LATER THAT DAY

Pax came awake slowly, grumbling under her breath.  She sighed a little.  She had been fucking dreaming again.  When would it go away?  There was no clock in the room, but she saw Frankie's wristwatch on the nightstand.  She reached for it and glanced at it.  Jesus jumping Christ on a fucking camel.  His watch had to be wrong.  It couldn't be three in the afternoon.  Why had he let her sleep so fucking long?  She had missed her damn makeup flight.  What would she do now?  Slowly, she pushed herself up to a sitting position.  She was still stripped naked and couldn't see her clothing anywhere.  Where the fuck was her suitcase?  Had she carried it in last night?  She couldn't remember.  Too goddamn many vodka tonics at the bar.  She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.  After her flight was called, she ran to meet it, but she didn't go out.  She noticed that Frankie had lingered.  She didn't want him to see her just yet.  When she saw him walk away, she darted over to the bar.  She had made a conscious choice to stick around.  But why?  He had fucking told her he loved her, that was why.  Goddamn.  Why had he done that?  She had fallen for that shit hook, line, and sinker.  How many people in her lifetime had told her they loved her?  Not very damn many.  Jonella Paxton wasn't a fucking lovable person.  Goddamn, fuck, shit.  She had entangled herself in a gushy, mushy web.  How would she escape it now?  In the past, she had relied on his princess to chase her off.  Now that the princess was temporarily out of the picture, what excuse did she have to cling to?  Jesus.  She wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready to give over again, not after what happened before.  No.  I will not think of that.  I will not think of that ever again.  She jerked the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her.  She didn't think the kid would appreciate seeing a naked woman running around her father's apartment, especially one not related to her. 

Pax padded out of the bedroom in her bare feet and she noticed that Frankie had dragged her suitcase inside.  Was he anticipating her to stay longer than a couple of days?  She wouldn't stay more than that, she couldn't.  She peeked around in each room, but didn't see anyone.  She padded back around to the kitchen and noticed that the witless fuck and made a pot of coffee for her.  He was witless, but thoughtful.  Goddamn him.  He wasn't making anything easy on her, was he?  Why should he start now?  He had never made it easy on her in the first place.  Before she decided to partake of the coffee, she went back to the living room and retrieved her suitcase.  She needed a long, hot shower.  She could literally smell sex all over her.  Not that it was bad or anything, but it made her awfully horny.  The cologne she always complained about was what she liked best about Frankie, and it was all over her skin, in the sheet wrapped around her, and in the fucking room.  God.  She couldn't let herself get swept away again.  It would lead to more trouble, more heartache.  She dragged her suitcase into the bedroom and popped it open.  She dug out some clothing and laid it out on the bed.  She turned and went into the bathroom, turning the water all the way to hot.  Two days.  No more than that.  No more.  No more.  She couldn't take it.  She stepped under the scalding hot spray and felt immediately invigorated.  She hated washing Frankie's scent off her, but she supposed it would get on her again and again.  God.  Stop thinking about it.  It can't happen.  It can't.  How the fuck did she think she could face him after last night?  She hadn't given way like that since…  Shit.  Go away.  Please go away.  She grabbed a bottle of shampoo and squeezed a small amount in her hand.  She stared at the clear liquid for a few moments.  What the fuck was happening to her?  Did admitting her love for the witless fuck bring all these feelings in?  If she had known that would have been the case, she wouldn't have done it.  Or would she?  She had wanted Donovan back then, especially after she got to know him, but the hurt was so fresh, the grief still very strong.  She was still staring at the shampoo when she felt a pair of hands clamp down on her shoulders.

"Shit," she cried.  "Don't you know not to do that?  I could have fucking taken you out."

"Really jomfru [virgin]?"

Sheer terror entered her body, tightening it like a wire.  She turned around; ready to throttle the man, but when she turned around, no one was there.  Shit.  She sighed and breathed deeply until her larruping heart calmed down.  She put the shampoo to her hair and scrubbed vigorously.  God.  She was fucked up.  Completely fucked up.  If she made it out of Chicago sane, it would be a miracle.  Why hadn't she just gotten on the fucking plane?  Maybe if she rushed her shower, she could get out of here before Frankie returned.  If not, he wouldn't let her go.  Since when do you let someone tie you down?  Since never.  She quickly rinsed the shampoo out of her hair and the soap off her body.  Rushing around, probably looking like an idiot, she jumped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.  Like a woman possessed, she dried her body off as quickly as possible.  When she barreled into the bedroom a few moments later, she gasped.  Donovan was sitting on the freshly made bed, gazing at her curiously.  She wondered if he sensed what she had been about to do.  God.  She hated it when he looked at her like that.  She couldn't read him.  His smoky eyes burned into her, seemingly trying to touch her soul, uncover her secrets, secrets she wanted kept buried.  He knew what she was trying to do, and before the day ended, he would make her admit it.  She held the towel up to her naked body protectively, dying to step around him, but he wouldn't let her skirt him.  No fucking way.  She was trapped again.

"Jonella, why are you in such a hurry," he asked, his voice low and demanding.  "Were you expecting me to stay out longer than I did?"  He noticed she said nothing, she continued to cringe against the bathroom door, holding the towel up to her body, not realizing that it covered nothing.  She was too damn tall.  "I brought your suitcase in as you can see and I'm ashamed to say it, but I did go through it.  Considering our past relationship, I thought it was warranted that I invade your privacy.  I felt a little guilty about that at first until I saw you ripping out of the bathroom.  You have rotating tickets, Pax, when did you intend to leave?  Today?  Tomorrow?"  He laughed bitterly, sardonically.  "Why am I drawn to women who love running away?"  He sighed.  "So, what's your excuse this time?  Do you have one?  Or are you going to bullshit me?"

"You're good at digging, Frank.  Why don't you tell me?"  She dropped the towel and approached the bed.  Her clothing was laid out on the side opposite Donovan.  With his eyes on her the entire time, she dressed slowly, putting herself together piece by piece until her body was covered properly.  When she tore open the suitcase, why hadn't she noticed that the fucking plane tickets had been shuffled around?  Of course he would pilfer through her shit.  Had she wanted him to do it?  Had she wanted this confrontation?  Did she want to be stopped?  Goddamn it.  Once fully clothed, she turned to look at Donovan.  He had yet to take his eyes off her.  The stupid fuck was expecting an answer.  "I wasn't…"

The words had barely left her mouth before he was on her like a shot.  He grabbed her wrist and took advantage of the height difference.  Thank God she hadn't put on those ridiculous fucking boots.  "Bullshit is your choice.  Back to your old self I see."  He stared down at her, holding her hostage with his eyes [Those damn fucking sexy eyes].  He wouldn't let her go.  "What is it," he asked.  "What is motivating you now?  Remy is gone, she can't be your excuse.  I've made it clear how I feel about you, so that can't be your excuse.  You came back and did so for a reason, so there must be something inside you, some feeling.  I've heard the words, Pax, heard them twice.  Do you really feel it?  Do you?  So, tell me, what's your excuse?  No more bullshit."         

"Do you have to know every fucking thing about me, Frank?  Can I not have something inside that you do not know?  Is it allowed?  Do I really know everything about you?  Back off, okay?  This shit is new for me and I'm not sure what I should be doing.  You don't know how the hell it feels, now do you?  Have you ever been alone for five fucking minutes in your life?  Have you ever not had a lover?  Some ditzy princess at your beck and call?  I know the answer to that, Frankie, I really do.  You have never had to be without somebody.  Guys like you are never alone for long.  I got scared because I fucking don't know what the hell is happening.  Haven't you ever been scared?  I spent so much time hating your guts, but not hating you.  Back off.  I fucked up and I'm sorry."

"What I'm about to say is going to piss you off and you'll probably punch me out, but I'm ready for whatever you have coming.  I understand fear, I know it, but you know what?  I don't believe you for one second.  I know there's something else, because I see it.  I'm not your father or your boss or your priest.  You can walk out that door any time you please and I won't stop you.  Just don't sneak out on me, don't hide, do it out in the open.  I told you once, but I'll repeat it.  Some day, you will tell me.  You will, because I won't ever leave you alone until you do.  Remember that.  Know it.  Live it."

If she had had the energy, she would have punched the fucker right out.  Smug bastard.  He deserved a fat lip and a bloody nose.  However, she didn't have the energy.  When he finished glaring at her menacingly, he released her and backed away.  He turned toward the bedroom door and let himself out.  If she had had anything in her hand, she would have thrown it at him.  She knew he meant every word he said, every single damn word.  She went over to her suitcase and snapped it closed.  She wanted to go back into the living room, but she was a little afraid he'd ambush her or something.  She never knew what to expect with Frankie.  She didn't intend to stay, she couldn't lie about that, but she could lie about the manner in which she'd leave.  She wouldn't tell him, she wouldn't let him know.  If she did, he could find her, and she didn't want to be found.  She didn't think he'd be ballsy enough to follow her.  He fucking didn't care enough.  He told you he loves you.  How much more do you need?  Did she want his love?  Did she deserve it?  She shook it off and hauled her suitcase back into the living room.  Frankie was on the couch, seemingly engrossed in a newspaper.  He wasn't paying her one iota of attention.  She dropped the suitcase at the far end of the couch and entered the kitchen.  If she didn't get some coffee in her system, she might die from caffeine withdrawal.  She had barely gotten a cup poured for herself when Donovan entered the room.  He stood staring at her again, contemplating his next move.  She almost felt the need to get into some kind of defensive stance.  What the fuck was he going to do?  Handcuff her to the fucking kitchen counter?  She didn't want her back turned on him.  She didn't trust him.  She turned and leaned against the counter close to the kitchen sink.  If he made one sudden move, she had plenty of weapons at her disposal.  Come on, you witless fuck, make your move.  I can match you.  I can kick your ass any time.

Donovan moved toward the kitchen table.  He was still far enough away for her to launch a counterattack.  There were glasses, plates, and tons of forks and knives.  Perfect.  All of it was well within reach.  She sipped her coffee, but kept her eyes fixed on him.  He wouldn't surprise her.  Whatever he had in store for her, she was ready for it.  Tensing her body just slightly, she began to control her breathing.  Slow and easy.  In and out.  Inhale through the nose.  Exhale through the mouth.  He cleared the kitchen table and came directly toward her.  Her first weapon:  a full cup of hot coffee.  An ambush attack.  He'd appreciate that.  When he stepped up to her, she saw an intense burning in his eyes.  Oh yeah.  He was getting ready to fucking beat her up.  Not this time.  She was readying to splash him with the coffee when he reached out and touched her hand.  The gentle touch startled her, causing her to gasp.  Covert moves?  What was this?  He took the cup out of her hand and set it aside.  His hand came up and stroked her cheek.  Oh.  Sneaky.  She knew he had other plans in mind the moment he brought his lips down to hers.  Jesus.  He had learned a move that she couldn't quite defeat, one that definitely didn't have a counterstrike.  A moment ago, he wanted to throttle her, but now he wanted to kiss her?  Jesus, he was fucking moody.  She didn't mind.  She didn't mind at all.

In short order, the gentle kiss deepened and his hand plunged into her wet hair.  God.  He was so aggressive, not allowing her to take one single breath.  She didn't want him to take her in the kitchen, around all this shit.  What if she broke something?  Would he forgive her?  He broke the consuming kiss and his lips moved down to the side of her throat.  Her skin smelled fresh and clean, felt amazingly soft.  He had never noticed these little things about her before.  Funny how a few eye opening moments brought everything in clear, sharp focus.  She threw her head back a little as she felt his nimble fingers working their way up under her blouse.  He had barely touched her and she felt her nipples getting rock hard.  The moment his hand cupped her breast, she sighed against his lips.  He genuinely liked this side of her, oh yes he did.  In the last few weeks, she had become an almost different person altogether.  There were still small particles of her old self lingering, but he hoped he could chase some of that out.  He didn't want her to change completely, because he also liked the difficult part of her as well.  His other hand snaked around to cup her buttocks and he brought her body closer against his.  God.  She was completely immobilized.  How the fuck could he continue to do this to her?  Oh he was good.  He was so damn good.  Oh so damn good.  He slid his hand out of her blouse, running his fingers along her ribs as he did.  His other hand stayed right where it was, squeezing, crushing, grinding.  He drew back just the slightest bit to gaze down at her.  He noticed that she had yet to put on her boots.  Maybe while she slept, he could sneak them out and burn them.  His free hand came back up to her cheek again.  She wondered if anyone had ever told him that he began his lovemaking with his eyes.  He was asking her what she wanted without speaking a word.  He could let her go right then and there, or he could take her to bed and make love to her.  He was giving her the choice.  Stupid fucker.  She had thought a thousand times that he didn't know what he was getting himself into.  The stubborn fucker wouldn't speak, he wouldn't tell her a damn thing.  Oh hell no.  She didn't like being confused.  She didn't like it at all. 

She took a deep breath and reached behind her to remove his hand.  The action surprised him a little.  He seemed to have gotten an answer he wasn't expecting.  She slipped out from beneath him and moved around.  For a frustrated moment, he leaned against the kitchen sink.  Damn her.  He would let her go.  She had made her choice and he fucking refused to beg her to stay.  As she moved a bit further away, she reached out and took hold of his arm, her hand slipping into his.  He shook his head incredulously.  She had played him again.  He chuckled.  He would find a way to pay her back and he had a few ideas running through his mind right now.  She led him to his bedroom, to the bed that had pristine sheets on it.  Damn shame they were about to mess it up again.  Why had she bothered getting dressed?  Why had she bothered getting out of bed?

Today, he was gentle.  Last night, he had made love to her twice, hungrily, almost brutally with animalistic lust.  Right now, his hands were probing but lightly touching.  His kisses were demanding but soft.  During one of his demanding/soft kisses, he went to work undressing her.  How he could do two things like that at once she'd never know.  She had to concentrate on one thing at a time, but she basically let him have his way with her.  She couldn't fight him away, not when he was like this.  Her blouse was gone, as was her bra, as was her skirt and panties.  He was quite the fast mover, quite the stripping machine.  But as usual, he was still fully clothed.  She went to the bed and came down upon it, waiting for him to join her.  He did, but not until he stripped himself.  Goddamn.  He was incredible looking.  Everything so taut and beautiful.  Goddamn.  If he didn't get over to her soon, she'd jump him.  He came over to the bed, leaning over her and he kissed her again.  The moment was shattered completely by the shrill ring of the phone.

"If you answer that," Pax said, "I'll fucking break your fingers."

He laughed.  "I won't.  I need my fingers."

"Yes, you sure as shit do."

His lips descended down on hers again as he began to put his fingers to work.  After four annoying rings, the answering machine kicked on.  Donovan reached over to silence the machine when a familiar voice kicked out of the tinny speaker.  Remy.  Pax sighed a little.  Was she annoyed or jealous?

"Talk to your princess, Frank," she said.

Reluctantly, he reached over and picked up the receiver before she hung up.  "Hello," he said.

"Frank?  What's wrong?  You sound a little breathless."

He closed his eyes.  Of course he was breathless, he was about to make love to Pax and his ex-wife had rudely interrupted him.  Jesus Christ, his life was becoming a soap opera.  "Is anything wrong," he asked, completely skirting her comment.

"No, not particularly.  I called to let you know I landed safely and I'm staying at the Gold Ring Hotel."  He listened vaguely as she gave him information about her room number, the phone number, etc.  "You sound annoyed."

"Annoyed," he said.  "I was in the middle of something."

"Damn straight you were," Pax said, none too quietly.  "I think you were in the middle of me, weren't you Frank?"

He stared down at her.  What the hell were you thinking, his look said.  He covered her mouth with his hand and shook his head firmly.  One more word out of her mouth and she'd be sleeping alone tonight.

"Oh," Remy said shortly.  "Sorry I interrupted.  I suppose I'll let you get back to it and I'll call later."

Donovan heard a loud click in his ear.  He tossed the phone over to the nightstand, not caring if it hit it or not.  "What was that," he demanded.

"You need to know something about me right now, Frank.  I'm possessive.  Get used to it," she said.

"I should throw you out on the street," he said, his voice taking on a dark, menacing tone.

"Yes, you should.  But you won't, will you?"

"No.  Never."

Donovan kissed her again and finished what he started.