For once, Jon woke before Mac the next morning. He lay there for several minutes, just watching her sleep. He was worried about the vamp in Portland. What had that been about? He glanced at his watch; maybe it was time to make that call to Kristoff. He’d been putting it off, figuring there would be an argument between him and Mac, once Kristoff told him the answers to his questions. Jon didn’t know the answers for sure, but his gut told him that Mac wasn’t going to like what his friend had to say.
Carefully, he got out of bed and went to his own room to call his friend.
When Mac woke, she was disappointed to find Jon already awake and gone. She hoped he hadn’t gone too far, and that he had ordered her a Dr. Pepper from room service. Stretching, Mac realized muscles she didn’t even know she had were tender. Deciding on a hot shower, she climbed out of bed.
When she got out of the shower, Mac wrapped herself in her fluffy terry cloth robe. She padded barefoot into the sitting room of her suite and was surprised to find the door to Jon’s suite open. She could hear him talking to someone in what sounded like Russian. After not hearing anyone else’s voice, she decided he must be on the phone.
Quietly, she walked into the sitting room of his suite. Jon was sitting in a chair at the little table with his back to her and his head in his hand. He didn’t sound too thrilled with whatever the other person was saying.
"Da, Kristoff," she heard him say, just before he looked up at her. His smile seemed strained to her as he finished the conversation and flipped his cell phone closed.
"Bad news?" she asked, crossing the room to sit in the other chair at the table.
"Yeah, sort of," he answered.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not really," he told her, "but we need to."
Mac wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. "Was that Russian?"
"Yeah," he answered. "Kristoff speaks English, but he insisted it was my turn to speak Russian."
"Wow," she said, smiling, "English, Italian, and now Russian, I had no idea you were multi-lingual."
"It’s not something that’s common knowledge," he told her, "but when you’re as old as I am, you have plenty of time to learn several languages."
Mac figured she had put off the bad news as long as possible. "So, what did Kristoff have to say?"
"He’s the vamp friend I told you about that I could call to get answers to our questions," Jon told her. He knew she wouldn’t be happy with the information he had gathered. Kristoff had told him all he needed to know and more. His friend had been happy to hear that he had finally found his life mate. Jon had been surprised to find out that Maria had not wanted to be turned either, but her love for Kristoff had eventually changed her mind. Jon hoped he could get that lucky with Mac, but he’d have to get her to love him first.
"And?" she asked, grinning. Obviously, Jon wasn’t through stalling.
"Shit," he exclaimed, raking his hand through his hair. "You’re not going to like this, Mac."
"Well, then let’s get it over with," she told him softly.
"Uh, first of all, Kristoff congratulated me on finding you and said he couldn’t wait to meet you," he replied.
"Why do I hear a but in there?"
"Because there is one," he told her, leaning back in the chair, his eyes meeting hers. "Mac, you and I just being together is not enough to save me. We have to go through the binding ceremony, and to do that you have to be a vampire," he said it all in a rush, then sat waiting on the explosion of her temper.
But, no explosion came. Mac calmly stated, "Well, then, Jon, it’s been nice knowing you," she stood up, and started across the room. "I believe I have enough material to finish my article. After tonight’s show I’ll be going back to Dallas."
In a flash, Jon was across the room and grabbing her by the arm. "You’re kidding, right?"
"Nope," she answered, "I have no desire to be turned into a vampire. Hell, I have enough trouble fitting in as it is."
"And, you’d just casually walk away from what we have?" he asked, pain in his voice.
"And, what exactly is that, Jon?" she asked, her voice rising with her temper. "Great sex?"
"Damn it, Mac," Jon exclaimed, pulling her toward him. "We have more than that."
"Do we?"
"I need you, Mac," he told her.
That wasn’t exactly what Mac wanted to hear. She realized that she wanted him to want to be with her because he cared about her, not because he needed her. It sounded like she was the lesser of two evils. Insanity or spending eternity with her.
"That may be, Jon, but do you want to be with me? Do you care about me at all?" she asked, and he could hear the tears in her voice.
"Mac," he placated, "how can you doubt that I want you?"
"Don’t turn this around to sex, Jon," she warned. "I don’t doubt that you want me. You’ve made that perfectly clear. But, do you care about me?"
"Of course I care about you," Jon exclaimed, "I don’t love you, yet. But, I’m sure I could. Let’s explore what I do feel," he began to count off the points on his fingers, " Jealousy. Hell, I was jealous of Richie. Possessiveness. You’re mine, Mac, and I won’t let you go."
"You can’t keep me here against my will," she told him, angrily.
"Maybe not," he grinned, "but I can follow you wherever you go."
"Would you?"
"Hell yeah," he answered.
"You realize, of course, that would be considered stalking, and that’s illegal," she told him.
"Mac, please don’t go yet," he pleaded. "Give us a chance."
She looked up at him. He looked so beautiful, wearing nothing but the gray sweat pants he had on the night before, his hair rumpled from sleep, and standing there basically begging her not to go. No man had ever begged her not to leave him. Hell, she had never left a man before. She thought about the pleasure they had shared the night before. Funny, she couldn’t remember anything after that explosive orgasm. Suddenly, she blushed to the roots of her hair. "Did I pass out last night?"
Jon blinked at the sudden change in topic, but then seemed to grow a few inches in height as he proudly beamed at her. "Yes, ma’am," he answered, nodding and giving her a self-satisfied smirk. "Want to again?"
"Quit changing the subject to sex," she ordered, exasperated.
"I didn’t that time," he told her, still smirking. "You did."
How could she resist him? There was no way. She just wasn’t strong enough to walk away from him, even if, she couldn’t keep him permanently without becoming something she didn’t want to be. Mac was afraid she was already falling in love with him.
"I’ll stay a little longer," she conceded.
"I’ll take what I can get," Jon said, smiling at her. He was sure he could convince her to stay with him permanently. He just had to figure out a way.
Jon spent the rest of the day working out, not physically. Mentally. Somehow, someway, he had to make her want to stay with him. He finally decided he would use every weapon at his disposal. He would even use her desire for him against her, if he had to.
********************
That afternoon he was at the venue for sound check. He and the guys had just finished going through their paces and he was going back to his dressing room, when Richie fell into step beside him.
"What’s bothering you, Kidd?" his friend asked.
"The problem is so huge, I don’t even know where to start," Jon told him, as he continued walking.
"I hate to sound cliche here, Jon, but maybe at the beginning would be a good place to start," Richie suggested.
Jon glanced around the passageway of the venue. "Yeah, but we better wait ‘til we get to my dressing room."
"Isn’t Mac in there?" the guitarist asked.
"No, and that’s part of the story," Jon told him.
"Aw shit, I shoulda known it was woman troubles," Richie groaned.
"You act like women have always been a problem for me," the singer replied, "and that couldn’t be farther from the truth."
"See, that’s your problem now," Richie explained, just as they reached the door of Jon’s dressing room. "You’ve always had it so easy with women that you have no idea how to handle a few hurdles."
"Oh, this is a little bigger than a mere hurdle," Jon said, "this can only be called a hurdle if Everest can be called a hill."
The two men walked into the dressing room, and Jon casually closed the door. "That bad, huh?" Richie asked.
Jon explained the situation, even telling Richie about the phone conversation with Kristoff. He finished with, "But, Mac doesn’t want to be a vampire. She has said that more than once, and stressed it again this morning. Hell, she almost left when I told her what Kristoff said."
"Has she said what it is that makes her not want to be a vamp?" Richie asked. "Because, trust me, if I was offered eternal youth, I would jump at the chance."
"No, you wouldn’t," Jon told him, shaking his head, "it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Rich. I’ve explained that to you."
"I know, Jon," Richie said, grinning, "ten years ago, you made it perfectly clear what I’d be getting into if you changed me. And, you’ve assured me over and over again that I made the right choice when I said thanks but no thanks. I didn’t wanna live longer than my daughter or out live my wife by a few hundred years. Of course, the wife issue isn’t exactly an issue anymore, is it?"
"And, I didn’t even go into the rules that we all follow or risk the wrath of the Council either," Jon said quietly.
"Oh yes," Richie sighed dramatically, "the mysterious Council."
"Don’t joke," Jon cautioned. "They’re real, I’ve stood before them and been judged before, and I was scared shitless. But, that was before Kristoff sat on the Council."
"You never told me that before," Richie accused.
"I staked a fellow vamp, Rich, I had to go before the Council and explain my actions."
"Really?" Richie was surprised.
"It was about 130 years ago, in Lincoln County, New Mexico. A vampire friend of mine viciously killed a saloon girl. He had gone rogue, completely insane with blood lust. I knew he did it, and I hunted him down and staked him. When the Council found out what I had done, I was summoned to them and judged," Jon told him.
"Lincoln County, New Mexico? Isn’t that where Billy the Kid was from?" Richie asked.
"No, Billy wasn’t from there, but that’s where he became famous," Jon answered. Richie noticed that just like every other time Jon had mentioned the famous outlaw, he did so now with a kind of familiarity, like he’d known him personally. "The Lincoln County War is what made The Kid famous."
"You knew him, didn’t you?" Richie asked.
"Yeah," Jon answered, smiling. He had often wondered when Richie would ever get around to asking that question. "I rode with him, not very long, but long enough to make friends with him."
"Ah," Richie nodded in understanding, "so Young Guns was a..."
Jon interrupted him, "A complete historical fallacy. There were a hell of a lot of factual inaccuracies in that movie, and I for one know that for sure."
"Okay, Jon, I just gotta know," Richie said, excitedly, "was Brushy Bill Roberts really Billy the kid?"
"I have no idea," Jon answered, "I never met Brushy Bill."
"Oh man, what a let down," Richie sighed.
"I can tell you, that I ran into Billy in El Paso after Garret supposedly shot him," Jon told him. "He was who told me where I could find the vampire. I had tracked him to El Paso, but wasn’t sure where to find him in town once I got there. Billy had been in town for a few months hiding out, so he was overly cautious and very aware of any strangers that rode into town."
"Holy shit," Richie breathed.
Into the silence that fell after Richie’s amazement, Jon said softly, "She doesn’t wanna drink blood."
"Okay, yeah," Richie nodded in understanding, "Everest is anything but a hill."
Jon froze. That loud crackle seemed to fill his ears, as static electricity raced down his spine.
"Fuck," he exclaimed, as he hurried to the door. He flung it open and ran into the hallway, looking quickly in every direction. A few crew members walked by and eyed him curiously, but no one else was in sight.
"Jon?" Richie questioned from inside the room.
Jon walked back into the room and closed the door with a soft click. Looking at Richie with dread filled eyes, he said angrily, "He’s here. Somewhere. That fucker is here."
"Who?"
"The vamp from Portland," Jon answered, "he’s here."
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Chapter Twelve
For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening hours, Mac spent every moment that Richie wasn’t occupied with work, continually answering the question, "Really?" or "Are you sure?". Once he even said, "So, show me something cool."
Jon had given up on answering Richie. He would just shake his head at his friend and walk away. Richie might be having a hard time grasping the concept of Mac being a witch, but Jon knew it would eventually sink in. He was proven right when Richie approached him before the concert and suggested a song to be added to the set list. Jon laughed out loud at the idea, but quickly included the Eagles song, Witchy Woman, on the set list.
The concert went off without a hitch, but during the short after show meet and greet with radio station contest winners, Jon felt that familiar warning again. Quickly and cautiously, he searched the crowded conference room, but he didn’t see anyone who didn’t seem to belong. His eyes found Mac standing between Richie and David while they signed autographs and posed for pictures. Jon spent another hour smiling and signing his name, but continually kept an eye out for Mac. Whoever was lurking around, Jon didn’t want them anywhere near her. He wouldn’t feel completely comfortable until they left Portland. Jon knew whatever vampire was sneaking around to get a look at him wasn’t a friend, otherwise they would have already come forward.
The flight to San Francisco was short. By 2am local time, Mac and Jon were settled into adjoining suites. Once again, Mac was touched by Jon’s discretion, but there was still that nagging little thought in the back of her mind that his discretion wasn’t to protect her, that it was in fact to protect himself. He was, in the eyes of the world, a married man after all.
Mac was getting settled into her room, when there was a knock on the door between her room and Jon’s.
"Come on in," she called out.
He opened the door, but didn’t enter the room. Instead, he casually leaned one shoulder against the door frame. He was shirtless, with his arms crossed over his sculpted chest. His crossed ankles drew her eyes and she realized he was barefoot. Jon was wearing nothing but a pair of jogging pants, that rode so low on his hips she could see his hipbone. "You could’ve just told me in my head," he told her, smiling. The lines normally around his eyes weren’t there; he had dropped the glamour. Jon had been doing so whenever they were alone since the night he’d told her what he was, but it still threw her for a loop every time.
"I guess I’m just not used to communicating that way, yet," she answered him from the doorway leading into her bedroom.
To anyone else he would seem relaxed, but to Mac, he looked ready to pounce, standing there still smiling at her. His stance reminded her that he was a predator, and she felt like dinner. Somehow, that didn’t bother her as much as it would have before he’d bitten her earlier in the day. She blinked, and suddenly he wasn’t across the room anymore, but standing right in front of her and reaching up to pull the scrunchie from her hair. Her ponytail didn’t stand a chance against his long fingers, and her tresses fell around her shoulders.
"How did you...," she started to ask, but at his raised eyebrow she let the subject drop. He had crossed the room with lightening speed courtesy of his vamp powers.
She felt the fluttering sensation in her head right before his husky voice sounded in her mind. But, I want you to get used to talking to me this way, moglie mia. It adds intimacy, don’t you think? His fingers laced through her hair, as he combed it back off her shoulders. The smile was still on his face, but now it seemed like a lazy, sensual smile with his blue eyes ablaze with desire.
Refusing to give into his unspoken demand, she told him out loud, "I’ve been meaning to ask you what that endearment means in English. It is Italian, right?"
Yeah, it’s Italian, he answered her.
She waited for him to tell her what it meant, but his hand softly caressed her cheek and she looked up into his face. His eyebrow raised in expectation told her he wasn’t going to tell her until she asked him the way he wanted her to. She wasn’t ready to give in just yet. "I’ll look it up on the internet," she told him, grinning mischievously.
You’re so stubborn, he told her, still smiling, but I like that.
"Then you’ll...," he interrupted her in her head.
Nope, because I’m more stubborn. His warm fingers were tracing the neckline of her T-shirt, while the other hand lay on the curve of her hip, burning her.
She gave him a devilish smile, before turning away from him. She crossed the room to her laptop. Opening it, as she leaned over the table it sat upon. She braced one hand on the table top, and told him, "Curiosity is killin’ me. Just gimme a minute."
In an instant his left arm was snaking around her waist and she felt the heat of his body pressed close to her back. Even his thighs were rubbing the back of hers, as he ground his arousal against the curves of her bottom. His right hand pushed her hair aside so he could place a series of hot kisses on her neck. While in her head his voice rumbled, Are you sure you want to do that now, Mac? Jon was intentionally not thinking about what the word meant, otherwise with their minds joined she would get it.
"Absolutely," she answered.
His right hand stroked her shoulder before sliding around to gently caress her breast, even as he continued to kiss and lightly nip her neck. Mac was finding it hard to concentrate on her task, and finding it even harder to care if she ever found out what the damn endearment meant. With him in her head, whether she talked to him that way or not, she could feel what he felt, the enjoyment he felt over the simple act of kissing her neck and caressing her breast. She also knew that he could feel what she was feeling.
Lightly, he grazed her neck with his fangs, and she shivered all the way to her toes. The arm at her waist shifted, and soon his fingers were softly stroking the soft skin of her stomach just under the waistband of her jeans.
"I can look tomorrow," she announced, before turning in his arms.
Her hands skimmed up his muscular chest, lightly flicking his nipples before moving up to clasp his face. Their lips met, tongues tangling, breaths coming in quick pants. Mac knew she would never get enough of this man.
I won’t ever get enough of you either, Mac, he told her, even the voice in her head sounded husky and heavy with desire.
His hands cupped her bottom, and she felt her feet leaving the floor. She wrapped her legs around his lean waist and let him carry her to the bed in her bedroom. The pleasure he was feeling combined with her own and was almost more than she could bear. The thought crossed her mind that she just might die of pleasure.
No, you won’t die, he told her, without breaking their kiss, but if you did...What a way to go, huh?
She wanted to agree with him, but didn’t want to break the kiss, or give in and communicate the way he wanted.
Too late, he told her, satisfaction dripping from the voice in her head, I heard that.
"Are you going to gloat, or make love to me?" she asked, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
I can do both, tesoro mia, he told her as his lips met hers again, trust me. I’m good at multi-tasking.
She unwrapped her legs from his waist and slowly slid down his body until her feet touched the floor again. He continued to devour her mouth as his hands caressed a hip, her waist, then a breast, before they came to rest on either side of her throat, his fingers splayed and his thumbs stroking her jawbone on either side of her face. Jon broke the kiss long enough to pull her shirt off over her head, but he didn’t go back to her lips. Mac’s head fell back as Jon again began to nibble on her neck, placing little kisses here and there, lingering on the sensitive spot right below her ear. His hands skimmed her heated skin, tracing the bottom of her bra around to her back where he deftly unhooked it. She barely noticed as the scrap of satin and lace slid down her arms and fell to the floor, because his hands had already moved to the fly of her jeans.
Jon was lost in the sensations of touching her satiny skin, reveling in the pleasure that she was feeling as well. The world narrowed down to just the two of them as her hands moved to his waist and slowly untied the drawstring that would loosen the sweat pants and allow them to fall to the floor. She gave the pants a little persuasion to get past the slight swell of his hips, but then they fell the rest of the way on their own; his cock springing free and standing at attention.
Mac heard his sigh of pleasure echo in her head when her hand clasped around his staff. His hands smoothed down her back, under the loosened material of her jeans, to grab the globes of her bottom and pull her tighter against him, before those same hands pushed her jeans off her hips so that they pooled in the floor around her feet. He picked her up then, leaving her jeans behind, he quickly stepped out of the pile that was his own pants and took the one step necessary to lay her gently on the bed.
His name escaped her lips on a breath as he joined her. She was completely lost to the pleasure they created, the pleasure that started in each of their own bodies but then echoed to the other’s mind. He wanted to bite her, and he would, but he was putting it off, enjoying the anticipation.
Mac realized his desire to bite her thanks to the link between their minds. "Go ahead, Jon," she urged, in a breathless imitation of her usual voice. She remembered the pleasure that had engulfed her when he had bitten her before, and longed for that again.
No, Mac, his gravely voice echoed in her mind, it will be so much better if I wait. Just enjoy this now. He placed a hot kiss on that spot below her ear, his moist breath ghosting across the skin of her neck as his tongue licked a path from there to her jugular. His tongue circled her pulse point as he entered her.
"Oh my God," she gasped, raising her hips to meet his thrust.
Jon controlled the urge to just pound into her, moving slowly, wanting to prolong the pleasure.
"Yes, do it," she encouraged him, "faster, harder."
He looked down into her face. Her eyes were squeezed tightly closed and she had her fuller bottom lip clamped between her teeth, as she tossed her head from side to side in wild abandon. Her face glistened with a thin layer of sweat. He bent his head to lick at the beads on her upper lip, before kissing her deeply again.
"Jon," she pleaded. He knew she was teetering on the edge, that line that separated the real world from that other place that only lovers could enter. That place where souls had wings and lovers soared together, free and boundless, for those few seconds that seemed to last an eternity but ended all too soon. While she balanced precariously on that border between earth and heaven, that’s when he bit her.
"God, Jon," she screamed, as she fell. Her soul took flight, even as he held her tightly in his arms.
Her pleasure washed over him, igniting his own orgasm. He continued to move inside her as he drank. Drawing deeply, he took what he needed, in more ways than one.
Mac’s winged soul flew higher as his orgasm washed over her. Lights exploded like fireworks in her head, until there was nothing but black.
Jon gently laved the bite with his tongue, knowing it would heal soon. He realized Mac had fainted from the pleasure that had taken them both higher than they had ever been. So, he carefully moved her farther up on the pillow, trying to make her more comfortable. Pulling her tighter against him, his chin rested on the top of her head, and soon he fell asleep.
Jon had given up on answering Richie. He would just shake his head at his friend and walk away. Richie might be having a hard time grasping the concept of Mac being a witch, but Jon knew it would eventually sink in. He was proven right when Richie approached him before the concert and suggested a song to be added to the set list. Jon laughed out loud at the idea, but quickly included the Eagles song, Witchy Woman, on the set list.
The concert went off without a hitch, but during the short after show meet and greet with radio station contest winners, Jon felt that familiar warning again. Quickly and cautiously, he searched the crowded conference room, but he didn’t see anyone who didn’t seem to belong. His eyes found Mac standing between Richie and David while they signed autographs and posed for pictures. Jon spent another hour smiling and signing his name, but continually kept an eye out for Mac. Whoever was lurking around, Jon didn’t want them anywhere near her. He wouldn’t feel completely comfortable until they left Portland. Jon knew whatever vampire was sneaking around to get a look at him wasn’t a friend, otherwise they would have already come forward.
The flight to San Francisco was short. By 2am local time, Mac and Jon were settled into adjoining suites. Once again, Mac was touched by Jon’s discretion, but there was still that nagging little thought in the back of her mind that his discretion wasn’t to protect her, that it was in fact to protect himself. He was, in the eyes of the world, a married man after all.
Mac was getting settled into her room, when there was a knock on the door between her room and Jon’s.
"Come on in," she called out.
He opened the door, but didn’t enter the room. Instead, he casually leaned one shoulder against the door frame. He was shirtless, with his arms crossed over his sculpted chest. His crossed ankles drew her eyes and she realized he was barefoot. Jon was wearing nothing but a pair of jogging pants, that rode so low on his hips she could see his hipbone. "You could’ve just told me in my head," he told her, smiling. The lines normally around his eyes weren’t there; he had dropped the glamour. Jon had been doing so whenever they were alone since the night he’d told her what he was, but it still threw her for a loop every time.
"I guess I’m just not used to communicating that way, yet," she answered him from the doorway leading into her bedroom.
To anyone else he would seem relaxed, but to Mac, he looked ready to pounce, standing there still smiling at her. His stance reminded her that he was a predator, and she felt like dinner. Somehow, that didn’t bother her as much as it would have before he’d bitten her earlier in the day. She blinked, and suddenly he wasn’t across the room anymore, but standing right in front of her and reaching up to pull the scrunchie from her hair. Her ponytail didn’t stand a chance against his long fingers, and her tresses fell around her shoulders.
"How did you...," she started to ask, but at his raised eyebrow she let the subject drop. He had crossed the room with lightening speed courtesy of his vamp powers.
She felt the fluttering sensation in her head right before his husky voice sounded in her mind. But, I want you to get used to talking to me this way, moglie mia. It adds intimacy, don’t you think? His fingers laced through her hair, as he combed it back off her shoulders. The smile was still on his face, but now it seemed like a lazy, sensual smile with his blue eyes ablaze with desire.
Refusing to give into his unspoken demand, she told him out loud, "I’ve been meaning to ask you what that endearment means in English. It is Italian, right?"
Yeah, it’s Italian, he answered her.
She waited for him to tell her what it meant, but his hand softly caressed her cheek and she looked up into his face. His eyebrow raised in expectation told her he wasn’t going to tell her until she asked him the way he wanted her to. She wasn’t ready to give in just yet. "I’ll look it up on the internet," she told him, grinning mischievously.
You’re so stubborn, he told her, still smiling, but I like that.
"Then you’ll...," he interrupted her in her head.
Nope, because I’m more stubborn. His warm fingers were tracing the neckline of her T-shirt, while the other hand lay on the curve of her hip, burning her.
She gave him a devilish smile, before turning away from him. She crossed the room to her laptop. Opening it, as she leaned over the table it sat upon. She braced one hand on the table top, and told him, "Curiosity is killin’ me. Just gimme a minute."
In an instant his left arm was snaking around her waist and she felt the heat of his body pressed close to her back. Even his thighs were rubbing the back of hers, as he ground his arousal against the curves of her bottom. His right hand pushed her hair aside so he could place a series of hot kisses on her neck. While in her head his voice rumbled, Are you sure you want to do that now, Mac? Jon was intentionally not thinking about what the word meant, otherwise with their minds joined she would get it.
"Absolutely," she answered.
His right hand stroked her shoulder before sliding around to gently caress her breast, even as he continued to kiss and lightly nip her neck. Mac was finding it hard to concentrate on her task, and finding it even harder to care if she ever found out what the damn endearment meant. With him in her head, whether she talked to him that way or not, she could feel what he felt, the enjoyment he felt over the simple act of kissing her neck and caressing her breast. She also knew that he could feel what she was feeling.
Lightly, he grazed her neck with his fangs, and she shivered all the way to her toes. The arm at her waist shifted, and soon his fingers were softly stroking the soft skin of her stomach just under the waistband of her jeans.
"I can look tomorrow," she announced, before turning in his arms.
Her hands skimmed up his muscular chest, lightly flicking his nipples before moving up to clasp his face. Their lips met, tongues tangling, breaths coming in quick pants. Mac knew she would never get enough of this man.
I won’t ever get enough of you either, Mac, he told her, even the voice in her head sounded husky and heavy with desire.
His hands cupped her bottom, and she felt her feet leaving the floor. She wrapped her legs around his lean waist and let him carry her to the bed in her bedroom. The pleasure he was feeling combined with her own and was almost more than she could bear. The thought crossed her mind that she just might die of pleasure.
No, you won’t die, he told her, without breaking their kiss, but if you did...What a way to go, huh?
She wanted to agree with him, but didn’t want to break the kiss, or give in and communicate the way he wanted.
Too late, he told her, satisfaction dripping from the voice in her head, I heard that.
"Are you going to gloat, or make love to me?" she asked, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
I can do both, tesoro mia, he told her as his lips met hers again, trust me. I’m good at multi-tasking.
She unwrapped her legs from his waist and slowly slid down his body until her feet touched the floor again. He continued to devour her mouth as his hands caressed a hip, her waist, then a breast, before they came to rest on either side of her throat, his fingers splayed and his thumbs stroking her jawbone on either side of her face. Jon broke the kiss long enough to pull her shirt off over her head, but he didn’t go back to her lips. Mac’s head fell back as Jon again began to nibble on her neck, placing little kisses here and there, lingering on the sensitive spot right below her ear. His hands skimmed her heated skin, tracing the bottom of her bra around to her back where he deftly unhooked it. She barely noticed as the scrap of satin and lace slid down her arms and fell to the floor, because his hands had already moved to the fly of her jeans.
Jon was lost in the sensations of touching her satiny skin, reveling in the pleasure that she was feeling as well. The world narrowed down to just the two of them as her hands moved to his waist and slowly untied the drawstring that would loosen the sweat pants and allow them to fall to the floor. She gave the pants a little persuasion to get past the slight swell of his hips, but then they fell the rest of the way on their own; his cock springing free and standing at attention.
Mac heard his sigh of pleasure echo in her head when her hand clasped around his staff. His hands smoothed down her back, under the loosened material of her jeans, to grab the globes of her bottom and pull her tighter against him, before those same hands pushed her jeans off her hips so that they pooled in the floor around her feet. He picked her up then, leaving her jeans behind, he quickly stepped out of the pile that was his own pants and took the one step necessary to lay her gently on the bed.
His name escaped her lips on a breath as he joined her. She was completely lost to the pleasure they created, the pleasure that started in each of their own bodies but then echoed to the other’s mind. He wanted to bite her, and he would, but he was putting it off, enjoying the anticipation.
Mac realized his desire to bite her thanks to the link between their minds. "Go ahead, Jon," she urged, in a breathless imitation of her usual voice. She remembered the pleasure that had engulfed her when he had bitten her before, and longed for that again.
No, Mac, his gravely voice echoed in her mind, it will be so much better if I wait. Just enjoy this now. He placed a hot kiss on that spot below her ear, his moist breath ghosting across the skin of her neck as his tongue licked a path from there to her jugular. His tongue circled her pulse point as he entered her.
"Oh my God," she gasped, raising her hips to meet his thrust.
Jon controlled the urge to just pound into her, moving slowly, wanting to prolong the pleasure.
"Yes, do it," she encouraged him, "faster, harder."
He looked down into her face. Her eyes were squeezed tightly closed and she had her fuller bottom lip clamped between her teeth, as she tossed her head from side to side in wild abandon. Her face glistened with a thin layer of sweat. He bent his head to lick at the beads on her upper lip, before kissing her deeply again.
"Jon," she pleaded. He knew she was teetering on the edge, that line that separated the real world from that other place that only lovers could enter. That place where souls had wings and lovers soared together, free and boundless, for those few seconds that seemed to last an eternity but ended all too soon. While she balanced precariously on that border between earth and heaven, that’s when he bit her.
"God, Jon," she screamed, as she fell. Her soul took flight, even as he held her tightly in his arms.
Her pleasure washed over him, igniting his own orgasm. He continued to move inside her as he drank. Drawing deeply, he took what he needed, in more ways than one.
Mac’s winged soul flew higher as his orgasm washed over her. Lights exploded like fireworks in her head, until there was nothing but black.
Jon gently laved the bite with his tongue, knowing it would heal soon. He realized Mac had fainted from the pleasure that had taken them both higher than they had ever been. So, he carefully moved her farther up on the pillow, trying to make her more comfortable. Pulling her tighter against him, his chin rested on the top of her head, and soon he fell asleep.
Chapter Eleven
When the door closed behind Richie, Mac turned back to Jon. "We’ll get to the topics of why he would think I’d hurt you and why you didn’t say something about needing blood later. Right now, what can I do to help you? Here’s my neck," she offered, getting down on her knees in front of his chair and tilting her head to the side.
Weakly, Jon trailed his fingers across her cheek and down her neck. "Mac, I don’t want to hurt you, and I can’t put you in a thrall to avoid that because your mind is too strong. The only other option is to bite you during sex, and unfortunately, I’m too weak for that option."
Mac knew that he needed blood or he would die. It told her a lot about the man before her that he would risk death rather than cause her pain. "Can I allow a thrall, whatever that is? Ya know, let you do it?"
"Tesoro mia, it’s not that simple. Your mind is too strong. A thrall would make you mindless, allow me to control you and your mind. It would be instinctive for your brain to rebel against that control," he told her, his voice weak.
Her mind raced with possibilities. Suddenly, she ordered softly, almost pleading, "Slip into my head and bite me, Jon. You need this."
Gently, he pulled her toward him and kissed her. Softly at first, but then his kiss became more urgent, his tongue darting past her lips to tangle with hers. Mac gave herself over to the kiss, barely noticing when his mind joined with hers. His lips left hers to trail hotly across her cheek and down her neck.
You taste so good, moglie mia, he said in her head, as his tongue stroked her jugular.
On her knees, between his muscular thighs, with her upper body resting against his chest and his arms holding her tenderly, Mac moaned softly. The sound coming from deep in her throat. With their minds joined, she was overwhelmed with not only the sensations he was causing, but also with the ones he was feeling. She shivered when his fangs grazed her neck, sending fire to every nerve ending in her body. She could tell from his own response that he was feeling what she was feeling as well. Briefly, she wondered if making love with him like this would feel as good.
It would be so much better than this, Mac, he whispered huskily in her head, just as he buried his fangs in her neck.
She only felt a slight pinch, no worse than a bee sting, her pleasure was so great. She couldn’t exactly taste her own blood, but she knew from Jon that he was enjoying it. His pleasure washed over her in waves as he drank from her greedily. Eagerly, she moved against him, one hand caressing his chest while the other trailed down to stroke his arousal through the denim of his jeans.
His pleasure at her touch combined with her own pushed her over the edge. Vaguely, she realized that he felt her climax as he thrust against her hand. Then, before her orgasm was over, she was hit with the powerful force of his. She trembled weakly against him, feeling like a leaf tossed about on a storm swept sea.
Gently, Jon laved the bite with his tongue, before trailing kisses up her neck. Thank you, moglie mia, he whispered in her head.
No, thank you, she answered him weakly, before collapsing against his chest.
Tenderly, he pulled her into his lap. Cradling her like a small child, one hand caressed her back, while the other pushed her hair back of her face. He withdrew from her mind as his fingers threaded through her hair.
"Why did Richie think I would hurt you?" she asked softly.
He spent the next few moments explaining Cecilia’s betrayal to her.
Mac quickly became angry at the long dead woman. How could she have treated him that way if she had truly loved him? No wonder he had been afraid to tell her what he was. "And Richie was afraid I was just waiting for my chance to stake you too?"
"Don’t be angry with him, Mac," Jon told her, "he was only worried about me because he’s my friend."
"I understand," she replied, even though she didn’t really. How could Richie compare her to that vile woman? She glanced up at Jon, happy to see his color had returned to normal. Briefly, she wondered how she would explain when the bite mark he had left on her neck disappeared much more quickly than it should. She realized that it was time she shared her own secrets with him.
"Jon," she said, tentatively, "there’s a few things we need to talk about."
Something in her voice told him she was afraid to tell him whatever it was. "What is it, Mac?"
She started to get up off his lap, but he tightened his arms around her, unwilling to let her go just yet. He bent his golden head to brush her forehead with a light kiss. "You don’t have to move to tell me," he whispered.
Several long minutes went by, before she finally spoke up. "I don’t know how to tell you this."
"Are you married to someone else?" he teased.
She shook her head. "No, but I haven’t been entirely honest with you." She felt Jon tense beneath her.
"About what?" he asked, his voice soft yet controlled.
"Remember that night we had dinner in your hotel room, and you asked if I was a witch?" she asked, fearfully.
"Yeah, I remember," he replied, "you said no."
"I don’t exactly like that term," she told him. She was quiet for a few seconds, building her courage, and Jon wisely kept silent waiting. Finally, she breathed, barely above a whisper, "But, technically I am."
Jon looked down at her with astonishment on his face. "What do you mean, technically?" he asked. Hoping she was literally a witch, with the abilities of said supernatural creatures, and not just what society had come to call a witch. If she was a witch in truth, she could be turned into a vamp with no mental problems, and it would also explain why she handled the truth about him so well.
"I am a witch. So is my mother, and her mother before her and so on. For at least 10 generations," she answered.
Jon knew that a witch was a broad term and that the witch in question could have any number of supernatural abilities. Not every witch had the same powers that other witches might have.
"What are your powers?" he asked, obviously intrigued.
"Foresight and the power to heal myself of minor wounds," she answered.
"Do you practice the arts?"
"No," she said, bowing her head, "I’m a huge disappointment to my mother, because I didn’t want to learn the proper art of casting spells and making potions. But, occasionally I can make things happen. I have to be careful and not speak in rhymes."
Jon thought about that first day on the plane when she had been listening to the MP3 player. She had only tapped her fingers to the tune, not mouthed the words to sing along like most people. He laughed, "You can’t even sing along with the radio, can you?"
She grinned back at him. "No, because songs usually rhyme."
He thought about the lyrics to some of his songs and then laughed out loud at the mental picture of what could happen if she sang along with him while he was on stage. It would be quite a spectacle if she started singing along to...say...Bed of Roses or... worse...My Guitar Lies Bleeding in My Arms. The image of his guitar starting to bleed on stage made him laugh even harder.
"What’s so funny?" she asked, smiling.
"I was just thinking about what would happen if you sang along with me while I was on stage," he got out between laughs.
She thought about some of the lyrics to his songs that she had heard at the shows she had attended and joined in the laughter.
Sobering, he asked her, "So, about this power of foresight, what actually happens and what do you see?"
Briefly, she explained her visions.
"That’s what happened the night in the bar, when Richie had to walk you to your room?"
"Yeah, I saw you sucking on a woman’s neck. Of course, I just thought it was some sort of sexual encounter and not what it actually was," she answered. "But, my visions usually leave me light-headed and physically drained."
"And the power to heal? Can you heal others?"
"No, only myself," she answered, regretfully, "there have been many times I wished I could heal others."
Jon moved her chin to the side to look at her neck where he had bitten her. Even though she had told him of her abilities, it still surprised him that the mark was gone. "It’s gone," he announced, awe in his voice.
"Yeah," she nodded, "I figured it would be, and that when you noticed there would be questions. I just decided I should come clean and tell you my secret beforehand."
"Besides your family, does anyone else know?" he asked.
"Sandy knows, and thinks it’s very cool, but when I told Daniel about my visions, he thought I was crazy and suggested I seek professional help. Needless to say, I didn’t bother to tell him the rest," she answered, sadly.
"The man was not only a liar, but a fool," Jon swore, softly.
Truly puzzled, she looked up at him to ask, "Why do you keep calling him a liar?"
"Because he lied to you and convinced you it was the truth."
"Maybe it was just his opinion," she pointed out.
"Mac," Jon said softly, tilting her chin up to look into her eyes, "if it was his opinion that you weren’t beautiful, sexy and alluring, then why was he with you?" He didn’t wait for an answer, "He told you those things to keep you. He thought if he broke down your self-confidence that you wouldn’t ever leave him because you would believe no one else would want you. So, he lied to you. That’s how men like him operate."
"But he left me," she countered.
"When?"
"When I told him about my visions," she answered.
"Probably because he was afraid you would eventually ‘see’ the truth," he responded. "I hate to let you go, since you feel so good in my arms, but I really should get to work," he told her softly, before kissing her gently.
"Would it be okay if I followed you around, for my article. I mean, I am still supposed to be doing a job here," she grinned at him.
"When you ask so sweetly, how can I say no?"
********************
Jon had been answering Mac’s endless stream of questions and explaining the behind the scenes details of a concert for over an hour, when Obie told him they were ready to do sound check. Mac told him she was going to take a seat out in the arena and jot down some notes before she forgot everything he had told her.
Richie and David were arguing over who was going to "get" the little redhead who had introduced herself earlier as their promotions assistant. She worked for the local promoter and was responsible for getting them anything they might need while they were in town. Tico had just suggested they flip a coin, when Jon joined them on stage.
"Hey, Jonny," Richie said, grinning, "what’s on the agenda?"
"I don’t care," Jon answered, "I’m in a generous mood. Why don’t one of you pick something?"
"Why don’t we let the sexy little reporter with the fantastic legs choose something?" David suggested, looking in Mac’s direction and waggling his eyebrows at her.
Jon walked up to the white mic stand and asked, "What do you say, Doll?"
"Ya’ll know any country?" she questioned loudly from the third row, smiling.
Richie grabbed his chest, apparently wounded by her question. David burst into laughter, and Tico replied, obviously offended, "Did she say what I thought she said?"
Hugh chuckled and answered Tico’s question since apparently no one else was going to, "Yeah, Teek, I believe she did."
Mac was surprised to hear the bass player answer Tico. That was the first sentence she’d heard come out of his mouth the whole time she had been with the band. Normally, he gave one word responses to everything, when he spoke at all. Jon had told her that Hugh was just like that around people he didn’t know, but that once he warmed up to her, he would be talking her ears off.
Jon caught her attention again by announcing, "I have an idea." He turned and motioned the guys to him. He talked quietly to them for a few seconds, the guys nodding in response occasionally. The men were grouped together, reminding Mac of a football huddle. She saw Hugh ask something and Jon answered, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. When the huddle disbanded, all the men went back to their places on stage.
From the left side of the stage, Richie asked, "Hey Kidd, doncha need your guitar for this one?"
"I guess I do," Jon answered, laughing and motioning to a guy off stage. The man walked out and handed Jon his black guitar.
Mac smiled and watched as he put the strap over his head and one shoulder. This should be interesting.
"Let’s do this," he announced, then counted off the beat. When he started playing the intro of the song, Mac immediately recognized the song and smiled. Then he began to sing...
A gypsy wind is blowing warm tonight,
the sky is starlit and the time is right.
And still, you’re telling me you have to go,
before you leave there’s something you should know.
Yeah, somethin’ you should know, baby.
I’ve seen you smilin’ in the summer sun,
I’ve seen your long hair flyin’ when you run.
I’ve made my mind up that it’s meant to be,
Someday lady you’ll accomp’ny me.
Someday lady you’ll accomp’ny me,
Up where the rivers meet the sounding sea.
High above me now, you’re wild and free,
Ah, but someday lady you’ll accomp’ny me.
Someday lady, you’ll accomp’ny me.
It was one of Mac’s favorite songs, and it was all she could do to keep from singing along with him. His whiskey smooth voice fit the lyrics perfectly and he sounded a lot like Bob Seger but with a little more gravel in his voice. The band members had joined in playing after the first few strums of Jon’s guitar and seemed to know the music as well as Jon knew the lyrics.
He was about halfway through the second verse when he seemed to freeze up. He paused over the lyrics, but the band kept on playing. Richie smiled, obviously amused that Jon had forgotten the words, but Mac knew he hadn’t forgotten the lyrics. This was the verse he had sang for her in her dream. Something was very wrong.
On stage, Jon was smiling and singing just for Mac, but halfway through the second verse his skin suddenly warmed and the sensation of static electricity raced down his spine causing a frisson of fear to accompany it. It was the warning of another vampire in the immediate vicinity. Quickly and cautiously, his eyes scanned what he could see of the lighted venue.
He felt the brush of Mac’s mind reaching out to his. Then heard her question in his head, What’s wrong?
Nothing to be concerned over, moglie mia, he answered her.
Are you sure? She questioned.
Not really, he told her cautiously, slowly come to me, Mac. Act as if there’s nothing wrong, but get up here and we’ll go to my dressing room. But don’t leave my sight.
Jon watched as she slowly gathered her things. "Is that enough, Obie?" he asked.
When Obie nodded and gave him a thumbs up, his gaze went back to Mac. His eyes never left her even while he laughed and took the good natured teasing from his band mates over forgetting the lyrics to the song. Richie was the only one not teasing him. The guitarist realized something was wrong; he knew Jon too well.
Jon crossed the stage and met Mac at the top of the stairs. Richie was close behind him. Once they were in the hallway in the back stage area, Richie asked, "What is it, Jon? What’s wrong?"
"Remember that night in the bar in Moscow when I told you Kristoff was there and you asked me how I knew?" Jon asked.
"Yeah," Richie answered, nodding.
"Same situation," Jon told him, "only I’m not expecting anyone, so I don’t know who this is, and I’m not taking any chances. I want Mac out of sight."
Jon took Mac’s small hand in one of his and pulled her hurriedly down the passageway. He wouldn’t feel comfortable until he had her behind closed doors. This warning system was built into a vampire’s genetic make up for a reason. It was supposed to let them know when another vamp was around to keep one from invading the territory of another, but also just so there were no surprises. Not all vampires were good, upstanding citizens. Some were violent and evil, especially ones that had gone rogue.
When they were safely behind the closed doors of his dressing room, he relaxed a little. At Mac’s questioning glance, he quickly explained to her what had happened.
"Is there any real danger?" she asked calmly.
"Probably not," he replied, pulling her into his arms, "but I’d rather be safe than sorry."
She pulled back from him to dig into the pocket of her jeans. Digging out three coins, she took one of Jon’s hands in both of hers laying a quarter in his palm and closing his hand around it. She held his closed fist in both of her hands, while he looked at her with one eyebrow raised.
"I don’t need your pocket change," he joked, smiling down at her.
"Hush," she ordered. Then closing her eyes she softly chanted, "As long as you hold this charm, no one can do you harm."
Jon realized what she had just done, but Richie looked on with a puzzled look on his face. He continued to frown at her, when she walked over and performed the same procedure with him, placing a nickel in his hand.
"Am I the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on here?" Richie asked, even as he watched Mac perform the ritual again, placing the dime in her back pocket when she was done.
Jon looked at Mac and when she nodded her permission, he explained, "Mac’s a witch."
"Excuse me?" Richie questioned. When his friend just looked at him with a smile, Richie asked, "A real witch? They really exist?"
"You can believe he’s a vampire," Mac said, jerking her head in Jon’s direction, "but you can’t believe I’m a witch?"
"I’ve seen his fangs," Richie explained, shrugging.
"I bit her and fed this afternoon," Jon told his friend. "Do you see any bite marks on her neck?"
Richie looked over at Mac. She tilted her head to either side, showing off her long neck. No bite marks. "Holy shit," Richie breathed.
Weakly, Jon trailed his fingers across her cheek and down her neck. "Mac, I don’t want to hurt you, and I can’t put you in a thrall to avoid that because your mind is too strong. The only other option is to bite you during sex, and unfortunately, I’m too weak for that option."
Mac knew that he needed blood or he would die. It told her a lot about the man before her that he would risk death rather than cause her pain. "Can I allow a thrall, whatever that is? Ya know, let you do it?"
"Tesoro mia, it’s not that simple. Your mind is too strong. A thrall would make you mindless, allow me to control you and your mind. It would be instinctive for your brain to rebel against that control," he told her, his voice weak.
Her mind raced with possibilities. Suddenly, she ordered softly, almost pleading, "Slip into my head and bite me, Jon. You need this."
Gently, he pulled her toward him and kissed her. Softly at first, but then his kiss became more urgent, his tongue darting past her lips to tangle with hers. Mac gave herself over to the kiss, barely noticing when his mind joined with hers. His lips left hers to trail hotly across her cheek and down her neck.
You taste so good, moglie mia, he said in her head, as his tongue stroked her jugular.
On her knees, between his muscular thighs, with her upper body resting against his chest and his arms holding her tenderly, Mac moaned softly. The sound coming from deep in her throat. With their minds joined, she was overwhelmed with not only the sensations he was causing, but also with the ones he was feeling. She shivered when his fangs grazed her neck, sending fire to every nerve ending in her body. She could tell from his own response that he was feeling what she was feeling as well. Briefly, she wondered if making love with him like this would feel as good.
It would be so much better than this, Mac, he whispered huskily in her head, just as he buried his fangs in her neck.
She only felt a slight pinch, no worse than a bee sting, her pleasure was so great. She couldn’t exactly taste her own blood, but she knew from Jon that he was enjoying it. His pleasure washed over her in waves as he drank from her greedily. Eagerly, she moved against him, one hand caressing his chest while the other trailed down to stroke his arousal through the denim of his jeans.
His pleasure at her touch combined with her own pushed her over the edge. Vaguely, she realized that he felt her climax as he thrust against her hand. Then, before her orgasm was over, she was hit with the powerful force of his. She trembled weakly against him, feeling like a leaf tossed about on a storm swept sea.
Gently, Jon laved the bite with his tongue, before trailing kisses up her neck. Thank you, moglie mia, he whispered in her head.
No, thank you, she answered him weakly, before collapsing against his chest.
Tenderly, he pulled her into his lap. Cradling her like a small child, one hand caressed her back, while the other pushed her hair back of her face. He withdrew from her mind as his fingers threaded through her hair.
"Why did Richie think I would hurt you?" she asked softly.
He spent the next few moments explaining Cecilia’s betrayal to her.
Mac quickly became angry at the long dead woman. How could she have treated him that way if she had truly loved him? No wonder he had been afraid to tell her what he was. "And Richie was afraid I was just waiting for my chance to stake you too?"
"Don’t be angry with him, Mac," Jon told her, "he was only worried about me because he’s my friend."
"I understand," she replied, even though she didn’t really. How could Richie compare her to that vile woman? She glanced up at Jon, happy to see his color had returned to normal. Briefly, she wondered how she would explain when the bite mark he had left on her neck disappeared much more quickly than it should. She realized that it was time she shared her own secrets with him.
"Jon," she said, tentatively, "there’s a few things we need to talk about."
Something in her voice told him she was afraid to tell him whatever it was. "What is it, Mac?"
She started to get up off his lap, but he tightened his arms around her, unwilling to let her go just yet. He bent his golden head to brush her forehead with a light kiss. "You don’t have to move to tell me," he whispered.
Several long minutes went by, before she finally spoke up. "I don’t know how to tell you this."
"Are you married to someone else?" he teased.
She shook her head. "No, but I haven’t been entirely honest with you." She felt Jon tense beneath her.
"About what?" he asked, his voice soft yet controlled.
"Remember that night we had dinner in your hotel room, and you asked if I was a witch?" she asked, fearfully.
"Yeah, I remember," he replied, "you said no."
"I don’t exactly like that term," she told him. She was quiet for a few seconds, building her courage, and Jon wisely kept silent waiting. Finally, she breathed, barely above a whisper, "But, technically I am."
Jon looked down at her with astonishment on his face. "What do you mean, technically?" he asked. Hoping she was literally a witch, with the abilities of said supernatural creatures, and not just what society had come to call a witch. If she was a witch in truth, she could be turned into a vamp with no mental problems, and it would also explain why she handled the truth about him so well.
"I am a witch. So is my mother, and her mother before her and so on. For at least 10 generations," she answered.
Jon knew that a witch was a broad term and that the witch in question could have any number of supernatural abilities. Not every witch had the same powers that other witches might have.
"What are your powers?" he asked, obviously intrigued.
"Foresight and the power to heal myself of minor wounds," she answered.
"Do you practice the arts?"
"No," she said, bowing her head, "I’m a huge disappointment to my mother, because I didn’t want to learn the proper art of casting spells and making potions. But, occasionally I can make things happen. I have to be careful and not speak in rhymes."
Jon thought about that first day on the plane when she had been listening to the MP3 player. She had only tapped her fingers to the tune, not mouthed the words to sing along like most people. He laughed, "You can’t even sing along with the radio, can you?"
She grinned back at him. "No, because songs usually rhyme."
He thought about the lyrics to some of his songs and then laughed out loud at the mental picture of what could happen if she sang along with him while he was on stage. It would be quite a spectacle if she started singing along to...say...Bed of Roses or... worse...My Guitar Lies Bleeding in My Arms. The image of his guitar starting to bleed on stage made him laugh even harder.
"What’s so funny?" she asked, smiling.
"I was just thinking about what would happen if you sang along with me while I was on stage," he got out between laughs.
She thought about some of the lyrics to his songs that she had heard at the shows she had attended and joined in the laughter.
Sobering, he asked her, "So, about this power of foresight, what actually happens and what do you see?"
Briefly, she explained her visions.
"That’s what happened the night in the bar, when Richie had to walk you to your room?"
"Yeah, I saw you sucking on a woman’s neck. Of course, I just thought it was some sort of sexual encounter and not what it actually was," she answered. "But, my visions usually leave me light-headed and physically drained."
"And the power to heal? Can you heal others?"
"No, only myself," she answered, regretfully, "there have been many times I wished I could heal others."
Jon moved her chin to the side to look at her neck where he had bitten her. Even though she had told him of her abilities, it still surprised him that the mark was gone. "It’s gone," he announced, awe in his voice.
"Yeah," she nodded, "I figured it would be, and that when you noticed there would be questions. I just decided I should come clean and tell you my secret beforehand."
"Besides your family, does anyone else know?" he asked.
"Sandy knows, and thinks it’s very cool, but when I told Daniel about my visions, he thought I was crazy and suggested I seek professional help. Needless to say, I didn’t bother to tell him the rest," she answered, sadly.
"The man was not only a liar, but a fool," Jon swore, softly.
Truly puzzled, she looked up at him to ask, "Why do you keep calling him a liar?"
"Because he lied to you and convinced you it was the truth."
"Maybe it was just his opinion," she pointed out.
"Mac," Jon said softly, tilting her chin up to look into her eyes, "if it was his opinion that you weren’t beautiful, sexy and alluring, then why was he with you?" He didn’t wait for an answer, "He told you those things to keep you. He thought if he broke down your self-confidence that you wouldn’t ever leave him because you would believe no one else would want you. So, he lied to you. That’s how men like him operate."
"But he left me," she countered.
"When?"
"When I told him about my visions," she answered.
"Probably because he was afraid you would eventually ‘see’ the truth," he responded. "I hate to let you go, since you feel so good in my arms, but I really should get to work," he told her softly, before kissing her gently.
"Would it be okay if I followed you around, for my article. I mean, I am still supposed to be doing a job here," she grinned at him.
"When you ask so sweetly, how can I say no?"
********************
Jon had been answering Mac’s endless stream of questions and explaining the behind the scenes details of a concert for over an hour, when Obie told him they were ready to do sound check. Mac told him she was going to take a seat out in the arena and jot down some notes before she forgot everything he had told her.
Richie and David were arguing over who was going to "get" the little redhead who had introduced herself earlier as their promotions assistant. She worked for the local promoter and was responsible for getting them anything they might need while they were in town. Tico had just suggested they flip a coin, when Jon joined them on stage.
"Hey, Jonny," Richie said, grinning, "what’s on the agenda?"
"I don’t care," Jon answered, "I’m in a generous mood. Why don’t one of you pick something?"
"Why don’t we let the sexy little reporter with the fantastic legs choose something?" David suggested, looking in Mac’s direction and waggling his eyebrows at her.
Jon walked up to the white mic stand and asked, "What do you say, Doll?"
"Ya’ll know any country?" she questioned loudly from the third row, smiling.
Richie grabbed his chest, apparently wounded by her question. David burst into laughter, and Tico replied, obviously offended, "Did she say what I thought she said?"
Hugh chuckled and answered Tico’s question since apparently no one else was going to, "Yeah, Teek, I believe she did."
Mac was surprised to hear the bass player answer Tico. That was the first sentence she’d heard come out of his mouth the whole time she had been with the band. Normally, he gave one word responses to everything, when he spoke at all. Jon had told her that Hugh was just like that around people he didn’t know, but that once he warmed up to her, he would be talking her ears off.
Jon caught her attention again by announcing, "I have an idea." He turned and motioned the guys to him. He talked quietly to them for a few seconds, the guys nodding in response occasionally. The men were grouped together, reminding Mac of a football huddle. She saw Hugh ask something and Jon answered, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. When the huddle disbanded, all the men went back to their places on stage.
From the left side of the stage, Richie asked, "Hey Kidd, doncha need your guitar for this one?"
"I guess I do," Jon answered, laughing and motioning to a guy off stage. The man walked out and handed Jon his black guitar.
Mac smiled and watched as he put the strap over his head and one shoulder. This should be interesting.
"Let’s do this," he announced, then counted off the beat. When he started playing the intro of the song, Mac immediately recognized the song and smiled. Then he began to sing...
A gypsy wind is blowing warm tonight,
the sky is starlit and the time is right.
And still, you’re telling me you have to go,
before you leave there’s something you should know.
Yeah, somethin’ you should know, baby.
I’ve seen you smilin’ in the summer sun,
I’ve seen your long hair flyin’ when you run.
I’ve made my mind up that it’s meant to be,
Someday lady you’ll accomp’ny me.
Someday lady you’ll accomp’ny me,
Up where the rivers meet the sounding sea.
High above me now, you’re wild and free,
Ah, but someday lady you’ll accomp’ny me.
Someday lady, you’ll accomp’ny me.
It was one of Mac’s favorite songs, and it was all she could do to keep from singing along with him. His whiskey smooth voice fit the lyrics perfectly and he sounded a lot like Bob Seger but with a little more gravel in his voice. The band members had joined in playing after the first few strums of Jon’s guitar and seemed to know the music as well as Jon knew the lyrics.
He was about halfway through the second verse when he seemed to freeze up. He paused over the lyrics, but the band kept on playing. Richie smiled, obviously amused that Jon had forgotten the words, but Mac knew he hadn’t forgotten the lyrics. This was the verse he had sang for her in her dream. Something was very wrong.
On stage, Jon was smiling and singing just for Mac, but halfway through the second verse his skin suddenly warmed and the sensation of static electricity raced down his spine causing a frisson of fear to accompany it. It was the warning of another vampire in the immediate vicinity. Quickly and cautiously, his eyes scanned what he could see of the lighted venue.
He felt the brush of Mac’s mind reaching out to his. Then heard her question in his head, What’s wrong?
Nothing to be concerned over, moglie mia, he answered her.
Are you sure? She questioned.
Not really, he told her cautiously, slowly come to me, Mac. Act as if there’s nothing wrong, but get up here and we’ll go to my dressing room. But don’t leave my sight.
Jon watched as she slowly gathered her things. "Is that enough, Obie?" he asked.
When Obie nodded and gave him a thumbs up, his gaze went back to Mac. His eyes never left her even while he laughed and took the good natured teasing from his band mates over forgetting the lyrics to the song. Richie was the only one not teasing him. The guitarist realized something was wrong; he knew Jon too well.
Jon crossed the stage and met Mac at the top of the stairs. Richie was close behind him. Once they were in the hallway in the back stage area, Richie asked, "What is it, Jon? What’s wrong?"
"Remember that night in the bar in Moscow when I told you Kristoff was there and you asked me how I knew?" Jon asked.
"Yeah," Richie answered, nodding.
"Same situation," Jon told him, "only I’m not expecting anyone, so I don’t know who this is, and I’m not taking any chances. I want Mac out of sight."
Jon took Mac’s small hand in one of his and pulled her hurriedly down the passageway. He wouldn’t feel comfortable until he had her behind closed doors. This warning system was built into a vampire’s genetic make up for a reason. It was supposed to let them know when another vamp was around to keep one from invading the territory of another, but also just so there were no surprises. Not all vampires were good, upstanding citizens. Some were violent and evil, especially ones that had gone rogue.
When they were safely behind the closed doors of his dressing room, he relaxed a little. At Mac’s questioning glance, he quickly explained to her what had happened.
"Is there any real danger?" she asked calmly.
"Probably not," he replied, pulling her into his arms, "but I’d rather be safe than sorry."
She pulled back from him to dig into the pocket of her jeans. Digging out three coins, she took one of Jon’s hands in both of hers laying a quarter in his palm and closing his hand around it. She held his closed fist in both of her hands, while he looked at her with one eyebrow raised.
"I don’t need your pocket change," he joked, smiling down at her.
"Hush," she ordered. Then closing her eyes she softly chanted, "As long as you hold this charm, no one can do you harm."
Jon realized what she had just done, but Richie looked on with a puzzled look on his face. He continued to frown at her, when she walked over and performed the same procedure with him, placing a nickel in his hand.
"Am I the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on here?" Richie asked, even as he watched Mac perform the ritual again, placing the dime in her back pocket when she was done.
Jon looked at Mac and when she nodded her permission, he explained, "Mac’s a witch."
"Excuse me?" Richie questioned. When his friend just looked at him with a smile, Richie asked, "A real witch? They really exist?"
"You can believe he’s a vampire," Mac said, jerking her head in Jon’s direction, "but you can’t believe I’m a witch?"
"I’ve seen his fangs," Richie explained, shrugging.
"I bit her and fed this afternoon," Jon told his friend. "Do you see any bite marks on her neck?"
Richie looked over at Mac. She tilted her head to either side, showing off her long neck. No bite marks. "Holy shit," Richie breathed.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Chapter Ten
He only had a moment to think about what to say before she came bursting through the door between their rooms. His wine clouded mind wasn’t able to come up with even one reasonable explanation other than the truth, but it was able to register her skimpy clothing. She was wearing nothing but a Dallas Cowboys football jersey, that barely covered her hips. Her hair hung down around her shoulders in waves tousled from sleep. She was gorgeous. And angry.
"What the fuck is going on?" she asked, her eyes flashing green fire.
She threw her arms up in the air and Jon caught the briefest glimpse of white cotton panties. That was his Mac, a no frills kind of girl. No fancy satin or lace. His eyes traveled the length of her beautiful legs.
But, her voice drew his gaze back to her face. "I asked you a question, Bon Jovi." She crossed her arms over her chest.
"Uh," he began, "I don’t..."
"Don’t you dare," she interrupted him, uncrossing her arms to point a finger at him threateningly, "don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about or that you don’t know what’s going on. Because, I know you do."
"Mac," he tried again, "this requires an elaborate explanation. Can’t we talk about this in the morning?" he asked, his voice slurring slightly.
"You’re drunk," she accused for the second time, then gasped.
He stood swaying slightly as she marched across the room. Mac jerked his shirt aside, popping a button off that fell unheeded to the floor.
"I knew it," she gasped when she saw the mark. "It wasn’t just a dream, was it? You were in my head," she said, glaring at him, daring him to deny it.
Jon met her gaze. While he scrambled for an explanation, he failed to notice when she slid into his head. How do I tell her I’m a vampire without it sounding crazy? Various ideas crossed his mind, but he discarded them all, while Mac quietly withdrew from his head.
As crazy as it sounded, now it all made sense.
~him opening a door without having to unlock it.
~the chair back under his feet without him having moved.
~his unexplained absences from group activities.
~the visions of him sucking on female necks.
~he looked younger when he slept.
~the butterfly sensation whenever he was around and his raised eyebrow that accompanied them.
~the graceful moves of a predator.
~the overwhelming sense of danger that surrounded him.
~the aura of sex that he oozed with every move, without even trying.
~his barely controlled passion after that first kiss; the fact that he wouldn’t look at her afterwards.
"Show me your fangs," she ordered in awe, barely above a whisper.
Jon’s jaw dropped. "What?"
"You heard me," she said softly.
"Mac," he tried to placate her.
She stepped closer to him and ran a finger seductively down his chest while he watched in amazement. Where had this self-confidence come from?
"Or do they only grow when something else does," she asked sensually, as she leaned forward to kiss his neck. She trailed kisses down his neck and across his chest, pausing at the mark, then over to a flat male nipple that she circled with her tongue.
Jon groaned as his fangs lengthened. "How did you guess?"
She stepped back from him and smiled in triumph. "I was in your head."
He frowned. "And how did you do that?"
"I have no idea," she answered, shrugging.
"You have secrets you aren’t sharing," he accused.
"You’re going to lecture me on secrets?"
"Oh, come on, Mac," he said, "like you would’ve believed that."
"I might have," she answered. "But, I’m talking about your wife."
"I told you," he responded, laying his hands on her shoulders, "I’m not married."
"So what you said in my dream," she said, "was the truth?"
"I thought I needed a cover story," he explained, "to make me look more normal on the surface, so no one would look any deeper."
"Is this what you really look like?" she asked, thinking about how much younger he looked when he was asleep.
"Does it really matter?" he countered.
"Not really," she answered, "but I noticed how much younger you look when you’re sleeping."
"You did? I wondered if you had noticed," he replied. "It’s called a glamour. I use it to make me look older so no one will notice that I haven’t aged."
"Lose it," she ordered softly, then gasped in amazement when he suddenly looked almost 20 years younger. He looked exactly like he did in the poster of the band that Sandy had hanging in her bedroom. It was a poster from the 80's, and the only difference in that poster and the man standing before her was his hair was shorter and blonder. "How old are you?"
"444 years old," he answered, blithely.
"Whoa," she gasped. "I think I need to sit down."
"Mac," he said, bending slightly at the knees to look her in the eye, "please, tell me this doesn’t disgust you."
She looked up at him smiling. "I don’t believe there’s anything about you that could disgust me. But, this is a lot to take in."
Jon walked over to the chair he had vacated earlier. "Have a seat then, there’s a lot more we need to discuss."
********************
Jon spent the next hour answering all of Mac’s rapidly fired questions. The reporter in her had taken over, and she had asked everything from how he had become a vampire to why could he go out in the sunlight. He had explained all the myths and all the facts, but they had not discussed what he considered to be the most important thing, the topic of life-mates.
"So, you’ve been walking in and out of my head since I met you?" she asked, her tone giving away the aggravation she was feeling.
"Not since the beginning," he corrected, "I tried a couple of times but your mind is too strong. I’ve only been able to get into your head since we made love that first time."
She leaned forward in her chair and glared at him from across the small table. "How many times have you been in my head, Jon?"
He could tell this part bothered her. "Uh, four, I think. I wasn’t exactly counting, but twice when you were dreaming and twice when you were awake."
"Counting tonight?"
"Yeah."
She was silent for a second. "The dream where you hit Daniel?"
"Yeah, that was really me in your head," he confirmed, "not a dream version of me."
She smiled slightly to herself, as she pictured Daniel flying across the room. It hadn’t been a dream. This man before her had literally conquered her demon for her. "Your ‘wife’ is really a hired actress, but Sandy told me that your mother runs your fan club. I take it she’s not really your mom?"
"No, but she is family," Jon answered. "The man who the world thinks is my father is actually a descendant of my brother. My brother knew what I was and took that secret to his grave. His children and their children have protected me and my secret for generations. Bongiovi is really the family name. My ‘mother’ is my great, great-niece by marriage, give or take a few ‘greats’."
"Is Jon your real first name?"
"Yes, actually, or rather the Italian version of John. Giovanni, was the name my mother gave me at birth, but I Americanized it when the Bongiovi family immigrated to the States. I have a few old friends that still call me Giovanni, though."
"By old friends, I guess you mean other vampires?"
"Yeah," he answered. "I’m sure you’ll meet them eventually."
"So, Richie’s not..."
He interrupted her, "No, Richie is human, but he’s the only human outside the family that knows my secret. Well, except for you."
She answered the unspoken question in his eyes. "I won’t tell anyone," she laughed, "besides who’d believe me?"
"No one," he answered, unnecessarily. "Are you done with the questions? Because there’s one more thing we need to discuss, and you’ve avoided the topic for this whole conversation."
She decided not to play dumb or avoid it any longer. "In my dream tonight, you said that you needed me. Why?"
He began to explain his need for a life-mate, then told her how he knew she was the one.
"Jon, I don’t think I’m ready for all this," she told him.
"What do you mean?"
"This is a big commitment, and I just met you a few days ago. I barely know you," she pointed out.
"But, you like me," he told her. "I know you do, and I wouldn’t lie to you and tell you that I’ve fallen in love with you either. We’ll just work with what we have and let it grow to something else."
She looked down at her hands clasped together on the table. "Jon, I don’t think I want to be a vampire. Drinking someone’s blood, well, eeww."
Jon smiled at her. "You wouldn’t have to drink just anyone’s blood. All you would be able to drink would be mine."
"And if anything ever happened to you?"
"You would die," he answered her. He was afraid that would be the point that would make her run away, but he didn’t want to lie to her anymore. "But, if anything happened to you, I would die too. Maybe not as quickly, but once I went rogue and started killing mercilessly, Kristoff would come after me. So, if anything were to happen to you, I would immediately go to Russia and make the job easier on him."
"If I allowed you to turn me into a vampire, what would happen?"
"There is a complicated procedure that has to be followed, but it involves me drinking your blood then letting you drink mine. Then there is a ceremony that can only be performed by one of my kind that will bind us together. There is no such thing as divorce in my world though, so you have to be sure before you agreed to it."
"And can I provide the balance you need without becoming a vampire and going through the ceremony?"
"I don’t know. No one’s ever tried to do it that way before. I would guess that you could for a relatively short amount of time, considering the life span of your average human versus the life span of your average vampire."
"I understand what you mean," she told him. "I’m 32, the average life span for a woman is, what....about 80? So I could provide you with ‘balance’ for about 50 more years."
"Or, you could become a vampire and provide that balance for several hundred years, but if you aren’t willing to become a vampire, I’ll take the extra 50 years or so that you could provide me with."
"And when I’m old and wrinkled?"
"I would still take care of you," he promised her.
"While you still looked 25 years old," she added.
"Yes," he replied.
Mac was silent for several moments, contemplating that existence. Wondering if once she was old and unattractive to him, if he would look for sexual pleasures somewhere else, and wondering if she would be able to handle that way of life.
Jon recognized the look of self doubt on her face. "We would in effect be married and I would honor my vows to you until the day you died."
She frowned at him. "Did you read my mind?" she asked, accusingly.
"Nope," he answered, "I read your face."
"If this, whatever it is, turned into love, would we get married in reality?" she asked him.
"We can, if that’s what you want," he answered. "But, the ceremony of my people is just as binding, if not more so, to me as a marriage certificate."
"But, then I would have to be a vampire."
"I can ask someone if the binding ceremony can be done between a vamp and a human," he told her. "And I’d have to ask if just you being in my life would provide the balance without us being bound together. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to. And trust me, there have been many times that I’ve regretted my decision to be turned. I was young, and didn’t like the thought of growing old. The promise of eternal youth lured me in, but I’ve learned there’s more to life than youth. And believe me, it’s no fun to watch your human friends die of old age. I’ve learned that living forever isn’t what it’s cracked up to be." Jon knew he could make a call to Kristoff and if his old friend couldn’t answer the questions for him, Kristoff would know someone who could give him the answers he needed.
Mac glanced at her watch. "Geez, I didn’t realize what time it was. It’s already 4am."
Jon stood up and walked over to her chair. Squatting down beside the chair, he said softly, "You should get some sleep, moglie mia. We have to catch a plane in a few hours."
She smiled, and he stood up with one of her small hands in his. Pulling her toward his bedroom, he ordered gently, "Come to bed, Mac."
Willingly, she followed him.
********************
The next morning, Jon woke slowly, then pulled a sleeping Mac tighter against him. He laid there for several minutes with her snuggled back against him, spoon fashion. It seemed strange to wake up after telling her his secret without a stake poised at his heart. He glanced at the clock by the bed. It was after 9am already, and they had to be at the airport by 11. They were flying on to Portland for a show that night. No hotel room in Portland though. When the show was over, they were boarding a plane again for San Francisco. The band was playing a two night gig there.
He hated to wake Mac, because she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. They hadn’t made love; he had realized she was just too worn out, physically and mentally. And, as much as he was sure to enjoy a morning romp, they just didn’t have the time this morning.
"Mac," he growled, huskily, in her ear. "You need to wake up, tesoro mia. We have a plane to catch."
She came awake slowly, snuggling back against him before she stretched luxuriously. "Do we have to?" she asked, yawning.
"Yeah, sorry," he murmured softly against her ear, before kissing her neck. The urge was strong to bite her though. He hadn’t fed the night before; he’d been too concerned about losing Mac.
She rolled over in his arms and kissed him softly. "I need caffeine," she muttered. "I refuse to go anywhere without it."
"Ok, moglie mia," he smiled, "your wish is my command."
Reluctantly, he released her and rolled toward the phone. He dialed room service, as she got out of bed, Jon paused to watch her long legs as she walked across the room.
"Sir?" the person on the other end of the line asked.
"Oh," Jon snapped back to attention, "sorry. I need some coffee and breakfast sent up to my room."
"Make mine a Dr. Pepper," Mac called from the bathroom, "and I want cheese on my scrambled eggs, and wheat toast."
"Is that all?" he asked smiling.
"Yep."
He quickly relayed her order, then hung up the phone.
"Hey, Jon," she called, "wanna join me in the shower?"
"Hell yeah," he answered, quickly getting out of bed.
He stood up and felt light headed. Jon knew this had nothing to do with the wine he’d drank the night before. He needed to feed, but after Mac’s statement last night about drinking blood he wasn’t sure how she would feel about being his meal, and he didn’t want to push his luck with her acceptance of what he was. Deciding not to say anything, and just find his meal else where, he walked to the bathroom door.
"Of course," he spoke louder so she’d hear him over the spray of the shower, "if I joined you then who would let the room service waiter in?" He knew he’d never be able to resist biting her if he made love to her.
"You have a point," she answered him, "and I do need my caffeine."
"Besides," he pointed out, "I don’t have time to make love to you properly."
"Oh, well," she laughed, "when ya put it that way, don’t join me. I’ve gotten used to how you do it properly. You’ve spoiled me."
"Later, then," he promised. Of course, he had no idea when he’d find time for them to be alone until they got to San Francisco, but he’d do his very best. Over the years, Jon had gotten really good at finding quiet concealed places in a venue. Maybe his dressing room would have a comfortable couch.
He was still contemplating how to get Mac alone when the room service waitress arrived. Jon was just about to put her in a thrall and feed, when Mac walked out of the bedroom wearing his robe.
"Oh great, caffeine’s here," she exclaimed.
Jon just signed the check and let the waitress go on her way. He couldn’t bring himself to feed in front of Mac either. No need to bring to mind what he was.
He sat down at the table across from her and sipped at his coffee. Jon hadn’t bothered to order anything to eat; that wasn’t the kind of nourishment he needed. After finishing the cup, he announced he was going to go take a shower while she finished eating. His hunger was so strong he could hear her heart beating, and he had to get out of there.
Later, after they had made it through the airport and were about to board the plane, Richie stopped him on the tarmac.
"Go on, Mac," he told her, "I’ll be right there."
Once she had walked away, Richie asked, "What’s wrong with you, Kidd? You look really pale."
"I haven’t fed since night before last," Jon told him. "It’s starting to catch up to me."
"Why?" Richie asked, concerned.
"I didn’t think about it last night. All I could think about was losing Mac and getting drunk. Then this morning, I just couldn’t feed from or in front of Mac."
"So, you still haven’t told her everything, just enough to make up with her?"
"No," Jon replied, "I told her everything, but she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being a vamp and drinking someone’s blood. So, I didn’t ask if I could bite her."
Jon swayed slightly, and Richie grabbed his arm to steady him. "Jon, you have to feed soon."
"I know that," Jon snapped, "I’ve been doing this for a while now, but I’ll be fine for the short flight to Portland, then I’ll worry about feeding."
"Are you sure?"
"I’ll be fine," Jon assured him, turning to board the plane.
Richie silently fell into step behind him, intending to help him up the stairs if needed. Jon made it on the plane and to a seat under his own power, but Richie kept an eye on him the entire flight.
When the plane landed in Portland, both Jon and Richie were relieved that they made it through security and into the waiting van relatively quickly. They arrived at the arena after a short drive, but Richie didn’t like the way Jon looked. He watched his friend put his arm around Mac and lead her into the backstage entrance and realized it was probably Jon using the action to steady himself more than as an affectionate gesture.
Jon was barely able to make it to his dressing room. He was able to admit to himself that he probably wouldn’t have made it without his arm around Mac. Richie had already noticed he wasn’t quite himself, but no one else had. He had been careful to act as normal as possible not only for Mac’s benefit but also for the other band and crew members. He had to feed and soon.
Richie followed closely behind Jon and Mac until they reached Jon’s dressing room. When Jon tried to send him on his way, he pushed past him and entered the room. He glanced at Mac before his gaze slid back to Jon. Richie frowned as he watched his friend almost collapse in a chair by the door.
"Jon," Mac gasped, and ran to him. "Are you okay?"
"I’m fine," Jon answered her, weakly, as he slumped in the chair looking anything but fine.
"Tell her Jon," Richie said glaring at his friend, "or I will."
"Tell me what?"
Richie looked at Jon and raised one eyebrow in question, waiting.
Jon glared at Richie. "Fuck you, Sambora."
"You keep asking...," Richie grinned, leaving the statement hanging in the air.
"Tell me what?" Mac insisted. "What’s wrong with you, Jon?"
Jon gave her a blank stare before turning back to glare menacingly at Richie, who only gave Jon a mutinous look. The singer knew his friend would tell Mac if he didn’t, because Richie thought he was protecting him. After several moments of rebellious silence, Jon finally relented. "I haven’t fed since night before last," he told Mac, "and I need blood. Badly."
Mac frowned at the two men. "Richie get the hell out of here," she ordered.
Richie gave her a blank stare. He had never been ordered out of Jon’s room by anyone but his friend, and he wasn’t inclined to obey her orders now. "Excuse me?" he questioned, raising one eyebrow.
"You heard me," Mac answered. "This is sure to get personal, and I’d rather it be private."
Jon groaned weakly as a hunger pang tore though his body. He could hear both their heartbeats and his fangs lengthened in response. He jerked his head toward the door. "Go ahead, Rich. I’ll catch up with you later."
Reluctantly, Richie headed for the door. Opening the door, he turned toward them to warn Mac, "I can assume that you won’t hurt him while he’s weak, right?"
Jon’s gaze met his friend’s, and Jon knew that Richie was thinking of Cecilia’s betrayal. "I’ll be fine," Jon assured him, "Mac wouldn’t hurt me. Would you moglie mia?"
"Of course not," Mac answered, her tone announcing how offended she was at Richie’s suggestion.
Oblivious to her protests, Richie warned menacingly, "If you do, there’s nowhere you can hide from me," before he walked out the door.
"What the fuck is going on?" she asked, her eyes flashing green fire.
She threw her arms up in the air and Jon caught the briefest glimpse of white cotton panties. That was his Mac, a no frills kind of girl. No fancy satin or lace. His eyes traveled the length of her beautiful legs.
But, her voice drew his gaze back to her face. "I asked you a question, Bon Jovi." She crossed her arms over her chest.
"Uh," he began, "I don’t..."
"Don’t you dare," she interrupted him, uncrossing her arms to point a finger at him threateningly, "don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about or that you don’t know what’s going on. Because, I know you do."
"Mac," he tried again, "this requires an elaborate explanation. Can’t we talk about this in the morning?" he asked, his voice slurring slightly.
"You’re drunk," she accused for the second time, then gasped.
He stood swaying slightly as she marched across the room. Mac jerked his shirt aside, popping a button off that fell unheeded to the floor.
"I knew it," she gasped when she saw the mark. "It wasn’t just a dream, was it? You were in my head," she said, glaring at him, daring him to deny it.
Jon met her gaze. While he scrambled for an explanation, he failed to notice when she slid into his head. How do I tell her I’m a vampire without it sounding crazy? Various ideas crossed his mind, but he discarded them all, while Mac quietly withdrew from his head.
As crazy as it sounded, now it all made sense.
~him opening a door without having to unlock it.
~the chair back under his feet without him having moved.
~his unexplained absences from group activities.
~the visions of him sucking on female necks.
~he looked younger when he slept.
~the butterfly sensation whenever he was around and his raised eyebrow that accompanied them.
~the graceful moves of a predator.
~the overwhelming sense of danger that surrounded him.
~the aura of sex that he oozed with every move, without even trying.
~his barely controlled passion after that first kiss; the fact that he wouldn’t look at her afterwards.
"Show me your fangs," she ordered in awe, barely above a whisper.
Jon’s jaw dropped. "What?"
"You heard me," she said softly.
"Mac," he tried to placate her.
She stepped closer to him and ran a finger seductively down his chest while he watched in amazement. Where had this self-confidence come from?
"Or do they only grow when something else does," she asked sensually, as she leaned forward to kiss his neck. She trailed kisses down his neck and across his chest, pausing at the mark, then over to a flat male nipple that she circled with her tongue.
Jon groaned as his fangs lengthened. "How did you guess?"
She stepped back from him and smiled in triumph. "I was in your head."
He frowned. "And how did you do that?"
"I have no idea," she answered, shrugging.
"You have secrets you aren’t sharing," he accused.
"You’re going to lecture me on secrets?"
"Oh, come on, Mac," he said, "like you would’ve believed that."
"I might have," she answered. "But, I’m talking about your wife."
"I told you," he responded, laying his hands on her shoulders, "I’m not married."
"So what you said in my dream," she said, "was the truth?"
"I thought I needed a cover story," he explained, "to make me look more normal on the surface, so no one would look any deeper."
"Is this what you really look like?" she asked, thinking about how much younger he looked when he was asleep.
"Does it really matter?" he countered.
"Not really," she answered, "but I noticed how much younger you look when you’re sleeping."
"You did? I wondered if you had noticed," he replied. "It’s called a glamour. I use it to make me look older so no one will notice that I haven’t aged."
"Lose it," she ordered softly, then gasped in amazement when he suddenly looked almost 20 years younger. He looked exactly like he did in the poster of the band that Sandy had hanging in her bedroom. It was a poster from the 80's, and the only difference in that poster and the man standing before her was his hair was shorter and blonder. "How old are you?"
"444 years old," he answered, blithely.
"Whoa," she gasped. "I think I need to sit down."
"Mac," he said, bending slightly at the knees to look her in the eye, "please, tell me this doesn’t disgust you."
She looked up at him smiling. "I don’t believe there’s anything about you that could disgust me. But, this is a lot to take in."
Jon walked over to the chair he had vacated earlier. "Have a seat then, there’s a lot more we need to discuss."
********************
Jon spent the next hour answering all of Mac’s rapidly fired questions. The reporter in her had taken over, and she had asked everything from how he had become a vampire to why could he go out in the sunlight. He had explained all the myths and all the facts, but they had not discussed what he considered to be the most important thing, the topic of life-mates.
"So, you’ve been walking in and out of my head since I met you?" she asked, her tone giving away the aggravation she was feeling.
"Not since the beginning," he corrected, "I tried a couple of times but your mind is too strong. I’ve only been able to get into your head since we made love that first time."
She leaned forward in her chair and glared at him from across the small table. "How many times have you been in my head, Jon?"
He could tell this part bothered her. "Uh, four, I think. I wasn’t exactly counting, but twice when you were dreaming and twice when you were awake."
"Counting tonight?"
"Yeah."
She was silent for a second. "The dream where you hit Daniel?"
"Yeah, that was really me in your head," he confirmed, "not a dream version of me."
She smiled slightly to herself, as she pictured Daniel flying across the room. It hadn’t been a dream. This man before her had literally conquered her demon for her. "Your ‘wife’ is really a hired actress, but Sandy told me that your mother runs your fan club. I take it she’s not really your mom?"
"No, but she is family," Jon answered. "The man who the world thinks is my father is actually a descendant of my brother. My brother knew what I was and took that secret to his grave. His children and their children have protected me and my secret for generations. Bongiovi is really the family name. My ‘mother’ is my great, great-niece by marriage, give or take a few ‘greats’."
"Is Jon your real first name?"
"Yes, actually, or rather the Italian version of John. Giovanni, was the name my mother gave me at birth, but I Americanized it when the Bongiovi family immigrated to the States. I have a few old friends that still call me Giovanni, though."
"By old friends, I guess you mean other vampires?"
"Yeah," he answered. "I’m sure you’ll meet them eventually."
"So, Richie’s not..."
He interrupted her, "No, Richie is human, but he’s the only human outside the family that knows my secret. Well, except for you."
She answered the unspoken question in his eyes. "I won’t tell anyone," she laughed, "besides who’d believe me?"
"No one," he answered, unnecessarily. "Are you done with the questions? Because there’s one more thing we need to discuss, and you’ve avoided the topic for this whole conversation."
She decided not to play dumb or avoid it any longer. "In my dream tonight, you said that you needed me. Why?"
He began to explain his need for a life-mate, then told her how he knew she was the one.
"Jon, I don’t think I’m ready for all this," she told him.
"What do you mean?"
"This is a big commitment, and I just met you a few days ago. I barely know you," she pointed out.
"But, you like me," he told her. "I know you do, and I wouldn’t lie to you and tell you that I’ve fallen in love with you either. We’ll just work with what we have and let it grow to something else."
She looked down at her hands clasped together on the table. "Jon, I don’t think I want to be a vampire. Drinking someone’s blood, well, eeww."
Jon smiled at her. "You wouldn’t have to drink just anyone’s blood. All you would be able to drink would be mine."
"And if anything ever happened to you?"
"You would die," he answered her. He was afraid that would be the point that would make her run away, but he didn’t want to lie to her anymore. "But, if anything happened to you, I would die too. Maybe not as quickly, but once I went rogue and started killing mercilessly, Kristoff would come after me. So, if anything were to happen to you, I would immediately go to Russia and make the job easier on him."
"If I allowed you to turn me into a vampire, what would happen?"
"There is a complicated procedure that has to be followed, but it involves me drinking your blood then letting you drink mine. Then there is a ceremony that can only be performed by one of my kind that will bind us together. There is no such thing as divorce in my world though, so you have to be sure before you agreed to it."
"And can I provide the balance you need without becoming a vampire and going through the ceremony?"
"I don’t know. No one’s ever tried to do it that way before. I would guess that you could for a relatively short amount of time, considering the life span of your average human versus the life span of your average vampire."
"I understand what you mean," she told him. "I’m 32, the average life span for a woman is, what....about 80? So I could provide you with ‘balance’ for about 50 more years."
"Or, you could become a vampire and provide that balance for several hundred years, but if you aren’t willing to become a vampire, I’ll take the extra 50 years or so that you could provide me with."
"And when I’m old and wrinkled?"
"I would still take care of you," he promised her.
"While you still looked 25 years old," she added.
"Yes," he replied.
Mac was silent for several moments, contemplating that existence. Wondering if once she was old and unattractive to him, if he would look for sexual pleasures somewhere else, and wondering if she would be able to handle that way of life.
Jon recognized the look of self doubt on her face. "We would in effect be married and I would honor my vows to you until the day you died."
She frowned at him. "Did you read my mind?" she asked, accusingly.
"Nope," he answered, "I read your face."
"If this, whatever it is, turned into love, would we get married in reality?" she asked him.
"We can, if that’s what you want," he answered. "But, the ceremony of my people is just as binding, if not more so, to me as a marriage certificate."
"But, then I would have to be a vampire."
"I can ask someone if the binding ceremony can be done between a vamp and a human," he told her. "And I’d have to ask if just you being in my life would provide the balance without us being bound together. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to. And trust me, there have been many times that I’ve regretted my decision to be turned. I was young, and didn’t like the thought of growing old. The promise of eternal youth lured me in, but I’ve learned there’s more to life than youth. And believe me, it’s no fun to watch your human friends die of old age. I’ve learned that living forever isn’t what it’s cracked up to be." Jon knew he could make a call to Kristoff and if his old friend couldn’t answer the questions for him, Kristoff would know someone who could give him the answers he needed.
Mac glanced at her watch. "Geez, I didn’t realize what time it was. It’s already 4am."
Jon stood up and walked over to her chair. Squatting down beside the chair, he said softly, "You should get some sleep, moglie mia. We have to catch a plane in a few hours."
She smiled, and he stood up with one of her small hands in his. Pulling her toward his bedroom, he ordered gently, "Come to bed, Mac."
Willingly, she followed him.
********************
The next morning, Jon woke slowly, then pulled a sleeping Mac tighter against him. He laid there for several minutes with her snuggled back against him, spoon fashion. It seemed strange to wake up after telling her his secret without a stake poised at his heart. He glanced at the clock by the bed. It was after 9am already, and they had to be at the airport by 11. They were flying on to Portland for a show that night. No hotel room in Portland though. When the show was over, they were boarding a plane again for San Francisco. The band was playing a two night gig there.
He hated to wake Mac, because she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. They hadn’t made love; he had realized she was just too worn out, physically and mentally. And, as much as he was sure to enjoy a morning romp, they just didn’t have the time this morning.
"Mac," he growled, huskily, in her ear. "You need to wake up, tesoro mia. We have a plane to catch."
She came awake slowly, snuggling back against him before she stretched luxuriously. "Do we have to?" she asked, yawning.
"Yeah, sorry," he murmured softly against her ear, before kissing her neck. The urge was strong to bite her though. He hadn’t fed the night before; he’d been too concerned about losing Mac.
She rolled over in his arms and kissed him softly. "I need caffeine," she muttered. "I refuse to go anywhere without it."
"Ok, moglie mia," he smiled, "your wish is my command."
Reluctantly, he released her and rolled toward the phone. He dialed room service, as she got out of bed, Jon paused to watch her long legs as she walked across the room.
"Sir?" the person on the other end of the line asked.
"Oh," Jon snapped back to attention, "sorry. I need some coffee and breakfast sent up to my room."
"Make mine a Dr. Pepper," Mac called from the bathroom, "and I want cheese on my scrambled eggs, and wheat toast."
"Is that all?" he asked smiling.
"Yep."
He quickly relayed her order, then hung up the phone.
"Hey, Jon," she called, "wanna join me in the shower?"
"Hell yeah," he answered, quickly getting out of bed.
He stood up and felt light headed. Jon knew this had nothing to do with the wine he’d drank the night before. He needed to feed, but after Mac’s statement last night about drinking blood he wasn’t sure how she would feel about being his meal, and he didn’t want to push his luck with her acceptance of what he was. Deciding not to say anything, and just find his meal else where, he walked to the bathroom door.
"Of course," he spoke louder so she’d hear him over the spray of the shower, "if I joined you then who would let the room service waiter in?" He knew he’d never be able to resist biting her if he made love to her.
"You have a point," she answered him, "and I do need my caffeine."
"Besides," he pointed out, "I don’t have time to make love to you properly."
"Oh, well," she laughed, "when ya put it that way, don’t join me. I’ve gotten used to how you do it properly. You’ve spoiled me."
"Later, then," he promised. Of course, he had no idea when he’d find time for them to be alone until they got to San Francisco, but he’d do his very best. Over the years, Jon had gotten really good at finding quiet concealed places in a venue. Maybe his dressing room would have a comfortable couch.
He was still contemplating how to get Mac alone when the room service waitress arrived. Jon was just about to put her in a thrall and feed, when Mac walked out of the bedroom wearing his robe.
"Oh great, caffeine’s here," she exclaimed.
Jon just signed the check and let the waitress go on her way. He couldn’t bring himself to feed in front of Mac either. No need to bring to mind what he was.
He sat down at the table across from her and sipped at his coffee. Jon hadn’t bothered to order anything to eat; that wasn’t the kind of nourishment he needed. After finishing the cup, he announced he was going to go take a shower while she finished eating. His hunger was so strong he could hear her heart beating, and he had to get out of there.
Later, after they had made it through the airport and were about to board the plane, Richie stopped him on the tarmac.
"Go on, Mac," he told her, "I’ll be right there."
Once she had walked away, Richie asked, "What’s wrong with you, Kidd? You look really pale."
"I haven’t fed since night before last," Jon told him. "It’s starting to catch up to me."
"Why?" Richie asked, concerned.
"I didn’t think about it last night. All I could think about was losing Mac and getting drunk. Then this morning, I just couldn’t feed from or in front of Mac."
"So, you still haven’t told her everything, just enough to make up with her?"
"No," Jon replied, "I told her everything, but she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being a vamp and drinking someone’s blood. So, I didn’t ask if I could bite her."
Jon swayed slightly, and Richie grabbed his arm to steady him. "Jon, you have to feed soon."
"I know that," Jon snapped, "I’ve been doing this for a while now, but I’ll be fine for the short flight to Portland, then I’ll worry about feeding."
"Are you sure?"
"I’ll be fine," Jon assured him, turning to board the plane.
Richie silently fell into step behind him, intending to help him up the stairs if needed. Jon made it on the plane and to a seat under his own power, but Richie kept an eye on him the entire flight.
When the plane landed in Portland, both Jon and Richie were relieved that they made it through security and into the waiting van relatively quickly. They arrived at the arena after a short drive, but Richie didn’t like the way Jon looked. He watched his friend put his arm around Mac and lead her into the backstage entrance and realized it was probably Jon using the action to steady himself more than as an affectionate gesture.
Jon was barely able to make it to his dressing room. He was able to admit to himself that he probably wouldn’t have made it without his arm around Mac. Richie had already noticed he wasn’t quite himself, but no one else had. He had been careful to act as normal as possible not only for Mac’s benefit but also for the other band and crew members. He had to feed and soon.
Richie followed closely behind Jon and Mac until they reached Jon’s dressing room. When Jon tried to send him on his way, he pushed past him and entered the room. He glanced at Mac before his gaze slid back to Jon. Richie frowned as he watched his friend almost collapse in a chair by the door.
"Jon," Mac gasped, and ran to him. "Are you okay?"
"I’m fine," Jon answered her, weakly, as he slumped in the chair looking anything but fine.
"Tell her Jon," Richie said glaring at his friend, "or I will."
"Tell me what?"
Richie looked at Jon and raised one eyebrow in question, waiting.
Jon glared at Richie. "Fuck you, Sambora."
"You keep asking...," Richie grinned, leaving the statement hanging in the air.
"Tell me what?" Mac insisted. "What’s wrong with you, Jon?"
Jon gave her a blank stare before turning back to glare menacingly at Richie, who only gave Jon a mutinous look. The singer knew his friend would tell Mac if he didn’t, because Richie thought he was protecting him. After several moments of rebellious silence, Jon finally relented. "I haven’t fed since night before last," he told Mac, "and I need blood. Badly."
Mac frowned at the two men. "Richie get the hell out of here," she ordered.
Richie gave her a blank stare. He had never been ordered out of Jon’s room by anyone but his friend, and he wasn’t inclined to obey her orders now. "Excuse me?" he questioned, raising one eyebrow.
"You heard me," Mac answered. "This is sure to get personal, and I’d rather it be private."
Jon groaned weakly as a hunger pang tore though his body. He could hear both their heartbeats and his fangs lengthened in response. He jerked his head toward the door. "Go ahead, Rich. I’ll catch up with you later."
Reluctantly, Richie headed for the door. Opening the door, he turned toward them to warn Mac, "I can assume that you won’t hurt him while he’s weak, right?"
Jon’s gaze met his friend’s, and Jon knew that Richie was thinking of Cecilia’s betrayal. "I’ll be fine," Jon assured him, "Mac wouldn’t hurt me. Would you moglie mia?"
"Of course not," Mac answered, her tone announcing how offended she was at Richie’s suggestion.
Oblivious to her protests, Richie warned menacingly, "If you do, there’s nowhere you can hide from me," before he walked out the door.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Chapter Nine
For several hours, Mac alternated between pacing and sitting fuming, but mostly she was angry at herself for not even thinking to ask if he was married. The thought that he belonged to someone else bothered her more than she was willing to admit. That body, that charm, that smile, and those amazing blue eyes all belonged to another woman. She tried hard not to even let the image of that fantastic ass enter her head.
Finally in exhaustion, she gave in and went to bed. Carrying her laptop with her, she placed it on the table by the bed. Once again she opened the media player and put on that same play list. Turning the volume down low, she listened as she changed into something to sleep in and climbed into bed. She left it playing as she fell asleep.
In his own room, Jon paced also and even looked in the mini bar, but after deciding it would take entirely too many of those little bottles to accomplish a good drunken binge, he called room service and ordered a good bottle of wine. He’d drink the whole damn bottle if that’s what it took.
He was on his second glass when there was a knock on his door and the scent of Richie’s cologne drifted to him.
"Come on in, Rich," he said, resigned, "might as well join the pity party."
Richie walked in the door and after seeing Jon slouching in a chair by the window, he asked, "What pity party?"
"It’s over," Jon answered, "Mac thinks I’m married and she’s pissed."
"You told her part of the story, but not the part about the wife being an actress?"
"I didn’t get to tell her anything," Jon replied, testily. "Her friend, Sandy, who’s a fan of ours, told her I was married."
Jon got another wine glass from the tray the room service waiter had brought and poured some wine for Richie.
Richie took it, nodding his thanks. "So why didn’t you just tell her the whole story?"
"Oh, yeah," Jon said sarcastically, "But, Baby, I’m not really married, that was just for good PR. The woman the world thinks I’m married to is just a hired actress. Geez, Rich, that sounds like a lame excuse even to me." He took a big gulp of wine. He wasn’t even noticing how well it tasted, that it was actually very good, very expensive wine. How it tasted wasn’t the point of the night. To get very drunk was the point. Drunk enough that he could forget that the woman, the life mate, he so desperately needed was pissed off enough to leave him. She wouldn’t even talk to him.
"You’re right," Richie agreed, "it does sound like a lame attempt to cover your ass."
"I’m so screwed," Jon said, shaking his head and slouching further down in his chair. "There’s a stake in Kristoff’s possession with my name on it."
Richie leaned forward, sitting his wine glass on the table. "What the hell are you talking about, Jon? Why would Kristoff want to stake you? He’s your friend."
"Exactly why he would stake me," Jon told him. Then went on to explain the details about the need for a life mate that he had left out of his earlier explanation.
Richie listened with rapt interest. "Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?"
"I didn’t wanna worry you."
"When were you gonna tell me that in six years you could go crazy? When you were ripping my throat out and sucking me dry?" Richie asked, his voice rising with each word.
"Focus, Rich," Jon said, dryly. "That is not the current problem."
"No," Richie said, just as dryly, "it’s the six-year, long term problem."
"I have a stake in my room that I could give you to stake me with on my 450th birthday, if that would make you feel better," Jon said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
"Like I, a mere human, could ever take you out," Richie replied, using a healthy dose of sarcasm himself.
"You could if you caught me sleeping," Jon told him.
"You mean like Cecilia did? I’m sure I’d have about the same amount of luck she did."
They were both silent for several seconds, but then Richie spoke up. "I can’t believe we are sitting here calmly sipping wine and contemplating me, your best friend, staking you in your sleep."
"You might be sipping, but I’m gulping it," Jon responded. "Trust me, I’m not exactly enjoying the thought of my demise myself."
"Why are we even entertaining the thought?" Richie asked. "We should be trying to figure out a way to get her back. You need to turn on that Bon Jovi charm."
"The charm’s not gonna work if she won’t even talk to me," Jon pointed out.
"So you flash her that smile, the one that makes all the female fans cream their jeans. And use that look in those blue eyes that makes all their panties drop," Richie told him, smiling.
"How poetic of you," Jon responded dryly.
"It’s the songwriter in me," Richie laughed.
"I know Mac, not well, but well enough to know that all of that shit won’t work as long as she thinks I’m married."
"Well, then somehow you’ve got to make her see the truth."
"Thank you, Mr. Obvious," Jon said sarcastically, "I hadn’t thought of that."
"So, then," Richie grinned, "what are you doing here?"
"Isn’t it obvious?" Jon quipped, pouring his fourth glass of wine. "I’m getting drunk." He took another huge gulp of wine to demonstrate his point, tipping his glass toward Richie before he drank.
Richie started to rise from his chair. "Well, good luck with that, Jon," he said caustically, "let me know how that turns out for ya."
Incredulously, Jon looked at his friend. "Where the fuck are you going?"
"Well, obviously you don’t need my help to get drunk," Richie pointed out, "since you won’t listen to any of my suggestions, and you’re only answer is to get drunk, I’ll be going."
"Sit your ass down, old, wise, jackass," Jon said sarcastically.
"You’ve decided to listen, then?" Richie asked.
"I’ll listen when you have another flash of brilliance. In the mean time, I’ll keep drinking," Jon grinned. Looking pointedly at Richie’s empty glass, he asked, "Need another one?" At Richie's nod, he poured his friend another glass.
"To encourage a flash of brilliance," Richie suggested, "why don’t you tell me exactly what happened."
"There’s not much to tell," Jon responded. "I went to her room to ask why she didn’t come to the show. She said she was pissed, but I could see it was more hurt than anything. I almost slipped into her head to see what had hurt her, but..."
Richie interrupted him, "Whoa, whoa, back up. Since when can you slip into her head?"
"Since we slept together," Jon explained, "I found out quite by accident."
"Well then, why the fuck are you just sittin’ here? If you can walk around in her head, hell, Jon, I think it’s time you stretched your legs."
"I think I need my sunglasses," Jon laughed, while pouring his fifth glass of wine, "that flash of brilliance almost blinded me."
"Well, before you take your little stroll, I think you need a game plan," Richie informed him.
"I thought I’d just let her see the truth."
"The truth is good, but it would depend on your perception of the truth."
"Perception of the truth? How many damn perceptions are there to it? I hired an actress to pretend to be my wife. There’s not much more to it than that," Jon replied.
"Ah, but why did you do it? That’s the question you’ve got to come up with a good answer for. Because trust me...she’s gonna ask."
"For good PR," Jon answered, shrugging.
"Jon, I’m your friend, and that answer will work with me," Richie told him, "but it’s not gonna work with her. Come on Jon, you and I both know the real answer to the question."
"Since you know the answer," Jon replied, pouring himself another glass of wine, "why don’t you share it with me, oh, Insightful One."
"Jon, it’s me Richie, the only human on the planet that knows, I mean, really knows you. I know how you think, what motivates you. You can fool some of the people some of the time, hell, you can even fool yourself, but you can’t fool me." Richie watched as Jon took another big gulp of wine. "You just don’t wanna have to admit that the great Jon Bon Jovi was wrong."
"I prefer the term, mistaken," Jon said dryly, before taking another gulp of wine.
"You would," Richie laughed.
"Fuck you, Sambora."
"You keep asking, and I keep having to tell ya, no," Richie said, as he stood up.
Jon only glared at him.
"I’ll be going now," Richie told him, smiling. "I think my work here is done."
"Yeah, you better go, before...," Jon said to his friend’s retreating back.
Richie waved a hand in the air. "Yeah, I know...before you rip my throat out and suck me dry. That threat’s gettin’ old, Jon."
"But, I don’t ever threaten it," Jon called out, as his friend closed the door.
Jon finished his glass of wine and poured another, finishing it off in two big gulps. He started to get up and go to bed, but he swayed slightly and sat back down. Good. He was drunk. That was what he’d been trying to do after all.
Then he remembered the ‘walk’ he was going to take. Leaning back in the chair, with his head resting on the back, he closed his eyes and reached out to Mac. He could hear her crying before he found her. She was in an all white bedroom, standing facing a bed. The windows of the room were open and the gossamer curtains were billowing into the room from a strong wind. He could hear CCR’s Bad Moon Rising playing somewhere. Where was the music coming from? Jon stood silently in the doorway, behind Mac, his gaze drifting around the room. What he saw when his eyes fell on the bed froze his blood. He saw himself making love to a faceless woman, while Mac stood there crying.
"Mac," he said softly, "Moglie mia, amore mia, what is this?"
"Go away," she cried.
Jon realized what this dream was about, and strode to her, pulling her into his arms. "That is not my wife. I don’t have a wife."
"Yes, you do," she said tearfully against his chest.
Tenderly, he stroked her hair with one hand, and her back with the other. "No, I don’t. I have a hired actress that plays my wife on occasion. I’m not really married."
"Why would you pretend to be married?"
He kissed her forehead. "For good PR. I thought a wife and kids would make me look like the all-American boy from Jersey. And, I mistakenly thought that it would make the groupies back off a little."
"So, why pretend? Why not just find a real woman to marry?" she asked.
"Because I hadn’t found you yet, tesoro mia," he answered, smiling down at her.
"Is that the truth?" she asked, sniffling.
"Yes, I swear." He heard Bob Seger singing now. He recognized the song, it had always been one of his favorites. Looking back at the bed, he realized it was empty now. "Dance with me," he murmured.
She started to sway with him, and he began to sing along with Bob.
I’ll take my chances, Babe, I’ll risk it all
I’ll win your love or I’ll take the fall
I’ve made my mind up, Girl, it’s meant to be
Someday, Lady, you’ll accomp’ny me
Someday, Lady, you’ll accomp’ny me
It’s written down somewhere, it’s got to be
High above me, flyin’ wild and free
Oh, but someday, Lady, you’ll accomp’ny me.
Jon held her face in his hands and kissed her gently. His thumbs stroking the velvety softness of her cheeks. "I need you, moglie mia. More than you could ever know. You’re as important to me as breathing."
"You mean you want me," she corrected, a catch in her voice, "it’s a sex thing."
"See I told you, it was more than you could ever know," he smiled down at her. "I need you, Mac. When the time is right, I’ll explain it all to you, but I need you." He unbuttoned a few if the buttons of his shirt and pulled it to the side. "See this mark?" he asked her. When she nodded, he continued, "It appeared after we made love the first time. It’s what told me how much I needed you. No other woman will do for me. It’s got to be you."
"You’re drunk," she accused.
"Yes, I am," he confirmed, his speech slightly slurred. "But that’s what tends to happen when you drink a whole bottle of wine trying to drown your sorrows."
"And what sorrows were you trying to drown?"
"You wouldn’t talk to me, moglie mia, and the hurt in your eyes almost killed me. Knowing I had put it there," he shook his head. "I wanted to ask Richie to drive a stake through my heart right then."
"Jon," she began.
But he interrupted her, "No, Mac, I hurt you and that hurts me. Can you forgive me; can we get past this?"
"You don’t belong to another woman?"
"No. I belong to you," he said before kissing her forehead tenderly. "Just you," he whispered, his lips brushing her face as he spoke.
"Make love to me," she pleaded.
"Not here," he said, looking at the bed with a grimace. "Come to me, tesoro mia. Come to my room." Regretfully, he let his arms fall to his sides and took a step back from her. "Come to my bed, moglie mia," he said softly, before he withdrew from her dream.
He opened his eyes in his room. He hadn’t wanted to make love to Mac in a dream world, in a bed where she had pictured him with another woman. No, Jon wanted to make love to her in reality, in his bed. Somehow, he knew her skin wouldn’t have smelled or tasted the same in her dream world, and suddenly he wanted to have her smell envelope him and have her taste in the back of his mouth. After several minutes, he reached out to her again, whispering in her head, Come to me, Mac.
Mac woke up slowly, right after Jon left her dream. She lay there in the darkness for several minutes. Was that wishful thinking or one of her dreams that came true? How stupid to hire an actress to pretend to be his wife. That had to be her subconscious working over time to try and come up with a way for him to not be married. In her dream, he had said he didn’t belong to another woman, that he belonged to her. Did he really?
Briefly, she felt the barest brush of butterfly wings in her head, then Jon’s voice. Come to me, Mac.
She sat straight up in the bed. What the hell? No.
In his room, Jon stood up from the chair. She had answered him! No human had ever been able to answer him before. It had startled him so bad, he had withdrawn from her head. He started to go back, when suddenly he felt the oddest sensation. Almost as if his mind had been brushed by a butterfly’s wings, and he realized he wasn’t alone in his head anymore. Mac? He heard her gasp, and suddenly he was alone again.
How the hell was he going to explain this?
Finally in exhaustion, she gave in and went to bed. Carrying her laptop with her, she placed it on the table by the bed. Once again she opened the media player and put on that same play list. Turning the volume down low, she listened as she changed into something to sleep in and climbed into bed. She left it playing as she fell asleep.
In his own room, Jon paced also and even looked in the mini bar, but after deciding it would take entirely too many of those little bottles to accomplish a good drunken binge, he called room service and ordered a good bottle of wine. He’d drink the whole damn bottle if that’s what it took.
He was on his second glass when there was a knock on his door and the scent of Richie’s cologne drifted to him.
"Come on in, Rich," he said, resigned, "might as well join the pity party."
Richie walked in the door and after seeing Jon slouching in a chair by the window, he asked, "What pity party?"
"It’s over," Jon answered, "Mac thinks I’m married and she’s pissed."
"You told her part of the story, but not the part about the wife being an actress?"
"I didn’t get to tell her anything," Jon replied, testily. "Her friend, Sandy, who’s a fan of ours, told her I was married."
Jon got another wine glass from the tray the room service waiter had brought and poured some wine for Richie.
Richie took it, nodding his thanks. "So why didn’t you just tell her the whole story?"
"Oh, yeah," Jon said sarcastically, "But, Baby, I’m not really married, that was just for good PR. The woman the world thinks I’m married to is just a hired actress. Geez, Rich, that sounds like a lame excuse even to me." He took a big gulp of wine. He wasn’t even noticing how well it tasted, that it was actually very good, very expensive wine. How it tasted wasn’t the point of the night. To get very drunk was the point. Drunk enough that he could forget that the woman, the life mate, he so desperately needed was pissed off enough to leave him. She wouldn’t even talk to him.
"You’re right," Richie agreed, "it does sound like a lame attempt to cover your ass."
"I’m so screwed," Jon said, shaking his head and slouching further down in his chair. "There’s a stake in Kristoff’s possession with my name on it."
Richie leaned forward, sitting his wine glass on the table. "What the hell are you talking about, Jon? Why would Kristoff want to stake you? He’s your friend."
"Exactly why he would stake me," Jon told him. Then went on to explain the details about the need for a life mate that he had left out of his earlier explanation.
Richie listened with rapt interest. "Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?"
"I didn’t wanna worry you."
"When were you gonna tell me that in six years you could go crazy? When you were ripping my throat out and sucking me dry?" Richie asked, his voice rising with each word.
"Focus, Rich," Jon said, dryly. "That is not the current problem."
"No," Richie said, just as dryly, "it’s the six-year, long term problem."
"I have a stake in my room that I could give you to stake me with on my 450th birthday, if that would make you feel better," Jon said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
"Like I, a mere human, could ever take you out," Richie replied, using a healthy dose of sarcasm himself.
"You could if you caught me sleeping," Jon told him.
"You mean like Cecilia did? I’m sure I’d have about the same amount of luck she did."
They were both silent for several seconds, but then Richie spoke up. "I can’t believe we are sitting here calmly sipping wine and contemplating me, your best friend, staking you in your sleep."
"You might be sipping, but I’m gulping it," Jon responded. "Trust me, I’m not exactly enjoying the thought of my demise myself."
"Why are we even entertaining the thought?" Richie asked. "We should be trying to figure out a way to get her back. You need to turn on that Bon Jovi charm."
"The charm’s not gonna work if she won’t even talk to me," Jon pointed out.
"So you flash her that smile, the one that makes all the female fans cream their jeans. And use that look in those blue eyes that makes all their panties drop," Richie told him, smiling.
"How poetic of you," Jon responded dryly.
"It’s the songwriter in me," Richie laughed.
"I know Mac, not well, but well enough to know that all of that shit won’t work as long as she thinks I’m married."
"Well, then somehow you’ve got to make her see the truth."
"Thank you, Mr. Obvious," Jon said sarcastically, "I hadn’t thought of that."
"So, then," Richie grinned, "what are you doing here?"
"Isn’t it obvious?" Jon quipped, pouring his fourth glass of wine. "I’m getting drunk." He took another huge gulp of wine to demonstrate his point, tipping his glass toward Richie before he drank.
Richie started to rise from his chair. "Well, good luck with that, Jon," he said caustically, "let me know how that turns out for ya."
Incredulously, Jon looked at his friend. "Where the fuck are you going?"
"Well, obviously you don’t need my help to get drunk," Richie pointed out, "since you won’t listen to any of my suggestions, and you’re only answer is to get drunk, I’ll be going."
"Sit your ass down, old, wise, jackass," Jon said sarcastically.
"You’ve decided to listen, then?" Richie asked.
"I’ll listen when you have another flash of brilliance. In the mean time, I’ll keep drinking," Jon grinned. Looking pointedly at Richie’s empty glass, he asked, "Need another one?" At Richie's nod, he poured his friend another glass.
"To encourage a flash of brilliance," Richie suggested, "why don’t you tell me exactly what happened."
"There’s not much to tell," Jon responded. "I went to her room to ask why she didn’t come to the show. She said she was pissed, but I could see it was more hurt than anything. I almost slipped into her head to see what had hurt her, but..."
Richie interrupted him, "Whoa, whoa, back up. Since when can you slip into her head?"
"Since we slept together," Jon explained, "I found out quite by accident."
"Well then, why the fuck are you just sittin’ here? If you can walk around in her head, hell, Jon, I think it’s time you stretched your legs."
"I think I need my sunglasses," Jon laughed, while pouring his fifth glass of wine, "that flash of brilliance almost blinded me."
"Well, before you take your little stroll, I think you need a game plan," Richie informed him.
"I thought I’d just let her see the truth."
"The truth is good, but it would depend on your perception of the truth."
"Perception of the truth? How many damn perceptions are there to it? I hired an actress to pretend to be my wife. There’s not much more to it than that," Jon replied.
"Ah, but why did you do it? That’s the question you’ve got to come up with a good answer for. Because trust me...she’s gonna ask."
"For good PR," Jon answered, shrugging.
"Jon, I’m your friend, and that answer will work with me," Richie told him, "but it’s not gonna work with her. Come on Jon, you and I both know the real answer to the question."
"Since you know the answer," Jon replied, pouring himself another glass of wine, "why don’t you share it with me, oh, Insightful One."
"Jon, it’s me Richie, the only human on the planet that knows, I mean, really knows you. I know how you think, what motivates you. You can fool some of the people some of the time, hell, you can even fool yourself, but you can’t fool me." Richie watched as Jon took another big gulp of wine. "You just don’t wanna have to admit that the great Jon Bon Jovi was wrong."
"I prefer the term, mistaken," Jon said dryly, before taking another gulp of wine.
"You would," Richie laughed.
"Fuck you, Sambora."
"You keep asking, and I keep having to tell ya, no," Richie said, as he stood up.
Jon only glared at him.
"I’ll be going now," Richie told him, smiling. "I think my work here is done."
"Yeah, you better go, before...," Jon said to his friend’s retreating back.
Richie waved a hand in the air. "Yeah, I know...before you rip my throat out and suck me dry. That threat’s gettin’ old, Jon."
"But, I don’t ever threaten it," Jon called out, as his friend closed the door.
Jon finished his glass of wine and poured another, finishing it off in two big gulps. He started to get up and go to bed, but he swayed slightly and sat back down. Good. He was drunk. That was what he’d been trying to do after all.
Then he remembered the ‘walk’ he was going to take. Leaning back in the chair, with his head resting on the back, he closed his eyes and reached out to Mac. He could hear her crying before he found her. She was in an all white bedroom, standing facing a bed. The windows of the room were open and the gossamer curtains were billowing into the room from a strong wind. He could hear CCR’s Bad Moon Rising playing somewhere. Where was the music coming from? Jon stood silently in the doorway, behind Mac, his gaze drifting around the room. What he saw when his eyes fell on the bed froze his blood. He saw himself making love to a faceless woman, while Mac stood there crying.
"Mac," he said softly, "Moglie mia, amore mia, what is this?"
"Go away," she cried.
Jon realized what this dream was about, and strode to her, pulling her into his arms. "That is not my wife. I don’t have a wife."
"Yes, you do," she said tearfully against his chest.
Tenderly, he stroked her hair with one hand, and her back with the other. "No, I don’t. I have a hired actress that plays my wife on occasion. I’m not really married."
"Why would you pretend to be married?"
He kissed her forehead. "For good PR. I thought a wife and kids would make me look like the all-American boy from Jersey. And, I mistakenly thought that it would make the groupies back off a little."
"So, why pretend? Why not just find a real woman to marry?" she asked.
"Because I hadn’t found you yet, tesoro mia," he answered, smiling down at her.
"Is that the truth?" she asked, sniffling.
"Yes, I swear." He heard Bob Seger singing now. He recognized the song, it had always been one of his favorites. Looking back at the bed, he realized it was empty now. "Dance with me," he murmured.
She started to sway with him, and he began to sing along with Bob.
I’ll take my chances, Babe, I’ll risk it all
I’ll win your love or I’ll take the fall
I’ve made my mind up, Girl, it’s meant to be
Someday, Lady, you’ll accomp’ny me
Someday, Lady, you’ll accomp’ny me
It’s written down somewhere, it’s got to be
High above me, flyin’ wild and free
Oh, but someday, Lady, you’ll accomp’ny me.
Jon held her face in his hands and kissed her gently. His thumbs stroking the velvety softness of her cheeks. "I need you, moglie mia. More than you could ever know. You’re as important to me as breathing."
"You mean you want me," she corrected, a catch in her voice, "it’s a sex thing."
"See I told you, it was more than you could ever know," he smiled down at her. "I need you, Mac. When the time is right, I’ll explain it all to you, but I need you." He unbuttoned a few if the buttons of his shirt and pulled it to the side. "See this mark?" he asked her. When she nodded, he continued, "It appeared after we made love the first time. It’s what told me how much I needed you. No other woman will do for me. It’s got to be you."
"You’re drunk," she accused.
"Yes, I am," he confirmed, his speech slightly slurred. "But that’s what tends to happen when you drink a whole bottle of wine trying to drown your sorrows."
"And what sorrows were you trying to drown?"
"You wouldn’t talk to me, moglie mia, and the hurt in your eyes almost killed me. Knowing I had put it there," he shook his head. "I wanted to ask Richie to drive a stake through my heart right then."
"Jon," she began.
But he interrupted her, "No, Mac, I hurt you and that hurts me. Can you forgive me; can we get past this?"
"You don’t belong to another woman?"
"No. I belong to you," he said before kissing her forehead tenderly. "Just you," he whispered, his lips brushing her face as he spoke.
"Make love to me," she pleaded.
"Not here," he said, looking at the bed with a grimace. "Come to me, tesoro mia. Come to my room." Regretfully, he let his arms fall to his sides and took a step back from her. "Come to my bed, moglie mia," he said softly, before he withdrew from her dream.
He opened his eyes in his room. He hadn’t wanted to make love to Mac in a dream world, in a bed where she had pictured him with another woman. No, Jon wanted to make love to her in reality, in his bed. Somehow, he knew her skin wouldn’t have smelled or tasted the same in her dream world, and suddenly he wanted to have her smell envelope him and have her taste in the back of his mouth. After several minutes, he reached out to her again, whispering in her head, Come to me, Mac.
Mac woke up slowly, right after Jon left her dream. She lay there in the darkness for several minutes. Was that wishful thinking or one of her dreams that came true? How stupid to hire an actress to pretend to be his wife. That had to be her subconscious working over time to try and come up with a way for him to not be married. In her dream, he had said he didn’t belong to another woman, that he belonged to her. Did he really?
Briefly, she felt the barest brush of butterfly wings in her head, then Jon’s voice. Come to me, Mac.
She sat straight up in the bed. What the hell? No.
In his room, Jon stood up from the chair. She had answered him! No human had ever been able to answer him before. It had startled him so bad, he had withdrawn from her head. He started to go back, when suddenly he felt the oddest sensation. Almost as if his mind had been brushed by a butterfly’s wings, and he realized he wasn’t alone in his head anymore. Mac? He heard her gasp, and suddenly he was alone again.
How the hell was he going to explain this?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Chapter Eight
A few hours later, Jon lay holding a sleeping Mac in his arms. He had been thinking about how lucky he was to have finally found her. Years ago, he had ran into a close friend of his in a bar in New Mexico. Jon had been suspicious of Toby, because he hadn’t been acting like himself, and there was a wildness in his eyes that Jon had never seen before. His friend had only been 460 years old then, but Toby had never found his life-mate. The next evening when Jon had woke up, he heard the talk going around town. The bartender had found one of the saloon girls in the alley with her throat ripped out. The townspeople had been sure a wild animal had attacked her and were on the look out for a wolf or other such creature, but Jon had known that Toby had killed the woman. Staking his friend had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do, but he couldn’t stand by while Toby killed indiscriminately. Lightly, Jon kissed Mac’s forehead. He knew without the woman in his arms, Kristoff or one of his other friends might have to do to him, what he had to do to Toby.
She stirred slightly in his arms, and he wondered what she might be dreaming about. Easily, he slid into her head. At first, he just stood by watching, just a casual observer of her dream. She was dancing with a handsome dark-haired man, laughing up at the man, but then they walked up to a bar to get a drink. He stood eavesdropping on their conversation, only slightly jealous that his life-mate was dreaming about another man.
After they had placed their drink orders and the bartender had moved away, the man turned to Mac and said softly, “You shouldn’t have worn that blouse tonight, it only accentuates how big your chest is.”
“Daniel, please don’t start,” Mac told him, trying hard not to lose her temper.
“Really, Mac, it’s quite ridiculous looking, it makes you look so top heavy that you’ll fall over any minute.”
Jon had heard enough. He couldn’t stand by while the man, obviously Daniel, inflicted more emotional abuse. He had arrogantly thought that he had banished all the hateful things this man had told Mac with his earlier lovemaking, but apparently not, if she was dreaming about it.
Jon stepped up to the bar. Standing next to Mac, he leaned toward her and asked, “Could I have this dance?”
Mac looked up at him, her eyes wide with shock. “Jon, what are you doing here?”
“A damsel needed rescuing. My damsel. Where else would I be?”
Daniel stepped around Mac. “The lady is with me,” he said angrily.
“Not for long,” Jon answered, arrogance in his tone.
Shoving Jon back, Daniel glared at him furiously and ordered, “Get lost.”
Jon drew back his right arm and slammed his fist into Daniel’s jaw. It would’ve been more satisfying if this hadn’t been Mac’s dream. But since in reality he would probably never meet the man, this was about as close as he could get. He watched Daniel go flying across the room, and almost laughed at the enormity of Mac’s sub-conscious imagination. Casually, as if he hadn’t just sent a man flying, he turned back to Mac and pulled her into his arms.
Mac looked up at him and smiled. “The music’s stopped.”
“Then I’ll sing to you,” he told her, grinning. Pulling her tighter against him, he began to sing, “Every time I look at you, baby I see something new. It takes me higher than before, it makes me want you more. I don’t wanna sleep tonight, dreaming’s just a waste of time. When I look at what my life’s been coming to...I’m all about lovin’ you.”
She laughed up at him. “You’re such a romantic.”
“You bring it out in me,” he responded.
“Tell me all your secrets,” she replied. “I want to know everything about you.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he told her, seriously. “You might not like my secrets.”
“I like everything I know so far,” she answered impishly.
Jon almost told her the one secret he feared telling her most, just to see how she would react in her dream, but stopped himself. “Is that so?” he asked instead.
“Yeah,” she replied, “and you’re by far the best lover I’ve ever had. Although, I should warn you, your only competition is the man you sent flying across the room.”
He grinned arrogantly at her. “The best lover? Then why are you dreaming about another man?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Am I dreaming?”
Was there any rules about intruding on someone’s dream? Should he have mentioned to her that she was dreaming?
“I think you are,” he nodded, “while you’re laying in my arms.”
Mac’s eyes widened in shock, and she pulled away from him. Jon wisely decided to withdraw from her mind, and lay there feigning sleep when she awoke abruptly. He heard her gasp echo through the quiet hotel suite.
He pretended that her gasp had woke him. He jerked her tight against him as if awakening from sleep, and asked huskily, “Mac, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I was just dreaming,” she answered, snuggling against his chest.
“A bad dream?”
“It started out that way, but surprisingly enough it was turning quite interesting,” she murmured sleepily.
“Go back to sleep, Sweetheart,” he told her, smiling in the dark. “I’ll fight your demons for you.”
“You already have,” she told him, punctuating her statement with a big yawn.
Jon smiled as he nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. He fell asleep with that same satisfied smile on his face, maybe he had finally banished her demon.
*************************
The next morning, Jon awoke to find himself alone in the bed and after a few minutes realized he was alone in the hotel suite as well. Mac must have went back to her own room. He swore softly; he had hoped to continue where they had left off the night before. Why did she have to be such an early riser? Hopefully, she hadn’t noticed how much younger he looked in sleep. He rolled over and called room service. He needed coffee and then he intended to go to the hotel gym. Jon had been neglecting his daily work outs since Mac had joined the tour. His mind had been absorbed with her, and he’d been neglecting a lot of things. Richie found him in the gym running on the treadmill.
“Hey Bro,” Richie said in greeting as he walked in the door. “So, why didn’t you and the little woman come work out together?”
“She wasn’t in her room when I called to see if she wanted to join me,” Jon answered.
“That’s probably because she was down here working out,” Richie told him. “At least if that was about twenty minutes ago.”
“Yeah,” Jon said, as he pushed a button to speed up the treadmill.
“I saw her down here when I came to see if you were working out. I was going to join you this morning.”
Jon laughed. “You? Join me for a work out? Has hell frozen over then?”
“Not exactly,” Richie answered.
Jon recognized the tone in Richie’s voice. “So what was the fight about this time?”
“She told some damn reporter that I cheated on her. My publicist called me about it this morning. It’s all over the gossip rags.”
“Rich, don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with it,” Jon assured his friend.
“I just don’t understand why she’d lie about this shit,” Richie said. “I loved her Jon. I never cheated on her.”
“I’ll tell you why she’s lying,” Jon told him, even as he continued jogging. “Her career’s in the toilet. Hell, the only reason she’s had any kind of a career the last few years is because of the loyalty of our fans. They’ve went to see her movies and watched that stupid television show she was in because she was married to you. Now that she’s filed for divorce our fans are showing their loyalty to you, and she hoped to get some sympathy by making you look like the bad guy.”
“Jon,” Richie began.
Jon interrupted him, “Trust me, Rich. I’m the professional PR person in the room. That’s what she’s up to, and the people who care about you won’t believe it.”
With his hand closed into a fist, Jon raised it into the air. Richie didn’t hesitate; he touched his own fist to Jon’s.
“Okay, enough about my shitty love life,” Richie grinned, “how’s yours going?”
“Honestly,” Jon shrugged, “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“Eventually, I’m going to have to tell her my secret, and I don’t think she’ll handle it well.”
“Why? Because Cecilia didn’t handle it well?” Richie asked. “Hell, Jon, not all women would react like that.”
“And there’s the little fact that she’s a reporter,” Jon pointed out. “There’s no guarantee that she won’t put it in her article.”
“Sure there is,” Richie told him. “If she put it in her article or told anyone they’d think she was crazy.”
“You didn’t think I was crazy when I told you,” Jon pointed out.
“I was falling down drunk when you told me,” Richie said, chuckling, “and if you’ll recall I made you prove it to me. And I’m sure you’re not going to show those fangs to everyone she tells to prove she’s telling the truth.”
Jon stepped off the treadmill. “You’re absolutely right. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’re too concerned with telling her, and you’ll come up with any excuse to keep from having to do it.”
“Did you see that?” Jon asked, sounding very serious.
“What?”
“That flash of brilliance,” Jon laughed.
Richie smiled and shrugged. “I wouldn’t say brilliance. It’s just that I know you better than any other human on the planet.”
Richie went off to find some breakfast, and Jon finished his work out. When he got back to his room, he had some phone calls to make; the business of running a music management company and all the charitable organizations he was involved in just wouldn’t wait.
Two hours later, Jon and the rest of the band members were at the venue for sound check. Mac sat alone in the back of the arena observing the various crew members going about their duties and the guys doing more goofing off than actual work. Scribbling notes, she caught herself laughing at their occasional shenanigans. For the most part, David, Tico, Richie and even Hugh laughed and joked, but every once in awhile Jon would get them to play a few notes of a song when he wasn’t joining in the fun. She realized they were really just big kids who occasionally pretended to be adults and decided to use that line in her article.
With her head bent, she was writing notes in a small notebook, when someone sat down in the seat next to her on the end of the row. Looking up, her gaze met Jon’s light blue eyes.
“Ya’ll done?” she asked, smiling.
He leaned back in the chair and propped his feet on the seat in front of him. “Almost. Just got a few more things to work out. Obie’s working on a small sound problem.”
“Shouldn’t you be helping him?”
“Maybe,” he answered, lacing his fingers together across his muscled abdomen, “but I’d rather be here with you.”
“Really?” she asked, giving him a mischievous grin. He watched as she laid one hand on his knee, then sexily walked her fingers up his thigh. “I’d rather be somewhere else with you. Like back in your hotel suite.”
He caught her wandering hand in one of his. “I’ve created a monster,” he laughed, “don’t start something here that you can’t finish.”
She let out a throaty chuckle that almost made him squirm in his chair. “We can finish this later, right?”
“Not ‘til after the show,” he told her, “I’ll be way too busy until then. And we need to talk.”
“About?”
“Us,” he answered, “there’s a few things I need to tell you.”
“Like what?”
“Just some stuff,” he hedged.
“I was thinking about going back to the hotel when you sat down,” she told him. “Will I see you before the show?”
“I’m probably going to be here the rest of the day, but stop by the dressing room when you get here tonight,” he told her. He leaned over and kissed her lightly. “I’ll see you then,” he said, as he stood up.
Mac caught her self staring at his ass as he walked away. Shaking her head to dispel images of the night before, she gathered her things and then left the venue. She walked the few blocks back to the hotel, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city.
She was walking in the door of her suite when her cell phone started ringing. Tossing her things down on the table by the door, she started digging in her purse. She finally came up with the phone. She flipped it open and answered it without even looking to see who it was.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Girlfriend, how’s it going?” Sandy asked.
“Hey, Sandy,” Mac greeted enthusiastically. “Everything’s okay. The guys are really nice, and you were right, they’re all gorgeous.”
“I told you,” Sandy quipped. “Have you gotten me a pair of Richie’s underwear yet?”
“Uh,” Mac grinned, “I thought you were kidding about that.”
“You know me,” Sandy said, seriously, “do you really think I was kidding?”
“No,” Mac laughed. “But I’ll be honest with you, I have no intention of asking him for a pair of underwear for you.”
“Who said anything about asking?”
“I’ll get you an autograph,” Mac assured her.
“And are you getting along okay with the guys?” Sandy asked casually.
“Yeah,” Mac answered, “although, at first Jon was a complete ass.”
“Really?” Sandy was surprised. “That doesn’t sound like him. He’s usually very charming for interviews and such.”
“We’ve come to an agreement,” Mac said, blushing. Thank goodness, Sandy couldn’t see it.
Unfortunate for Mac, Sandy recognized the tone of voice. “You’re blushing!” she crowed. “You’ve got it bad for the rock star. Admit it.”
“Yeah,” Mac answered, softly. “He’s pretty amazing, and he’s hot too.”
“And married,” Sandy added.
“What?” Mac choked out.
“Didn’t you know? I thought I told you that,” Sandy replied. “Tico and Jon are married, but David and Richie just went through really nasty divorces.”
While her friend rambled on, Mac started to fume. How could he talk about a relationship between the two of them, and not mention that he was married? Why the hell didn’t she think to ask him that question before she slept with him?
“Mac? Are you listening to me?”
“Uh,” she answered, “no, sorry, Sandy. My mind wandered. I’ve got lots of work to do for the article. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” She hung up the phone before Sandy even had time to answer.
What the hell had she been thinking? A married man for crying out loud!
*************************
Mac spent the rest of the day pacing the floor of her suite. At one point, she went to her laptop and opened her media player, put on one of her favorite play lists, a mix of country and old rock and roll, and sat down in a chair by the floor to ceiling windows to fume. She had sat there for so long that the room was dark, the only light provided by the twinkling lights of Seattle and the screen saver of her laptop. Sitting in the dark, she heard Pat Benatar’s voice on her laptop.
Your love is like a tidal wave, spinning over my head.
Drownin’ me in your promises, better left unsaid.
You’re the right kind of sinner, to release my inner fantasies.
The invincible winner, and you know that you were born to be
You’re a heartbreaker
Dream maker, love taker
Don’t you mess around with me.
Leave it to Pat to pretty much hit the nail on the head. Mac realized she was so angry because she had let herself start falling for him. Hell, there was no let to it. She’d really had no choice in the matter. He was the ‘right kind of sinner to release her inner fantasies’ and most certainly ‘a heartbreaker’. Pat was still singing on her laptop.
Your love has set my soul on fire, burning out of control
You taught me the ways of desire, now it’s taking it’s toll.
The ‘toll’ was falling in love with a married man, and Mac didn’t want to be involved with a man with a wife.
“So, as Pat said, Bon Jovi ‘don’t you mess around with me’,” she announced to the empty room.
‘Pat’ answered her with...
You’re a heartbreaker,
Dream maker, love taker
Don’t you mess around... no, no, no.
In aggravation, she closed the media player on her laptop. Briefly, she wondered how late it had gotten, but the knock on the door between her suite and Jon’s answered the question for her. It was late enough that the show was over.
Mentally bracing herself for the battle to come, she announced, “Come in, Bon Jovi.”
Jon opened the door and saw her sitting in the dark, silhouetted against the lights of the city. She had her legs crossed at the ankles, her feet comfortably propped in another chair in front of her. “You didn’t come to the show,” he said softly, as he walked toward her, “you feeling okay, Dallas?”
“Nope,” she said harshly.
“What’s wrong?”
She smiled grimly in the dark. “I’m pissed.”
Jon started a check list in his head of all the things she could be pissed about. He didn’t think she could’ve found out he was a vampire between that afternoon and now. But, if she was angry why wasn’t she pacing the floor and waving her arms in the air like he had seen her do before? This wasn’t the explosion of her temper he had gotten used to. No, this was a quiet, controlled anger, laced with pain. Something had hurt her. He wanted to slip into her head and see what it was, so he could fix it, but her next words stopped him.
“There are a few details that you left out,” she said coldly. “Like, the fact that you have a wife.” She tossed the last word at him like an insult. A dirty word.
He noticed her laptop sitting in front of her. Had she ‘googled’ him? No, then she wouldn’t have just said wife, she would have said kids as well. How had she found out? A one word answer popped into his head. Sandy. He had been planning on telling her the truth tonight. The whole truth. He wanted to clear the air and keep no more little secrets, dirty or otherwise, but now the truth sounded like a lie to cover his ass. Even to him.
“You’re quiet. What? Are you scrambling for an excuse?” she asked angrily, but Jon could hear the underlying pain in her voice.
“No,” he answered softly. “I was trying to decide whether or not you would believe the truth.”
“The truth? Do you even understand the concept?”
Ouch. He winced in the dark, as that barb hit home. “Can I turn on a light, so we can discuss this?”
“No,” she answered, icily. “I don’t wanna have to look at you.”
He winced again. She was real handy with the barbs tonight. “Mac, I’ve never lied to you,” he tried.
“Technically, no,” she told him, “but a lie by omission is still a lie. So, what else have you left out?”
He could tell by the tone of her voice that she didn’t just mean his secrets, but she was also having second thoughts about the compliments he had given her. “I meant everything I’ve ever said to you, Mac, I swear.” He ran his fingers through his already rumpled hair. What could he say?
“Get out,” she ordered.
“I don’t wanna leave you like this,” he told her.
“It’s your fault I’m like this,” she said angrily.
“Mac,” he pleaded, “we need to talk about this. Please.”
At the tone in his voice, she almost relented. It was a good thing she hadn’t let him turn on a light, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to resist the look on his face.
“Jon, just get out,” she told him, her voice cracking slightly.
The tears he heard in her voice shook his resolve. “All right,” he regretfully agreed, “but we’re going to talk about this. Maybe not tonight. But we will talk about this.”
He turned and walked out the door, but Mac didn’t watch him go. Her eyes never left the beautiful view of the city outside her window.
She stirred slightly in his arms, and he wondered what she might be dreaming about. Easily, he slid into her head. At first, he just stood by watching, just a casual observer of her dream. She was dancing with a handsome dark-haired man, laughing up at the man, but then they walked up to a bar to get a drink. He stood eavesdropping on their conversation, only slightly jealous that his life-mate was dreaming about another man.
After they had placed their drink orders and the bartender had moved away, the man turned to Mac and said softly, “You shouldn’t have worn that blouse tonight, it only accentuates how big your chest is.”
“Daniel, please don’t start,” Mac told him, trying hard not to lose her temper.
“Really, Mac, it’s quite ridiculous looking, it makes you look so top heavy that you’ll fall over any minute.”
Jon had heard enough. He couldn’t stand by while the man, obviously Daniel, inflicted more emotional abuse. He had arrogantly thought that he had banished all the hateful things this man had told Mac with his earlier lovemaking, but apparently not, if she was dreaming about it.
Jon stepped up to the bar. Standing next to Mac, he leaned toward her and asked, “Could I have this dance?”
Mac looked up at him, her eyes wide with shock. “Jon, what are you doing here?”
“A damsel needed rescuing. My damsel. Where else would I be?”
Daniel stepped around Mac. “The lady is with me,” he said angrily.
“Not for long,” Jon answered, arrogance in his tone.
Shoving Jon back, Daniel glared at him furiously and ordered, “Get lost.”
Jon drew back his right arm and slammed his fist into Daniel’s jaw. It would’ve been more satisfying if this hadn’t been Mac’s dream. But since in reality he would probably never meet the man, this was about as close as he could get. He watched Daniel go flying across the room, and almost laughed at the enormity of Mac’s sub-conscious imagination. Casually, as if he hadn’t just sent a man flying, he turned back to Mac and pulled her into his arms.
Mac looked up at him and smiled. “The music’s stopped.”
“Then I’ll sing to you,” he told her, grinning. Pulling her tighter against him, he began to sing, “Every time I look at you, baby I see something new. It takes me higher than before, it makes me want you more. I don’t wanna sleep tonight, dreaming’s just a waste of time. When I look at what my life’s been coming to...I’m all about lovin’ you.”
She laughed up at him. “You’re such a romantic.”
“You bring it out in me,” he responded.
“Tell me all your secrets,” she replied. “I want to know everything about you.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he told her, seriously. “You might not like my secrets.”
“I like everything I know so far,” she answered impishly.
Jon almost told her the one secret he feared telling her most, just to see how she would react in her dream, but stopped himself. “Is that so?” he asked instead.
“Yeah,” she replied, “and you’re by far the best lover I’ve ever had. Although, I should warn you, your only competition is the man you sent flying across the room.”
He grinned arrogantly at her. “The best lover? Then why are you dreaming about another man?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Am I dreaming?”
Was there any rules about intruding on someone’s dream? Should he have mentioned to her that she was dreaming?
“I think you are,” he nodded, “while you’re laying in my arms.”
Mac’s eyes widened in shock, and she pulled away from him. Jon wisely decided to withdraw from her mind, and lay there feigning sleep when she awoke abruptly. He heard her gasp echo through the quiet hotel suite.
He pretended that her gasp had woke him. He jerked her tight against him as if awakening from sleep, and asked huskily, “Mac, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I was just dreaming,” she answered, snuggling against his chest.
“A bad dream?”
“It started out that way, but surprisingly enough it was turning quite interesting,” she murmured sleepily.
“Go back to sleep, Sweetheart,” he told her, smiling in the dark. “I’ll fight your demons for you.”
“You already have,” she told him, punctuating her statement with a big yawn.
Jon smiled as he nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. He fell asleep with that same satisfied smile on his face, maybe he had finally banished her demon.
*************************
The next morning, Jon awoke to find himself alone in the bed and after a few minutes realized he was alone in the hotel suite as well. Mac must have went back to her own room. He swore softly; he had hoped to continue where they had left off the night before. Why did she have to be such an early riser? Hopefully, she hadn’t noticed how much younger he looked in sleep. He rolled over and called room service. He needed coffee and then he intended to go to the hotel gym. Jon had been neglecting his daily work outs since Mac had joined the tour. His mind had been absorbed with her, and he’d been neglecting a lot of things. Richie found him in the gym running on the treadmill.
“Hey Bro,” Richie said in greeting as he walked in the door. “So, why didn’t you and the little woman come work out together?”
“She wasn’t in her room when I called to see if she wanted to join me,” Jon answered.
“That’s probably because she was down here working out,” Richie told him. “At least if that was about twenty minutes ago.”
“Yeah,” Jon said, as he pushed a button to speed up the treadmill.
“I saw her down here when I came to see if you were working out. I was going to join you this morning.”
Jon laughed. “You? Join me for a work out? Has hell frozen over then?”
“Not exactly,” Richie answered.
Jon recognized the tone in Richie’s voice. “So what was the fight about this time?”
“She told some damn reporter that I cheated on her. My publicist called me about it this morning. It’s all over the gossip rags.”
“Rich, don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with it,” Jon assured his friend.
“I just don’t understand why she’d lie about this shit,” Richie said. “I loved her Jon. I never cheated on her.”
“I’ll tell you why she’s lying,” Jon told him, even as he continued jogging. “Her career’s in the toilet. Hell, the only reason she’s had any kind of a career the last few years is because of the loyalty of our fans. They’ve went to see her movies and watched that stupid television show she was in because she was married to you. Now that she’s filed for divorce our fans are showing their loyalty to you, and she hoped to get some sympathy by making you look like the bad guy.”
“Jon,” Richie began.
Jon interrupted him, “Trust me, Rich. I’m the professional PR person in the room. That’s what she’s up to, and the people who care about you won’t believe it.”
With his hand closed into a fist, Jon raised it into the air. Richie didn’t hesitate; he touched his own fist to Jon’s.
“Okay, enough about my shitty love life,” Richie grinned, “how’s yours going?”
“Honestly,” Jon shrugged, “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“Eventually, I’m going to have to tell her my secret, and I don’t think she’ll handle it well.”
“Why? Because Cecilia didn’t handle it well?” Richie asked. “Hell, Jon, not all women would react like that.”
“And there’s the little fact that she’s a reporter,” Jon pointed out. “There’s no guarantee that she won’t put it in her article.”
“Sure there is,” Richie told him. “If she put it in her article or told anyone they’d think she was crazy.”
“You didn’t think I was crazy when I told you,” Jon pointed out.
“I was falling down drunk when you told me,” Richie said, chuckling, “and if you’ll recall I made you prove it to me. And I’m sure you’re not going to show those fangs to everyone she tells to prove she’s telling the truth.”
Jon stepped off the treadmill. “You’re absolutely right. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’re too concerned with telling her, and you’ll come up with any excuse to keep from having to do it.”
“Did you see that?” Jon asked, sounding very serious.
“What?”
“That flash of brilliance,” Jon laughed.
Richie smiled and shrugged. “I wouldn’t say brilliance. It’s just that I know you better than any other human on the planet.”
Richie went off to find some breakfast, and Jon finished his work out. When he got back to his room, he had some phone calls to make; the business of running a music management company and all the charitable organizations he was involved in just wouldn’t wait.
Two hours later, Jon and the rest of the band members were at the venue for sound check. Mac sat alone in the back of the arena observing the various crew members going about their duties and the guys doing more goofing off than actual work. Scribbling notes, she caught herself laughing at their occasional shenanigans. For the most part, David, Tico, Richie and even Hugh laughed and joked, but every once in awhile Jon would get them to play a few notes of a song when he wasn’t joining in the fun. She realized they were really just big kids who occasionally pretended to be adults and decided to use that line in her article.
With her head bent, she was writing notes in a small notebook, when someone sat down in the seat next to her on the end of the row. Looking up, her gaze met Jon’s light blue eyes.
“Ya’ll done?” she asked, smiling.
He leaned back in the chair and propped his feet on the seat in front of him. “Almost. Just got a few more things to work out. Obie’s working on a small sound problem.”
“Shouldn’t you be helping him?”
“Maybe,” he answered, lacing his fingers together across his muscled abdomen, “but I’d rather be here with you.”
“Really?” she asked, giving him a mischievous grin. He watched as she laid one hand on his knee, then sexily walked her fingers up his thigh. “I’d rather be somewhere else with you. Like back in your hotel suite.”
He caught her wandering hand in one of his. “I’ve created a monster,” he laughed, “don’t start something here that you can’t finish.”
She let out a throaty chuckle that almost made him squirm in his chair. “We can finish this later, right?”
“Not ‘til after the show,” he told her, “I’ll be way too busy until then. And we need to talk.”
“About?”
“Us,” he answered, “there’s a few things I need to tell you.”
“Like what?”
“Just some stuff,” he hedged.
“I was thinking about going back to the hotel when you sat down,” she told him. “Will I see you before the show?”
“I’m probably going to be here the rest of the day, but stop by the dressing room when you get here tonight,” he told her. He leaned over and kissed her lightly. “I’ll see you then,” he said, as he stood up.
Mac caught her self staring at his ass as he walked away. Shaking her head to dispel images of the night before, she gathered her things and then left the venue. She walked the few blocks back to the hotel, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city.
She was walking in the door of her suite when her cell phone started ringing. Tossing her things down on the table by the door, she started digging in her purse. She finally came up with the phone. She flipped it open and answered it without even looking to see who it was.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Girlfriend, how’s it going?” Sandy asked.
“Hey, Sandy,” Mac greeted enthusiastically. “Everything’s okay. The guys are really nice, and you were right, they’re all gorgeous.”
“I told you,” Sandy quipped. “Have you gotten me a pair of Richie’s underwear yet?”
“Uh,” Mac grinned, “I thought you were kidding about that.”
“You know me,” Sandy said, seriously, “do you really think I was kidding?”
“No,” Mac laughed. “But I’ll be honest with you, I have no intention of asking him for a pair of underwear for you.”
“Who said anything about asking?”
“I’ll get you an autograph,” Mac assured her.
“And are you getting along okay with the guys?” Sandy asked casually.
“Yeah,” Mac answered, “although, at first Jon was a complete ass.”
“Really?” Sandy was surprised. “That doesn’t sound like him. He’s usually very charming for interviews and such.”
“We’ve come to an agreement,” Mac said, blushing. Thank goodness, Sandy couldn’t see it.
Unfortunate for Mac, Sandy recognized the tone of voice. “You’re blushing!” she crowed. “You’ve got it bad for the rock star. Admit it.”
“Yeah,” Mac answered, softly. “He’s pretty amazing, and he’s hot too.”
“And married,” Sandy added.
“What?” Mac choked out.
“Didn’t you know? I thought I told you that,” Sandy replied. “Tico and Jon are married, but David and Richie just went through really nasty divorces.”
While her friend rambled on, Mac started to fume. How could he talk about a relationship between the two of them, and not mention that he was married? Why the hell didn’t she think to ask him that question before she slept with him?
“Mac? Are you listening to me?”
“Uh,” she answered, “no, sorry, Sandy. My mind wandered. I’ve got lots of work to do for the article. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” She hung up the phone before Sandy even had time to answer.
What the hell had she been thinking? A married man for crying out loud!
*************************
Mac spent the rest of the day pacing the floor of her suite. At one point, she went to her laptop and opened her media player, put on one of her favorite play lists, a mix of country and old rock and roll, and sat down in a chair by the floor to ceiling windows to fume. She had sat there for so long that the room was dark, the only light provided by the twinkling lights of Seattle and the screen saver of her laptop. Sitting in the dark, she heard Pat Benatar’s voice on her laptop.
Your love is like a tidal wave, spinning over my head.
Drownin’ me in your promises, better left unsaid.
You’re the right kind of sinner, to release my inner fantasies.
The invincible winner, and you know that you were born to be
You’re a heartbreaker
Dream maker, love taker
Don’t you mess around with me.
Leave it to Pat to pretty much hit the nail on the head. Mac realized she was so angry because she had let herself start falling for him. Hell, there was no let to it. She’d really had no choice in the matter. He was the ‘right kind of sinner to release her inner fantasies’ and most certainly ‘a heartbreaker’. Pat was still singing on her laptop.
Your love has set my soul on fire, burning out of control
You taught me the ways of desire, now it’s taking it’s toll.
The ‘toll’ was falling in love with a married man, and Mac didn’t want to be involved with a man with a wife.
“So, as Pat said, Bon Jovi ‘don’t you mess around with me’,” she announced to the empty room.
‘Pat’ answered her with...
You’re a heartbreaker,
Dream maker, love taker
Don’t you mess around... no, no, no.
In aggravation, she closed the media player on her laptop. Briefly, she wondered how late it had gotten, but the knock on the door between her suite and Jon’s answered the question for her. It was late enough that the show was over.
Mentally bracing herself for the battle to come, she announced, “Come in, Bon Jovi.”
Jon opened the door and saw her sitting in the dark, silhouetted against the lights of the city. She had her legs crossed at the ankles, her feet comfortably propped in another chair in front of her. “You didn’t come to the show,” he said softly, as he walked toward her, “you feeling okay, Dallas?”
“Nope,” she said harshly.
“What’s wrong?”
She smiled grimly in the dark. “I’m pissed.”
Jon started a check list in his head of all the things she could be pissed about. He didn’t think she could’ve found out he was a vampire between that afternoon and now. But, if she was angry why wasn’t she pacing the floor and waving her arms in the air like he had seen her do before? This wasn’t the explosion of her temper he had gotten used to. No, this was a quiet, controlled anger, laced with pain. Something had hurt her. He wanted to slip into her head and see what it was, so he could fix it, but her next words stopped him.
“There are a few details that you left out,” she said coldly. “Like, the fact that you have a wife.” She tossed the last word at him like an insult. A dirty word.
He noticed her laptop sitting in front of her. Had she ‘googled’ him? No, then she wouldn’t have just said wife, she would have said kids as well. How had she found out? A one word answer popped into his head. Sandy. He had been planning on telling her the truth tonight. The whole truth. He wanted to clear the air and keep no more little secrets, dirty or otherwise, but now the truth sounded like a lie to cover his ass. Even to him.
“You’re quiet. What? Are you scrambling for an excuse?” she asked angrily, but Jon could hear the underlying pain in her voice.
“No,” he answered softly. “I was trying to decide whether or not you would believe the truth.”
“The truth? Do you even understand the concept?”
Ouch. He winced in the dark, as that barb hit home. “Can I turn on a light, so we can discuss this?”
“No,” she answered, icily. “I don’t wanna have to look at you.”
He winced again. She was real handy with the barbs tonight. “Mac, I’ve never lied to you,” he tried.
“Technically, no,” she told him, “but a lie by omission is still a lie. So, what else have you left out?”
He could tell by the tone of her voice that she didn’t just mean his secrets, but she was also having second thoughts about the compliments he had given her. “I meant everything I’ve ever said to you, Mac, I swear.” He ran his fingers through his already rumpled hair. What could he say?
“Get out,” she ordered.
“I don’t wanna leave you like this,” he told her.
“It’s your fault I’m like this,” she said angrily.
“Mac,” he pleaded, “we need to talk about this. Please.”
At the tone in his voice, she almost relented. It was a good thing she hadn’t let him turn on a light, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to resist the look on his face.
“Jon, just get out,” she told him, her voice cracking slightly.
The tears he heard in her voice shook his resolve. “All right,” he regretfully agreed, “but we’re going to talk about this. Maybe not tonight. But we will talk about this.”
He turned and walked out the door, but Mac didn’t watch him go. Her eyes never left the beautiful view of the city outside her window.
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