What a dream… what a deliciously hot, crazy dream… never thought about that tall dark-eyed Texan bein' a goddamn love machine… if he was half as good in real time I'd jump him, no more talk, just… gawd can I look him in the eye after all these nasty hot dreams I had last night…

Rinnnggg….rinnggg…rinnnnggggg….

Ah shit… fucking alarm clock…

Without opening her eyes, Bonnie swung wildly in the direction of her imaginary alarm clock… and smacked Mike in the face as he was crawling over her to get at the phone.

What the fuck…

"What the fuck Morris!" Mike hollered, only half awake himself, now lying across Bonnie clutching his jaw. He recovered enough to make a desperate dive across the rest of the huge bed and grabbed for the phone, first knocking it off the cradle, catching the coiled cord with his other hand. He reeled it in like a dead fish and collapsed crossways on the bed, lying on his back with it pressed to the side of his face that hadn't just been walloped by Sleeping Deadly.

"This better be good," he snarled as he peered at the clock on the wall. "It's only… seven fucking thirty?" Anger burnt off the fog of sleep.

"Mike, babe, it's Bob. Look, I've been trying to reach Bonnie since yesterday. She doesn't answer her phone and her service says she hasn't picked up calls. I called the other guys…"

"Goddamn, you gotta death wish calling me this early? You gave us the day off! DAY. OFF. That means not working. It also means not calling me at the goddamn crack of dawn, for anything except a raise or a Grammy. What the hell you looking for Bonnie for anyway?"

"Just a quick head's up on shooting for Tuesday. Don't worry about it, she'll handle everything. But I'm telling you, I can't find her! It's just not like her to do this."

"Do what?" Mike inquired acidly, "Have a life?"

By now Bonnie was awake, if confused, embarrassed by having laid a roundhouse on the man she'd spent the night doing things with that clearly were worthy of dirty-dream status. She struggled to sit up.

"Quit treating me like the enemy for ten seconds, will you? She always calls her service like clockwork, unlike the rest of you clowns. It would be nice to know she's still alive."

"Who knew what a groovy, bundle of love you are, man."

"Hey, contrary to popular belief I'm not the World's Biggest Asshole. Try to believe I'm a little worried by now, okay?"

"Okay, okay, put down your heart pills, mother." Mike rolled his eyes. "Hang on a minute, I'll get her. And she's not gonna be happy either, man, she works harder than you do."

Covering the receiver with a nearby pillow Mike advised Bonnie, "Think fast, it's Bob. He's been trying to reach you since yesterday, probably dialed the whole Greater LA phone book."

Bonnie sat bolt upright in panic. While sleeping with the talent wasn't expressly forbidden, it absolutely wasn't encouraged. In fact any long term relationship was considered a PR problem... a single Monkee was a marketable Monkee, gotta play accessible to the teeny boppers. The Open Secret of Groupies was strangely okay, in that there were fans everywhere hoping to get a one-night-stand with one of the guys. Hit-and-run was fine, but only out of camera range. While personal relationships were close to impossible given the crazy life the guys were leading, if they happened they would have to be kept under the radar. Kinda hard when one party was a Monkee and the other one was high-end production staff.

She gestured madly at Mike, mouthing "No-no-no!" He waved her off.

"Just shuck and jive, Morris, you do it every day." He shoved the phone into her hand as he encouraged in a whisper, "Relax, it's only a crime if I paid you."

Bonnie glared poisoned arrows at Mike, and aimed an exaggerated yawn at the phone. "Wha? Whaddayou want, you slave driver."

"Bonnie? You're at Mike's pad?"

"Yeah, this is me and here I am." When the line went silent, she plowed ahead. "New music, late night, guest room. So why did you wake me up on my day off?"

"Uh… sorry babe. We got some early shooting location notes for the first episode and I wanted to let you know."

"And it can't wait until I actually get back to work?"

"Just location info. Not the studio, a beach shoot."

"You couldn't tell me this on Tuesday."

"We gotta be at the beach on Tuesday first thing, morning setup. Be there at the location at 9 sharp. Costume and makeup will be there already. Let the boys know, they're not expecting it."

"Fine. Done. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Yeah, sorry. Tell Mike I'm sorry."

Bob was the boss of everyone, but something about Mike occasionally made him cautious. He really did believe the psycho Texan would walk if he were pushed too far, and that would be a very, very bad deal for the show.

"Done. Good BYE." Bonnie lobbed the receiver in a wide arc over the bed. "Don't even ask what he wanted, for at least another six hours," she warned Mike, who was more than willing to oblige. He left the receiver where it fell on the rug, ignoring the angry eek-eek-eek of disconnection that would go silent in another minute. When she saw Mike rubbing the red spot on his cheek she reached for him to apologize. He shrank back in exaggerated fear.

"C'mon, Nesmith, I'm sorry! I wasn't awake, I thought the phone was my alarm clock." She slid over to him. "C'mon, lemme kiss the boo-boo," she pulled him closer and planted some kisses on the spot where she'd smacked him.

"I dunno, Morris," he mused, "if you don't stop knocking me around I am gonna have to rethink this thing. So far you've tried to punch me out in Chicago, belted me twice that morning at the studio, bit me last night, and went upside my face just now. This is starting to feel dangerous." When she sat back again with a frown, he laughed. "What's that face for? I'm just kidding!" he reached for her but she pulled further away. "Baby, 'danger' is my middle name," he added in the gangster voice.

"I know," she said. "That's not it."

"What, then?"

"I meant what I said last night, about not wanting to mess up what's already here… well I need that more than I need what happened last night. Just so you know… in case you ever find yourself thinking it's getting in your way…" She wasn't sure why it hit her right then, but it did, and hard.

Mike shook his head in exaggerated patience, then grabbed Bonnie and laid her out in his arms. He leaned up over her on an elbow. "There you go with those pieces again. I meant what I said, too… we can make room for all of it." Now he smiled down at her serious face, lowered his head and gave her a kiss. "Morris, you gotta relax. Know how I see it? Everything about us is already 'here.' Nothing you can break, no pieces, get it? Now I could lie to you and tell you that you're the first I've had here with me, but I won't. I will tell you that there's been no groupies, no quick fucks. No strangers allowed."

"Your wife...? I didn't know you were married when the show started."

Mike nodded. "Not for long though… it was all over but the leaving by the time we moved in." He rolled onto his back. "Damn, we do get to serious rapping at weird times, don't we?"

Bonnie rolled closer. "Guess it's all one piece, take it or leave it."

"I do believe I'll take it." Mike grinned, and winked.

"You get such a look, sometimes," Bonnie observed. "Like a man of the world, and you're how old?"

"Twenty-seven. Don't tell the PR department, they tell the fans I'm twenty-five. Gotta keep the 'younger dem-o-graphic' interested, y'know. The sweet young things," he pulled her face next to his and breathed in her ear, "Auhhh."

She laughed and lay on his chest, arms crossed under her chin, and stared at the beautiful brown eyes, delicious mouth, the sweet face made sexier by the dark unshaven stubble that had been growing while he was away. "That's okay, they don't know my real age, either."

The dark eyebrows rose. "Please tell me you are over twenty-one," he joked.

"Considerably." She whispered her age in his ear.

"Thirty four?" he burst out. Before she could react one way or the other his smile turned sly, and his eyes narrowed mischievously. "Daym. I've always wanted me one a'you foxy older chicks, heard you're real adventurous." He sat up and beckoned in a seductive drawl, "C'mon, I know a way t'get dirty and clean at the same time…"

Inside of ten minutes Mike was sliding Bonnie up and down the granite walls in his shower as the hot water poured over them. He was growling in her ears and nibbling her shoulders and neck, reveling in her squeals and moans as much as the hot velvet grip of her around his cock. Her legs were locked around his hips, her arms around his neck, and this time she let him take complete control. The truth was, she was beyond doing anything else… he slowed down, sped up, grunted and growled and groaned in rhythm with his movements.

"Good, baby, good," he told her over and over, "we're – ah – so – unh – good…" Bonnie was so far gone that when she felt Mike's fingers working on and in her she had no idea how he managed it, and couldn't care less. They ended flat on the floor in the shower, grinding and rolling and making noises neither one had made (or heard) in a long time. It took a little while for them to recover enough for Mike to reach up and turn off the water.

"Well I guess we got dirty taken care of," he panted. After a couple more minutes he eased off of Bonnie and invited, "How about clean?"

"Huh?" She was too dazed to make sense of it but hung on as Mike picked her up and took her to the huge tub. He ran the warm water until it was half full, and climbed right in with Bonnie in his arms, sitting her down with her back to him. When he started rubbing her back up and down with a soapy washcloth, she leaned back and sighed.

"Hey, no groping, now, or I'm gonna leave," Mike warned, making Bonnie laugh out loud. "What?"

"That's what Peter said that night he took me home from Whisky. Don't bother asking, I'll tell you later. Just keep scrubbing… I've always wanted a bath boy."

After Bonnie had gotten dressed she returned to the bathroom where Mike was taking care of his hair and face.

"Here's your hair dryer, thanks." She'd washed out her panties in the sink and blown them dry before getting dressed.

"I don't get it," Mike said, "Guys'll wear the same shorts for days if they have to."

"Eeewwww… I really hope that didn't include you yesterday…wow, you guys sure make weird faces when you're shaving," Bonnie observed.

"Oh, right, unlike women and their makeup… what is that open-your-mouth for mascara thing, anyway?" Face now smooth, and sideburns groomed, Mike worked some expensive conditioner through his hair and blew it dry.

"Hah, Nesmith, that bit in the tour docu was right. You do fuss more with your hair than a girl does. Me, I just let mine drip-dry."

"Well you don't have a sexy-man rock star image to keep up," he smirked as he passed her to go back to the bedroom.

She scurried up behind to goose his (fabulous) ass through the towel he'd wrapped around his waist. "Forget your hair, Nesmith, it's this they're watching!"

When they got into the bedroom, which by now was flooded with light through the sliders, she noticed the marks after he'd pulled on his jeans and was rummaging in the closet for a shirt.

"Okay, don't freak out or anything, but I think I got careless again…" She tapped his shoulder, and he strained to see in the mirrored closet door. On both shoulders were a series of fresh hickeys, a few extending down toward his chest. The previous night's bite mark, while fading, was still barely visible.

"Hmm, guess so. But you got as good as you gave, mama." He pointed to a few pink marks on her collarbone.

"Yeah, but I don't have to romp in a bathing suit for a beach shoot tomorrow."

He stopped, shirt hanging in hand, and stared at her. "A beach shoot. Tomorrow. And you marked me up like a fucking prom date."

Bonnie raised both hands. "What can I say? Young sexy-man rock star, you are too much for me, I got carried away."

"Yeah, well on the way back to your place you are gonna pick up some makeup."

"I don't buy makeup, Nesmith."

"You do now, Morris," Mike advised, ushering her down the stairs, "and it better be waterproof."