80 - God Bless This Mess

Petey’s feet ached from her rebellious high heels, and her scalp was being slowly detached from her skull by the tight French twist.  All she wanted to do was take a bubble bath in her overpriced hotel room upstairs, thoughtfully provided by her mother.  Yet, in the name of honor and duty, she pinned on her polite, political family smile and slowly spun toward the male voice calling her name.

She teetered on the stiletto spikes as her knees threatened to buckle beneath her.   Shocked fingers seized into her small evening bag, crumpling it tightly in her right fist.

It can’t be.

Embarrassingly, her first thought was how good he looked in the dark suit and vibrant blue tie that brightened his eyes.  The messy hair had been somewhat tamed for the event and conservatively framed a face that, while it didn’t convey anger, was deeply etched with apprehension.

He was here.  How was he here?  How had she not known he would be here?

“Double, double toil and trouble;

    Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

    Fillet of a fenny snake,

    In the caldron boil and bake;

    Eye of newt, and toe of frog,

    Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,”

   

As Jon’s footsteps brought him nearer, the creases in his face grew less severe, until he was almost smiling when he stopped with his shiny black dress boots mere centimeters away from her skull-encased toes.  A gentle hand came to cradle her chin.  “Resorting to witchcraft now, my little imp?” he inquired with an amusedly arched brow.

“What are you doing here?” she breathed in a panic.  This was not helping the situation any.  She was going to have it taken care of soon, but she needed more time.  He couldn’t be here now. 

He released her chin and the creases returned.  “Originally, it was to attend a fundraiser.  Shortly after dinner, it became a mission to find out what the hell…”  Jon reached  for her dangling left hand and lifted it so that the little diamond glinted in the light.  “…this is all about.  What’s going on Petey?  Why are you engaged to the man who was smacking you around on New Year’s Eve?”

“Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,

    Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,—“

“No,” he ordered softly, placing a single fingertip on her lips.  “No reciting.  There’s no reason to panic.  I just want the truth.”

You can’t handle the truth.  The famous movie quote popped unbidden into the foreground of her mind, despite its inappropriateness.

Retreating a step and lifting a determined chin, she falsely proclaimed, “The truth is, I got tired of being a social misfit.  I came back to where I belong, to the man who personifies social acceptability.”

“Bullshit,” he spat softly.  “You thrive on being a social misfit, and you no more want that stupid sonofabitch than you want a case of herpes.  Try again.”

The ballroom door opened and two guests came spilling out into the hallway amidst the sounds of laughter and music from within.  They glanced at Petey and Jon with a modicum of curiosity, but were well-heeled enough to move along as though they didn’t recognize man or woman.  It was a blatant reminder that, while the St. Regis was a prestigious five-star hotel, they were still standing in a public hallway where anyone could wander along and overhear their conversation.

“Come on.”  Jon had evidently come to the same realization, and he placed a guiding hand in the small of her back.  “I booked a room for the night.  We can talk there.”

“I don’t want to talk, and I’m not going to your room,” she protested quietly.  The hand on her back slid around her waist, and he tucked Petey into his side as they moved toward the elevator. 

“You’re going if I have to throw you over my shoulder, imp,” was his mildly uttered threat.  “I know you don’t want to make a scene, so come along nicely.”

“No,” she hissed.  “It’s you who doesn’t want the scene.  I’m just crass and embarrassing enough to want exactly that.”

“Not tonight, Baby.  Tonight , you’re a well-respected Heinz that wouldn’t dream of tarnishing the family name.”  A discreet chime heralded the arrival of the elevator, and Petey found herself herded into the opulent car.  Jon dug in his pocket and inserted the his room key into the elevator keypad before hitting a button for one of the top floors.

Petey was pissed.

“That explains why you care.  You know my pedigree, so now I’m fit to associate with the great Jon Bon Jovi.”

An angry masculine hand struck out and smacked the emergency stop button, bringing the car to a jarring halt.  Petey had to cling to the brass railing on the elevator wall to steady herself and keep from stumbling.  

“Yeah, that’s what it is.”  Jon brought his face close to hers, his voice deadly cold.  She could see that there was a puffiness around his eyes, and the faint wrinkles were more pronounced than usual.  He was tired.  “That’s why I’ve spent the last four days and paid a PI thousands of dollars trying to find you.  Because I knew your secret identity all along and planned to attend a political event where you would be standing on the dais.  How the hell does your coveted logic apply to that, Dr. Heinz?”

His eyes snapped with annoyance and frustration as he expectantly waited for her reply.

It may have been ten o’clock at night inside of an elevator car, but the sun came out to shine in Petey’s world.  With him standing over her in that familiar offensive position he took when they argued, her life felt right for the first time in days.  This was who she was and who she wanted to be – the woman who made this man crazy. 

“Don’t call me that,” she ordered, her own eyes flashing up at him. 

“Answer the question.”

“It doesn’t and you know it.”  Crossing her arms at the waist, Petey cocked one hip and impatiently tapped her toe.  “If we’re going, could we move it along?  I thought you hated elevators."

She smothered a smile at the growl of frustration when he jabbed the button once again.  They had to figure out a way to make this work.  She didn’t want to live a bland, mundane existence without this spark of… emotion that he forced her to experience. 

Yes, she wanted emotion.  Logic was all well and good, but Jon made her realize that she needed more, so that she could truly live instead of just existing.

The doors slid open and Jon allowed her to exit the elevator ahead of him.  He silently pointed to the door on the left, following mutely behind her and inserting the key card in the door marked ‘Empire Suite’.

His arm snaked around the door facing, and the suite was bathed in soft light from several lamps.  Petey could see that the seating area was decorated in classically contemporary stripes, and had oversized windows that reflected the incandescent bulbs glowing in the lamps.

“You like your windows, don’t you?” she murmured, dropping her small bag on the sofa table. 

“It’s a big world out there, Sugar.”  Jon’s voice was at her right shoulder and he was admiring the twinkling lights of Washington, DC with her.  The imposing figure of the Washington Monument stood illuminated in the distance, on the other side of the White House.  “I don’t wanna miss anything.”

Petey closed her eyes for a moment and imagined that she felt his heat warming her bare shoulders, left exposed by the Grecian evening gown.  His smell was arousing at the same time it soothed her with its comfortably familiarity.  She had missed everyone from her New York life these last few wretched days, but she’d stifled the fact – even from herself – that it was him she missed most. 

“Sit.”  The imagined warmth became blissfully real when his cupped hands came over her shoulders and steered her to the sofa.  The gold and brown striped cushions silently squished when her bottom fell into them, and Petey leaned back against the opulent upholstery, crossing her legs in an effort to appear casually unaffected.

Jon silently removed his suit coat and draped it over the back of the nearest armchair before loosening the knot of his tie.  He smirked and nodded toward the silver skull shoe bobbing up and down in front of her.  “Petey meets Patience?”

The petite foot froze, and she quickly uncrossed her legs, cloistering the shoe back under the hem of her gown.  “Something like that.”

Pulling the coffee table out about six inches, he sidestepped so that he was standing between it and Petey.  Jon then situated himself on the edge of the heavy, wooden table and positioned her closed knees were between his parted ones.    

“I wanna know what happened in the parking lot, Petey,” he demanded, intent upon siphoning the truth from her.  

“Nothing.”  Her eyes darted behind him, focusing on the dining table across the room and noting how the upholstery on the chairs matched that of the furniture in the seating area.  The designer had done a lovely job.

“Let’s just pretend we’ve already had the argument where I tell you that’s a crock and you get mad and yell and then I yell and you say ‘fine’.  Just move on to the next part where you tell me something that isn’t fictional.”

The dining table and chairs lost their captivating appeal, and Petey offered him her most severe scowl.  “You’re a prick.”

“I can be,” he conceded easily.  “We both know that.  Right now, though, I’m being a realist.”  Jon planted both palms on his knees, angling his body toward hers.  “This isn’t going to go away until you tell me what I want to know, so why don’t save us both the argument and all of the accompanying hurt feelings?  You can start by telling me why Daniel Lewis hit you.”

Indignation was in full bloom a mere half-way through his proclamation, but when Daniel’s name rolled so effortlessly off of his tongue, it fizzled and her eyes went wide. 

“Yeah, I know who he is.  I’m a resourceful man, Sugar.”  A hot, masculine hand moved from his knee to glide over her thigh.  “You can either tell me why, or I can go ask him.  But I’m warning you that, if I go see him, I’m not going to be nearly as civil about my curiosity.”

No.  Petey knew without a doubt that she didn’t want him anywhere near Daniel.  Her 'fiance' was borderline psychotic nowadays, it seemed, and God only knew what he would do if backed against the formidable wall of Jon’s temper.  She didn't want to put him at risk that way.

“Fine,” she fulfilled his prophesy from a moment before.  Pushing his hand away, she leaned into the squishy back of the sofa and huffed. “He didn’t care for my choice of endearment the first time - son of a bitch is apparently offensive - and it turns out I’m annoying when I recite things.”

In her haste, she’d revealed more than she should.   Her over-honesty was going to make selling the engagement to him all the more difficult.

Haven't you noticed?  He's not buying the engagement story.  You might as well count that ship as sailed.

Jon’s mouth screwed up with loathing.  “Twice?  He hit you twice?”

She couldn't keep herself from trying one more time. “It was a misunderstanding.  We’ve worked everything out now.”  

Jon, just accept it.  I only need you to buy in for a couple more days.

No such luck.  He abruptly captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger.  “Look at me.” 

She closed her eyes and scrambled to think, searching for words that he might find more compelling.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” he ordered again, darkly.

His stubbornness was as impressive as it was maddening, and, with resignation, her lids fluttered open to find Jon’s face less than a foot away from her own.   The breaths from his lightly flaring nostrils teased her skin.

“I may not be a member of MENSA, but I’m not an idiot.  There’s no way in hell you could ever be satisfied with that man.”  A callused thumb edged along her jawbone, sending an unrepressed shiver tumbling down her spine.  “I know what it takes to satisfy you, Sugar.”

That quickly, her filmy panties went damp.  He did know how to satisfy her, and it felt like forever since he had. 

In the back of her mind, Petey had resigned herself to telling him the story – or at least most of it – when she her high heel sank into the luxurious burgundy carpeting of the elevator.  It was a foregone conclusion that his tenacity would wear her down until she ultimately yielded to his demands.

So, yes, in the end she would tell him, but right now she didn’t want his well-founded anger.  She wanted something else – that feeling she’d only been able to find in his arms and in his bed.  It was a feeling of total reckless abandon that she equated to free-falling from an airplane, and it was tempered only by the security of knowing that he would be there to catch her when she fell.


Now, not only did she want it, she was ready to take that astounding sense of exhilaration to the next level.

“Will you kiss me?” she whispered, gratified when he stopped dead, his pupils dilating wide for an instant in the subtle light.

“What did you say?”

She responded to the hoarse whisper by allowing her eyes to go soft, and her voice to go softer.  “I asked you to kiss me.”

Covetous eyes, in the deep shade of cerulean blue that her keen libido instantly recognized, locked onto her own icy irises.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” he demanded as easy fingertips rasped over the sensitive skin of her neck, and curled possessively around the bare nape. 

“Do you know what I’m asking?” she countered with the merest trace of a smile.  This was the last piece of herself she had to offer, and she wanted – needed – him to have it, tomorrow be damned.

A sweet growl found Petey’s ears, and his free hand fumbled for the tiny diamond on her left hand.  “Take this fucking ring off…”