Ch 65 ~ Tea For Three

The Rosebery isn’t what Rachel would imagine if someone asked her to have afternoon tea.  In fact, after she’d given her order to the waitress, she found that the literature on the table had it tagged as one of the “most fashionable” destinations in London. 

Rachel would’ve been intrigued either way, but fashionable, classic or Buckingham Palace didn’t much matter to Jon when it came to tea.  He’d no interest in what he considered a ‘chick thing’ and, when she’d asked him to join her, Jon begged her to go alone while he was at sound check.

“Rach, please don’t make me eat scones and drink tea with my pinky in the air.  I shopped with you.  I took you to Paris.  I bought you a big fuckin’ ring and had my proposal stuffed back down my throat for the seven hundredth time.  Doesn’t all that count for something?”

It did.  It counted for a lot – which was why she was analyzing the unique décor seated alone at a table for two on a Tuesday afternoon.   

Whereas one could be forgiven for assuming petite cabbage rose upholstered chairs, heavily curtained windows and walls covered by portraits of the Duke of Earl and his entire family tree, The Rosebery didn’t fit that traditional mold.  The chairs were more art deco club chairs with nubby avocado upholstery and the art was... Well the brightly hued abstract paintings were definitely not family portraits. 

No, this definitely wasn’t someplace Miss Havisham would have festooned, but the menu was nothing short of classic in its offerings.  Sandwiches came with options of smoked salmon tartar, Cotswold egg and mustard cress, cucumber and cream cheese.  There was, of course, scones and the requisite clotted cream as well as expanded options of strawberry jam, rose petal jelly and homemade lemon curd not to mention a wide variety of classic and exotic teas. 

Rachel was most intrigued by the pastries menu, however.  She had already placed her order for a variety of the finger-sized sandwiches along with a whole rosebud tea, but she couldn’t seem to decide on her dessert pastry.  Which would be most ‘English’ - blood orange curd tart, citrus macaroons, strawberry gavroise or Black Forest gateau?

She had just folded her hands on the table, having nearly decided on a madeleine when a very familiar voice summoned her attention.

“I must say that the photos didn’t do justice to your new ring.”

Swiveling around in disbelief, she discovered that her ears had not been playing tricks on her.  James was here.  Now.  Pulling out the empty chair on the opposite side of the small table. 

“James.  What are you doing here?”

It was an idle, passing thought that he looked tired.  Dashing as always in a baby blue Polo shirt and khaki slacks, but tired. 

“I must say that I’ve asked myself the same question more than once,” he admitted, leaning back in the retro chair and hooking one leg over the other.  “Yes, I had a business meeting with one of our counterparts in the city, but it could’ve been easily accomplished by a video call.  Instead, I chose to fly across the Atlantic so that I could make a side trip to assure myself that you aren’t making a huge mistake.  Although it’s turned into more than that now.”

Rachel was dumbfounded.  “You’ll have to excuse me if I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His chiseled chin dipped toward her left hand, which was currently perched on the linen tablecloth.  “From all accounts and appearances, you’ve gotten yourself hitched.”

“Oh.”  Her eyes flicked to the magnificent specimen of jewelry that adorned her ring finger, absently wondering if she’d ever look at it without a trill of excitement hastening her pulse.  “I’ve been blissfully unaware of the media’s take on my new jewelry.  Are they saying I’m engaged?”  Then she laughed at herself, realizing that was absurd.  “I should ask, are they saying Jon is engaged?”

“Flashy diamond ring.  Left hand.  He has a wedding band of some sort.  Speculation is that you’re married.”

The pulse that went double-time at the sight of her diamond took another jump.

Married.

To Jon.

For all intents and purposes, she was and that was the objective behind the rings.  Rachel didn’t know why the fruition of that flummoxed her so much. 

“I see.”

“What I see is that you’ve been practicing saying nothing when you speak.  Very celebrity-esque.” 

Her eyes flicked up to his eyes, surprised that there was no annoyance creasing the familiar brow that she’d known for so long.  James actually wore a bemused smile, seeming entertained by her neutrality rather than frustrated. 

She returned his smile, for a moment being transported back to a time when they had been as close as any two people could be.  This was the James she remembered from her younger years.

                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Would you like another, sir?”

Richie tore his eyes away from the pair in the tea room next door to smile at the bartender.  “Always assume that the answer to that is yes, unless I’m unconscious.”

On par with what he felt to be the typical British demeanor, the bow-tied barkeep didn’t display even the slightest hint of mirth.  Geoffrey merely nodded his understanding and poured a replacement for the adult beverage that Richie had just imbibed.

No fuckin’ sense of humor, these limey bastards.  If it wasn’t for The Beatles and The Stones... and Led Zeppelin.  And The Who.  Oh, and Queen.  Well, anyway, they wouldn’t be...

Rachel’s lilting laughter distracted him from his silent rant against the Motherland, and he turned back in that direction with his fresh drink in hand.  Tipping the glass to his lips, he sat back to enjoy a bit of people watching. 

He had no idea who the GQ-looking dude was, but Rachel clearly knew him.  They looked very...  chummy. 

Huh.  They don’t make a bad lookin’ couple either.

Not that Richie would ever make that observation aloud.  If he relished his job – and his friendship with Jon – that little factoid should be added to the list of secrets that went to the grave. 

He snorted. 

Secrets to the grave with himself. 

Hell if that isn’t some kind of Vulcan mind-meld, psychologically deranged shit. Next thing you know I’ll be my own best friend and prick my hand so I can be my own blood brother.

GQ George accepted a bite of Rachel’s food, making a screwed up face of disgust.  That must have delighted her, because the lilting laughter from earlier became heartier and drew the attention of a few more patrons who turned toward the couple with smiles of their own.

Clearly, he wasn’t the only one who thought they looked okay together. 

Whoa.  What the...?

Rachel had slipped the ring from her hand, passing it to her companion with a careless shrug.  The ring that Richie personally knew carried a price tag heftier than his last several royalty checks.  That Jon had gone to great pains - he’d had his assistant interview at least six jewelers – to select specifically for Rachel.  The guy had even gone so far as to ask Richie’s opinion on the style and size of the ring, wondering if it was too much or not enough. 

Yeah, that ring was just passed over with a casual, blasé attitude so that GQ could offer it a look of semi-disgust before he palmed it and stashed it someplace that Richie couldn’t see. 

Richie pushed to his feet. 

Oh, I know that fucker didn’t just pocket Rachel’s engagement, commitment, wedding, what-the-fuck-ever ring.  And I know that she didn’t just let him.

No, she didn’t.  Her palm was out and her manicured fingers were wiggling in the universal gesture of “give it to me”. 

Resuming his barstool, Richie huffed with satisifaction and signaled for another drink even as he remained vigilant. 

If that fucker doesn’t cough the rock up, I will rip off his GQ head and shit down his Ralph Lauren wearin’ neck.

He needn’t have worried.  Not only did the man return the ring, he put it on Rachel’s finger – with a look in his eyes that virtually screamed “she’s mine”.

And Rachel let him.

Holy mother fuckin’ rat shit sonofabitch....

                                                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Tell ‘em to go fuck themselves,” Jon groused the instant he found out.  “You’re mine for another few days and I don’t want you leaving early.”

“Jon…”  She took a deep breath and tried to explain again, patiently.  “I’m not any happier about this than you are, but it’s my job.  I have to go and take care of business.”

“A job you don’t need, Rachel.  A job you’re taking away from somebody who doesn’t have a…  boyfriend, significant other, life partner, whatthefuckever I am… to provide for her.”

“Oh my word, now you’re being ridiculous!”

“Am I?”  He ran an impatient hand through his hair and smacked his hat from the desk, not caring when it careened into the lamp before dropping to the floor.  “You don’t need to work and you know it.”

“Um.  Yes, I do.”

If for no other reason than her own sense of self-worth, she needed to work.  Rachel had been gracious about the house, the car and the credit cards, but she would give them all back in a split second if he didn’t get this.

“Stop acting like a spoiled brat, Jon.  You’re completely overreacting to a situation that is nothing more than an annoying inconvenience.”

His response was to glower at her.  Silently.

“If you had to dart off somewhere in the name of work and I couldn’t go with you, I’d kiss you goodbye and wish you a safe trip,” she reasoned.  “I would appreciate the same courtesy and lack of drama.”

“That’s different.  I have to work.”

“Do you?”  Rachel propped her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him.  “Do you really?  Because your net worth of a gazillion dollars isn’t enough?  Because you and your kids are going to drain the millions of dollars you have in this lifetime?  You could go home now and live the rest of your life on your royalties, and you know it!”

He grumbled something under his breath that she couldn’t make out.

“What did you say?”

“I said I want a fucking football team!”

She rolled her eyes and sighed, approaching him slowly.  When she got close enough, she tugged his arm until she could wrap hers around him.

“Want, not need.  Just like I want to work.  Goose, gander.  Pot, kettle.  Any of that ring a bell?”

He frowned petulantly, but still draped his arms around her waist.  “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No.”  Popping up on her toes, Rachel pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.  “And I love that you don’t like it, because right now I don’t like it either.  We just have to deal with it.  Okay?”

“Whatever,” he huffed, although he was noticeably free of his irrational anger now.  “But you’d better be in Jersey for Meadowlands.  That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Ch 64 ~ Put A Ring On It

The ring he had so confidently slid upon her finger had Rachel held rapt.  The center, cushion-cut diamond must have been at least six carats, and the row of emerald-cut diamonds that cascaded down each side of the band weren’t anything to sneeze at either, likely weighing in at a half-carat apiece.  If it hadn’t been so tastefully designed, it would have been obscene.

Instead, it was... stunning. 

She’d never seen a piece of jewelry more beautiful, and if anything could compete with the sparkle of the nighttime Eiffel Tower, it would surely be this ring.

Oh Jon.

There was no doubt in her mind that she loved him.  She needed him in her life every bit as much as she needed water or air, there was no denying that. 

She also had no doubt that Jon loved her.  He’d gone out of his way to show her time and again that he was crazy about her and would do anything she wanted.  It was obvious to anyone with half of a brain that he wanted her to feel safe and secure – to the point that he was willing to ‘put on a ring on it’, as it were.

But he still didn’t need her. Not the way she needed him.

And, call her stupid or silly or romantic, but she couldn’t – wouldn’t – marry him unless he did. 

That didn’t mean she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life with him, but she had made her peace with the fact that it would be without the benefit of a marriage certificate.  They were genuinely in love and that was enough for her.   

She tugged at his hand, encouraging him to stand so that they were on the same level, and she looped her arm around his neck. 

“I would be honored to spend the rest of my life with you,” she affirmed with a gentle smile.  “But I don’t require a marriage license or a wedding ring to do that.  The way we are right now, on this magical night in this magical city, will make me happier than anyone has a right to be.”

Jon’s hands slid down her sides and clasped at the small of her back, a small crinkle forming between his brows and mimicking the frown on his face.  “Is that code for you don’t like the ring?”

“Are you crazy?” Laughing, she rested her left hand on his chest and admired the glittering diamonds again.   “I love it to the moon, but it’s not necessary.   I just don’t need a wedding ring or a wedding as long as I have you.” 

He sighed and pulled back to look her square in the eyes.  “After I go to all the trouble of setting up the perfect proposal, in the perfect place and time, are you saying you’ll never marry me?”

“Never is a long time, baby, and any woman in her right mind would give a nipple to get this kind of proposal, but…  Well, for the foreseeable future, my answer is no.”

He huffed lightly, trying to take a backward step away from her, but she held onto his shirt, keeping him close.  “I’ve done every goddamn thing I can think of to get you to marry me, Rachel.  I’m gettin’ pretty fuckin’ tired of asking.“

“Then stop,” she advised gently, cupping his jaw and stroking her thumb over the stubble there.  “Because what we have works for me.  It works for us.”

“Good,” he grumbled, even though the rigidity left his shoulders and he slid his hands around her waist to settle at the small of her back.  “Because if you ever change your mind, you’re gonna have to be the one who does the proposing – and hope like hell I say yes.”

“That’s okay,” she giggled, grateful that their trip wouldn’t be marred by unpleasantness.  “I kinda like the girlfriend treatment.  All the houses, cars and credit cards with endless limits you’ve showered me with might become scarce if I let you take me off the market.”

His arms tightened, and she was held firmly against his body.  “Oh, make no mistake about it, Ms. Braden.  You are definitely off the market.”

“I am, huh?”

“You are.”  There was no room for argument in his tone.  “If you don’t wanna call it an engagement ring, then find something else that suits you – a commitment ring, or what the hell ever – but it’s staying on your pretty little finger so that the whole world knows that you belong to me.  Got it?”

Rachel held her hand out for another peek of the sparkly bauble that had just been declared her permanent accessory.  It certainly wasn’t going to hurt her feelings to wear it.  Not even a little bit.  But in the interest of fairness…

“I’ll wear it if you wear one, too,” she countered, returning her attention to Jon.  “I mean, if I’m off market I think it’s only fair the world knows you’re off market, too.”

“I don’t wear rings when I perform.  I’ve lost too many to grabby fans latching onto my sweaty hands.”

She wondered what lucky girls could say they had Jon Bon Jovi’s wedding ring for a moment, before deciding that she didn’t want any of them having the ring she gave him.

“Fair enough, but I get to choose it.”

His eyebrow kicked up speculatively.   “But I pay for it, courtesy of one of those limitless credit cards you were talking about?”

“I don’t care what David says,” she cooed.  “You’re much smarter than a brick.”

“Fuckin’ Lemma…”

Rachel laughed delightedly, thinking that her world couldn’t possibly be any brighter, even in what many would consider to be the middle of the night. 

“I have a better idea.  How about you try fuckin’ me instead?”

                                                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the fact that they didn’t get to sleep until much later, Rachel was up early the next morning and raring to go.  She couldn’t possibly sleep in now that she’d made it to Paris, but Jon didn’t suffer quite the same problem.  He was more than a little grumbly when she urged him awake for their customary morning run, anxious to free their schedule so that they could enjoy the day, but once she showed him how very much it would mean to her…  Well, let’s just say he was in a much better mood.

By the time he’d had his wake up enticement, run, shower and coffee, his disposition was almost stellar.  She caught him smiling at the ring on her hand more than once and that, in turn, made her smile.  It was going to be a fabulous day in “gay Paree”!

Proof positive was the perfect breakfast café only two blocks from their hotel.  Its decadent croissant and equally scrumptious – and totally French, café crème – set the pace for a gastrological smorgasbord of debauchery, soon to be followed by La Maison du Chocolat.  At her first bite of their richly famed candy, Jon said the noises she made were more lewd than those when she orgasmed, causing Rachel to blush.

“You’ll pay for that,” she teased, sticking out a chocolaty tongue at him. 

His whispered reply was nothing short of sinful.  “I’ll pay whatever it costs if you’ll make those sounds when I eat that candy from your sweet pussy.”

His wicked promise had her heart pounding like a jackhammer and her skin went hot all over, causing her to fan herself as she requested from the clerk, “We’ll take the biggest box you have.”

Designer bag swinging from Jon’s fingertips and filled with mouthwatering chocolates, they’d gone only another few short blocks when Rachel spotted something more pressing than Paris’s fattening confections. 

“There.”  She pointed to the awning, and leaning into his side to guide him in the right direction.  “It’s time to put a ring on that finger of yours.”

It was with a silent giggle to herself that she stepped through the door he held for her, preceding him into the quaint shop. 

I wonder if he’ll be surprised at what I choose for him.

“Good morning,” she greeted the sales clerk behind the glass cases. 

“Good morning, mademoiselle,” the smiling young man returned with a heavy local accent.  “I am Gregory.  How may I be of service?”

“We are here to buy this handsome gentleman a ring, Gregory.”  She cut her eyes devilishly toward Jon.  “I was thinking of something that might be considered a wedding band.  Could you show us the least expensive one that you have, please?”

His professional gaze having quickly assessed Jon’s heavy necklace and her new ring, along with Rachel’s diamond studs and necklace, Gregory hesitated only one slightly confused moment as his thought of a resounding commission skittered away. 

He stepped to the end cabinet, sliding back the door as they followed, and then produced a simple, plain ring no more than a couple of millimeters wide.  “This titanium band will fill your request, mademoiselle.  It is only ninety-five euros.”

She accepted the ring and slipped it on Jon’s finger, noting that he was more confused than Gregory, and had no reason to hide it.  “Seriously?”

Smiling delightedly into his face, she nodded, informing Gregory that the ring was perfect.  It took only a moment to produce her newly acquired acquired Visa and finalize the purchase.

The shop door had no more tinkled close behind them when Jon draped his arm around Rachel’s shoulder and tucked her into his chest.  “Not that I’m a materialistic sonofabitch or anything,” he told her conversationally.  “But why were you set on buying me a beer can tab of a ring, when I got you one Liz Taylor herself would be jealous of?  I’m pretty sure I can afford something a little nicer, since I am the one paying for it.”

Rachel giggled with elation because, true to form, he had fallen right into her trap and asked the perfect question. 

“Oh honey,” she sighed, conjuring up the most remorseful expression she could muster and patting his chest, “I’m sorry, but my ring was obviously very, very expensive.  I might have picked you out something nicer, but after what you spent on mine and the chocolates we just bought…  Well, I’d say that the hundred and nineteen or so dollars I just spent on yours is all we can afford.”

“So, lemme see if I got this right,” he snorted as they strolled along the avenue.  “I bring you to Paris and set up the most romantic atmosphere to propose, give you the Hope diamond and her sisters, and you still refuse to marry me.  But you keep the ring AND THEN use the credit card I gave you to buy me the cheapest ring in all of France.  Is that the story, baby?”

“Pretty much,” she confirmed with a wink.  “There’s just something about taking Jon Bon Jovi off the market for a measly hundred and nineteen bucks that tickles me.  And using your hundred and nineteen bucks to do it, tickles me even more.”

“You realize you’re evil, right?”

“Yep!”  But she didn’t mind, because he didn’t mind.  It was all in good fun. 

“Well, you just enjoy your moment, because – mark my words – I will have the last laugh.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  

By early afternoon they’d managed lunch at the Eiffel Tower, but it wasn’t quite the way Rachel had imagined her first visit to the classic landmark, but she’d never considered trying to sightsee in one of the most famous cities in the world with an equally famous man.   

It didn’t really matter whether Jon attempted to disguise himself or not – and today he hadn’t – they rarely went out that someone didn’t recognize him, and this time was no different.  A wide variety of locals, tourists and paparazzi snapped pictures continuously from the moment they arrived.  Jon, as always, was very polite and cordial, even going so far as to sign several autographs in between bites of food and posing with a few people on their way back to the car. 

In short, he behaved exactly as she expected and would want him to.

But it didn’t keep her from wishing they’d been able to enjoy a little anonymity in this remarkable place. 

Fans and photographers notwithstanding, they managed to accomplish a whirlwind, but functional, tour of the city’s high points by evening.  They were just about to step back into the hired car and return to Shangri-La when Rachel caught sight of a silver tray in an antique shop’s window.

“One more stop?” she beseeched and, when he nodded with only a tiny sigh of boredom, she beat feet for the door and scooped up the beautiful piece.  Tucking it under her arm, she promised, “Just let me take one quick look around and I’ll be ready.”

“Take your time, baby.” 

No, he didn’t mean it, but Rachel appreciated that he said it all the same.  It was the same thing any man would say to his partner and, amid all the ‘famousness’ of the day – she savored the ordinary moment where they could be just another couple. 

The pieces grew larger as they roamed further back in the store, going from tabletop antiques and wall hangings to more significant items such as furniture.  Once they reached the back wall, they discovered an ornate bed that was showcased amongst the other pieces.

In silent, unspoken agreement, they both paused at its foot and were momentarily lost in their own thoughts. 

Something about the oversized piece felt quite regal to Rachel, and she recalled that she’d once heard Jon referred to as His Royal Hotness.   That prompted her fantasies to put the man beside her in a starring role, as she often did – only this time with a crown.

Rather than being comedic or ridiculous, the crown simply made him... more commanding.  The images built blended to create a steamy film that played through her mind, with her as the other lead, of course.  She couldn’t stop herself from imagining Jon throwing her down on this bed and making her scream out his name over and over until –

“A bed like that gets the imagination turned up, eh, Rach?” he interrupted softly.

Snapping her head around, Rachel could feel her face and neck flushing like crazy at being caught having pornographic fantasies in public.  “W-What?”

Jon stepped closer behind her and dug his hands into her front pockets, chinning the hair off her neck and whispering in her ear, “I bet you could fuck me senseless in that bed, couldn’t you, baby?”

She was absolutely positive her nipples stood at full attention as she shivered, then slowly breathed in and out – twice – and swallowed hard before responding, “I could.  No doubt about it.”

“You’re gonna get your chance to prove it,” he promimsed.  “I want that bed, Rach.  We’re gonna make some of the best memories of our life in that bed.”  

It was irrelevant to her that the bed would look amazing with the beams in the ceiling of the master bedroom of the Jersey house.  They could’ve had a disco ball hanging from the ceiling and she still would’ve been on board with buying this tantalizing weapon of seduction. 

“Okay,” she murmured.

Really, what else was there to say?

Ch 63 ~ All That Sparkles

Jon would give his left nut to see Rachel’s face lit up like this every day. 

His ego wanted to attribute it to his phenomenal sexual prowess in mid-air, but the truth was his girl had been glowing like – well, the Eiffel Tower at night – ever since she’d spotted the landmark Parisian torch from the plane window.  It was a testament to her “auto-pilot” skills that her clothes weren’t on wrong-side out, considering that she never tore her eyes away from it as she dressed herself.  She barely even spoke beyond musing that if there were two million rivets in the thing, how many light bulbs could there be?

There might come a point in this trip that Jon would take a lighter to that fucking tour book.

But it wouldn’t be tonight.

Even during the ride from the airport to the hotel, her face resembled that of a little girl at Christmas with the lights of the darkened city reflected in her delighted smile at every turn.

“Look, Jon!  It’s the Louvre!”

He spotted the familiar glass pyramid and smiled.  “Mm-hmm.  Wanna take a tour?”

“Well, duh,” she drawled, removing her eyes from the scenery long enough to roll them in his direction.  “You can’t go to Paris and not visit the Louvre.  That’s... sacrilege.”

“Of course it is,” he acquiesced with a soft chuckle, totally bemused and besotted with the sometimes hard ass woman who was exhibiting all the attributes of a kid given free-reign in a toy or candy store.  “I dunno what the fuck I was thinkin’.”

“Arc de Triomphe!” she exclaimed, completely losing interest in his stupidity and pointing at another highly-recognizable feature of the night skyline.  “So pretty...”

Jon’s eyes flicked briefly in that direction, but – even with his standing as a self-proclaimed anti-romance kind of guy – he didn’t find it to hold a candle to the woman gazing out the hired car’s window with excited anticipation.  Yes, her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail in deference to travel and the late hour, but the lights and motion of the car made it shimmer like a golden waterfall.  The rosy flush in her cheeks captivated him, because it was something he usually only saw during their bouts of more robust sex, and the sight of it now caused a severe twitch in a part of him that should still be satisfied. 

A ‘bombshell’, as Rachel called it, bouncing her barely contained tits in the front row of any show in the last ten years couldn’t affect him like this.  Rachel was normally so put together and ‘grown up’ that her complete abandonment and untethered glee intoxicated him.  There was a vulnerability in her exposing such raw joy that he found himself feeling very caveman-ish. 

I did this. She’s this damn happy because of something I did and I want to claim it.  And her. 

But he didn’t.  He was so spellbound that he didn’t want to risk chasing it away like the rare triple rainbow that he’d only seen once in his life – ironically – in Ireland.  Even without the leprechaun and the pot of gold, he’d known he was watching something that was a fleeting moment meant to be savored before he had to let it go.

You don’t have to let this go. 

“Jon?”

So lost was he in her and his own reverie, that he’d missed whatever she just said. 

“Sorry.  What?”

Her eyebrows twisted quizzically.  “I asked if you knew at which hotel we’re staying.  Where was your mind?”

“No place,” he lied.  “I’m in post-show zombie mode, but we’re staying at the Shangri-La.”

“Wow.  You actually knew.  I’m impressed.  You don’t usually pay attention to those kinds of details.”

He rarely ever did, but this time he’d specifically selected the hotel – much to the chagrin of his assistant.  Her carefully laid plans had him and the band at another hotel until Jon had called her yesterday and requested that she change them. 

Because this one had the best view of the Eiffel Tower in the city.

“Freak accident.”

Rachel slumped back in her seat with a happy sigh, her eyes still transfixed on nighttime Paris.  “In case I forget to tell you later, I had a wonderful time in Paris.”

“Yeah?  Already?”

“Mhm.  It’s a dream come true.”  She reached for his hand, interlocking their fingers and squeezing.  “Being with you in the most romantic city in the world is nothing short of perfect.”

His heart lurched unexpectedly.  Considering that she was nearly as unromantic as he was, that was something akin to a love sonnet in Jon and Rachel World. 

He wondered if – somewhere in the damnable tour book – that the Frenchies owned up to emitting pheromones into the Paris air.  Maybe that’s why it enjoyed such a romantic reputation, because something had certainly done a number on two non-romantics in a very short space of time. 

And we haven’t even gotten inside Shangri-La yet.

But the vehicle was pulling up in front of the famed hotel now, so it wouldn’t be long. 

“Did you know that Shangri-La was built as a residence by Napoleon’s nephew?”

“Grand-nephew,” Jon corrected, for once feeling superior to the travel book.  He’d done his own research before selecting this particular hotel.  “I actually did know that.  Did you know that you don’t even have to go through the check-in process like in a regular hotel?”

“Big deal,” she laughed.  “You never check in, anyway.  Someone magically appears to escort you to your room, no matter where we go.”

He shrugged.  “You complaining?”

“Not likely!  Talk about being spoiled.  I don’t know how I’ll ever fly Southwest and wait in line for a room key at Hilton again.  But…”  She checked the area outside the vehicle that had rolled to a smooth stop at the hotel’s front entrance.  “I like this place especially well, because there isn’t a horde of fans waiting to welcome you.”

“It’s location in Paris is merely a plus?” he teased, exiting the car.

She reached for the hand he offered, her head swiveling to take in her surroundings.  “Yes, and if it has a view of the Eiffel Tower, that’s good for at least five more plusses.”

Oh, baby, wait until you see the view.

From the front, Shangri-La was a nice place.  The small courtyard that they walked through to access the front entrance was flagstone tile, the columns flanking the door were typical of the post-Napoleonic architecture in France, and the marble floor inside were all to be expected. 

What you couldn’t see was the view from the backside of the hotel, where it felt like the Eiffel Tower was just beyond your fingertips when you stood on the balcony.

Or at least that’s the way the pictures looked.  He’d never actually stayed here. 

“View?”  He couldn’t resist yanking Rachel’s chain with an annoyed shake of his head.  “You wanted a view?  Damn, I wish I’d known that.”  

The brightness in her eyes dimmed only a little as they stepped foot in the elevator.  “I’m sure I’ll see plenty of the Eiffel Tower while we’re here.  No big deal.”

“I’ll do my best to make it up to you, baby,” he murmured in her ear as their escort led the way toward the seventh floor suite that he happened to know had a hellacious terrace with an unequivocal view of the current object of her obsession. 

“The room is lovely,” she admired as the luggage was brought in and Jon tipped and thanked the valet.  “Elegant and classically French without being overdone and gaud-“

He turned to find Rachel standing in front of the French doors to the terrace, her jaw practically on the ground.  In the space of a heartbeat, she had the doors flung wide and was across the threshold.

“JON!  DO YOU SEE THIS??” she squealed, completely unconcerned that it was nearly two in the morning and she was screaming to half the city.  “It looks just like Lauren’s night light!”

She stood there and stared, bathed in the light of one of the world’s most famous pieces of architecture, awe evident in every single feature of her face. 

There are no words for how absolutely, positively exquisite it is,” she breathed.  “Have you ever seen anything sparkle like that in your life?”

Jon was nearly as awestruck as Rachel – only with an entirely different subject matter.  In the airplane, he’d thought she was happy.  In the car, he’d thought she was delighted beyond words.  But now…  He had never her seen her so animated, excited…  alive.  The glow that started deep inside her and radiated outward stole his breath and had him re-evaluating his plans. 

Jon reached for his jacket, rummaging in the pocket. 

No, this wasn’t going to come off exactly as he’d planned, but he couldn’t have planned anything better than this moment.  Nobody could. 

He slipped up behind her, sliding his left arm around her waist and dipping his chin into the crook of her neck.  “I dunno,” he mused softly, his lips barely grazing the delicate shell of her ear as his thumb flipped open the blue velvet box and brought it into her line of vision.  “This sparkles pretty nice, too, don’t ya think?”

She gasped when the lights of the Eiffel Tower reflected off of the sizable center stone, and danced their way down each enhancing diamond until it glimmered only against the platinum underside of the band.

Jon took that as a good sign and loosened his arm to glide from her back to her front and lifted her hand to rest the box in her open palm. 

“No phony Las Vegas Eiffel Tower.  No phony ring.  This is as real as it gets, baby.”

Her eyes shuffled back and forth between the ring and Jon’s face, frozen and speechless. 

“Well,” he chuckled.  “I guess you’re gonna make me say it, huh?” 

He retrieved the box once again, sliding the ring from its velvet nest and tucking the empty box into his pocket.  With a quiet sigh and a suddenly overwhelming need to do this the ‘right’ way, he dropped to one knee and captured her left hand, sliding the ring on the third finger with a half-cocked grin.  It was the perfect time and the perfect place.  There was no way in hell she would be able to refuse him this time.

“Rachel Braden, you’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.  Will you marry me?”

Ch 62 ~ In Plane Sight

Their first few days in London had been nearly idyllic, in Rachel’s estimation.  What about the routine of easy mornings working out, breakfast, coffee in bed and enjoying the company of her international rockstar man was less than perfect?  Naturally, Jon had certain press and other work obligations to attend to – namely the final mixing of the Greatest Hits album – but there had still been ample opportunity to spend time together and see many of London’s sites in the process.

Even the shows had been enjoyable, despite Jon’s continuing to ask for input on the setlist only to ignore it.  The crowds were appreciative of the band’s performances and not overly insane when it came to throwing themselves at Jon’s feet.  It had gotten to the point that it was almost amusing to Rachel, but she did wonder what went through his mind when he got flashed a set of bare breasts by the random zealot.  She would have to eventually ask him about that.

At any rate, those pleasant, relaxing days and enjoyable shows meant that she wasn’t dead tired after tonight’s show, even though it was past midnight.  In fact, she was the polar opposite of dead tired.  She was practically bouncing in her seat like an excited Chihuahua as Jon took his place beside her on the aircraft and fastened his safety belt. 

“You sure you don’t mind us going to Paris ahead of everybody else and spending a couple of days?” he teased as he leaned back in his seat.

Latching onto his hand and squeezing tight, she pinched her eyes shut with excitement and practically squealed, “I can’t believe we’re on our way to Paris!”

He chuckled and returned the squeeze.  “I’ll take that to mean you don’t mind.”

“Mind??  Excited out of my mind, maybe!”

“I’m actually looking forward to it myself.  There’s this huge antique place where I wanna take you.  I have a feeling you’ll find some things there that you like for the house – if we could possibly need anything after all the shopping you’ve already done.”

Rachel purposefully disregarded his subtle barb about the money she’d spent thus far.  It wasn’t the first time.  This morning, he’d remarked that she had now completely obliterated the cherry of her black credit card and could stop any time now.  She’d ignored him them, too. 

“Are you talking about the antique flea market?” she asked enthusiastically.  “Because I read about that in my tour book and it looks fabulous!  And, speaking of my tour book, did you know there are two and a half million rivets in the Eiffel Tower?  Two and a half million!!”

“You and that fuckin’ book,” he groused and pinned her with a direct look.  “Do you remember what happened the last time you started quoting it to me?”

Rachel met his look head-on without flinching.  She remembered. 

In very vivid detail.

He had bent her over the chair in their hotel suite and done unspeakable things to her – delightfully unspeakable.  Things she wouldn’t mind him doing a time or two – or forty-eleven – more.

“Hell yes, you remember!” he guffawed.  “And from the look on your face, you’d like me to do it again.  What the hell?  Is this gonna be your new version of foreplay?”

“Geez, you have such a one track mind.”  She grinned innocently, even as she was forced to shift in her seat, crossing her legs to allay the throbbing that had commenced at the memory.  This might actually be the perfect time to broach the subject she’d been thinking of earlier.  “Is that because you’re insatiable, or because you have thousands of horny bombshells at your feet every night?”

He shrugged.  “I’m not any hornier than the next guy.”

“Then that means all those half-dressed and dressed-but-flashing-their-boobs women do something for you.”

Again, he shrugged.  “For most guys, myself included, there’s the conquest factor – you wanna tap as many girls as you can.  Honestly, though, the one night stands get old.  And, arrogant as it may sound, when there’s at least half of the twenty thousand women in the room who’d be willing to let me drag ‘em off to bed…  Well, that’s hardly a conquest.”

“So you’re never tempted to ‘tap that’ anymore?”

Jon dropped his hand to her thigh and squeezed before leaning in with a steamy, lingering kiss.  The warmth of his breath made her lips tingle when he whispered, “I’d rather tap you.”

“Now?” she breathed, with a delightful shiver working its way from her lips, to her neck and dancing delicately down her spine. 

There was a muffled metallic ‘clink’ and her seatbelt went lax at her waist.  “Sounds like the perfect way to spend our flight.”

He had no more finished the sentence before his own seatbelt was unclasped and she was hauled into his lap.  Their chests were flattened against one another as he crushed her tight and slanted his lips possessively over hers. 

Each flick of his tongue made Rachel’s clothes feel a little more constrictive.  Heavy.  In the way.

“Mmm,” she groaned approvingly when his callused fingers slid beneath her top, scraping deliciously over her ribs, where the skin was tingling with anticipation.  That groan fell into a deep, deep moan when masterful thumbs slipped under her bra, pushing it upward to free her now-aching breasts.

“Will anybody walk in on us?” she breathed when he whipped the top and bra both over her head. 

“If they do, they won’t stay and watch.”  

From the way that he growled, she knew that it was true.  No one would dare.

Palming her breasts, he lathered them with kisses and loving nips while her fingers ravaged his hair.  The sensation of the individual strands tickling her palm only heightened the fever that was building inside of her.  Her hands slid down the sides of his face, the five o’clock shadow inciting her further. 

“You know how I love a little scruff,” she purred. 

His response was muffled against her breasts, but it was easy enough to make out.  “Y’like it better between your thighs.”

Rachel sucked in a sharp breath.  Yes, in fact she did.  The times he’d left her inner thighs rosy with whisker burn were highlights in Rachel’s sex life. 

“Mm-hmmm, but this is a little too open for that.  Besides,” Her hips ground down onto his burgeoning erection as her fingers dipped to grapple with his belt buckle.  “I’m too impatient for that.  I want you buried inside of me, stretching me and stroking me until I think I’ll explode.”

“Fuuuck yeah!”  He roughly released the button on her jeans and set her on her feet long enough to remove them and his own pants.

“Shirt, too.  I want my fur fix.”

The suddenly offensive shirt was stripped and thrown to the other side of the cabin.  There wasn’t enough opportunity for it to hit the floor, before his arms hooked around her like a vise so that she was forced to fall forward onto him when he fell back into his seat.

“Careful,” she chuckled softly, rearranging the appendage that had speared her tummy.  “You don’t wanna break my favorite toy.”

“Baby, I’d love for you to try and break it.  Starting right…”  He expertly planted her on his lap in such a way that his hardness split her so perfectly that she gasped.  “Now.”

“Ohhhh, you’re good at that!”

“Years of practice.”

Rachel gave his nipple a sharp tweak at the same time she shifted her pelvis to create a magical friction.  “Do I seriously have to ask you not to bring up other women when your dick is in me?”

“Your wish is my command as long as you bring me up.”  His sexual innuendo was accompanied by his fingers digging into her hip in a fierce grip and a forceful thrust of his hips.  “Because yours is the only pussy I think about anymore.”

He pressed against her g-spot before withdrawing and hitting it again. 

“Bullshit,” she called his ‘romantic’ bluff, not really caring.  The words were still enough to make her wet.  “I’ve seen the women that throw themselves at you.”

His hold over her hips grew more ferocious.  “So?  They wanna fuck a rock star.  You wanna fuck me.  Big difference.”    She was beginning to grow dizzy with his expert manipulation.  “You’re a phenomenal lay.”

Laughing, Rachel pushed her nipple into his mouth, keeping her tone light despite the mushy, gushy swelling in her heart.  He’d rather have sex with her than those hoardes of bombshell beauties.  If that wasn’t about fifty shades of arousing, you were as frigid as a block of ice, and Rachel wasn’t even close to frigid. 

“Hey rockstar, why don’t you do something with your mouth besides talking before you ruin this for me?”

After muttering an affectionate, “Bitch,” Jon happily obliged and offered nothing more than hot pants, moaning, groaning and straining until they were both sweaty and completely sated.

“I love you, yanno,” she mused contentedly, resting her head on his shoulder as they regained their breath. 

“Back at ya, baby.”

She was just about to close her eyes for a moment when something caught her eye.   A burst of energy that Rachel didn’t know she possessed had her bolt upright on his lap, pointing toward the window.   It was still some distance away, but…  “Jon!!” she gasped.  “Is that the Eiffel Tower?”

“Damn,” he mused, completely unalarmed and without the jolt of energy that had found Rachel.  “Wonder how that got there?”

With an unimpressed snort at his sarcastic humor, she disentangled their limbs and leaned across for a better look.  How many times was she going to fly into Paris with the Eiffel Tower lit like a beautiful, dazzling, shining torch.  She needed a picture!

Rachel disentangled their various body parts and scrambled for her cell phone, kneeling naked – and uncaring – before the window so that she could capture the moment.  Forget that the picture would probably turn out blurred and fuzzy – she was taking a picture with her mind as much as the camera.

“Ohmygosh, it’s positively stunning!”

Also unbothered by his nudity, he did the obligatory leaning forward to check the view.  “Yeah, it ain’t half bad, is it?”

“You know what it just reminded me of?”

“What’s that?”

“Lauren.  My parents brought her an Eiffel Tower nightlight from their Paris trip.  It wasn’t as beautiful as the real thing of course, but she adored it right up until Tyler threw a stuffed animal across the room and broke it.  The only thing that comforted her – and kept her from killing her brother – was Nick promising to bring her here for her high school graduation trip.”

“She had a fascination with Paris just like her mama, huh?”

“Mm, it seems so.  I’d forgotten all about it until just now, but she would’ve flipped for this view.”

A warm hand settled on her shoulder before comfortingly rubbing across her back.  “I knew it was gonna be worth the headache of getting special clearance to fly this close.”

Her head spun around, inquisitive eyes seeking out his face.

“You did that for me?”

Gentle fingertips grazed her cheek and he looked at her with nothing less than pure adoration.  “Welcome to Paris, Rach.”

61 ~ This Is Love...

Typically Rachel didn’t like to shop.  In fact, she had been known to say that she despised shopping with a deep and abiding passion.  Today, however, she couldn’t say that, because Harrod’s was a completely different kind of shopping experience.  There was none of the crushing madness she associated with shopping, no long lines at the counter, no flimsy bags weighted down and tearing on the way to the car.  

If a shopping mall could be compared to a day-spa, Harrod’s would qualify.  In fact, the entire experience had been so intoxicatingly unique that the outrageous total didn’t begin to dim her enchantment.

Her only regret was that she’d declined help with the bags.  As she struggled to get her Mandarin Oriental keycard into the suite door, she was bemoaning her streak of independence, but all of that fell to the wayside when the door was finally wrangled open.

Never would she have believed that the classically English living area of their hotel suite could be more inviting than it had been to her that first morning.  But with Jon singing and strumming a guitar, and Richie sitting across from him doing the same…?

“…When times get tough we’re still worth the fight, this is lo-” 

Jon glanced up and the moment he spied Rachel, his concentration-crinkled forehead melted away to be replaced by smile-crinkled eyes.  “Hey, baby!  Looks like you bought out Harrod’s.”

Heaven itself couldn’t be any more inviting than this. 

“I had to break in my black American Express,” she popped off with a grin, dropping the multitude of parcels to the floor and crossing to give Jon a warm, but fairly chaste, kiss.  They did have company, after all. 

“Glad to hear you’re popping the cherry on your new credit card,” he snorted with a pat on her backside

“Yeah, baby!” Richie interjected.  “If ya do it right, everybody loves a good cherry poppin’.”  His eyebrows wiggled beneath his ballcap’s bill.  “Did you do it right, Rach?” 

As much as she would’ve loved to remain maturely above the subject matter, she couldn’t help but laugh at the darker of the two men.  “Do you know how astounding it is that you two of you write lyrical masterpieces that the whole world sings, and yet you’re delighted by something as crass as ‘cherry popping’?”

“Doesn’t sound like you did it right to me.”  He looked to Jon and shook his head sadly.  “What a waste of cherry.” 

“You’re an asshole,” his friend observed disinterestedly and continued to strum a seemingly random chord progression.

“And you’re a lovesick asshole,” Richie retorted without hesitation.  “She could come in here with a meat cleaver and lop off your finger and you’d still be all up in this new luuuuuv song of yours.”

“Probably.  As long it was just a pinky finger.  On my right hand.”

“Wait,” Rachel interrupted their repartee with a wave of her hand as she commandeered the seat cushion on Jon’s left.  “Love song?”

“I don’t know that I’d really call it a love song,” Jon denied.

Richie snorted.  “It has Cinderella and Prince Charming in it, for fuck’s sake.  What the hell else ya gonna call it?  Death metal?  Although...” he pondered with a thoughtful finger tapping against his jaw.  “Love hasn’t brought me anything but pain so far, so I’m thinkin’ maybe that’s not too far from right.”

Brilliant blue eyes narrowed at the guitarist and Jon flipped him a hand gesture that Rachel had seen more times than she could count since she’d been on tour with these guys.  “Shut your pie hole, Sambora.”

“Yeah, Sambora,” Rachel echoed.  “Shut your pie hole and let me hear the song.  I’ll tell you whether it’s love or death.”

Richie dipped his chin and raised his eyebrows at her authoritativeness, then snapped off a quick salute before settling his guitar on his lap.  “Ma’am!  Yes, ma’am!” 

Jon’s crooked grin and endearing wink warmed her as he counted off the beginning.  His voice was quiet but clear as he delivered the melodic lyrics and Richie backed him with flawless harmony.  

These days what’s left of me ain’t no Prince Charming

And my Cinderella feels like she stayed at the dance too long

We ain’t got much but what we got is all that matters

We’re pickin’ up the pieces, tryin’ to put ‘em back where they belong

“Oooh!  I love that line!” she enthused over the beginning of the chorus.  How perfect was that?  Whether it was a love song or wasn’t a love song, she already thought of it as their song. 

Oh-ohh, it’s gonna be alright

This ain’t love, this is life

When times get tough we’re still worth the fight

This ain’t love, this is life

The road here’s paved with the brokenhearted

We gotta finish what we started

Oh -ohh, better hold on tight

This ain’t love, this is life

These days it seems like there’s three sides to every story

There’s yours, mine, lately there’s the cold hard truth

Who cares who’s wrong or right when we turn out the lights?

We’ll find forgiveness when we’re in each other’s arms tonight

It ain’t pretty but somehow we always make it through

By the second chorus, happiness and gratitude filled Rachel’s every pore.  She was happy that she’d reached this place with Jon.  She was grateful that the dark despair she’d lived with so long after the accident that took Nick and their family was gone – and replaced by a fond remembrance of their happier times. 

Life is good.  Very good.

This song was one of a handful that truly struck something in her, and the tune was as engaging as the lyrics.   In fact...  Well it was nearly perfect. 

She smiled delightedly into the two expectant faces.  “Tommy and Gina are still holdin’ on, huh?  It sounds like ‘Living on a Prayer’, the sequel.  Who isn’t going to love that??”

Jon crooked his left eyebrow at her.  “You?  Because you said all the right words, but you’ve got that tone in your voice.”

“Tone?  What tone?  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah you do.  It’s the same tone you use when you tell me what I’m wearing is fine even though you hate it.”

She rolled her eyes.  “I never hate what you’re wearing.”

“Uh huh.  Not even when I wear my ratty Patriots sweatshirt out?”

Rachel shuddered.  That sweatshirt should be in the rag pile with its torn neckline, gaping holes and mystery food stains.  “Okay, you’re right.  I hate that shirt, but I don’t hate the song even a little.  The only thing I was thinking...”

“A-ha.  Here it is.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.  “The only thing I thought was that it is love as much as it is life.”

“Told ya, asshole,” Richie chortled before turning in Rachel’s direction to explain.  “I tried to tell him it was depressing as hell that way, taking the love out of the love song.  It should be ‘this is love, this is life’, not ‘this ain’t love’.”

“Oooh!  I like that!”

“Would you two rather write this thing without me?” Jon asked dryly.

“Oh, honey, of course not.” 

When Rachel leaned over to take Jon’s face in her hands and kiss him, Richie slapped his knees.  Standing, he picked up his guitar and lifted his hand in a wave.  “I’m pretty sure you two won’t let me watch the makeup sex, so I’m outta here.  Catch ya later, man.”

Jon set his own guitar aside, chuckling, as the door to the suite clicked shut behind his friend.  Turning to Rachel, he draped his arm over her and slumped into the sofa and...  was silent. 

“Jon?  You’re not really annoyed with me, are you?”

“Nah,” he assured her with a gentle smile.  “I was actually thinking about this morning, and how much I appreciate you being so understanding.  A lot of women would’ve thrown a fit and pouted all day if I’d cancelled plans for our first day off.”

“And then they wouldn’t be your woman.”

“You got that right,” he laughed.  “So, since I bailed on you this morning, how about I show you London now?  You up for it?”

“Am I up for it?”  Rachel nuzzled happily into his shoulder.  “Baby, I’ve been waiting all my life for some handsome stud to tour me through London.”

“And yet you got me instead,” he teased with a grin.

“You’re such a dumbass.”  She smacked a kiss against his cheek and pushed herself upright.  “Let me just grab my tour book and then we can go.”

“You and that damned tour book,” he groaned, head falling back onto the sofa.  “You’ve had your face buried in it ever since we got here.”

“And you’ve had your face buried in me ever since we got here.  What’s your point?”

“That you’re a friggin’ information freak.”

“Hey, at least my little hobby gives us useful information.”  She pointed a smug finger at him.  “For instance,  did you know the Bank of England has been around since 1694 and was the first privately owned national bank in ANY country?”

“Uh, no.  But thank you for the history lesson, Rach.   I don’t know how I’ve managed to get through life without that little tidbit,” he deadpanned.  “And for the record, my face buried in you is a lot more fun for both of us.”

Rachel rose to gather her things and rolled her eyes at the perpetually horny man she was in love with.   “If it were up to you, we’d never leave the hotel room.”

“You say that as though it’s a bad thing.”

“Jon...”

“Tell ya what,” he interrupted her.  “Let’s have a quickie before we go out.  When I have my face buried between your legs, we’ll see how big a shit you give about the UK’s banking system.”

The visual of reading her tour book while he was trying to distract her struck Rachel as humorous, and she giggled.  “Is that a challenge, Bongiovi?”

He leapt to his feet with a lecherous grin and grabbed her hand, dragging her along to the bedroom.  “Nah, baby, it’s more like a test of wills.  One I will win...”