John Francis

London was a total fail as far as Amanda was concerned.

Apparently Bon Jovi was taking up “residency” at the O2 in a few months and the entire city was awash with advertisements for the event. It seemed she couldn’t enter a shop or travel on a bus without having Jon’s face in front of her.

First it hurt, then it aggravated the hell out of her. She was so over Jon Bon Jovi. Finished, done, through, kaput.

She told herself that about a gazillion times during that day and each time she believed herself until she would come smack up against his face. Again. On a poster or a billboard or a bus and then she knew she was lying to herself.

Walking the streets the first day she’d arrived had been done on auto pilot. True to her nature, she had become completely lost, wondering why on earth the city couldn’t have normal North/South and East/West streets. She then realized she was criticizing architecture and promptly asked directions and returned to her hotel.

It had been a miserable first night.

A weak sun lightened her room the next morning as she woke in a familiar pattern. First, awareness, then … WHAM! It hit her. What had happened. Like a mini-movie starting with her own personal wicked witch in the form of Jon’s mother. Then Jeremy. Then … the last night with Jon.

She stopped herself on that thought, taking just a few moments to remember the smell of his skin against hers. The warmth of him. The tight muscles and the golden softness of hair on his arms, his chest, his …

Her breath caught as desire flooded through her.

She hated herself for it.

And still she lingered, her eyes closed, seeing him in all his naked splendor as he had thrust inside her last night. And again. And then again. His eyes blazing into hers, his face so intense as he reached his release. There was a moment when his eyes had softened as he’d looked at her and she had known that her heart was forever his.

Until the next morning. When she awoke … alone.

When once again it was all over and it became another part of the nightmare from which she couldn’t seem to wake.

Tears flowed slowly from her eyes and she turned on her side in the soft fluffiness of the bed.

And cried.

Again.

~~~

After Susan had hung up on him, Jon had just sat quietly for a while, thoughts flying through his head as he tried to plan.

Jon liked to have a plan. He was a plan kind of guy. He knew what he would be doing from the moment he woke up to when he would crawl, exhausted, into a bed at night. Right now he had touring to plan, meetings to attend, his charity to oversee, songs to write, and an entire life to get on with.

Which was exactly why he sat there, unmoving, as the more he tried not to think about Amanda, the more clearly he saw her.

How she’d looked last night as he bent over her, crushing her breasts with his hands as he filled his fingers with her softness. The slick sheen of sweat on her skin as orgasm after orgasm overtook her. The tangle of her hair in his hands as he’d buried himself inside her.

A groan escaped him, startling him into opening his eyes and making him aware of a straining hardness in his already tight jeans. With a wince, he twisted up from his chair, determined steps taking him from his office into the kitchen.

He needed coffee.

He needed to get his mind back in the game.

He needed to call his assistant, the guys, hell, his mother. Anything to take his mind off the one thought that wouldn’t leave.

That what he really had was questions to ask.

And to get the answers he was coming to need, he had a woman to find.

Now he needed a drink.

~~~

Moaning and retching woke Richie. He had spent the night at Trish’s and they’d stayed up late, talking after their love-making in quiet whispers and loud laughter.

He rolled over in the bed as he looked around, trying to find out where the sounds he’d heard were coming from. Not seeing Trish, he got up and quickly moved to the closed bathroom door. He knocked softly as he called her name.

“Trish? You okay, honey?” He waited for her answer, grimacing in sympathy at the sounds of gagging traveling through the door.

“Trish!” He turned the handle, but the door was locked. He knocked again, calling her name louder, but the sounds of her illness only increased.

His brow wrinkling in concern, Richie thrust one broad shoulder against the door and it gave way, banging back against the wall. His momentum carried him into the room and he saw Trish bent over the toilet, holding her hair out of the way, the other hand braced on the rim. Tears flowed down her cheeks as her stomach rebelled again and again. He moved quickly to her side, grabbing her hair and holding it up, his other hand supporting her shoulder.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Do you need a doctor?” His attention remained focused on her and he gave a sigh of relief when she shook her head no.

Trish fought and lost another round with her protesting stomach, aware of the irony that this gave her a few moments to think. Her answer, while rather strangled sounding, sent the conversation in the direction she needed it to go.

“Flu.”

“Honey, are you sure?” Richie wasn’t sure he’d heard someone so wretchedly ill in a while, especially where alcohol wasn’t involved.

Trish gasped as she managed to win the current round. “Sure. Just flu.”

Richie’s hand closed over hers as she held hair up and away and gently tugged it out of her grip.

“Just relax, babe. I’ll take care of you.”

Her eyes closed as another wave of nausea passed through. Her stomach seemed to be settling and she relished the warmth of Richie’s hand against the small of her back. Trish had no idea how to begin to tell Richie what had happened. She certainly hadn’t expected to get hit so hard with morning sickness and knew using the excuse of a “flu” wouldn’t last more than a day or two before he would become concerned enough to insist she see a doctor.

Those few days would give her time to decide what to do.

Trish sighed softly as she pushed up to stand and move to the sink.

Washing out her mouth, she let her hair fall to the sides again, shielding her for a few more moments.

She knew what she was going to do.

What she didn’t know, was how to tell Richie.