A/N: Okay, so things are starting to settle down in my personal life and hopefully they will stay that way, at least long enough for me to get through the remainder of my 2nd pregnancy without too much stress.... Thanks again for all the kind reviews as always....
Chapter 8
After the little paint job on Don's car, the stalker left both him and Rose-Marie alone for a few days. When Rose-Marie found out what the stalker had done to Don's car she was understandably upset and offered not only to pay for the cost of repairing his car but also loaning him a car of her own until the paint job was done. The car she lent him turned out to be a new 2009 Chevrolet Malibu LTZ in Black Granite Metallic, one she had just bought as a way of tripping up the paparazzi. Her other car, a 1962 two-door Chevrolet Chevy II Nova convertible in black, had been her mother's favourite car and Rose-Marie had inherited it when she'd earned her driver's licence.
Don accepted Rose-Marie's offer for both the car loan and the payment of the repair bill, mostly because he knew she blamed herself for what had happened and partly because, well, how often did one get to drive a car that was just off the market, especially a really good one like the Chevrolet Malibu LTZ?
Meanwhile:
"I don't like him," Donovan said.
"Who?" Judith-Ann asked absently, looking up from her book. She and Donovan were in the Desmond pool room, relaxing after an invigorating swim in the heated pool. They were both lounging on the pool chairs and Paul had just left them after serving ice-cold drinks; a Frozen Passion Margarita for her and a Hennessy and Cherry Coke for Donovan.
"That guy who was with your sister," Donovan said.
"Oh, you mean Don Flack," Judith-Ann said. She shrugged. "What's it to you? Rosie barely tolerates you as it is, so who she sees is none of your business."
"It would be nice if she just gave me a chance," Donovan muttered.
Judith-Ann sighed. She knew Donovan thought her sister was cute but she also knew Rose-Marie thought Donovan was a brainless idiot who only hung around her because of her name. Judith-Ann privately admitted Donovan was great to look at, fabulous in bed, and could hold a decent conversation but beyond that, well, he really didn't have much to his name, not even a steady job or a college degree of some sort. He was also pretty obsessed with his looks, which is probably the main reason he didn't like Don Flack; those baby blue eyes against his dark hair could turn any woman's head, even hers, and Donovan hadn't failed to notice that. Don Flack's looks were au natural and he looked damn good in his suit and tie the morning he'd introduced himself to them, whereas Donovan spent countless hours working out and tanning and making sure his wardrobe contained the latest 'in' fashion, whatever that might be.
"Look, I admit Rosie can be a bit prejudice-"
"A bit?" Donovan muttered.
She glared at him but continued. "But she has her reasons and you haven't exactly endured yourself to her by constantly going into her room even though she's asked you repeatedly not to. She's been burnt badly by several guys who used her or hung out with her only because of her name. She hangs out with Don because he treats her like a person, a woman, not something to be worshiped or followed around like a puppy dog. She puts up with you because you hang with me, just like every other person who hangs with me; that doesn't mean she has to like you."
And that was what little Rose-Marie had told her. She suspected there was something more going on, something Rose-Marie hadn't told her. Sure, she knew someone had gotten Rose-Marie's cell number and sent a bunch of scary text messages and pictures which had resulted in her changing her cell number and asking Judith-Ann if she'd given her number out to anyone she felt was less than honest. She hadn't, of course, but she could understand why Rose-Marie had asked; her sister was big on privacy and never forgave anyone who violated or abused that trust that she placed in someone when it came to her private information. Judith-Ann would never betray that trust, just as she knew Rose-Marie would never betray the same trust she placed in her. That didn't mean there weren't others who adhered to the same principles, like their dear step-mother, Marion.
"Look, Donnie, I know you don't like Don Flack but he's seeing Rosie and you're not. What she does and who she sees is her business, not yours," Judith-Ann said. "If she's given cause to think you've violated her privacy or interfered where you're not welcome she'll cut your balls off and I won't be far behind. Stay out of my sister's private life." She gave him a dark glare over the top of her sunglasses to accompany her warning before returning to her book. As it was, she did not see the ugly look that crossed Donovan's face.
Valentine's Day:
Rose-Marie glared at the dozen dried, very dead, roses that had just arrived at the Little Italy Bakery. Once again, her stalker had struck and on Valentine's Day, of all days.
"Be my valentine, dead or alive," she muttered, reading the card that had come with the flowers. "Who does this moron think he is?" She had just called Don to let him know about the flowers and he promised to come over as soon as he could get away from court but would send someone from the crime lab over to photograph and record the evidence.
Sure, the stalker had left her and Don alone after spray-painting Don's car. However, according to a criminal psychologist Don had paid a visit to, that didn't mean the stalker had stopped or given up; whoever it was may simply be bidding their time. The psychologist also recommended that instead of getting scared, get mad, as getting mad was usually the opposite of what the stalker expected and anger provided more strength than fear.
Don had passed the information on to Rose-Marie and she had taken it to heart, liking how the anger felt over the constant fear.
"So basically we tell this jackass to go screw himself and that we'll do what we chose to do?" she'd asked over lunch where they had agreed to meet after Don had spoken to the psychologist.
"Pretty much, yeah," he said.
"I can live with that," she said.
"That doesn't mean you get any less careful, though," he cautioned.
"That's pretty much a given," she replied.
Now she studied the dried roses. They'd be pretty if it weren't for the message that came with them. "Go screw yourself, buster," she said out-loud. "I'm gonna enjoy tonight and you're not gonna ruin it for me." And boy do I have plans for Mr. Flack, she thought grinning mischievously, thinking of the various items she'd purchased and the dinner reservation they had at the St. Regis Hotel for the hotel's annual Valentine Dinner.
The promised crime scene investigator showed up and quickly photographed the flowers and card before taking them into evidence. The accompanying officer took her statement and also promised to add it to the growing file. A short while later, Don showed up, looking a bit wind-swept and a bit concerned.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded. "I'm not scared, just angry that Mr. Sicko would pull that kind of stunt on a day like this but then again I'm also not really surprised, given the pattern of the previous 'gifts', if you will."
He nodded. "That's good; get angry, not scared. Has a crime scene investigator been by yet?"
"Come and gone," she said. "Along with the lovely roses and matching card. And speaking of cards, hang on a sec." She vanished into Mama Gemma's office and reappeared a moment later with a cream-colored envelope and his name written in calligraphy on it. "Your formal invitation to the St. Regis Valentine Dinner tonight. You'll need it to get past the main door."
He looked at her and saw the mischief in her eyes. "What are you up to?" he asked.
She grinned. "Show up at seven and you'll find out. There's a vehicle reservation card in there for your car so all you have to do is show it to the valet and he'll take care of the rest. Dinner's at seven-thirty sharp. Don't be late and be prepared for the night of your life." She gave him a kiss and shooed him out the door.
Don arrived at the St. Regis Hotel a few minutes before seven and handed the valet the parking reservation after taking out his over-night bag. Another valet took the bag and assured him it would be sent straight up to the appropriate room.
When he saw the inside of the hotel he was immediately glad he'd chosen to shave and shower before coming to the hotel. He was also wearing his best suit, tie, and shirt, and had brought along a red rose for Rose-Marie. Tucked in one pocket was also a necklace with a floating sterling silver heart that was accented with a 14k gold heart. He planned to give that to her later, after dinner and whatever else she had in mind; he had a sneaking suspicion that whatever she had planned for him would prove to be very, very interesting. He grinned.
Inside, after showing his invitation at the desk, he was directed to the doors of the hotel's ballroom where he waited for Rose-Marie to arrive.
"Don," she said from behind him.
He turned... and nearly swallowed his tongue. A vision in red walked towards him, a vision whose name was Rose-Marie Desmond.
She wore a red jersey dress with a flowing knee-length skirt and a shirred bodice that twisted at the centre of a sweet heart neckline. Black crisscross ankle-strap pumps were on her feet and rhinestone heart earrings dangled from her ears, revealed by the fact that her hair was up in an elegant twist. She carried a black clutch and a pretty black lace shawl was draped around her shoulders.
She smiled shyly at him. "Hi," she said.
"Hi yourself," he replied, finding his voice having gone husky. He handed her the rose, which she accepted, taking a sniff at it and smiling. "Shall we?" he asked, offering her his arm. She slipped her arm through his and they headed for the ballroom.
Don was sure the food was excellent and the music was good but he was too busy looking at Rose-Marie. When the couples hit the dance floor, so did they and he could not keep his hands off of her.
She noticed.
"Would you like to stay for desert or would you like to find out what my version of desert is?" she asked huskily.
"Your version of desert?" he asked. "I think I like that idea."
Her version of desert included fresh fruit and melted chocolate. When he asked if it was safe for her, she assured him it was a special kind of chocolate, one made with those with diabetes in mind. It didn't taste any different than regular chocolate but that might have had something to do with the company. For drinks, it was diet gingerale for her and wine for him.
And when he found out what she was wearing under her dress, he was very glad he'd made sure he'd brought plenty of condoms because he had a feeling he would not be able to keep his hands off of her for much longer.
Red; that was all he could see. Red unlined demi bra, garter belt, and thong panties, and stockings in nude. The necklace he gave her gleamed against her skin, skin he couldn't resist tasting.
The room had a hot tub and they made full use of it, delighting and exploring in the new sensations of bubble bath on skin.
Don knew that no matter what happened down the road between him and Rose-Marie, this was one night he would always remember. He knew her stalker was out there somewhere, waiting and watching, but that was not now. Now it was just him and her and pure pleasure.
And at the Desmond residence, Donovan proceeded to get rip-snorting drunk. As a result, Judith-Ann called a cab and kicked him out of the house. He responded by heading for Marion's open arms and equally open bed....
