Chapter Eighty-Three

Richie wanted to get out and walk.  He’d get there faster pushing the car at this rate.  From the backseat of the non-descript dark sedan he looked through the windshield at the long, unbroken line of cars on the freeway.  LA traffic at its finest.  With a muffled curse he let his head drop back against the seat and closed his eyes.  He’d been traveling for nearly twelve hours and with the finish line almost in sight, he was stopped practically dead in his tracks.   Could nothing go his way today?

First, Jon tacked on an extra encore.  Then, he was delayed leaving Dublin.  Then he got held over in New York.  And now, this traffic jam was just the curdled cream on top of the rotten sundae of a day. 

He had hoped taking the I-5 would be quicker.  Clearly he was more sleep deprived than he realized if he thought this was the faster, less-congested route.  Maybe he should have gone home first instead of going straight to Stephanie’s.  The 405 is usually a lot quicker heading toward Calabasas than Burbank.  He sighed.  It was too late to change his mind now.  He’d just have to make the best of it and hope that the traffic jam - whatever was causing it - cleared up so that they could be on their way.

Two long fingers reached into his shirt pocket and came out with his phone.  He turned it over and over in his palm, debating calling her.  He hadn’t talked to her since before last night’s show.  He wanted to keep his homecoming a surprise for her.  She wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow, at the earliest.  Just as he slid his fingertip across the screen, the car lurched forward, moving in line with the rest of the traffic.  Keeping a tight grip on the phone he chanced a glance out the front window.  Things were starting to move along at a pace slightly faster than stop.  It was better than nothing.

He slipped the phone back in his pocket.  He could wait a little longer and then he would see her, face to face, hold her in his arms and see for himself that she really was all right.

The traffic just needed to keep moving.

~

Stepping out on her front porch, Stephanie watered her pots and boxes of flowers.  She was surprised that the blooms hadn’t faded yet.  It had been so warm she had been watering constantly it seemed.  But they were holding their own.  Sprinkling the last of the pots, she took the little can back into the house and set it next to the sink, trading it for her Kindle and a tall glass of lemonade. 

Heading back out front, she sat down on the top step and leaned up against the post.  She flexed the fingers of her right hand.  The doctor had swapped her ace bandage for a sturdier plastic splint/cast that was driving her nuts.  She hadn’t sprained her wrist like they had first thought.  Oh no, according to the x-rays taken the other day, she had a hairline fracture in her wrist.  Lovely.  She got to wear this stupid thing for the next four weeks.

Yay.

She frowned and took a sip of her lemonade.  Her ribs had gotten a second set of pictures taken as well.  Nothing broken in there, but the bruising had been severe enough to keep her tender far longer than she liked.  Her midsection was still mottled a lovely green, yellow and purple.  But, she’d be able to travel with Richie next week.  The doctor had warned her it might be painful with the pressure changes, but he didn’t see any reason she should change her plans.  She would take her Tylenol with her, just in case.

Draining her glass she set it aside and woke her Kindle up.  She briefly checked her email and was surprised to find nothing new since that morning.  Closing that she opened up the book she was reading.  She was re-reading one of her favorites, but she really should check Amazon for something new before she went away.  She was totally engrossed in the tale of the blood brothers and their battle between good and evil, that she didn’t hear the car pull up.

Richie watched her for just a minute and took his first easy breath since that heart-stopping phone call nearly two weeks ago.  She looked like a fairy queen sitting there surrounded by her flowers with the sun pouring over her.  His fingers flexed with the need to touch, to tangle in the hair that fell over her shoulder in a wild riot of curls.  He stepped from the car, she didn’t move.  He retrieved his bags and guitar from the trunk and still she didn’t look up.  The slamming of the trunk finally caught her attention.  She looked up and surprise lit her eyes and a welcoming sunbeam of a smile wreathed her face. 

Digging in his pocket, he shoved a few bills into the driver’s hand and hastily sent the man on his way.  Maneuvering the suitcase, messenger bag and guitar he stopped at the base of the steps.  “Sweetheart, you are blessed sight for sore, tired eyes.”

She looked him up and down.  He looked good, a little wrinkled and travel weary, but damn good.  “I could say the same darlin’.”  She came down two steps so she was eye to eye with him.  “Wasn’t I supposed to pick you up tomorrow?”

He set his guitar case and carry on down and wrapped his arms around her, gently.  “I left right after the show last night.  Surprise.” 

She raised her arms, settled them around his shoulders.  It felt so good to be here again.  “I’m glad.”  She met his mouth with hers, a soft stroke of her lips over his.  “Missed you.”

He took the invitation and kissed her fully.  “Missed you too, Sweetheart.”  His hands traveled up and down her sides, his thumbs caressing the generous under-curve of her breasts.  “You have no idea how much.”

She pulled her mouth from his, stroking his jaw with her thumbs.  “I think I can guess.”  She smiled and took his hands, “come inside.”

Looking down at their joined hands, he tightened his grip on her fingers at the sight of the splint she now wore.  “Not just yet.”  He indicated to the stop step where she had been sitting just moments before.  “Sit here with me a minute.”

Her questioning gaze found his concerned one.  A hint of relief resided in those warm, toffee colored orbs along with his worry and fear for her.  Keeping her hand in his and her eyes on his, she sat back down on the steps. 

He crowded in next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and picking up her wrist.  “I thought it was only sprained.”

She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.  He wanted to talk about it, so they would talk.  “I did too.  The hairline fracture didn’t show up until after the swelling went down.”

He brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the still slightly discolored knuckles lightly.  “I hate that I couldn’t be here for you when you needed me.”

Tugging her fingers from his, she slid them along his jaw, tilting his chin down so she could see his face.  “Don’t, Rich.  Don’t do this.  You were where you needed to be doing your job.  I had Darcy and you sicced Heather and Ava on me.  You did everything you could.  And I appreciate it, even if your daughter is a little mini-Hitler.”  That got her a hint of a smile.  “I’m okay” she pressed her lips to the indent in his chin.  “Really.”

Turning his head, he nuzzled into her hair, drawing in her scent.  Everything inside him relaxed, the tension melted away and he felt more at ease just having her close to him.  Seeing for himself that she really was doing all right.  His lips grazed her temple, resting there lightly. 

Stephanie let him have his moment of reassurance before shifting next to him.  Taking his hand once again, she stood, “let’s go inside.”

~

He fund her in her room, standing in a pool of sunlight.  Moving up behind her, he slid his fingertips up her arms, resting his hands on her shoulders.  His thumbs moved in light circles over her skin.  She was so soft.  He pushed her hair to the side, nosing in to dot kisses along her neck.  He nipped lightly at a delicate collarbone.  “Sweetheart” his voice was a harsh, hungry whisper in her ear.  “It’s been a while.”  He grazed her lobe with his teeth.  “No guarantees how long this will last.”

She turned her head, found his lips with hers.  Fast, slow, she didn’t care.  She just wanted to hold him, have him wrap himself around her, to be with him, to have him in her, on her and all around her.  Her fingers found the hem of his shirt and tugged it up and over his head.  She pressed her face to his chest, “don’t care.”  She drew a flat, coppery nipple into her mouth, earning a hiss of approval. 

Her cotton shorts landed in a quiet heap on the floor and he picked her up, his palms cradling her bottom as he moved toward the bed.  Laying her across the wide bed he gazed down on her, tracing the lacy edge of her cotton panties.  “I love that you always match.”  The gray of her underwear matched the gray of her cami tank top.  The sexy, slightly evil smile she gave him was nearly his undoing.

“I know.  Why do you think I do it?”

He crawled up over her, “minx.”  He nipped her chin when she tipped her head back in a laugh.  His hand skimmed down her sides, a finger hooking in the lace and dragged it down her hip.  Moving back, he slid the lacy cotton down the length of her legs.  He made the return trip up her leg with his mouth.  He especially liked the soft, tender spot behind her knee.  He drew lazy circles there with his tongue, her quiet whimper music to his ears. 

What was it about the sounds a woman made when aroused?  For him, they were a direct arrow to his dick.  He was glad he still had his pants on.  Every whimper, moan and sigh had him harder and made him want to touch her that much more.  He skimmed higher, turning to the inside of her thighs. Her hitched breath urged him closer.  He lightly licked at her center, her tangy sweetness drew him in for a full kiss, tracing and tasting the soft petals of her sex.  When she started to tremble under him, he backed off.

She raised her head, eyes blurry with arousal.  “Rich?”

“Shh” he slid his hand between them and opened his pants, his dick strangled behind the constrictive denim.  “Not yet, not yet.”  He moved, nosing his way under the hem of her cami, nudging it up, wanting nothing but skin between them.  He was brought up short by the colorful bruising that covered her midriff. 

Stephanie lifted her head again, watching him look at her tie-dyed torso.  “Rich?”

He didn’t look at her.  He pushed at the cotton that was still in his way and dropped his mouth to her skin.  He kissed every bruise, every colorful mark, as if he could love away the ugly marks.  “I’m so sorry darlin’” he murmured as his lips slid across her skin, wishing he could take it all away. 

Her eyes stung and she combed her fingers into his hair, slid them down to cup his face, lifting it to hers.  “It’s okay.”  Twin tears rolled down her cheeks at the tenderness he was showing her. She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, “I’m okay” she whispered.

Her tears ripped at him.  He dropped more kisses to her damaged skin before turning his head and kissing each of her palms.  She was all right, he knew she was all right, it was just hard to see the evidence that she hadn’t been at one point.  He slid up over her, nudging his way inside her, filling her gently as he threaded his fingers through hers. 

They moved together on her bed as the afternoon waned and shadows grew longer.  The breeze that billowed the curtains stole their cries and groans as they found their way to blissful oblivion.