Ch 55 ~ Tryin' To Get To You

Rachel didn’t know if James intentionally tried to thwart her travel plans or if all the work issues that had cropped up yesterday were legitimate.  There was a last minute problem with the lending company that “no one but Rachel could handle”, a delayed closing, another listing that didn’t appraise for the asking value, and a failed termite inspection had her scrambling to assure the buyers that they didn’t want to walk away from the deal. 

Things only got worse after her first cup of coffee, making the day the closest thing to hell she’d been forced to endure in a long time. 

And, while he said he was sympathetic to her Lake of Fire plight, Jon didn’t much care whether the source of her hell was the imps of real estate entertaining themselves at her expense or a contrary former lover.  When she called to tell him that she still wasn’t onboard the private plane he had idling at the Livermore airstrip…  Well, let’s just say he wasn’t thrilled. 

To quote the man himself, he was “beyond damn well ready” for their month-long European togetherness adventure to commence and was “motherfucking tired” of spending their days and nights in two different time zones. 

And when she was forced to confess that she had no idea when she would be on that plane headed for New Jersey, she was worried that he was going to blow a gasket and swear a blue streak that spanned the entire country that separated them.  Fortunately, there was a long, terse silence before he chose another approach and donned what she silently thought of as his dictator (or maybe “dick”-tator) hat, focusing purely on logistics. 

“We gotta leave here no later than six tomorrow evening – Jersey time – if I’m gonna make it to Spain in time to take care of business before the show,” he stated authoritatively.  “If you’re not here by six, I can’t wait for you.  You’ll just have to catch up when you can.” 

Rachel sighed.  “Jon, I’m sorry, but I can’t just walk away in the middle of this mess.  These clients are my responsibility.”

“I understand work obligations, Rachel,” he informed her succinctly.  “That doesn’t mean I have to like yours any more than you like mine.”

That had hit a nerve, and she worked most of the night to try and get all of the loose ends tied up, but it wasn’t enough.  Things just weren’t coming together the way she needed them to, and it was nearly ten the next morning before she could hand her luggage to a waiting attendant and scurry aboard the plane.  If things went smoothly, she calculated as she buckled herself in, Rachel should land at Teterboro by 5:30.  It wouldn’t give her much leeway, but she would make Jon’s six o’clock deadline and thereby spare herself a long, solitary trip to London.

That was until God intervened with a mighty crash of thunder and a handful of lightning rods. 

Literally. 

Consistent with the struggle she’d had to get out of California, it turned out that Nebraska was experiencing severe thunderstorms at the time they were to pass over, and the pilot regretfully informed her that they would to have to re-route.  He apologized as he told her the southward detour was going to make their arrival time in New Jersey a bit later than anticipated. 

Dammit all to hell!

She had never liked Nebraska.  All that flat, open land covered with nothing but corn and cows was desolate and boring and, as the plane detoured south, Rachel swore that, if she didn’t connect with Jon in New Jersey, that she would never eat another ear of corn again.  As long as she lived.  So help her God.

As the wheels hit the Teterboro tarmac, her watch read 6:30 and Rachel was annoyed beyond all belief.    She was unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for her carryon bag without much enthusiasm for a solo trans-Atlantic flight when the flight attendant beckoned her.

“They’ve held the other plane for you. Ms. Braden,” she apprised with the smile of an angel.  “You’ll find it on your left when you disembark.”

That was all the motivation needed to scamper down the short flight of stairs and find the group hovering in the doorway of the neighboring jet. 

“Get your ass up here,” Jon ordered from the top of the steps, softening his impatient bark with a smile.  “I ain’t got all day to wait on your slowpoke ass.”

“Hey,” she replied with righteous indignation and handed him her bag before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.  “I got here as soon as I could.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“All hail the queen!”  David proclaimed loudly from the middle of the plane, then shook his head with mock sorrow. “You gotta be royalty, because there’s no way he’d have held this plane for me.”

“You’re just pissed because being a royal dick doesn’t count.”  Richie rose from his seat to greet her and Rachel accepted his brief embrace and the affectionate kiss to the top of her head with a laugh.  She slipped into the seat Jon indicated and grabbed the belt as Richie lamented to his bandmate, “There’s power in the pussy, man.”

Rachel’s fingers froze on the buckle and she felt her mouth go agape.  She wasn’t sure whether to giggle or reprimand the outspoken man.  Jon rolled his eyes and stowed her small bag without pause.  “You’re gonna hafta just learn to roll with the vulgarity of these two yahoos.  I can only protect you from so much.”

“Protect?  From moi?”  David’s voice was high pitched as he feigned insult.  “Hmpf!  I can understand the seedier members of our group, such as Manslut Sambora, but I am of impeccable breeding and manners.”

Richie snorted and crossed one leg over the other as the plane began to taxi.  “Just because you breed with your pecker doesn’t make you of ‘impeccable breeding’, dipshit.” 

Leaning close to Jon, she asked quietly, “Are they always like this?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”  Stowing his phone in his pocket, he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it with a wink.  “But if you’d known that sooner, you wouldn’t have agreed to come on tour with me.”

After takeoff, the passengers were served dinner accompanied by a plethora and wide variety of wine.  The mood was… Well, to be perfectly corny, it was Jovial.  The joviality lasted a couple of hours into the eight hour flight before things quieted down.  A glance around the cabin told Rachel that most of the passengers were sleeping, covered with light blankets and wearing headphones. 

The unexpected silence provided her and Jon their first opportunity to relax together and just talk. 

“It doesn’t seem like a rock band should be sleeping at nine o’clock.” Rachel set aside the European travel guide she’d been obsessed with since she’d boarded the plane in California and nuzzled into Jon’s shoulder, turning up her face and puckering her lips for a kiss that he appreciatively returned.  “So where’s the party?”

“You should know that’s an exaggerated stereotype, baby.  We have fun, but this is our job, too.  The guys have to be ready to hit the ground running in Madrid, so they’ve all probably taken something to help them sleep and we should do the same.  We’ll land about 11 a.m. local time, so you better get a little shut eye while you can.”

“I can’t go to sleep now, silly.  It’s only six o’clock my time and I slept on the flight to New Jersey.” She wrinkled her nose with derision and gestured to her travel guide.  “Besides, I’m researching London and Paris so I’ll know what I need to see and what I can skip.”

“Trust me, Rach,” he advised with a grin as he retrieved his bag from the storage space above their heads.  “You’ll crash and burn in a couple days if you don’t take care of yourself.  Lots of water, healthy food, working out.  All that stuff’s important if you’re gonna survive one of my tours.”  He counted out two small yellow tablets from a bottle he’d fished out of the side pocket of the bag and handed one to Rachel, swallowing the other himself.  “Put the damned tour book away and unwind with me.”

“What is this?” she questioned, eyeing the little pill with distrust.  “It’s not going to knock me on my ass for days, is it?”

“Nah.  It’s just a little something to help you sleep,” he assured her, pushing his bottle of water into her hand.  “I can’t have you walking around Spain like a zombie – or fucking me like one.  It’s been way too long since I’ve had your hot little body in a compromising position and I want to make sure you enjoy it.”

Enjoying sex seemed like a good enough reason to her, so Rachel swallowed the sleep aid with a single glug of water and returned the bottle to him. 

It had been too long, she thought. 

Rachel looked into Jon’s eyes, but she didn’t see the infamous blue irises that looked back at her.  Her mind had overtaken her eyes with images of hot, steamy sex with the man seated next to her.  He had the most perfectly designed body that God had ever put a blueprint to and he knew how to use it to the advantage of everyone involved – offstage even better than on.   If the female fans in his audiences had any inkling how sexy he was when he stepped out of the shower and did the little dance with his ass…

Well…he could triple the price of tickets and still sell out football stadiums with that one move alone.

“I don’t know if I’m looking more forward to seeing Madrid or just mauling you,” she murmured, noting the way that his pupils had dilated and the sexy smirk that was now parked at the corner of his mouth.

“You probably better stick with the mauling.  We won’t be there long enough to see much.  Airport, bar, hotel, venue – that’ll be your grand tour of Madrid.  But we do have dinner plans with the guys tomorrow night.  You’ll love this little place we go to.”

So no playing tourist in Spain.  Okay.  Fine.  She didn’t mind that.  Exploring his body for undiscovered erogenous zones would suit her just as well.  Beyond Jon’s hard and throbbing dick, it was London and Paris that she really wanted to see.  Madrid was…

“Oh!” she exclaimed softly, reminded of a bit of trivia she had recently discovered.  “Speaking of Madrid, did you know the oldest restaurant in the world is there?  It’s been serving food since 1725.  Can you imagine the stories those walls could tell?” 

His smug smile wet her panties.  “That’s where we’re having dinner tomorrow night – Café Botin or Casa Botin.  Something like that.  I can’t remember exactly, but it’s got a wine cellar that’ll make you scream like you do when I’ve got you bent over something.” 

A vision of being bent over in that wine cellar zipped over her sexually charged brainwaves.  “Oooh!  That excites me!”

“You lookin’ to get bent over something, are ya?”

“No, you moron,” she started to deny it, but ended up semi-confessing.  “Well, yeah.  I could get into being bent over something, but this particular excitement was about going to that restaurant.  I bet Madrid will be amazing.  Can I drink the water?”

Jon’s snort of laughter was enough to rouse Tico across the aisle, and he readjusted his headphones to drown out any other noise coming from their frontman.  “Honey, it’s Spain, not some remote corner of the world.  Yes, you can drink the water.”

“Gimme a break, will ya?” Rachel chastised, gently slapping his thigh.  “How am I supposed to know this stuff?  I’ve never been to Spain.”

Jon leaned across the armrest and cupped her chin. “I won’t take you anywhere that’ll give you amebic dysentery.  Pinky swear.”

“How utterly romantic of you to spare me diarrhea,” she responded dryly.  “No wonder women chase after you in droves.”

“The runs are something I take very seriously.”  He informed her with a somber crinkle of his brow.  “One time in Japan I got some bad sushi and I swear I thought my ass was on fire.  I don’t know how I made it through the show that night.”

“We are actually talking about shit.”  Rachel shook her head sadly and sighed.  “They honeymoon is really over, isn’t it?”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up and he pointed a finger at the end of her nose.  “See!  We really should get married. We’re talking about old married people shit instead of talking about all the low-down, dirty, shameful things I really wanna talk about.”

Rachel stifled a yawn and snuggled closer into his chest, choosing to ignore the marriage rabbit trail he seemed to habitually gravitate toward.  “I’m ready for low-down and dirty.”

“Don’t forget shameful, baby.”

“Mm…”  She loved the heat of his body warming her through their clothes.  “I bet I’m gonna love shameful.  ‘Shameful in Spain with Jon Bon Jovi’.  That has a nice ring to it.”

“Christ,” he moaned around his own yawn. “This is gonna be a long flight if you don’t stop promising me shameful.  My pants can’t get much tighter without splittin’.”

Rachel wasn’t sure if she felt more dozy or more horny, but she silently agreed it would be a long flight and yawned again.  “Don’t give me the visual.  I can’t take it.  You fill out a pair of pants better than anybody I’ve ever seen.”

“And you…”  His hand snaked beneath the hem of her top, settling into the indention of her waist.  “You take ‘em off of me better than anybody I’ve ever seen.”

“Mm…” she purred, the effects of the sleeping pill almost in full force. “That makes me a contender for the world title, since I’m sure you’ve had plenty of women take them off of you.”

“S’true.” He grinned, almost asleep himself. “There’ve been a few, but none of ‘em are any competition for you, Rach.”

“I am a monster in bed, aren’t I?” she contentedly murmured. 

“Godzilla, baby.  Motherfuckin’ Godzilla.”