they would be.  Find out why and formulate damage control.  For her.

“You shower,” he instructed quietly while following her maneuver and throwing aside the blankets to slip from the bed.  “I’ll order coffee from room service.”

Framed in living room doorway, she stopped to turn and regarded him over her shoulder with a lifted eyebrow.  “You know there’s a little coffeemaker in the other room that won’t cost fifteen dollars?”

“You know this is me being fucking nice instead of arguing?  Go shower.”

Her hands drifted up in negligent surrender as she shook her head and turned an about-face.  She was on the verge of crossing into the bathroom just as he reached the foot of the bed.    

“Cassidy,” he beckoned.  When her footsteps halted, he approached to slowly pull her into his embrace.  Jon wasn’t sure how welcome it would be, but she allowed him to fold her close and dust her temple with a kiss.  “I willingly complicated my life to get to know you, and I have no regrets.   It would just be nice if something about this was easy.”

Delicate arms slid around his ribs and squeezed.  “Our time alone is easy.”

It was. 

Their time alone was the easiest thing he’d experienced in years.

*48 - In These Arms

Cassidy pulled his face down for a long, lazy kiss, hoping like the dickens that he wouldn’t go down this road now.  It had been ages since she’d allowed herself to indulge with alcohol and enjoying it would be far preferable to futilely trying to make sense of something nonsensical.

“C’mon baby doll,” she entreated, caressing expanded hands over his chest and abdomen.  “Let me make you happy tonight.”

Deep thoughts brewed in eyes that had gone almost navy.  He was having a serious conversation without her participation and she desperately wanted to intercede before it took a turn that landed them somewhere other than Afterglow Avenue. 

“Jon...”  Her whisper was as light as the midday breeze against his chin as Cassidy snaked down to unbutton his pants again.  One hand slipped inside parted denim to resurrect the physical interest that had begun to wane, stroking it with a precision that he’d always responded to.  “Sanity’s waiting for you.  All ya gotta do is crawl between my legs and claim it.”

That did the trick. 

“Ah, fuck it,” he muttered.

Arms that had been dangling bent to cradle her head with brawny hands so that he could deliver a kiss that was hotter than an Atlanta sidewalk on Labor Day. 

The hand that encircled his shaft went still as Cassidy’s lips sizzled from the heat he poured into that kiss.  His big, broad tongue seemed even bigger when demanding that hers dance with it, and taste buds raked against one another as she vaguely noted the flavor of wine mingling with whiskey.

Her licentious moan was lost in the greed of his branding.  There was no doubt in Cassidy’s mind that he was exercising proof of ownership and, if she were kind, she’d tell him he didn’t need to. 

She was already his, but it terrified her to admit it.  A woman like her didn’t find… this with a man like him.  A man who was married, on top of everything else.  It was a cruel joke of the devil and it hurt her heart to admit she’d been taken in like a naïve fool.  That she was being dazzled into believing this was deeper than a tawdry affair.

She could barely admit that to herself and Cassidy wasn’t willing to put it all out there for him.  She wouldn’t – couldn’t.  A few shreds of dignity and pride had to be preserved so that she could survive the inevitable conclusion of the grandest interlude in her life.

When he finally broke the kiss, the air was cool against the wet sheen he left behind and her lungs ached as though they’d been deprived of oxygen for hours.  The rough velvet of his tongue scratched tantalizingly over the tendon that disappeared beneath her clavicle and, once he’d washed it from top to bottom, he pulled it into his mouth.

“Oh!”

Cassidy’s cry was spurred as much by arousal as the sharp pain of his teeth digging into the skin.  That was a good thing, because he didn’t stop.  It only made him draw harder, rolling the flesh between his teeth and tongue as he sucked with the sole, dogged purpose of bruising her. 

“You like marking me, don’t you?”  Her stroking hand picked its rhythm up again.  He needed to grow from merely firm into the velvet steel that would split her open. 

Her neck was released with a pop of his lips, and he licked over the spot that would shine vibrantly for days, making her look like a hussy.  “It’s one of the most motherfuckin’ satisfying things in the world.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” she murmured, not really caring.  It would cover easily enough with makeup, so he could leave a dozen if it suited him.

“You.” Her hand was carefully, yet purposefully removed from his now-prominent erection.  “Strip for me.”

A curious eyebrow arched in his direction.  “Take my clothes off or… strip?”

“Strip,” he confirmed.  “And sing ‘In These Arms’.”

Her girl-parts fluttered deliciously.  She’d known he would like that, even if he hadn’t admitted it yet.  With every verse and chorus she milked from that song, she had imagined tantalizing him with it.  With each infusion of longing into the desperate lyrics, she’d imagined luring him into her bed and her body.  Now she would do it for real.

“Take your pants off,” was her husky counter-command.  “Shoes and socks, too, but leave the shirt.  Go lay on the bed with your hand wrapped around your peter while you watch me, and I’ll do it.”

The messy gray head adamantly shook in the negative.  “I’m not gonna jack off.”

“What you’re not gonna do is let my hard...“ She glanced down at his stiffness waving like a flagpole.  “...work go to waste.  Keep that thing primed and ready for imminent hoo-ha humpin’.”

His laughter warmed her soul and Cassidy smiled wide against the brief and possessive kiss he bent to dispense.  “You’re funny.”

She’d gladly accept that for now.  In another few minutes, he’d be finding her anything but funny.

“You want commit-mennnt,” she crooned into his eyes with confidence and curled her fingers into the hem of her cobalt blouse.  “Take a loook in-tooo theeese eeeyes.”  The little zipper rattled when she whisked the silky fabric over her head and let it drift to the carpet.

“Christ almighty.”  There was barely a heartbeat before his pants hit the floor and Jon was toeing off his shoes and socks. 

“They burn wiith fiiiire. Un-tilll thee ennnd of tiiiime.”

White shirttails fluttered when he turned to stride through the bedroom door, and she momentarily regretted the request for him to leave the shirt on.  It was interfering with her view of a fabulously sculpted backside, but it would be worth the loss to see him propped up on the pillows with luxurious white cotton gathered on either side of his naked body.

“I would doo a-ny-thinng.  I’d beg.  I’d steal.  I’d diiee.  To feel you in these arms tonight.”

Following along behind, she watched him pile the pillows against the headboard and climb on the bed to recline into them.  A couple of quick tugs had his shirt unbunched from beneath him and the two sides of the unexpectedly sexy garment draped unevenly over his chest.  One side exposed a nipple and dropped to the bedspread at his waist while the other began parting at his navel, taking a path across the sharpness of his right hip before pooling on the bed.

And his hand…

White cuffs were folded back, highlighting the active muscles in his forearms as he used just the tips of his fingers to graze the underside of his erection, giving it only the lightest of touches.  It was enough to keep him stimulated but definitely couldn’t be construed as “jacking off” as he watched her with heated eyes. 

Jon could be simultaneously dictatorial and obedient in the bedroom.

That intrigued her.

Greatly.

“Baayy-beee, I waaant yoouuu…” 

Lord, did she want him.  She imagined that it was his fingers pushing at the cups of her new lacy black bra to permit swollen nipples their freedom.  Both aching, rosy tips rolled between her fingertips as she breathily dispensed, “Like the roo-ses waaant the raaain.”

“Motherfucker, Dixie,” he rasped, and his fingers curled for a stronger touch.  “Strip, don’t play.”

One side of her mouth kicked up in a sultry smile and she was delighted with his reaction.  Cassidy blew him a playful kiss and moved to grasp the waistband of her Levi’s. 

The button was leisurely released with a breathy, “You knooow I neeeed yooo-oo-uuu…” 

The zipper rasped as slowly and deliberately as the lines fell from her lips, and her hips swayed to the beat of the silent music.

“… like a po-et neeeeds the paain.”

He jerked himself harder than she would’ve ever dared and moaned with the action.  It was so blatantly carnal that she squeezed her thighs together with a hitching breath.  The black panties that had been left behind after shimmying out of her Levi’s were now soaked.

Jon thought he might die but, if he had to go, there was no better way than a smoking hot woman stripping while she ravished him with her voice.  Just hearing her interpretation of the song had wound him up last night, but to see her perform it…?

Holy hell.

Disheveled copper hair flowed wildly, concealing one of her eyes, but Jon could still plainly make out her seductive intent from the other one.  The lips that pouted vocal erotica should be classified as a deadly weapon, and the delicately pale curves that were underscored by inky black lace represented the ultimate in femininity.

“And I wooould giive aa-ny-thinng. My blooood.  My worrrld.  My liife.”

He barely registered the slight change of lyric that omitted ‘love’.  He was too intent upon the woman who snaked hands up her back as she unhurriedly glided toward him. 

“If you were in these aaarms to-niight.”

The clasp on her bra released and raspberry nipples were no longer the only part of her bust line that was exposed to his lecherous scrutiny.  When the scrap of black lace was tossed aside, the full, natural curves of her breast were fully disrobed and their heaviness quivered invitingly.  He wanted to mark them, too, in one raunchy way or another.

“I'd hooo-old ya…”  Fingertips glided into the dainty black panties and pushed to bare her right hip. 

“I'd nee-eed ya…”  The fingers of the left hand executed the same maneuver to divulge the other hip.

“I'd get.  Dowwn.  Onn.  Myy. Knees for yoo-uu.”  Using the cadence of the melody as a guide, both hands took turns in nudging the filmy undergarment toward her ankles and the floor.

When she stepped free, Jon rubbed himself harder, swiping a thumb over the tip to remove moisture that was starting to form.  Cassidy mirrored his move in the feminine form with a stroke of her middle finger along her slit before sidling up beside him.

“And make ev-ry-thing al-riight, if you were inn these aa-arms.”

The color in her cheeks was high and he knew it was no longer from alcohol but from arousal, and he would bet any amount of money that his own cheeks bore the same flush of anticipation.  Jon’s breath was shallow when she climbed up to straddle his thighs but, when she gently put his hand aside so that she could guide his cock where they both wanted it to be, he softly merged his vocals with hers. 

“I’d loo-ove you…” 

Her eyes locked onto his with surprise when he used the written lyric instead of following her lead of replacing ‘love’ with ‘hold’, but he didn’t look away.  Steady fingers simply curved over her hips to compel her down so that he was fully immersed in her heat when they both promised, “I’d plee-ase youu…”

A growl slipped from deep within as he appreciated the slick muscles that hugged him in welcome, and Cassidy planted one flat palm against his chest so she could roll her hips forward and hug him tighter.  Her other hand snuck into its usual diddling position while toned thighs contracted to assist him in lifting her free so that he could impale her again.  

And again.

She moaned softly, missing the next line, but he picked it up while finding a rhythm that felt good.

“I’d tell you that I'd nevv-er leeeave yoouu.”

Cassidy fell forward, pillowing her chest against his when she took his mouth to steal the rest of the chorus.  Her lips were frenzied against his.  She nuzzled in to find his tongue, beckoning it to come out and play then sucking gently when he slid behind her teeth.  In and out he pushed his tongue, mimicking the slide of his cock in her pussy – his sanity. 

His grip got a little too hard.  He bounced her just a bit too fiercely.  He nibbled her lip more harshly than he ought.  He ground into her with a vengeance that disclosed just how fervently she was tending to her clit.  He could feel her fingertips brushing against his cock and he groaned into her mouth.

Jon wanted to swallow her whole.  Wanted to flood her with the release that was building.  Wanted to drown in it with her.  Wanted to leave his cock submerged in her for days. 

With a sharp gasp, she tore her mouth free and her body stiffened.  She was coming.  That painful whimper was her pleasure.  That strangled cry was satisfaction.  His satisfaction as the explosion pulsed from him in a physically demanding Morse code that completely, wholly, perfectly drained him.

She lay bonelessly atop him, equally drained, except for the inner muscles that she clenched to appease his still twitching erection.  Their combined ragged breathing was the only noise in the room for long moments as he absorbed the innate joy that she naturally exuded.  It was the only noise until Jon turned to press a lazy kiss against her forehead and very, very softly finish the chorus.

“I’d hold you tilll the ennnd of tiiime… if you were in these aaarrms toniiight.”

He could feel her cheek contract into a smile.  “You might oughta consider recordin’ that.  You sing it pretty good.”

Jesus, he felt good.  So good, in fact, that his often-reserved tongue relaxed a little. 

“Your translation of that song is as sexy and amazing as you are,” he praised while petting the soft, coppery strands that blanketed her shoulders.  “But there’s an undeniable appeal to your voice no matter what the song.  It has the qualities that everyone wants to hear – tone, emotion, pitch – all combined in a way that is uniquely pleasing.  Honest to God, if it’s what you want, you can be a superstar.  No bullshit.”

Using her forearm, she pushed herself up just far enough to comfortably study his face.  “But not with your band.”

He couldn’t bring her into Bon Jovi. 

From a selfish perspective, the only time he and Cassidy sounded really, really good together was when a sexually charged undercurrent flowed between them.  That had been proven by the last studio session.  If they buried the undercurrent onstage, it would be an average performance that the public would merely tolerate.  If they let their sexual tension exist in its natural state, the public would devour the performance but also readily deduce his feelings for her.  He couldn’t allow that to happen.

Besides that, Cassidy was capable of more than a career as a backing vocalist.  She was beautiful, could sing and had the aptitude to be a real musician.  Hell, she’d already mastered three other diverse careers.  There was no doubt she could accomplish this, too, and she deserved the chance.

“No, baby,” he confirmed regretfully.  “Not with my band.” 

She laid her head back down on his shoulder.  “Prob’ly for the best, anyway.  You and David would be fightin’ over me, the band would break up…  It would just be ugly.”

Jon chuckled and hugged her close. 

“You can bet your perfect ass I’d win that fight.”

47 - The Book of Cassidy

Jon quietly closed the door and turned to find Cassidy waiting in the suite’s living room.  Her arms crossed over her waist and a faintly crooked smile underscored cheeks that were more vibrantly rosy than usual.   Copper hair was windblown from the walk back to the hotel and the cocktails she’d been drinking softly glazed her baby blues.

“Well, hello there Mr. NFL Owner,” she ever-so-slightly slurred the seductive greeting. 

“Well, hello there, Ms. Jackie Daniels,” Jon returned the greeting as she sashayed close to rub against him like a cat and loop both arms around his neck.  Catching a whiff of the whiskey-laden drinks she’d enjoyed before, during and after dinner, he questioned, “Or is that Jimmi Beam?” 

“Pickled Georgia Dickel.”

His own fermented grape buzz was enough to make that remark outstandingly witty and his head fell back with a short bark of laughter.  

Damn she’s cute when she’s drunk. 

In reality, she probably didn’t deserve a label as harsh as “drunk”.  She’d had four of those sweet-and-sour-mash drinks of hers, not fourteen, so maybe tipsy was fairer.  She had nearly tipsy-ed off her high heels when emerging from that revolving door onto the street, but he’d caught her just before she hit the pavement.

Her smile of gratitude had been one of the sweetest he ever received, and the desire in her eyes was so blatant that there was a moment when he worried she might kiss him right there in front of God and Nashville.  Fortunately, she’d done nothing more than brush a haphazard pat against his cheek and plant high-heeled feet firmly on the concrete.  A quick hike of her purse up onto her shoulder and she was walking a semi-straight line back toward the Omni, with him trailing a few steps behind until he’d stopped in the liquor store and let her finish the trek on her own.

Where else would he be other than a few steps behind?  It offered the best view of her ass and he’d had enough wine to appreciate the view more than he should in public. 

Still chuckling, he reached out to carefully set the newly purchased bottle of wine on the nearest table, and then settled his forearms on her hips to knot lazy fingers in the dip of her spine. 

“You’re pretty fuckin’ cute as a lush.”

“You’re pretty damn cute all the time,” she returned before burying her nose in his neck and sneaking hands between them to work at the buttons of his white shirt.  “And you smell like sex on a stick.”

Unfiltered compliments from Cassidy were worth a thousand of the contrived ones he heard on a regular basis.  She didn’t overdo it and, when she chose to deliver one, it carried an impact. 

“Booze makes my Dixie horny,” he noted, grasping her jaw to sample the sweet whiskey that still coated her tongue.  “Good to know.”

“Honey.”  Her tongue slipped back out to swipe over his bottom lip and an electric shock shot straight to his dick.  “You make me horny.  Sex gets rid of that awful friggin’ cloud that hangs over you, and it excites me to be able to do that.  You look so much prettier when you’re happy.”

Voracious kisses skittered down his sternum when the last button came undone and he sifted thoughtful hands through her hair.  Both felt good enough that Jon let his eyes drift shut for a moment. 

“Fucking me is a good Samaritan act.  Fabulous.”

“Wouldn’t exactly call it mission work.”  Hot breath rustled the hair around his belly button.  “But it’s Heavenly.  Have I mentioned how much I admire this belt?”

Cracking his eyes open, he glanced down to find that she was on her knees and sensually stroking the belt leather between her thumb and forefinger.  He almost believed she could bring herself to orgasm just by fondling the damn thing.

“You may have mentioned,” he drawled.  “If you’d been a good girl tonight I would tie you up with it, but you weren’t a good girl.”

Copper locks flowed down the back of her sapphire blouse when she tipped up an adorably belligerent face.  “I was too.”

“No, baby.”  Jon slid the belt out of her grasp, pulling it free from his jeans and tossing it toward the sofa.  “You practically jumped me at the fucking dinner table.  That’s not how business associates behave.”

She blew a soft raspberry and applied nimble fingers to the button-fly denim that was becoming uncomfortably tight. 

“Hogwash.  My enthusiasm was perfectly acceptable considerin’ the conversation.  You’re the one bein’ a weirdo by not showin’ any excitement about your dream comin’ true.”

The prospect of being an NFL owner had been in the back of his mind for years, giving him plenty of opportunity to play this very scenario through a million times.  He’d reviewed it from every possible angle, evaluating the most efficient response to an offer such as this.  As a result, Jon had a detailed awareness of what the next steps were; it was simply a matter of taking them. 

He was focused on what needed to be done and, until everything was accomplished, there would be no excitement for his new acquisition.

What did excite him, though, was Cassidy’s reaction to the whole deal. 

She had instantly filled with a buoyant enthusiasm at Clay’s offer and was excited for Jon in a way that was unfamiliar to him.  He was so indoctrinated to Dorothea’s distantly polite interest that Cassidy’s genuine delight was overwhelming – in a good way.  It had created a little bit of a warm, fuzzy feeling when she slid into the seat next to him and snaked her arm around for a hug.

Warm and fuzzy was nice, but it was not in keeping with the game plan.

“Any excitement I have is directly related to the beautiful woman on her knees in front of me.”  One condemning eyebrow kicked upward.  “But I might have to set it aside, seeing as you violated the business-only rule.”

A noticeable shadow swept through her eyes, but she parted placket of his jeans and extracted his dick with nothing more than a mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Oh Chrisssst.”  Jon sucked air when plump lips parted to draw him in, inviting him to ignore the shadow he’d just seen.  The way her tongue swirled around the tip of his dick practically demanded that he disregard his intuition that something wasn’t quite right, yet he couldn’t seem to.  “I saw that look on your face.  Something’s up.  Tell me.”

Rosy lips were glossy when she allowed his hardness to slip free and continued to pleasure/distract with a firm, pumping fist.  “Pretty obvious what’s up from where I am.”  

Her smile went full-tilt, alerting Jon that she was trying to sidetrack him with sexuality and charm.  It was a noble effort and, if those vivid blue irises of hers had shone with the same intensity as the even white teeth, then he may have bought into it.  Instead, her eyes were shaded with unease and it bugged him.

Jon didn’t stop her from molesting his package, but he fought like hell not to enjoy it. 

“Babe.  You’ve shown me your ID and the family fortune.  I’ve bared most of my ugly soul.  Haven’t we moved past bullshit secrets?”

“It’s not a secret, just a damper I don’t wanna put on this celebration.”

He locked his fingers around her wrist, stilling its motion even when it was the last thing he wanted to do.  “Take two seconds to tell me and the celebration moves on.”

“You got somethin’ against oral sex?” she petulantly huffed.  “Seems like you’re always interruptin’ me.”

He had nothing – nothing – against a blowjob, but Cassidy was acting odd in a non-drunk way. 

“You’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

 “Fine,” she grumped, backing away and tottering on her high heels when she rose.  She toppled precariously enough that Jon felt obliged to steady her by the waist.

“Take the shoes off before you break an ankle.”  His command was obeyed with only a slight roll of the eyes and, once she was flat-footed on the carpet, he instructed, “Now tell me.”

Cassidy’s nose crinkled with distaste.  “My cousin was at the restaurant tonight.  I was trying to be inconspicuous about putting my back to the room so he wouldn’t see me, so I hugged you.  That’s all.”

“Is this the cousin that’s pissed over your inheritance?”

“One and the same.”

Jon’s hackles rose.

“Did he see you?  What the hell is he doing in Nashville?”  he demanded, his grip on her waist tightening as he went into protector mode.

She groaned with frustration and smoothed open palms over his chest.  “I’ll drop the f-bomb a coupla times if you’ll drop this topic.”

Why was she being so blasé about this?  It didn’t make sense to him.

“As tempting as that is…”  Jon locked up her wrists to quell a vigilant exploration that was headed below the waistline.  “…I’d rather know why you’re not upset.  I mean, you were worried enough about him and his father to run off and assume a new identity.”

Bare feet left her a good eight inches shorter than he stood, and she tipped her head back to slowly blink into his face.  “I’m not upset because he probably didn’t see me and might not recognize me if he had.  Because I believe good things happen to good people and I am a good person.  Because I pray about it often and because workin’ myself into a lather doesn’t accomplish anything other than workin’ myself into a lather.” 

I just got schooled for being a fucking worrywart. 

Jon shook his head and allowed one side of his mouth to curl with amusement.  “You’re unlike anybody I’ve ever met.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”  This time the drawl wasn’t a tipsy slur but a show of disdainful sarcasm.  “Most folks don’t mean it as a compliment.”

He did.  Jon envied her flawlessly simple logic, the way she lived her life without reservation or apology and the control she had over her emotions.  Stereotypical irrational female behavior wasn’t in Cassidy’s repertoire and, even if there came a time when he didn’t agree with her views, he would doubtlessly still acknowledge she had a solid reason for them.

It brought him to another new chapter in the story of his relationship with Cassidy.

Chapter One was entitled “Want” or “Lust”.  He wouldn’t turn his hand for the difference between the two.  They were basically synonymous and either one described the feeling that had haunted him until he bedded her.

Chapter Two was “Need”, and it was where the storyline began gaining complexity.  His mental stability entered into the plot when he decided she was the key to his writing ability and his happiness.  It leaned toward a sci-fi fantasy genre rather than non-fiction, but so be it. 

Chapter Three was a bigger chapter but straightforward, and it bore the label “Like”.  He liked who she was, her devotion to her family, the way she interacted with those around her and how she didn’t let life define her.  Cassidy wasn’t a victim, she was the creator of her own destiny, much like he was.  Usually.

Chapter Four had yet to be titled due to the complexity of its nature and their agreement to not name feelings, but it was deeper than the “Like” chapter.  It also ran concurrently with the new chapter – “Respect”. 

Of all those things, respect was the one that carried the most weight.  Without it, everything else became nothing more than fleeting moments in time that he would fondly recall once they’d gone their separate ways.  Respect combined with those things made him think that, even if they did go their separate ways, they’d sustain some kind of relationship.  As with all of his friends, he would always be interested in what she was up to and how life was treating her.

“It was a compliment.”  He shifted the grip from her wrists to her hands and brought one up for a kiss in the center of the palm.  “It’s also a compliment when I say you’re the best bullshit detour I never wanted to take.  Without you and your outstanding voice, I would never have been forced into Tully’s and been introduced to Clay, so thank you.”

“Dammit.”  The epithet came from her lips full of nothing but humor.  “And here I thought the compliment was gonna be finally tellin’ me why my hoo-ha is so special.”

He grinned at her, but shook his head.  “Someday I might do that.  Right now, I’d rather do you.”

“Well, hallelujah, thank you Jesus and praise be to Allah!  I’ve only been tryin’ to get to that since you walked in the door,” she snorted.  “I was just about to call David.”

Her hand twisted to adjust the grip she had on him and Cassidy hauled him toward the bedroom, his shirttails flapping out behind him. 

“Hey.”  He dug his heels into the carpet until she was forced to stop.  “Are you gonna be sleeping with other guys?”

Her eyebrows knit with bewilderment.  “Not if you’ll stop bein’ Chatty Cathy and come to bed.”

Jon tucked himself into his jeans and fastened the top button so he didn’t feel ridiculous with his dick hanging out, wondering why this hadn’t crossed his mind before now.  The fact that he wouldn’t be with her and she could do… anything she damn well wanted.  Did he even have the right to ask the question?

Right or not, he was asking it.

“I’m serious.  When I’m not around, are you planning to screw other men?”

She cocked her head to one side and asked simply, “Are you planning to screw your wife?”

“I…”  He couldn’t honestly say he wouldn’t, because the possibility existed.  It wasn’t likely, but it could happen.

“That’s what I thought.”  She stepped close and curled gentle arms around his waist, going up on her toes to press a kiss against the base of his throat.  “Right now there’s nobody else that could even tempt me.  If that happens to change while we’re keepin’ company, I’ll let you know.”

The thought of him sleeping with somebody else obviously didn’t concern her – not the way he was bothered thinking of another man in her bed.  Then again, she had known about his wife before agreeing to get involved with him. 

He hadn’t even considered Cassidy having someone else and, now that he did, Jon didn’t much like it.

“Stop thinkin’,” she whispered against his lips and kissed him.  “All that matters is that, tonight, I’m your woman and you’re my man.  Don’t make it any harder than that.”

This is what it will be like having a mistress.  No promises, no alibis, no excuses – for either of you.  Is this what you really want?