Uncommon Bond
Chapter 24
Rated – NC-17/MA
Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)
THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO UNCOMMON SENSE – If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!
Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers.
I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.
I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing.
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Beauty is a form of genius—is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation.
It is of the great facts in the world like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in dark water of that silver shell we call the moon.
- Oscar Wilde.
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He paused in front of the doorway, for the span of a moment, drawing in a deep breath and collecting his disorderly thoughts. Muscular and veined hands curled around the lever and he inserted the keycard; his feet shuffled him inside…mind and body, both prepared to cooperate with his plan. Dave Batista didn't take any great pains to open the door quietly. Drunk people didn't usually do things quietly…and he was supposed to be drunk. And though the comical truth of the matter was, that he was not intoxicated…he was in fact blessedly anesthetized. Not so deadened however, that he couldn't remember the unrestrained way in which he loved her or how badly her rejections stung his pride…and certainly, not so numb that he wasn't able to recall the tactical nature of the battle to which he and she were engaged. In truth, he wasn't even boasting a buzz; the only thing that the liquor had done for him was to simply shave the hard edge off of his odious temper and make him fit for human contact.
A soft shaft of light beaming from the floor lamp beside the sofa, pushed shadows into the corners and made his purposely lumbering movement through the room passable. Knowing undoubtedly that his wife had left the light on for him, warmed his heart, making him believe that she'd done it out of concern for him, but then the inner animal had him convinced she was probably lying in wait, and had merely left the lamp on so she wouldn't fall victim to her own booby traps. He glanced askance, looking for the tell-tale signs that would indicate a treacherous practical joke in hiding and then decided that he was just letting his already guilt ridden imagination run away with him. Dave kicked his shoes off, uncaring when they went flying noisily in two completely different directions. Drunk people didn't care about the whereabouts of their shoes…and he—was supposed to be drunk.
Dave had been correct when he'd imagined his wife might be sleeping, but only not in his assumption of how, for she was far from curled in a ball on her side, sticking to her edge of the large bed as he'd envisioned. In fact, her sleeping position brought on the notion that she was rather hot and very much a bed hog. Flat on her back, one arm above her head, the other far out to her side, and yet she appeared still small when surrounded by the huge bed. The covers had long been cast off and were bunched up into little more than a cotton roll at her feet, her satin pants were askew, one pant leg fairly normal and the other scrunched up to the knee. A purple tank top had risen in her slumber so that her bellybutton was fully visible, and the light from the living area only glimmered off of the skin of her belly, taught and smooth and round. He let a lazy grin form on his lips and was of the mind he should adjust the in-room thermostat so she would be more comfortable, but drunk people didn't adjust thermostats. And he was supposed to be drunk.
A sudden husbandly regret knifed through him at the thought of waking her, but how else was he supposed to institute a heartfelt, inebriated confession if she weren't awake to hear it? As much as he hated to do it, knowing that she needed her sleep, now was the time. Dave eyeballed her peacefully sleeping figure, jingled the loose change in his pocket and when that didn't serve to rouse her, he gripped the entire handful and tossed it carelessly onto the dresser. Quarters, nickels, dimes; you name it, went bouncing in all directions just as his shoes had only seconds earlier. Not stopping there, he dropped his keys with a damnable clatter on top of what was left of the pile of change. 'Well that did it.' He mused and smiled inwardly, when he heard her body shuffle against the sheet.
A gentle, barely audible murmur drifted to his ears and he peeked over his shoulder, noticing that though her eyes remained closed and she had curled the pillow upward over her own ears, to shut him and his noise out. Dave was dangerously close to laughing out loud…and since he knew that drunk people usually did so—he did. She remained curled up with the pillow over her head and as adorably defenseless as she was, Dave determined that now was the time to up his arsenal. His cell phone in his hand illuminated another idea of how to awaken her fully, and so he began to pretend toying with the ringer. All different types and tunes and levels of volume, came trickling out of his phone, until it was literally screaming in his hand. A humored glance over his shoulder told him that she'd tugged the pillow down from her head and in her sleepy state, began to lash out a delicate arm in search of the alarm clock; apparently thinking that it was the source of the clamor.
Well, he'd tried all manner of noise and it hadn't served to awaken her completely and so, it was time for the big guns…Dave knew something that Nancy did not. And he knew it, because he had his memory and she didn't have hers. And what Dave Batista knew, through an extended time of living and traveling with his wife was that while a lamp in another room would not present a bother, the lamp on the bedside table, less than three feet from her sleeping face would. Armed with the knowledge that there were two things that Nancy truly hated—one being; something cold meeting with her skin by surprise, and secondly, a bright light in her face when she sought sleep—he crossed the room without quieting his steps and snapped the lamp on.
The harsh stream of light slammed into her sleeping countenance and she squinted her eyes, her face contorting as she let out a sigh that resembled more of a huff. Knowing from experience what she would do next, Dave discreetly pulled the extra pillow far enough out of her reach so as to make her thrash in her search for it. And thrash she did. Until finally she gave up on the search for something with which to cover her face and reluctantly and a bit peevishly reemerged from the cocoon of her sleep.
Groggy and incoherent, she pushed herself up to a sitting position on the side of the bed, allowing her feet to swing over the edge. Eyes still closed, she let a whimper of injustice pass her lips, much like a child woken unwillingly on an early school morning and then she fought with great difficulty to lift the heavy lids and discover who had awakened her. In that short amount of time, Dave un-tucked one half of his shirt and adopted what he assumed was an acceptably drunken expression. Formerly bothered by the fact that late hours always tended to lend a gravely tone to his already deep voice, he was just slightly thankful for it now…it added to his character.
"Oh, you're up." He observed with a mellow nonchalance. His voice cracked, with the tiniest over-embellishment when he spoke.
Another heavy sigh and her eyes dragged open as if they'd been welded shut. One glance at him and she blinked and then appeared wearily curious. "You're drunk." Her voice was a rasp.
Her assessment brought forth a low chuckle and then he remembered he was in a kayfabe of sorts and lifted one unsteady hand in the air, his thumb and forefinger an inch apart and announced. "Nope, not drunk…just a bit tipsy."
Nancy groused, shaking her head and curling her lip up in contempt. "Liar…you're foxed." She said softly and then she lay on her side again, content to go back to sleep.
"I'm not fucked." He announced, pretending that he'd misunderstood her completely, allowing a slight slur to wind it's way through his comment.
She huffed and explained. "I didn't say that, I said foxed…you know, drunk? Three sheets to the wind?"
Again he sought to bait her. "I really would be fucked if I shit in the wind, you know I think that's probably illegal in some states—" He wasn't normally so talkative, nor was he given to complete flat humor, but drunk people were and so he needed to be.
Nancy's groan of irritation cut him off and she whipped the covers away in her frustration, sitting up after only a minor struggle with the cumbersome frontload of her stomach and speared him with a truly livid, sleep-deprived glare. "Did you wake me up by accident, or was it an on purpose kinda thing, meant to torment me for what I did earlier?"
In his feigned drunken state he laughed, sliding his unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders and letting it fall where he stood. He'd only ever seen his wife bear such a disgusted expression, one other time in all the time he'd known her and that was when she'd found a bottle of red nail polish broken and spilled in her luggage. It bordered on adorable, the pinched expression that changed from irritation, to curiosity and then to unchecked frustration. Finally he spoke. "I wanted to apologize to you." He let his struggle with the belt buckle lend to his drunken appearance.
"It couldn't wait 'til morning?" Her voice was lackluster and her face still bore a tempestuous scowl.
He watched her during a long silence, as her eyelids continued to droop of their own accord, warning him of the possibility that she might ignore him altogether and fall right back to sleep. Giving up on the buckle, he took a few purposely unstable steps in her direction when he saw that she was distracted by the glass of water on the night table, for which she had just reached. He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her as she lifted the glass to her lips.
She was startled when she felt his hands on either side of her thighs, indicating that he had scooted up and was now positioned between her knees. The smallest dribble of water fell from her lips to land on his face when he blinked up at her with an intoxicated expression. She swallowed the sip when he laughed softly and then she mumbled. "Sorry."
"I'm the one apologizing, remember?" He asked, leaning forward and laying his head on the mound of her stomach, knowing that if he faced her while he spoke she would quickly catch on to the fact that he wasn't actually drunk.
Awkwardly she held the glass of water and sat with her legs on either side of his wide torso, his arms snaking around from her thighs, fingers lacing together at the small of her back. "Dave, you—"
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this." He admitted and she could feel his voice rumble against the flesh of her belly. "It wasn't supposed to be torture—but it is."
"Thanks a lot." Her wry response indicated that she was taken aback by the notion that she was a veritable tormentor.
"Or maybe it was…I mean—I meant for it to be torture for you." He sighed heavily. What was intended to be a simple, feigned, drunken confession, interwoven with enough of the truth to get her talking was swiftly becoming the pure, unadulterated truth. Dave hadn't fully anticipated that he would be hit with a myriad of emotions while exacting his gentle revenge on her, but her unresisting silence was presenting no distraction and he could feel those emotions effusively. "I only brought you here to taunt you…to try to prove to myself that I could still make you want me." His thumbs on her lower back made soft back and forth motions.
Well, the truth was certainly raw and brash. The trip had been meant as a tool of seduction…he'd had an ulterior motive all along. Nancy frowned, unable to move away from him, she was forced to hear him out, whether she liked what she heard or not. It hadn't been enough for him to tease her on the home front; he had to drag her out of town where she had no refuge from his advances.
"But it backfired on me…because it's torture for me—not you." His face was buried against her belly. "All day today…driving me mad, just watching you, wishing you wanted me to touch you or hold you…I was going nuts remembering making love to you…and then tonight at dinner I had this big idiotic plan. I was going to somehow make you want to fall into bed with me…and I failed, miserably." He let out a thick breath and his hold tightened slightly, as if he couldn't bear the thought of letting her loose…and truth be told, he couldn't.
"Maybe we should talk about this when you're sober." The confession of how he felt, what he planned, the extent of his need for her, suddenly terrified her and she wasn't sure she could deal with it. What if he said he loved her and required a response?
But he ignored her suggestion and continued. "And I actually thought I was doing okay…that I was going to be able to resist it, until I saw you in that towel…water dripping down your neck and then felt you in my lap…It's hard, when you want someone that doesn't want to have anything to do with you." Now that he'd said what he truly wanted her to know, he decided that if he said much more, she might figure out his charade.
"It's not that I—" Nancy bit off her comment, letting out a smooth breath. She bit the corner of her lip, not knowing exactly how she should react to hearing how he felt. She downed the rest of the water in the glass and laid it on the bed behind her since his embrace had her trapped and unable to reach the night table. "I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea…" her voice floated out softly.
'This is it.' He thought to himself. 'This is where it happens.'
"It's just that I'm not even sure how I'm supposed to feel, much less how you are…But that's not really your fault and if I was being completely fair I'd stop treating you like it is." Nancy waited for any sign from him that he agreed and was confronted only with the soft bark of a snore. He was asleep! Her lips curved into a smile as a trembling sigh of relief fluttered past them. There was probably no harm in finishing her confession, seeing as he couldn't hear it anyhow, there was little chance of him laughing or educing some sickly-sexual nuance from anything she said. Or perhaps she could simply push him off into the floor and let him sleep there until the morning. She laughed now, softly at the image the idea produced and without thinking she placed one hand on the bulk of his muscular shoulder, as the other found a home in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
"All of the pictures I look at say we love each other. Everything in that house tells me that we were really striving for something as a team and sometimes…I even think I can feel it even though I can't remember it…You've tried everything you know to make me feel at home and I just keep mistrusting you." She sucked in a slow deep breath, but it didn't help push away the niggling desire to tell him about the key, to ask him about its purpose. 'Tell him!' The voice inside her prompted fiercely, but she held back. "And I know you think that I don't want you…that I don't find you attractive, o-or that I didn't enjoy what happened this afternoon but that's—not true…" She was reaching for nonchalance as she spoke, but her heart was tapping swiftly and the confession resounding in her own ears seemed slightly erotic. Finding him attractive had never been the problem…even in his most dressed-down state there was no denying the raw and natural masculinity that made up his character, or the passive sensuality, the underlying, yet rampant strength. She couldn't discount the appealing placidness that peeked through his stoic exterior when he was dealing with his children; she couldn't dispel the image of tender protectiveness where his family and privacy were concerned, tenderness she knew that he would express with the child they had made together. No, he wasn't the problem—she was.
Her fingers were caressing his neck absently as she spoke and toyed with his hair and it was all he could do to stay put and continue the charade. "I wanted to finish, I mean t-to let you…finish…oh Good Lord, how embarrassing is this?" He heard her say.
"I guess I sort of felt that if I let myself enjoy it, if I let it get out of hand, that in some really silly way it would mean that I'm a whore…It's really no different than having sex with a stranger, even if the stranger lives with you and doesn't pose a threat…it's like 'doing' your roommate, maybe…I don't know." A tremor of shame had crept into her voice. "Maybe I'm even a little afraid that if I do let you…if we do—you know, then I won't remember how I did things before, and it won't be…or you won't enjoy—oh, hell…" She was exasperated and unsure if she should even continue.
Dave, on the other hand was absolutely floored. He had never really looked at it that way before, he'd just assumed that her rejection of him was because she had somehow fallen out of love with him, or that she hadn't really wanted him to begin with…even so he should have known better. He could understand how someone might feel intimidated by a complete lack of memory, but it didn't compare to the complete loss of any remembrances of an intimate past. It was something like a surgeon attempting heart surgery, after forgetting everything he'd learned…no wonder she felt as if she'd be inept.
"I'm sorry if I made you feel like you aren't appealing, because you are…without a doubt, you are." Nancy told him, her hand having ventured over the muscles of his upper back, tracing the lines and blurred edges of the tattoo there, as she spoke.
He resisted the impulse to succumb to a hot shiver at the feel of her touch and instead swallowed thickly, listening as she continued.
"I was sure that I was losing my own mind tonight at dinner because every time I looked at you, I kept having these visions of things I think we've done…things I know I…liked." Nancy waited, expecting to hear him snore again, but he was peacefully silent. "I know I'll like them again…I just need to trust you more I guess…maybe I need a little time. I just wish you could understand that it's not because of you…I do—want you."
It was all he needed to know. To hear it from her lips was as good as a bill signed in ink by the President. Just the admission that she didn't find him appalling boosted his self esteem more than anything else could have. And now that his confession had worked like a charm, he knew he had won the battle and he might as well let her know it too.
"Well, thank God for that…" Dave announced. "I was beginning to think I'd lost my touch." His voice suddenly clear, held no hint that he was drunk or had ever been; he rose up, slid an open palm over her stomach and then stood to his full height and stretched, concealing an overconfident smile as it tickled his lips.
Nancy's mouth flew open when she heard the tenor of his lucid voice, watched his fluid, decisive movements. There was no trace of the lumbering drunkenness he'd exhibited mere moments ago. She observed him as he very easily finished unbuckling the belt, whipping it out of the belt loops sliding it with perfect grace over the back of the chair, followed by the shirt which he scooped up off of the floor and folded neatly. "You—You were awake?" Her voice was a shocked squawk.
He could swear that her face went from its natural dewy olive to ashen, to crimson in a matter of only seconds and her normally crystalline jade eyes, glimmered like a molten peridot. "Yes Ma'am." He wet his lower lip and straightened the pile of loose and scattered change.
Nancy's eyes narrowed to little more than slits and she puckered her lips preparing for a verbal blast befitting his treachery, but the lack of appropriate words, fizzled her attempt before it even got off the ground. Seconds—only a few ticked by and she realized exactly what he'd done…not that she was truly ungrateful for his confession, because she was certainly better off informed of his intent and even a bit flattered to know he actually wanted her—it was simply that she hadn't quite been ready to furnish him with her own. The belief that he had been asleep and none the wiser had given her a modicum of reassurance that she was safe in letting it out, getting it off of her chest—and so she had. And now he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she wanted him…because he'd heard it from her very own mouth. "You faked drunk, just to get me to let my guard down, didn't you?"
"Is that what that was?" His head whirled around, his eyes twinkling conspiratorially as his lips twitched with barely concealed mirth. He stacked his cell phone neatly next to his wallet.
A forceful thump of her palm against the pillow as she fluffed it up caught his attention. Nancy shook her head incredulously as a disgusted hiss slid from her mouth. She didn't know whether to throw the pillow at him, or hide beneath it in her humiliation. "You live to keep me guessing, don't you?"
He glanced down his nose at her, and let the irrepressible smile lift the corners of his mouth as he addressed her. "See it worked, you're starting to remember already."
"How noble of you to resort to the lowest measure just to get a confession out of me." Nancy couldn't resist a grin, even though she thought his stratagem to be very unsporting. "Even to the point of faking your own soul-deep confession." She shook her head.
Despite the softness of his smile, his eyes locked with hers, darkening visibly. "I may have fibbed about being drunk, but everything I said was the truth."
A pause, maybe only a second or two, but it felt like forever to her. She cleared her throat, suddenly dry and averted her gaze intent on breaking the heated cord created by his intense searching stare. "You still don't play by the rules." She ignored the sizzling tingle between her thighs.
"Who said there were rules?" He inquired following it with a chuckle as he watched her stand and adjust her shirt. "I don't remember ever establishing any."
Glaring wryly, she rounded the bed, shuffling past him to place the empty glass on the counter in the bathroom. "Every battle has its own set of rules…or its supposed to." She pointed out, not bothering to conceal her sarcasm.
Dave flopped down onto the bed, commandeering the pillow she'd just fluffed. "Just face it…" He bragged. "I'm the King in the Battle of the Sexes…and it drives you nuts."
She was certain his boastful comment was intended only as a retort to enforce his current position as the victor. She watched as he smiled rakishly and laced his fingers together behind his head, bare-chested with his pants unzipped, giving her a very dangerous view of the dip in the muscles above his hips, the vein that ran from just beneath his right abdominal muscle, disappearing beneath his waist band…Another sensuous twinge in her belly caught her attention; Tearing her gaze loose from him, Nancy muttered and nodded, as if contemplating his statement. "King, huh?"
"Yep." A nod from her husband; another smug lopsided grin.
Nancy stood at the foot of the bed, legs slightly apart, her arms crossed just above her belly, with the lamplight casting a glow on her face. Dave could very clearly make out the smile as it spread slowly from cheek to cheek, but it was the sudden devious glimmer in her cool jade eyes that made his hair stand on end. After one more obligatory nod, she raked her gaze over his reclining frame and finally announced. "Okay, well…let's see how long 'his highness' enjoys sleeping with one eye open."
And though Dave grinned in return, trying to appear as if he wasn't phased by her idle threat, he chuckled nervously…he might be well served in sleeping with one eye open—especially if she ever remembered what a great prankster she actually was.
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The sofa cushions flopped under her weight as Barren sank down hopelessly, slamming back against them, covering her face with her hands. "Where the fuck is it?" She muttered, groaning loudly. Sending Randy and both girls on a scavenger hunt for Seattle's best donuts and coffee had afforded her a significant amount of time to lend a thorough search for the key…a very thorough and very unrewarding search. Barren was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the key was nowhere in the townhouse…and without it, she was doomed.
Angry tears spilled over her lashes and Barren freely gave way to them. Not because she was given to fits of despondency, but because she so badly needed to let it all out and had not been able to do so in Randy's presence. It wasn't only the impressive weight of her brother Duncan's death, nor was it merely the absence of the key. It was the fact that she was a charlatan. Barren was a liar and an interloper. She had carelessly meshed her problems with someone else's and now they were dangerously close to doubling for both parties. If she didn't solve the fatal dilemma soon, she would end up thrusting every one of her new acquaintances right into the line of fire. And that was something she had never intended.
Barren was saddened that the gravity of the situation forced upon her had caused her to resort to tactics that she had previously abhorred. Things her dear mother had warned her never to give freedom to. She had lied more times than she could count…certainly more times than she had been honest in the past few weeks. She had stolen money from the delivery driver's collection bag and she felt a fresh wave of guilt every time she thought of how they might have taken it out of the man's paycheck. She had wormed her way into Randy's life and made a dastardly mess of his best laid plans...and even Max…Nancy's best friend hadn't been immune to Barren's indiscriminate betrayal. She had used the very worst sort of dishonesty just to prevent him from exposing her. Barren had planted seeds of doubt in Max's heart about the security or lack thereof in his longtime friendship.
She had sown doubt in Dave Batista's head too, via Randy. Carelessly convincing Randy that Nancy was ready to hightail it back to wherever she came from—just to get them out of the house so she could have her search for the key. And now after having realized that the key might actually be with Nancy, Barren knew that her web of lies was about to grow exponentially larger, because now she had to turn around and scheme in another angle. It was becoming a worrisome burden that Barren wasn't sure she could even carry, but she was smart enough to know that the longer she stayed ingrained in the lives of her new friends; the longer she stayed in one place—the closer McCaughey's people were getting to her.
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Waiting in the drive-up of the donut shop after having ordered half a dozen 'things' with sprinkles and some crème filled Bavarian concoction meant to overload the system of any normally carb-conscious dieter, Randy Orton sighed contentedly and smiled. Different…this was definitely different. A few weeks prior; the suggestion of racing to get donuts and coffee would have been meant as a clever means of escape for him from a one-night-stand in the early morning hours, but not today.
There was something inordinately domestic about sitting in the drive-up ordering donuts and coffee with two kids in the seats; a constant featherlike annoyance on the back of his neck every few seconds—he swiped a hand over his neck again thinking it might be a fly—and preparing to take the loot back to a warm home where a woman waited for him. Was this what it was like to have a family of your own? If it was, he thought he might like it…he also thought he might feel the slightest pang of deprivation at not having it with Samantha …but oddly he didn't.
Another soft-as-a-whisper, tapping sensation on the back of his neck, followed by a very musical giggle, and his hand came up once more to swipe at the fly—which was not really a fly at all, but a tiny handful of 'RedHots' candies being thumped at intermittent intervals by Audrey who was a deadeye from the backseat. He repressed the laugh that begged to be let out and was secretly jealous that his friend had all of this to enjoy, a stable home, a great job, daughters who constantly kept things lively and obviously revered him and a wife who…well he could do without a memory deprived wife…he didn't envy Dave for that. He pitied Dave, pitied him because he'd caused the whole thing.
But there was hope, was there not? Dave had taken the advice and swept his wife onto the plane and hopefully they were making new memories over room service. Of course, the fact that law enforcement hadn't called and notified Randy of World War Three breaking out in the hotel room, had him fairly sure that their differences were being settled. He snickered at the thought and handed over a bill to the cashier after he passed the box of donuts over the gearshift to Vanessa who was in the front seat. Randy then secured the coffee and pulled away from the drive-up lane, but instead of taking the lane out into traffic he pulled over into a parking spot after another 'fly-followed-by-a-giggle' mysteriously popped the back of his neck and he spun around with a mock wicked look on his face startling Audrey so badly she nearly upset the entire handful of candies in her fit of tremulous laughter. Yep, if this was what it meant to be a family…he definitely thought he liked it.
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Lynn was convinced she was dreaming, when she felt the band of soothing warmth slide across her back and then over her hip where it ceased and stayed, as if it were hot liquid pooled in a hollow. A contented release of her breath and she let one eyelid lift…slowly, reluctant to emerge from sleep. Her first foggy sight beheld a narrow shaft of light through the space between the curtain and the wall—there was a pale-yellow, rising sun outside. The red numbers on the bedside clock told her that it was well past seven in the morning, which meant that she hadn't set her alarm or had ignored it altogether.
A measurable lack of sleep as of late was to blame for her listless laziness, of that Lynn was certain. Unworried, she sank her head deeper into the lushness of the pillow and closed her eyes, preparing to let sleep overtake her once more…for at least another half hour before she had to get ready for work. It was however, the deep and blissful sigh emerging from somewhere in the dim shadows behind her that had Lynn's eyelids snapping open, her heart slamming against her ribcage…and then there was the sudden remembered fact that she was not alone in her bed.
The keen sense of the warm band, alerted her to a masculine arm hooked possessively over her figure and a subtle twist of her head, confirmed a shock of glossy black hair, attached to the rugged face of someone who needed a shave. Lynn rolled fully to her side and was met with the clear eyes and lazy smile of her companion, a smile which she returned politely if not a bit stiffly. Then like a pensive drum-roll, punctuated by a series of crashing cymbals, the complete and utter gravity of what she had done bolted her straight upright and after a shocked and mortified appraisal of her companion—she let loose with a long, shrill, incoherent shriek.
"What?" Evan leaned up on his elbow watching the resilient, but bedraggled beauty, launch herself from the bed, forcefully dragging the bed sheets with her in her flight. "What's wrong?"
Lynn panicked, her breaths coming in short and rapid bursts when she was met with the sheer shameful realization that she had just been party to a one-night-stand. This was not her! This couldn't be her!! Not straight-laced Lynn Orton! This was a complete damnable, hellishly-wicked aberration and she was sure she was possessed of the devil to have even contemplated it! This was something that her 'Fly by the seat of his pants' brother, Randy would do…not her! But then again the decision to be bedded by an Irish jeweler, was a judgment that had been made after a few too many raspberry martinis, a string of soft-spoken praises, and a flurry of sweet silken kisses…Lynn gripped the sheet in a viselike twist and let loose with another blast of a shriek, one borne of a mix between livid frustration and naked despair.
"What's wrong?" Asking again more bewildered than before, Evan grimaced at her shrill scream, still reclined on his side in the large bed.
"Oh, Good God…I can't believe this!" Her free hand flew to her temple, shaking her head wildly, she let her eyes slam shut as if to block out the image of the entire scenario.
"Lynn?"
A muffled groan was her only response.
"Did I do something wrong?" Evan asked, bewildered and caught completely by surprise.
Her distressed gaze swept from left to right in survey of the rumpled bed-linens, the randomly abandoned piles of clothing. "It's not you…it's me!" Lynn's voice was still laced with panic and she was suddenly stricken with the realization that she was no better than her unredeemable baby-brother…and that solid immovable fact brought on a fresh wave of anger and incredulity.
"Well then what did you do?" Evan prompted gently, hesitant to provoke another anxiety filled outburst.
She looked almost wild; her eyes wide, a look of horror etched on her features, she blurted. "I'm no better than he is! I'm a hypocritical, unrepentant, self-indulgent…Man-Whore!"
"W-What?" The inquiry sputtered forth on a bubble of laughter as a look of amusement stole across Evan's features.
"I-I mean, I'm not a Man…Whore…" Lynn announced ruefully and with a little less exuberance. "I'm just a whore." She paced despondently, a bitter scowl screwed on her face.
"Oh, Lynn."
Lynn put her hand in the air to silence him, abruptly brooking no objection. "No really…I am, I-I have to be, I don't do this kind of thing…Ever!" She spun around in hopelessness as if the solution to her dilemma lay in the rumple of clothing on the floor, but upon setting eyes it again her shoulders slumped and she whined. "I never did anything even remotely resembling this kind of-of debauchery" She chewed off the words as if speaking it left a bitter taste in her mouth. "I'm the good daughter…the one that they can count on! I'm not the one who has one-night-stands! That's Randy!" She groaned again.
"Lynn, it's not as bad as you think." He spoke soothingly, as he sat up preparing to go to her.
"You don't understand!" Lynn wailed. "I have a 4.0 GPA…I own my own business…I'm as predictable as a baked potato! It's Randy who's the slut, not me!" She blew out a hiss and verging on tears, she sputtered the long overdue confession. "I'm the one you can set your watch by…he's the textbook example of promiscuity…you can look the word up in the dictionary and there's a picture of him holding up his little black book!"
"You're being too hard on yourself."
"Not hard enough evidently!" She snapped rudely "I'm him! Holy hell, I am my brother!" Lynn began to panic again, her full lips crooking into pouting-disgust as visions of future family holidays ruined by her inconsistencies swam through her head. "Despite my best efforts to get him to clean his act up, in spite of all of the things I've done to be the better of my parent's offspring…I've become him!" She flopped down on the edge of the bed, cradling her head in her hands, uncaring that the sheet was perilously close to falling away from her bare breasts.
"Lynn?" His voice in her ear and hands on the smooth flesh of her shoulders was a comfort to her wounded pride. "Yer not yer brother…I've seen him and I can assure you that you are a hell of a lot better lookin' than he is."
His placid and unthreatening attempt at humor, brought forth a nervous laugh and she leaned back against the lean, corded muscles of his chest as he perched on the bed behind her. "So, you enjoyed having sex with someone that yer not married too." He supplied. "It doesn't make you a whore…it makes you human." He tugged the errant layer of honey hair away from her shoulders and pressed his lips against the skin there. "I certainly wasn't looking at it as a one-night-stand…the start of something exciting, maybe…but definitely not just one night." Evan was briefly disturbed by how easily the statement rolled off his tongue…surprised when he felt no conflict between the words and his emotion. Was it because it might be true?
"If this makes me anything like Randy, the next thing you know I'll be calling in sick all the time, and making excuses for intentional failures…an-and showing up late for everything…"
"Oh, I like the idea of that…" Evan murmured against her flesh. "In fact I suggest we be late for everything today…" His lips cherished the skin below her ear. "And the beauty of that is…" His hand then slid around to lift open the folds of the sheet exposing her body to his touch. "that you…" cupping a breast, he sighed, feeling the firm round weight of it in his palm. "don't have to tell a soul why…because you're the boss."
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His breathing was deep and steady and she watched him in perfect silence. Eyes closed, with only the merest twitch of a lash, Nancy decided that Dave Batista looked as peaceful as she had ever seen him…for as long as her short memory would recall, at any rate. His jaw was still stiff even in his sleep; nose strong and straight, hinting toward his Greek descent. His cheeks and chin were heavily shadowed, indicating that he needed a shave. She liked it that way…he appeared more masculine, somehow…if that were even possible.
Leaning over him, she was careful not to cast a shadow that would toy with the light behind her and risk waking him, at least not until she was ready for him to awaken. Nancy was still content to observe him…for now. Lips, that while motionless still beckoned at their softness, pricked at the memory of them traveling over her flesh, yesterday and made Nancy smile. But the smile was followed by a frown when she recalled that she was still a bit irritated over his contrived drunkenness. But as she watched him, breathing and dreaming, she knew that today would be the day she bested him in battle.
He wanted her, she wanted him…and now that both had admitted as much, there was no denying that fact. And so she would do whatever was in her power to make him wish like hell he'd never teased her. Stifling the urge to run her fingertips over the muscles of his bare chest, she swallowed and grinned again…oh, yes, today was going to be the day he found himself sorely wishing he'd left her home.
Somewhere, though she knew not where, Nancy could have sworn she recalled reading that the fear of death was worse than death itself…so could it not stand to reason that the fear of retribution was worse than retribution itself? Would it be possible to seek vengeance and attain it by merely dangling the fear of it over his head? Nancy thought so and was determined to prove it to herself.
Bending over him even now served two purposes…it gave her uninterrupted time with which to assess what she deemed was a perfect physique and if she remained there until he opened his eyes of their own volition, her unexpected closeness might just scare the hell out of him. As delightful a prospect as it was, the room service cart she'd ordered would be as cold as a glacier if she didn't get him up soon, and so after a reluctant sigh, she cast one last, lingering look at the hardened plane of his chiseled abdomen barely concealed by the sheet and then reached one delicate finger out, sliding the radio alarm clock on—full blast.
He was awake instantly. He jerked, as if he'd been slapped; Dark eyes squinting as his handsome face contorted into a frown, one Nancy surmised had probably matched her own last night, when he'd carelessly woken her. She chuckled, sitting mere inches from the edge of the bed, in the desk chair which she had silently tugged near the bedside for her use, when she'd first formulated the plan. Dave Batista's livid and befuddled glare swept and then locked on her…he jumped again not having expected her to be so near.
"Good morning…honey." Nancy said brightly, not bothering to hide the smooth smile that leapt to her lips as she graced him with the embellished endearment. It was all she could do, not to laugh out loud, when she observed his fierce frown and saw him glance at the blaring, bedside clock as if his own harsh grimace could silence it. "Oops, sorry…that is a bit loud." Nancy grimaced and then she turned the radio alarm off, with one smooth motion.
Dave was exhausted and in a notably foul mood. His body was protesting every sound within a mile, he was half tempted to curse at the ironic injustice of being woken up, but he knew he'd be a fool if he did. Another swift and painful jerk of his head, caught her with a smirk that twisted her full lips, sitting next to the bed…only a foot or two away from the numbers on the clock that told him it was still barely eight o'clock.
It probably wouldn't have seemed so early, had not the last memory of his fogged brain been that of glancing at the clock somewhere around 4 a.m., and silently praying that his wife didn't play a prank on him while he slept. Her very gently vicious threat from last night had met with it's intent to strike fear in his heart and he'd been up half the night waiting until her eyes drifted shut before falling off to sleep himself.
Being possessed of the notion that she had indeed somehow wrangled him in the night, he lay there wondering if he dared even move. The fact that the woman in question, his wife was mere feet from him, fully awake and with a very thinly concealed devious expression, sent Dave Batista's blood racing through his veins in icy fear. Fear of what she might have done while he was sleeping. A discreet kick of his leg beneath the sheets revealed she hadn't tied him to the bed and dually it had confirmed that she'd not glued or taped any part of his anatomy to any other parts. He was remiss to breathe a sigh of relief until he was certain that he was completely unmarred. "What are you doing?" He finally ventured to ask, his voice a mere scratch.
A smile and her eyes glittered devilishly. "Just watching you sleep."
"Why?"
"Well because there's never an opportunity for me to study you, or watch you without you getting the wrong idea." Nancy admitted, a certain thread of truth weaving through her statement. "And so since I was up, I thought 'What the heck' and pulled up the chair…and here I am."
The silken darkness of her tone on the last four words of her explanation, struck a surprising chord of dread deep within him. Intimidated? Struck by fear? Never! Maybe? But by a woman more than a foot shorter than he? By a woman he outweighed by better than a hundred-twenty pounds? Damn right he was…and though he wouldn't tell her that, he was just the slightest bit inclined to believe that his wife had done something heinous and he was going to pay dearly for it. As it stood, Nancy had patted his shoulder and rose to her feet, lightheartedly suggesting he get up and then she strode as regally as royalty across the master suite and flung the curtains wide, letting in a blasted bright span of sunlight that caused him to squint fiercely and jerk like a vampire caught out of his lair. Tempted to curse vehemently, he was cut short by her cheerful announcement of breakfast.
"You really should get up now." She chided.
He frowned, deciding that she probably wouldn't let him sleep even if he were crass enough to demand she do so. Dave swung his feet over the side and stood, but not before checking to see that he was still meagerly clothed…his inner beast served to warn him that she might've had enough moxie to have exchanged his respectable underwear with something from an all-night novelty shop, while he was soundlessly dreaming. Once confirming that he was still encased in his black boxers, he padded on weary legs to the bathroom and shut the door with undue force behind him.
The first thing he did was check closely to see that she'd not drawn something of a phallic nature on his forehead in permanent marker and once satisfied that he'd mysteriously received no retaliation to his other body parts, he reemerged from the bathroom to find her bustling about the table in the living area, arranging the wares from the room service cart.
It was markedly difficult for Nancy not to laugh at his behavior. Her hulking husband was blessedly paranoid and that told her that she was succeeding in her attempts to keep him guessing…she'd just bet he'd been in that bathroom checking to see that she'd not marked his body up in some sinful way. She lifted the lids off of the trays, and allowed herself the luxury of grinning madly while her back was turned to him. "I'm starved…will you eat with me?" The question was purposely demure and she was pleased when his grunt of acceptance was followed by the sound of him sliding into the chair.
"This looks good." Dave said hesitantly as he appraised the fluffy omelet on the plate, wondering if she had toyed with it in someway when he wasn't in the room.
"It does, doesn't it?" Nancy smiled and winked. "But that one's mine, not yours." She slid the second platter toward him and lifted the lid, exposing a slab of country ham and two over-easy eggs with other nondescript accompaniments. "This is yours."
One brow dipped and he crooked his lip. "Looks a little…buttery." Greasy had been what he wanted to say, but the look on her face, as if she were expecting praise gave him pause and forced him to choose his words carefully.
"Well, you probably could use the grease to soak up all of the alcohol you imbibed in last night." Her statement was sugary sweet and the fake smile showing her luminescent white teeth irked him. "Besides, there's toast and ham and fruit salad and all sorts of stuff if you're not happy with…that."
Her sudden flowery sarcasm reminded him that they were in the middle of a battle of wills and so he huffed. "I'll bet you put something in this behind my back." His eyes pinned her to the spot and he felt his pulse race when he saw her smile deviously over the rim of her tea-cup.
She shook her head and set the cup down as gently as if she were having tea with the queen and then in her husky voice she addressed his concern. "Oh, sweetheart…that's just downright silly." She narrowed her eyes. "I would never poison you…" Nancy knew she had him when saw his breath catch on the pause. "…Not when you're my only means of getting back home." She dropped the summation in his lap and wasn't surprised when he laughed anxiously.
"I don't trust you." He announced laying his fork on the edge of his plate and challenging her with a hard glare.
She huffed and smiled, rewarding him with the withering scorn to which he was due and rounded the table, her fork in hand.
If he didn't know better he might have been persuaded to think that she was intent on stabbing him with the fancy cutlery, but instead of flinching, he showed no fear and was secretly relieved when she waved him slightly aside with a delicate flick of her wrist.
"Big Baby." She muttered under her breath and slashed the edge of one egg with the fork, letting the yolk run free, she then swiped the small bite into her mouth and chewed, staring directly at her husband. "Are you happy and will you eat now? Or would you rather wait a few minutes and see if I drop dead first?"
Dave was greatly inclined to believe that she was provoking him; purposely seeing if she could get a reaction from him. He couldn't stop the slow smile as it crept to his lips. She was standing inches from him as he remained in the chair and he could have reached out and bodily seized her, but he didn't. Not in such a long time had he been laden with the urge to shake her senseless and make love to her at the same time. "No, you can sit down now." He told her and then gloried in her cry of surprise when his hand met playfully, swatting her rump as she turned to go. "Sorry couldn't help it." He said innocently when he saw the instant flood of scarlet to her countenance.
"So…" Nancy began shoving aside the nervousness and the naughty visions brought on by his millisecond contact with her derriere. "What do you have planned for today?" She was pleased when the question came out sounding more like a concern for his needs, rather than an inquiry to determine whether she could get away from him. It would play right into her plans.
He chewed, wondering whether she was about to spring a trap of sorts on him; wondering why he was allowing himself to be so damned paranoid about her this morning. "I really need to hit the gym." He confessed and then deciding that she might be bored all by herself, he further suggested. "There's a really popular spa downstairs…maybe you could go for a massage and some, facial…whatever, stuff while I'm gone." He was slightly bothered when he saw her shoulders slump.
"What if I go with you?" Nancy asked brightly, not truly having a desire to attend a workout session, but fully content to torment him with the thought of her performing some physical feat for which she currently wasn't permitted.
"You can't go with me." He said softly. "You know you can't work out right now."
She pouted. "I could walk on the treadmill, or I could carry your towel for you." Nancy appeared every bit the picture of a hopeful understudy.
The last thing Dave wanted, was to have half of the roster and any curious fans in the gym believing that he was merely toting his pregnant wife around for use as a human towel rack, nor was he content to spend his entire workout wondering if she were overextending herself physically while walking on a treadmill. A moderate number of possibilities such as her tripping or catching a shoelace in the equipment or God forbid having her water break—"No." He hadn't meant for it to sound so final, so rude. Perhaps it had been because of the fearful direction of his thoughts and the fact that he was a little overprotective of her.
"No?" Her voice was laced with a tremor of sadness, but before he could further explain, she averted her eyes and then brought her gaze back up to her food, not looking in his eyes…not wanting to give away the fact that she was fighting to conceal her amusement. "I guess I can see how I might be in your way." Her voice trailed off into a sad whisper.
Damn it! Now she was on the verge of tears…and he'd caused it. "It's not that you'd be in my way…" He fumbled to find the most tactful way to explain that she would probably indeed be in his way, without actually stating it as such. They had worked out together a million times before, but that was before her pregnancy and now with her less than nine days away from giving birth he was half panicked every time he thought of her doing anything more strenuous than getting the mail. "I was just—"
"Don't worry about it…" She appeared to be composing herself, bringing herself back from the brink of tears; pulling the fork from her mouth her gaze on something far across the room to her left. This close to breaking character, she dared not look him in the eyes.
He frowned again…he had after all brought her on the trip to spend time with her, hadn't he? "What if I—"
"You're busy…it's okay…I'll spend the day by myself and then we'll meet up here in the room before your show." Nancy stammered purposely fusing her voice with inflection, pretending to swipe away a tear, as she pulled from her lap a brochure detailing the amenities of the Griffith Observatory. "This is where I'll be." She announced with trembling finality. "I'll just take a cab there after I finish breakfast." Nancy prepared, knowing by the look of ire on his face, that her blatant rebellious statement would garner a challenge. It didn't take long.
"The hell you will." His statement was firm but not forceful. "You're not taking a cab somewhere, alone in L.A., pregnant in stifling heat, just to see a bunch of statues and pictures in a museum." He laid the brochure down in front of him without ceremony.
She nodded, pretended to be wounded by his statement, yet seeing the sensibility in it. "Okay…I'll call a limo."
"Nancy!" He barked, fed up with trying to find a suitable objection to keep her from going at all and sat up straight, huffing and pushing his plate away. "Are you testing me? Just to see if you can get a reaction?"
"I can't believe you'd suggest that." Nancy scoffed, one hand flew to her breast in mock offense. Then after a long pause, she smiled slyly and asked "Is it working?"
He shook his head when he saw her smile. "Between you and Audrey…I'm surprised I have any patience whatsoever."
"Does this mean I can go?" Nancy asked with wide-eyed hopefulness.
"Not by yourself." He mimicked her tone and set himself to the task of finishing his breakfast.
Nancy huffed for real this time. "Why not?"
"Because." He defended. "Can you just be adult about it or do I actually have to list all the reasons?"
"A reason would be nice." She said planting her chin in her palm and pressing her elbow on the table. "You get to go where you wanna go. Why can't I?"
If she only knew how very childish her summations made her appear…he wanted to laugh, because in a way she reminded him of Audrey and in yet in another way she was covertly gleaning from him the admission of how very fearful he truly was to repeat the past by letting her out of his sight again. How could she even possibly know how the mere thought of something happening to her when he couldn't be there to assist drove a knife of guilt and fear straight through his soul? She couldn't know…not unless he chose to tell her…and to admit that would make him vulnerable; more than he wished to be at this point. He gritted his teeth in near exasperation as he struggled to remain calm. "I can give you a handful of reasons, Not the least if which, is the possibility that you could go into labor days early." He nodded his head succinctly as if he was satisfied with the statement and he looked back down at his breakfast.
"Well, you didn't seem hindered by that possibility when you made the very barbaric, and might I remind you, singular decision to bring me on this trip with you." Her lips formed an almost irresistible pout. "And now it's only fair that you repent for your bad behavior by entertaining me for the remainder of the trip."
"You're not going anywhere by yourself."
She pounced. "Then go with me!"
It hadn't been in her original plan…from the beginning it had only been her intention to toy with him, to make him think that she was going to go traipsing off into the sunbathed landscape of a dangerous city all by herself. And now all of a sudden the thought of having him come to the museum with her was…very appealing. "Blow off the workout…it's just one workout." The words flew from her lips and she hadn't meant for them to, but she didn't regret their emergence once they had.
He eyeballed her for a sign of insincerity. There was none. And in the larger scheme of things, what was a workout? Just one, when compared with the chance to spend time with her and reform a tattered bond; really it was nothing. "Alright, we'll go." He was pleased when he saw her smile and lift the brochure up again so she could browse through it. "I still don't know why it is that you'd rather go look at a bunch of ancient artifacts instead of getting a massage."
Nancy pinned him with a dead-on glance, and her normally shining olive face went ashen. Her voice floated out on a whisper as she held up the brochure and turned it so he could see it. "Because I remember this picture."