Part Three

He considered her words – and her – for several long heartbeats.  Siobhan assumed he was trying to gauge her sincerity, and impassively allowed herself to be scrutinized until, casually, but without warning, his hand shot outward.  In a single motion he guided the glass from the table to his mouth, gulping its contents in one breath before returning it to its original position.

“I think you mean that,” he observed quietly, twisting the top from the next bottle.

“Good, because I do.  Wet panties are not a life threatening condition.  Walking away would be disappointing, but not devastating."

He froze, mid-twist, transferring his attention from the distilled alcohol to the ‘live’ Whiskey.  Dark pupils ate away at brown irises, making his eyes appear black. 

She pretended not to notice behind the fallen curtain of her hair, just absently tucking it behind one ear, waiting to see how he would respond.   The crass words were completely out of character for her, but the shock of her bold statement had obviously made him feel… something.

“Your panties are wet?”

If they weren’t already, the sexy rumble that his voice had adopted certainly did the trick.  “I’m alone with a gorgeous, half-naked man in his hotel room.  I’d be dead if they weren’t.  But,” she continued casually, “Feel free to see for yourself.”

The words were flippant, but even as they spilled from her mouth, they drove this little escapade home for Siobhan.  This no longer smacked of a goodwill ambassador mission to help the hurt and lonely – she had just invited Richie Sambora into her panties. 

For his own good of course.

It appeared to serve the same purpose for him, because he bypassed the distant place he’d been drifting toward, careening to a screeching halt right before her.  He was fully immersed in the here and now, interest piqued. 

The intensity in his eyes bridged their emotional connection more easily than he was able to overcome the physical one.  The long, beige sofa stretched between them like a desert, its two vacant cushions an obstacle in reaching their mutual oasis. 

“My arms are long, Whiskey, but they’re not that long.  Slide over here next to me.”

Only partially complying, she lithely slid her feet to the floor, and in the space of two small steps, had sandwiched herself between his splayed thighs.  Their knees had no more brushed than his hands were skimming beneath her top and up her ribcage, thumbs grazing the edges of her pert breasts.

“That’s not my panties,” she chided, nimble fingers finally indulging in the impulse to brush the errant hair from his forehead.  No receding hairline here, only soft dark waves to detract from the fine lines fanning outward at his eyes – lines that spoke a lifetime of laughter and smiles. 

You’ll get there again, handsome.  Just give it some time.

“It’s not?  You’re sure?”  His thumb rasped across the lace demi-cup, and she was treated to one of the crinkly smiles that had left its calling card on his face.  That brief glimpse was enough to make her breath catch and willingly enlist as one of his faithful followers.  The fluffy headed singer may be pretty, but this man exuded a pheromone laden charm that was irresistible –and right now he wasn’t even trying.  He would be lethal with any type of intent.

“Pretty sure,” she nodded as his hands slipped down to cover her backside.  “But you’re getting closer.”

“I bet you’ve got on one of those matching bra and panties sets that screams ‘do me’ all over it, so I don’t really see that there’s any major difference.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief.  She knew what he was saying, but the literal translation was too funny to let pass.  “Are you a virgin?  Because if you’re not, and can’t tell the difference between bra and panties – AND the significance that entails – then this may take more than one night.”

Siobhan received a sharp pinch on her left buttock in retribution.  “Brat.  Just show them to me.”  And, to allow her the space necessary to do that, he reclined into the overstuffed couch, watching expectantly. 

Without hesitation, her arms crossed at the waist, efficiently pulling the hem of the top over her head and dropping it to the floor beside her. 

Hooded eyes roved across the newly revealed expanse of pale flesh, mottled only by a liberal dusting of freckles across her subtle cleavage.  The black lace bra cupped her breasts tightly, giving the illusion that they would spill over at any moment, revealing the tiny treasures they had to share.

“Bra definitely screams ‘do me’,” he observed.  “Let’s see what the panties have to say.”

A shiver of anticipation zinged through Siobhan as she reached for the button on her slacks.  Stepping out of her shoes, she nudged them aside before easing the zipper down and allowing the fabric to slide the short distance to the floor.  She watched him devour the black lace, hip hugger panties with appreciation.

“’Do me’, loud and clear,” he confirmed, levering forward in his seat.  A strong square thumb crept up to trace the delicate lace scallops that were nestled in the crease of her thigh.  “Red as a copper fuckin’ penny,” he marveled, stroking the downy fluff that peeped from behind the lace.

Goose bumps danced up her arms at the feathery touch.  It had been so long.

Callused fingers slid upward to curl over her hipbones, encouraging her to turn away from him.  Carefully navigating the discarded slacks, she obeyed, looking over her shoulder as the goose bumps started their conga line again.  His thumb was tracing the swell of bare bottom that protruded beneath her panty line.

“I never knew leprechauns had such nice asses.”  Richie engulfed a globe in each palm, deft fingers kneading, testing their weight in his grasp. 

Siobhan inhaled sharply as one of those deft fingers slipped forward to stroke the lace cradled between her thighs, causing her to involuntarily clench those muscles in an effort to pull him closer. Her response and the moisture saturating the delicate fabric earned a muffled groan of pleasure from him, dampening the lace even further.

“Goddammit, you weren’t lying.”

“Never made a woman’s panties wet before?”  She chuckled, trying to keep it light, but his touch was pulling her into a much more serious place – one where she could easily, and willingly, drown.

He growled low in his throat and spun her around, toppling her into his lap.  “It would serve you and your smartass mouth right if I bent you over that table and split you wide open right now.”

Gentle hands and a playful dimple took the harsh edge from his words, and she drew her feet up alongside her, curling them into the denim clad thigh opposite the one where her bottom rested.  Leaning into his hard body, she idly sought out his sparse smattering of chest hair, enjoying its coarseness against her fingertips.

Good.  She was keeping his mind engaged here instead of… there.

And, God help her, she was dying to more fully engage the rest of him as well.  Siobhan had known it would be no hardship having sex with him, but hadn’t realized that he would be able to so readily ignite her with a look and a touch.  Didn’t have any understanding of how badly she was going to end up wanting this.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?  Because it’s sounding pretty good to me about now.”

Muscled bands of steel had risen to encircle her slight form, and he furrowed his nose into the soft cloud of her hair with a soft ‘hmm’.  He was eerily still except for the warm breaths whispering against her scalp, and she could sense the change in him without having to see his face.

He’d slipped away again.

“You smell good,” he mumbled, flexing his arms to keep her firmly against his chest.  A slight shift of his hips rolled her more fully into his body and a deep sigh escaped, tugging at her emotions. 

She’d thought this was what he wanted – needed.  Was she wrong? 

Siobhan silently decided to give him one more push.  If he didn’t push back, she would reluctantly retreat, wet panties in hand.

“I taste even better.” 

The shock factor had worked in her favor the first time.  Would it be enough to draw him back out to play a second time?

Come on, Richie.  Let me help you escape.

His thumb stroked along the delicate skin blanketing her tricep, sending tingles all the way to her toes.

But he wasn’t biting.  “I don’t doubt it,” was all he uttered, without making an effort to sample her wares.

Now what to do? 

Really, what was there to do, other than sit and let him take what he needed?  As much as her libido may be protesting, she’d told him he could have anything he wanted.  If this was what he wanted, she would stay curled up against him, sharing body heat and nothing else – until it was enough.

“You don’t have to stay, Whiskey,” he spoke low in her ear, as though reading her thoughts.  “My mind is too fucked up to do this.”

Siobhan was sure he thought he was doing the right thing by granting her escape, but the strength of his grip wordlessly contradicted the offer.  He wanted somebody with him; he just wasn’t ready to move onto that next level.  It was too soon.  Despite what that bitch had done, he was still married in his head.

“It’s getting awfully late - early,” she hedged, tipping her face up to his.  “And I’m on opening shift tomorrow.  Think it would be okay if I crashed with you for a few hours?”

The dimple winked at her, and his thumb lightly traced the cleft in her chin, so much like his own. 

“Yeah, sure.  There’s only one bed though,” he warned, neither one of them acknowledging what she was really doing.  He didn’t want to be a charity case any more than she wanted to be a saint.

One small shoulder rose toward her ear, with feigned indifference.  “I can handle it if you can.”

♣     ♣     ♣

Siobhan checked her opening inventory to make sure it matched the closing inventory from the night before.  Really, since she hadn’t checked it all that closely last night, she was catching up.   Rubbing a weary hand across her eyes, she willed them to focus on the paperwork in front of her.

After trailing Richie to the bedroom, they had each crawled in on opposite sides of the big king-size bed – she lying on her right side, placing him in her line of vision, and he on his back staring at the ceiling.  It was only a few short minutes later that he swiveled his head on the pillow, simultaneously reaching out to her across the wide expanse of bedding.

Stretching to meet him, she’d slithered across the sheets until their bodies almost touched, his heat reaching out to warm the bare midriff exposed by the lingerie she still wore.   Siobhan had just settled herself back into the mattress, her eyelids drifting shut, when she felt his fingers glide along the seam of her closed thighs, seeking entry to the intimate treasure that was cushioned between them.

“What are you doing?”

The exploring fingers didn’t pause in their journey.  “You wanted me.  Just because I’m fucked up doesn’t mean you should suffer.  I can at least give you something that won’t leave you frustrated.”

She clamped her hand around his wrist, meeting his eyes in the semi-darkness.  “No.” 

Did she want to have sex with him?  Yes.  WITH him.  The little bits and pieces he’d shown her through the evening were enough to let her know that he would be an amazing partner, but she didn’t want it this way.  Not with the words, ‘I give and give and give until there’s nothing left of me’ still rattling around in her brain. 

She brought his hand to her lips, kissing the tiny, fading star tattoo between his thumb and forefinger.  “Don’t give this time,” she ordered softly.  “Just take.  It’s okay.”

And, mercifully, he had.  His arms had once again locked her up like steel pythons and he murmured something she couldn’t understand – and probably didn’t want to.

They’d lain like that, without another word, until sometime just after sunup when his arms went lax and a gentle snoring filled her ear.  Grateful that he’d found some rest, but knowing that sleep wasn’t in the cards for her, Siobhan had slipped from under the covers and into the luxurious bathroom for a hot shower.

After winding her wet hair back into its braid and quietly dressing, she’d slipped out of the suite without bothering to wake him.  Sleep and its accompanying oblivion would be understandably more important to him than an awkward goodbye. 

However, she HAD paused on the threshold, indulging in a leisurely perusal of his sleeping form.    He wasn’t what she had expected.  Men in his position weren’t sweet, considerate or humble, yet he was.  It sparked within her a brief longing that things had gone a bit differently. 

Oh well. Maybe I just made a deposit into my karmic savings account.  Next time I get my heart stomped on, somebody will be there for me.

The reminder of ‘heart stomping’ had her glancing down the bar to the seat he’d held and the last bit of unfinished housekeeping from last night. 

Work shoes squeaking on the anti-fatigue flooring, she moved to deftly sweep away the remains of one diluted glass of Jameson’s adorned with a gold band.  At the little sink under the counter, she poured the melted ice down the drain through her parted fingers, catching the ring as it tumbled free.  Grabbing the nearest bar towel, she dried both it and her hand before experimentally slipping the ring over her thumb.  It wasn’t as big as she expected. 

“Hey lady, were you working last night at closing time?” 

The loud Northeastern accent blaring inches from her ear startled her, and she almost dropped the ring.  Using her other fingers to secure it tightly on her thumb, so as not to lose it, she snapped her head up to find a slight man standing before her.  Thick, dark hair was combed to the side, and round aviator glasses perched on his owlish face.

“Yes?”

“Awesome.  My friend over there…“  He nodded toward the doorway, where she could see a crowd of people milling about.  Her attention was immediately drawn to the dark, shaggy head protruding slightly above those around him.  Sunglasses masked a good portion of his face, but they’d spent enough time together that it didn’t disguise his identity.   “Is an inconsiderate prick and forgot to leave you a tip last night, which we all know you deserve for dealing with his sorry ass.  Once he sobered up, he asked me to deliver this along with his apologies.”

 He unceremoniously shoved a hotel envelope across the rich wood bar at her.  The only thing making it distinctive from a thousand other envelopes was the word ‘Whiskey’ scrawled across the front in a heavy script.

Siobhan’s eyes darted back to the crowd outside the door.  He was still there, his face now turned toward the bar, and she was able to clearly discern the tired lines in his face, visible even beneath the sunglasses camouflaging his eyes.  He offered up a ghost of a smile, the dimple barely denting his cheek, and a single nod.  Then he was gone, the throng of people propelling him out the hotel entrance and into the street. 

“Thanks,” she said, slipping the ring from her finger and into her palm.  Offering it to the man across from her, she explained, “He left this on the bar.  Could you please see that he gets it?”

A dry cackle parted the man’s lips, and he pushed away from her, leaving the ring untouched.  “Sweetheart, he doesn’t want that.  He said to keep it, sell it, or give it to charity.”  Turning away, he threw over his shoulder a parting, “Gotta run, doll.  Thanks for watching out for him.”   Then he, too, was gone, trailing after the remaining stragglers in the lobby.

One corner of her mouth lifted in amusement at the man’s words, and she folded her fingers around the ring, shoving the ensuing fist into her pants pocket.  Its fate could be decided later.  Right now, she would just absorb the comfort of its presence, assuring her that last night had been more than a bizarre dream. 

As further evidence, the bright white envelope shone starkly against the dark wood, beckoning to her.   It represented the final stop of the crazy ride she’d embarked upon a mere twelve hours ago – the one she wasn’t quite ready to let go of yet.

So she swiped a damp towel all over the surrounding surface, avoiding direct contact with it. 

A tip. 

Somehow she knew it wasn’t a tip in the traditional sense of the word.  He’d been kicked in the teeth and feeling lower than low, yet still tried to make sure she’d been taken care of last night.  That wasn’t the kind of man who would follow up with a monetary slap in the face.

It did make her wonder though.

Siobhan carefully folded the towel over the tiny sink, wiping the residual moisture from her hands with the apron at her waist.  Hands dry, she tentatively reached for the taunting white rectangle and traced her finger over its face, smiling fondly at the nickname he’d bestowed upon her. 

He’s a good guy.  I hope it all works out for him.

Acknowledging that it was time, she allowed her curiosity to outweigh reluctance and, sliding her finger under the flap, saw that her instincts had correct – a sheet of hotel stationery represented the sole contents of the envelope.  The linen paper rasped audibly as she slipped it free from its confines.

Whiskey,

I couldn’t leave without thanking you and apologizing for last night.  I don’t know that anyone else would’ve indulged a drunken old man the way you did.  You soothed my soul and made one of the hardest nights of my life bearable.  Gratitude seems so little to offer in comparison, but unfortunately, it’s the only thing I have to give at the moment.  I hope you understand.

Take care,

Richie

PS~ I almost forgot about your tip.  Never let a drunk guy pick you up in a bar.  They’re all assholes.

♣  The End   ♣