19 #Damnation

“Damnation,” Teddi muttered when stepping out of the shower to hear her phone singing in the bedroom.  “Who’s calling me at this time of night?” 

 

Granted, the clock read only a little after nine, but she didn’t often get personal calls even during daylight hours.  To receive one after sunset was practically unheard of.

 

She bent forward to quickly twist wet hair into a towel and snatched up another to fold around her body.  Wet footprints decorated the bathroom tile, but she paid them no mind when scurrying to the phone on the foot of her bed.  The “Have a Nice Day” ringtone was still singing, and the screen was lit – with Jon Bon Jovi’s name.    

 

At least that explained the late hour.  The man was bred for the nightlife, but she hadn’t heard from him in days.  What could he possibly want on a Friday night?

 

Answer it and find out, you ninny.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Who’s the Gypsy sending me messages on Instagram?”

 

There was no greeting.  No preamble.  He launched the conversation with the quiet demand that fisted itself around Teddi’s stomach.  Whatever his reason for asking, it didn’t appear to be a happy one, and she was grateful for her light dinner.

 

Holding the bedpost with one hand, her knuckles went white as she leaned into it.  “I beg your pardon?  Gypsy?”

 

“Gypsy,” he tersely confirmed.  “Which one of your assistants is Esmerelda?”

 

Teddi’s heart raced faster than hummingbird wings, and her throat narrowed so that air had to fight its way inside.   She reached for the necklace that wasn’t there and swallowed the lump in her throat.  He definitely wasn’t calling to give a glowing employee review. 

 

“I don’t have an assistant using that pseudonym,” she declared with a firmness – and honesty – that contradicted her dry mouth. 

 

“Then who is?”

 

Damnation.

 

She’d started the Esmerelda account not too long ago with the idea of using it as an alter ego.  Someone she didn’t have to police for social propriety.  It had felt right to use her mother’s name, because she was confident Mama would approve of the somewhat mystic and unabashedly sensual content on the account. 

 

Not that Teddi was trying to please anyone but herself.

 

The slightly exotic character she’d created was an outlet for her baser instincts.  It wasn’t intended for use with her clients, but in light of this business-only relationship with a man whom had long held a place in her fantasies, Teddi had needed an outlet.  Both her mind and body were left unsatisfied after Pierce’s platonic visit last week, and Esmerelda used that discontent as she saw fit.  There was no need to censor her, Teddi justified.  Considering Jon’s fandom and who he was, it was a valid part of his Insta education. 

 

It was merely an added benefit that speaking to him that way provided her with a sense of decadent gratification.  She reveled in the uninhibitedness of it, even if he didn’t know Teddi was the one behind the keyboard. 

 

At least she didn’t think he knew.

 

“You have a public profile.  I can’t be expected to know all your random followers.”

 

“You know this one, though, don’t you?” 

 

Damnation.  If I confess, it may very well be the end of… everything.

 

Not that she cared about losing him as a paying client.  She’d already made the choice to return his deposit.  The experience itself was ten-times more valuable than the check from his accountant, and losing it wasn’t what had her grappling with indecision.  Confession may be good for the soul, but not as good as a reason for having his phone number, an excuse to use it, and the chance to know the real man.  She would really miss the way he flirted.  

 

“You know her, don’t you, Cookie?” he persisted.  “Or should I call you Gypsy now?”

 

The chill of air conditioning against damp skin wasn’t only reason she shivered.  There was something about his voice.  It held an edge flavored with smoky menace.  As though there would be dire consequences for her deceit – consequences that had nothing to do with social media.  

 

Never had she been so intrigued by a threat.  Never had she been so willing to accept punishment for her actions.  It was… titillating enough for her to venture a husky, “You may call me anything you wish.”

 

Other than a quiet chuff, there was no immediate response. 

 

The throaty offer dangled in the balance as Teddi’s heart pounded out one painful beat after another, and she wished for her necklace or meditation rings.  Anything besides the dead air that that lingered like a thick blanket of humidity… until finally he deigned to cut it with a thick, “You’re the Gypsy.”

 

Another shiver started at the base of her neck and trickled downward.

 

“Yes.”

 

His soft swear was a ripe wisp of air that hung in Teddi’s ear.  Was he angry?  His silence gave no indication, nor did his blunt, “Are you home?”

 

That only confused her further, but she gave a slow, “Yes.”

 

“I’m coming over.”

 

He was what?  Why?  Better yet, where was he coming from?  If it was New York, she had time to make herself presentable.  If he happened to be in Red Bank…

 

God, please don’t let him be in Red Bank.

 

“Where are you?”

 

“Open the gates.  I’ll be there in ten.”

 

Ten minutes??  Teddi looked down at her white towel in dismay and sputtered, “B-but –“

 

“Put down your necklace and open the fucking gates.”

 

The line went dead, inspiring anxiety to put a chokehold on Teddi’s windpipe and a tailspin into her thoughts.  Jon Bon Jovi was on his way to her house – after dark – and she was wearing nothing but towels.

 

Damnation.

 

Instead of scrambling like mad for clothes and a hairdryer, she lifted a shaky hand her throat – and came up empty because the necklace still wasn’t there. 

 

He knew you’d be reaching for it, though.  He knew.

 

Dear God in Heaven this man was more than she had expected.  Even without knowing what to expect in – Teddi’s eyes desperately sought the nightstand clock – eight minutes, he was still more than she expected.  Never had she dreamed he would be so observant or that he would accurately apply those observations in other settings.  First the red rose and now the necklace.

 

That’s fabulous, wondrous and stupendous, but you’re butt naked with only seven minutes to do something about it.

 

Locating the icon that would “open the fucking gates”, Teddi tapped it and scrambled like mad for some clothes.

 

# # # # #

 

The Chevelle tires hummed across the drawbridge connecting Rumson and Red Bank like they knew exactly what the fuck was going on here.  Well, the tires had one up on Jon, who was running on sheer instinct and adrenaline as he tapped the brake at the first stop sign.  He couldn’t think about why he was turning onto her street or else his unformed questions would start demanding answers. 

 

The logical half of his brain – the one that wasn’t pumping a fist in the air at the knowledge Teddi and Esmerelda were the same person – said those questions needed to be both formed and answered.  What about that date?  Did she have a boyfriend or fiancé to consider?  Did Jon care enough to stop and consider the guy?

 

Don’t have anybody for me to consider, Cookie.

 

That was the illogical side of his brain talking, as though issuing that silent demand made a damn difference in the world.  Her relationship status was what it was.  He’d worry about it if the need arose, but not until…  later.

 

The other question – hindrance – prodding his happy-go-lucky instinct was the ethical boundary she’d insisted upon putting between them.  That was more her problem than his, since Jon had no qualms about deleting the app.  Instagram had been nothing but an annoyance, and it wasn’t going to make or break his Hall of Fame bid. 

 

You hope.

 

His mouth flattened with determination as he approached her block.  It wouldn’t, goddammit, and that was the end of that mental discussion.  Even if he’d been inclined to continuing arguing with himself like some psycho, that inclination disappeared as he drew close to Teddi’s house. 

 

She’d actually opened the damn gates, and that was the only thing that interested him right now.  Well, other than being a selfish son of a bitch, hell-bent on tasting her skin while getting drunk on the scent.

 

There was an impatient twitch in the shorts Jon hadn’t bothered changing.  He also hadn’t traded in his sleeveless t-shirt and flip flops for anything more presentable.  It was the same outfit he’d worn since showering off the chlorine earlier this evening.

 

You should’ve taken five minutes for respectable clothes before barging into her house and taking them off again.

 

Tell that to his excited dick.  That little bastard was focused strictly on the prospect getting naked, but Jon did take a quick glance at his reflection in the rear-view mirror as the threw the car in park.  Photo-ready hair it wasn’t, and there was a ruddiness to his face that spoke of an afternoon in the sun. 

 

Too late to indulge in vanity.  Stick with instinct and arrogance.

 

Instinct and arrogance had gotten this Jersey boy a hell of a lot out of life.  No point in questioning the formula now.

 

The car door banged shut, and Jon pocketed his keys while jogging up the handful of steps.  This second time on her porch was very different than the first.  This time, there would be no surprises when she opened the door.  He knew exactly who was inside and that she was expecting him.  This time, he didn’t dread their encounter.  He looked forward to it. 

 

An impatient jam of the bell set chimes ringing inside, but the door didn’t immediately open.  There weren’t even any lights shining through the glass side panels. 

 

Be patient.

 

Patience, by Jon’s definition, was waiting another ten seconds before jamming the bell again. 

 

He waited fifteen before hitting it the third time. 

 

Hashtag adulting.  Now answer the fucking door.

 

Fortunately, his adulting skills weren’t put to a more rigorous test.  Those glass side panels went from bleak black to warm yellow with the newfound illumination from within, and he was drawn to it like a moth.  Jon took a half-step to the side, which gave him a clear view of the entryway and the woman strolling down the front hall. 

 

It only took a glimpse to see this wasn’t the Teddi he was used to.  While there was the usual lack of color, her oatmeal capris were loose and breezy instead of tailored. The white sleeveless top looked something like a tank, but more feminine.   A criss-crossed bodice had tiny pleats coupled with soft lace and gave way to a flowy fall of fabric that didn’t quite meet her waistband.  It played peekaboo, revealing a strip of golden skin as she descended the entry stairs. 

 

The only thing that was truly familiar about this woman was her hand – clutching the necklace just below her throat. 

 

Teddi may look cool and confident, but she was nervous.

 

Good. 

 

It would make shattering her aristocratic shell all the more satisfying.  Like a pinata, she held all the good stuff inside, and he was dying to grab a handful of it.

 

The porch light flicked to life, and Jon moved to firmly crowd the door.  When she swung it inward, he was grateful for the vantage point, because it allowed him a close-up view of her natural beauty. 

 

Teddi wasn’t wearing a speck of makeup and damn if it didn’t suit her.  There was a fresh glow to those pink cheeks tonight, and it complemented wide eyes that had the gentlest smudge of time at their corners. 

 

Still clinging to her necklace, she used the opposite hand to tuck loose hair behind one ear.  Hair that looked to be damp.  Had she just gotten out of the pool or shower? 

 

The desire to taste her flared high enough to make his shorts twitch again.  

 

“Good evening, Mr. Bon Jovi.”

 

Something inside him snapped. 

 

That touch of formality was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  The end of the road.  The final blindfolded spin before he started whacking the hell out of that pinata.

 

Jon palmed the door, pushing it wider than Teddi’s eyes before stepping over the threshold.  He unapologetically invaded her personal space, and her automatic reaction was to back away. 

 

That was fine; she couldn’t go far.

 

He slowly and steadily stalked her backward, gaze never wavering from hers, until dainty shoulders thumped softly against the wainscoting.  Rapid, shallow breaths lifted Teddi’s chest as he gently pried her lax fingers away from the necklace. 

 

She didn’t put up a fight, and Jon didn’t know if that was because she couldn’t or didn’t want to.  Whatever the reason, it also instilled the willingness to let him shackle her wrist and pin it next to her head.

 

“Dr. Montgomery,” he spoke quietly into her eyes.  “Consider yourself fired.”