Monday, December 15, 2008

First Impressions - Sam's Birthday Biscuit

This biscuit was written as a gift for my good friend The Fiction Mistress for her birthday. I'm including it here for your enjoyment.

Interviews, meetings, sound check and finally a break for a bit until the show. Walking into the lobby of the five-star hotel, Jon scoured the area for the people he was supposed to be meeting with and nodded when he saw them, approaching and shaking hands as he half-listened to what they had to say. His eyes darted around the room, watching for the throng of fans that managed to book rooms in the same hotel as the band. There were a few, but his security was keeping them a safe distance away, he noted too there was a knot of businesswomen not far from where he stood. All of them dressed to the teeth, killer heels on their feet giving their calves that alluring curve that he so appreciated. The one with her back to him had a nice figure on her, womanly curves, not stick thin like some of the women he knew. A riotous cap of dark caramel curls brushed against her shoulders, he wondered what her face looked like and if it was as appealing as her back.

His reverie was broken when he heard her voice over the others “I’d rather stay in my room, take a hot bath and read a book. I mean, it’s Bon Jovi, after all, how good can it be?” A half smirk inched up on his face; she wasn’t a fan. That raised his attention level a couple notches. Their conversation took over his focus, hearing snippets of it until he sauntered over and stood next to her. He saw the awareness hit when her friends recognized him, but she continued speaking, completely oblivious to him standing there.

“I’d only be going for the free wine.”

He let her continue to ramble on, protesting her friends, or perhaps co-workers, insistence that she join them at the show. “I can guarantee that it will be worth your while.” He interjected smiling.

She stopped and looked over at him, recognition flooding her senses after a brief moment and he waited for her to react. Ah, she had a rounded, heart-shaped face with bright, sparkling blue eyes that reflected the mischief in their depths. He’d bet dimes to dollars that she’d be a wildcat between the sheets.

To her credit she calmly held her own and declined his offer of better tickets than the VIP suite she’d be sharing with her co-workers or friends, whoever they were, he knew without doubt they were fans. “Oh, that’s right, you’re only going for the free wine.” Smiling then, one of his smiles that came from deep inside where he knew she’d not be able to resist, he watched as the ice melted inside her. Leaning close, his warm, fresh, minty breath whispering against the shell of her ear, “you’re my kind of girl.” Before she could react or he did something to publicly affirm he still fooled around on his wife of 19 years, he confidently walked away.

Watching him go, Sam whimpered in her head. Had that really happened? A shiver coursed through her and it was all she could do to continue standing, thanking god and all the heavens that he didn’t see her when she finally sank down in the chair nearby. It was a holy shit moment if she’d ever had one.

Exhausted from the show, Jon couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and let the adrenaline rush that he got from performing ease out of his system with the help of a couple bottles of wine. There was no question that he was older now and partying until all hours after a show like that wasn’t in him any longer. Leaning his head back against the seat he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Wondering if the woman in the business suit enjoyed the show or if she really was immune to his charms. Not many were and when he found one it was a special challenge to show them what they were missing. The blond seemed to be one of those and the reason he pulled out all the stops tonight during the show. He wondered too if her friends would tell her how special the setlist was and if she’d guess it was for her benefit. He thought to himself how he’d like to ask her personally what she thought, smell her perfume again, see if those curls were as soft as he remembered when they were against his nose. Suspecting that was something he’d never know unless he could find her again. It dawned on him at that moment that the women were talking to the hotel manager. Without question he could get the manager to tell him if they were also staying at the hotel, a smile broke out as he started formulating his plan.

Giddy from the excitement of the show and her new appreciation for the band, Bon Jovi, Sam and her friends tumbled into the hotel’s bar after the show to talk, drink and unwind. Not that she hadn’t drank more than her share at the show, but she’d also danced, sang and had a wonderful time. A better time than she ever anticipated. Her girlfriends were now filling her in on the twenty five years of Bon Jovi that she’d missed. How the hell she managed not to notice how hot Jon Bon Jovi was before that afternoon, she’d never know, but now she was hooked. Sitting down at one of the tables in the bar, she ordered a red wine and let her mind wander back to the afternoon. In her mind the only image of Jon she’d ever had was skintight spandex pants, long, shaggy 80’s hair and that face of a twenty-something. She’d never anticipated the chiseled jaw, short hair and open button down shirt showing a light thatch of graying chest hair. Dayum. Lifting the wine to her lips as soon as it arrived.

Poking his head into the bar, the manager saw the women, smiled and called upstairs to let Mr. Bon Jovi know that the women he’d asked about were in the bar. It wasn’t his habit to do such a thing, but for someone like Jon and for the hefty tip he was promised for doing exactly that, he was willing. Listening to the instructions, he nodded even though his guest couldn’t see him doing so. When they were done, he strode into the bar, spoke softly to the bartender, handed him the note and walked out. His job would be in jeopardy if he delivered the message himself, so it had to look as if the guest in room 985 somehow managed it himself.

Finishing her wine, Sam smiled up at the waitress and asked for a second one and was pleased when it was brought back almost immediately. It’d taken nearly five minutes for the first to arrive and the place wasn’t that full. They’d all hoped that the band would show up to unwind in the hotel bar, but with the near crush of people drinking already and most of those post concert goers, they’d decided to have a few drinks and go up to their rooms. It’d been a long day and the next one would be equally as long. Accepting the drink, one eyebrow raised when she was also handed a note. Opening it, her heart rate almost doubled when she read it, ‘I’d like to hear your review of the show. Call and ask for Robin Grange’s room. JB’. Blushing furiously, she lifted her head to see her friends staring. Shaking her head as she re-read the note and swallowed, hard. What the hell was she going to do? He was a stranger, a beautiful, sexy as sin, rock star stranger, but he was still a stranger. She was married, had two little Samlets and wasn’t the kind of woman that had random sex with strangers. Her mind spun back to that afternoon and the scent of him surrounding her, his fresh, warm, minty breath blowing against her ear and stood up. “I....” she stammered when she never stammered, “I have to make a call,” turned and left the bar, her second glass of wine sitting on the table untouched.

Nervous as all hell she knocked on his suite door, not quite sure why she was here or what the hell she thought she was doing, fully aware that she’d just be another notch on his bedpost. Currently though, she didn’t care. Dressed in skin-tight denims with a form fitting although flowing low cut black blouse over them, she couldn’t help wondering what he’d look like post concert. Would he be in jeans? Or would he be in something more casual? Her question was answered when the door opened and her mouth went instantly dry at the sight of him in a pair of well-fitting sweatpants and no shirt. Her usually glib tongue was suddenly silent.

“Hi. Glad you agreed to come up. Can I get you something to drink?” his smile was relaxed, genuine and caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle. He sensed instantly that she was no longer immune to his charms. “Wine, right?”

She nodded dumbly. In her profession she’d met dozens of celebrities from actors to musicians, politicians to just about any other high-profile profession you could name. Never had she felt the instant electricity she felt around this man and it was against everything she’d cultivated her whole life to be struck dumb by any of them. Hell, she could hold her own with the likes of Matthew McConaughey or Sting, but this man made her stupid.

Walking back into his suite, Jon expected she’d follow, was convinced of it enough that he sauntered over to the mini-bar and poured two glasses of wine before turning around to see her standing just inside his room as nervous as a virgin on her first date. “I don’t bite,” he smirked, “unless you want me to” his eyes twinkled impishly.

Regaining her composure, she replied saucily, “is that a promise or a threat?”

Laughing darkly, he approached, wine in hand, “I even have your drink waiting and it’s a promise.” He liked this game so far, handed her the wine and drank from his own, “so tell me, Ms. Wine Lover, what’s your name?” Sliding his hand around to the small of her back to urge her towards the private sitting room of his suite, the living room was far too open and there were too many ways for her to avoid him, not that he expected her to even tried. She was here, that was the first step.

“Sam. Samantha” she took a deep drink of the wine. Why she’d even come she didn’t know, but it was obvious he’d very recently showered and the wonderful scent of that afternoon was filling her nostrils and causing a physical reaction that disturbed her on several levels. “I really shouldn’t be here. I’m married....”

“So am I. I just wanted to hear your review of the show or didn’t you go?”

Swallowing as she entered the small, intimate sitting room that was lit entirely by candles. “I went. It was great. I had no idea how much energy you put into your shows. The whole building felt electric and according to my friends the setlist was unusual.”

Nodding, he urged her to sit on the small couch, only big enough for two and sat next to her. “It was. I did it to impress you. Did it work?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off him, “yes, although I had no idea what a standard setlist contained.” Lifting the glass to her lips she discovered it was empty already. How’d that happen she wondered and was shocked when Jon filled it with the bottle she didn’t see him carry in with them. Sipping it, she looked for somewhere to set it down and decided against it, holding it was her single barrier against the wanton urge to reach over and slide her nails up his bare chest.

Inwardly Jon smiled, she was bending. “You’ll have to attend another show to see that. What kind of music do you usually listen to?” He finished his wine and poured himself another. They had all night even if he wanted her between his sheets as soon as possible. This verbal foreplay was killing him.

“Sting and jazz and the blues. I live in the New Orleans area. I love going into the little clubs to hear good live jazz.” Smiling when she got an appreciative smile and nod. Dayum, but he had amazingly expressive blue eyes and lips that were made for sin. Thoughts of her husband and beloved Samlets were far from her mind at the moment. Sipping the good quality Pinot, she had already relaxed in his presence, except for her raging hormones that were screaming loudly that they wanted him to fuck her.

“Good choices. Sting’s a good man and amazing musician.”

“He is. I’ve met him several times, actually.”

“Yeah?” one eyebrow quirked upwards, “how’d I miss meeting you before? It’s not like I haven’t been down to the Big Easy.”

“I don’t know. Next time I’ll be making a point of being at your show.” Setting her glass down on the table she stretched back against the couch, suddenly feeling warm and relaxed.

Leaning towards her, Jon dropped his glass on the table next to hers, neither glass had much left in them. “I’d like that.” His fingers lifted and the backs of them traced the curve of her jawline with a whisper light touch, flipping over and cupping her cheek lightly. His eyes were fixed on hers, her tongue darted out to moisten her suddenly dry lips, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

She nodded, speechless, her lips parted on a silent gasp as he closed the distance, her eyes drifting shut as his mouth descended on hers. Sweet Jesus, his mouth tasted of mint and wine, sex and sin and she wanted more. Of their own volition her hands lifted to his shoulders and wrapped around them, tangling in the short mane of hair, deepening the kiss.

Jon leaned against her, pushing her back against the couch pillows and delved deeper. Her mouth opened under his and he entered it, exploring and tasting her. She was sweet, hungry and as primed as he was. Devouring her mouth, he groaned as her fingers found his bare back and lightly scored their way down it, his eyes were dark pools of indigo filled with desire, noting that hers were nearly as dark as his own. “I want you, say yes.”


Sitting at breakfast with her friends and co-workers, Sam smiled lazily, she felt a contentment she’d never expected after what happened the previous night. Shifting carefully in her seat because of the unaccustomed tenderness, thinking back over what had been an amazingly eye-opening experience where she learned things about herself she never anticipated. Looking up she saw their waiter approaching with a bottle of Carménère in hand. It was breakfast for god’s sake, but her curiosity was piqued.

“Ma’am,” the waiter handed the bottle and a note to her. Opening it she smiled, read the brief note ‘thank you, see you in New Orleans next trip. JB’, tucked it into her purse and looked to her friends, “anyone for wine?”