Ch 72 ~ Resist This

The water sluiced from her hair down the center of her spine, and Rachel found the tepid water to be a welcome relief.  Her swim in the pool had been refreshing, but Jon’s seduction subterfuge had all but caused the chlorinated droplets to evaporate from the heated sizzle of her skin. 

Rat bastard.

She was reluctantly impressed that he’d been able to resist her own poolside attempts at seduction and now second-guessed her ability to drop him to his knees with the crook of one pinky finger.  Yes, he was as tenacious as the day was long, but still...  He was a man.  He had a dick, which ruled him with significant regularity, and she knew it had been hard when she was sidled up beside him on that chaise.  Victory had already started to leave its distinctive sweetness on her tongue by the time he agreed that sleep sounded better than sex.

If he’s tenacious, I’ll have to be...  Well, whatever is more stubborn, obstinate, and determined than tenacious.

Reaching above her, she adjusted the spray to a massage setting and turned her back, allowing the pulsing stream to pelt her shoulders as she mentally scoured her arsenal of feminine wiles in an effort to raise the bar on their little game.  The maneuvers she’d already put to use had been good ones – ones that she had fully expected to secure her victory considering how long it had been since they’d had sex – but they hadn’t been enough.

So what now?  Stay here until he appeared and ‘caught’ her playing with herself?  It was a possibility, but she’d never done that for him, so his reaction wasn’t a guarantee beyond the fact that – again – he was a man. 

No, she would have to do better than that. 

Her mind trolled over the annals of their sexual exploits in search of that one thing fired him up.  What was always guaranteed to make his jaw drop and his dick rise, without fail? 

Bingo!

The idea hit her like the most obvious bolt of lightning that had ever zoomed its way from heaven to earth.  How could she have overlooked the one thing that always piqued his interest and libido?  The simple, mundane act that unfailingly darkened his eyes with lust while they simultaneously filled with a passionate fire that she was always ‘recruited’ to help him extinguish. 

Rachel smiled smugly. 

Yes, it was going to be just that easy.

Her objective in round three of what she thought of as “Mission: Beg For It Baby” would be to linger in the shower until she heard him enter the bedroom.  At that point, she would ever so ‘coincidentally’ turn off the water and step out into one of the luxurious bath sheets with which he’d outfitted the bathroom.  That soft and downy bath sheet would absorb water left behind by the shower and she, of course, would want to retain the water’s moisture, leaving her to reach for her trusty lotion – and slather it all over her body in a show so erotic that he couldn’t – even better, wouldn’t – resist.   

Hearing a rustling in the bedroom, she immediately snapped off the faucet and geared herself for action.  A brisk rubdown had both her body and hair dry within seconds and she was just turning to drape the damp towel on the rack when a movement in the doorway caught her eye.  It wasn’t a heartbeat later until that movement caught her breath, as well, for the sexiest man in rock and roll – and the world, in her opinion – was standing on the threshold as naked as the day he was born.

Oh my word.

Her eyes raked upward from the dragon tattoo on his ankle, over the perfectly formed calves and the thick thighs that always made her mouth water before sticking on the partially-erect portion of his anatomy that made other parts of her water.  That didn’t even count the furred trail that ran north from there, billowing out into the sexy coating of chest hair that made her fingertips itch at a glance. 

And then there was that deliciously evil, wolfish grin that he was wearing…

Get your shit together, Rachel, or you’re going to lose this deal.

“Thought you’d join me in a little summertime cocktail,” he murmured, holding aloft one of the two gargantuan margaritas that she had managed to overlook in her perusal.

“Sounds heavenly,” she pushed through a throat that wanted to do nothing but moan in appreciation of the fine male specimen posing for her pleasure alone.

That form stepped forward, lifting the drink in his right hand and ‘accidentally’ brushing her nipple with the cold, salted rim as he offered it to her.

Rachel, for her part, managed not to scream with pleasure and merely smiled demurely as she accepted the glass.  “Cheers, baby.”  She swallowed a healthy sip of the premium tequila blend along with any acknowledgement of his passive/aggressive attempt at seduction by cocktail.  “Mmmm…  For a self-proclaimed wino, you make a mean margarita.”

But she lotioned a mean body.

Rachel parked her beverage on the counter and casually began a ramped-up version of the her nightly ritual.  Slicking the light moisturizer over her palms, she perched the ball of her foot right next to the hip he had propped against the counter as he silently sipped his own enormous margarita.

If she knew her man, he would be fine as she meticulously moisturized one leg and then the other.  He would remain patient as she slathered her arms, elbows and shoulders.  When she smoothed slippery palms over her hips and tummy, his eyes would transform to that familiar lustful blue.  And when the lotion slid over her breasts…  it would drive him beyond the edge of reason.

She was confident in his reaction and taunted him, paying extra attention to each fleshy globe by carefully massaging the lightly-fragranced lotion across every millimeter of skin.   Feeling sassy, Rachel even threw in a slow-motion porno tug, moaning slightly for a little more oomph. 

And the son of a bitch yawned.

He covered his mouth with one hand and shook his head with the force of it, before smacking his lips and remarking, “I’m so tired I could be dreaming in about thirty seconds, but remind me to get a TV in the bedroom.  Watching the news in bed helps me unwind when I need it.”

With that and another jaw-popping yawn, he strolled out of the bathroom.

The rat bastard had been completely unfazed by her stripper-slash-porn star application of creamy white… cream!     

Son.  Of a.  Bitch.

If that hadn’t done the trick, she was at a loss – and a bit tired of playing this game, if the truth be told.  Waving the white flag of surrender was only going to get her laid, which was the whole point of this escapade anyway.  Why prolong the physical satisfaction that she knew would come when she did?

Sighing and making her peace with the ‘defeat’, she grabbed her margarita and followed him into the bedroom, prepared to cry uncle.

Uncle, however, was the furthest thing from her mind when she found him propped up in bed, legs crossed and looking… like a rock star.  Truly.  He was wearing the same smug, cocky smile that he gave to those fans in the front row.  The one that all but screamed, “Yeah, baby.  I’ll let you suck my dick, if you ask real nice.”

Oh hell no.

Rachel’s resolve found new backbone.  No way was she going to be lumped into that category.  It was going to take more than a little chest hair and a set of rock hard abs to dissolve her into a puddle of goo, like she’d seen multiple front-row fans do.  She wasn’t some randy fan, she was his…  Well, she was his. And he was hers, dammit.

Carefully climbing in bed with her drink, she leaned on her hip so that she was facing him and took a quenching gulp of the heavily tequila-laden margarita.  It was made to her exact taste, and she gave him points for that, but…   “You seriously think all it takes is to fill me with Mexico’s finest tequila so that I drop to my knees at the sight of your bare naked body?”

“You know you want to, baby,” he responded while tracing a finger around her breast.

“Maybe, but I can still resist you and your little friend Jose Cuervo,” she replied, setting her drink on the nightstand.

He responded with only a negligent shrug before Jon mirrored her movements, setting his glass on the nightstand at his side of the bed and then reaching to tug open its drawer.  A mysterious flick of his wrist and he turned back with a prettily wrapped package that he plopped on the mattress between them.    

“What’s this?” she asked suspiciously.  A gift certainly didn’t fit into this game of cat and mouse.  Or did it?

“A Maserati,” he drawled.  “What the fuck does it look like?”

“It looks like  you’re trying to buy a victory in our little game.”

He snorted rudely and laughed.  “I get you a present in London and this is the thanks I get?  Christ on a crutch, you’re a hard woman.  Open the damn thing already.”

London?  Really?   That long ago?

Rachel slid an assessing gaze over the white, PopTart-sized box as her mind raced over the possibilities.  It was too big for jewelry, but too small for clothing.  Paperweight?  Scarf?  Frowning in concentration as she tugged one end of the simple blue ribbon the kept the box sealed, she reviewed and discarded a dozen ideas in the space of mere seconds. 

When she finally lifted the lid and pushed back the tissue paper, she found a beautiful antique silver jewelry box.  The lion-clawed little container was a uniquely scalloped oval, ornately edged with scrolls.  Each edge and side bore the same distinctive pattern – in fact, the only part of the box that could be considered remotely ‘plain’ was the lid, which bore just a single engraved phrase. 

                             What’s meant to be will always find a way

Rachel’s brow furrowed in concentration, silently repeating the phrase to herself.  The words were familiar, but she couldn’t quite place them.

“What’s meant to be…” she murmured slowly.

And that’s when it hit her. 

In the early days of her relationship with Jon, he’d taken her to his interior designer’s studio in Manhattan on an exorcism mission of sorts.  They’d gone to choose a new bed for his Navesink house that didn’t carry the ghosts of relationships past.  While he’d been finalizing details with the designer, Colette, Rachel had picked up a pillow with this exact phrase embroidered on it.

And Jon had stood over her shoulder before they left the shop – reading it in a thoughtful voice before returning it to its display and escorting Rachel outside.    

“It’s beautiful,” she , enthused, lightly fingering the engraving before locking eyes with his.  “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

He brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek and smiled.  “Open it.”

She frowned once again, slightly confused, but she didn’t hesitate to comply.  When the cool metal lid and been pushed completely open, a familiar melody filled the room.  

And after all that we've been through

It all comes down to me and you

I guess it's meant to be

Forever you and me…

After all

Eyes blindly transfixed on the blue-velvet interior of the box, Rachel’s mind immediately went back to Las Vegas.  To the Cher concert.  To the very moment this song had been playing.

Jon grinned at her tears and swiped at an errant one that tried to trek down her cheek.  There were no ministers, rings or flowers, but there were thousands of witnesses to a moment in Rachel’s life that was as solemn and meaningful as the day she had actually gotten married or given birth to her children. 

With a simple, “I love you, Rach,” Jon puckered his lips and leaned into her for a kiss that sealed their future.

Her heart swelled with emotion that was simply… uncontainable.  She was moved beyond anything words could express, and hoped beyond hope that, when she lifted her head and looked into his eyes, he could see everything that she couldn’t say.

It was the ultimate romantic moment of all time.  This was going to be one of those Harlequin moments that would be unbelievable in the living, because people just didn’t have these kind of moments.  They just didn’t.

But she did.  They did. 

Bluebirds of sappy happiness fluttered crazily in her chest.

Rachel’s eyes lifted from the jewelry box to Jon and those damn bluebirds flipped her the bird.  The finger.  The official New Jersey state salute.

Because, when her eyes connected with Jon’s, he was arrogantly reared back against the headboard with his arms behind his head and wearing the cockiest grin of all time. 

“I win, baby.”

Ah, what the hell? 

She straddled his lap and ran loving fingers over his face, neck, shoulders and chest and gracefully conceded, “Yes, baby.  You win.”