Three

Jon watched her walk away, mesmerized by the gentle roll of her hips. He peeked into the back room through the door’s small window, and almost laughed at what he saw. Obie was surrounded by women, looking like he was holding court and having the time of his life. Obie always had a knack for making friends wherever he went. One woman had her arm tucked through the crook of his; Jon supposed that was Hath. Shaking his head in amusement, Jon followed Cheryl back through the bar and outside.

He found her huddled against the building, trying to get her lighter to spark. The wide awning over the entry kept the light precipitation from landing on them, but did nothing to protect against the wind. Cheryl kept tossing her head to flip her hair out of her face, and for a moment, Jon wondered if she thrashed her head like that when in the throes of an orgasm. Chagrinned at the direction his thoughts were running, and grateful that the cold was keeping his body in check, Jon dug his Zippo out of his front pocket.

“Here, let me,” he said, and swiped the lighter against his leg; expertly flipping the lid back and striking the wheel all at the same time. Cheryl smiled at the move and when she saw the flame start to flicker in the cold night’s breeze, cupped her hands around Jon’s, protecting the fire.

Jon’s breath caught at the touch of her small, delicate hands, and he held it as she leaned in to light her cigarette. He watched her intently as she drew the first pull of smoke deep into her lungs. Her eyes closed as her cheeks hollowed, and again, dirty thoughts poured through his head. After a moment, she dropped her hands from his, but not before she gave a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she said, angling her head away to blow a stream of smoke into the night. “God I needed that.” A stiff gust of wind blew Cheryl’s dress hard against her body, and the cold made her nipples pucker and gooseflesh rise on her arms.

“Where’s your jacket? You look freezing.” Jon barely managed to tear his gaze away from her chest as he asked. He shrugged out of the soft brown leather coat he wore and settled it around Cheryl’s shoulders, grinning at the shocked look on her face.

“I left it inside,” she answered. “I didn’t think it was all that bad out here.” She shrugged. “Guess I was wrong. Thanks for the loan,” she said, indicating the jacket, and smiling. “I have one just like it at home.”

Jon nodded and sparked the lighter again, cupping the flame with one hand and tilting his head to the side as he touched the flame to the end of the narrow tube between his lips. Jon closed his eyes as he sucked the first tendrils of acrid smoke deep into his lungs.

Cheryl took advantage of his momentary distraction to bring the collar of Jon’s jacket up to her nose. She inhaled quietly but deeply, taking in his scent. It was woodsy and musky, with just a hint of coffee and cigarettes, and totally, purely male.

She had a fleeting thought that if any of his scent clung to her dress, her husband would never let her hear the end of it.

Her husband.

Shit.

He had a way of fucking everything up, even when he wasn’t there.

Cheryl shook her head. She thought it before, and she thought it again now. He could go fuck himself. He had no place in this moment.

The two stood in companionable silence for a moment before Cheryl spoke up. “So, how’d Obie talk you into coming tonight?”

Jon slid her a surprised look. “Why do you think he had to talk me into it?”

Cheryl laughed. “I saw the look on your face before you turned on the charm when you caught me,” she said. “I’m pretty good at reading people, and you had a big ‘Calgon, take me away’ sign on your forehead.”

Jon laughed at her description of his expression earlier. “Yeah, you’re right; I didn’t really want to come out tonight. I should be in the studio working.” He took another drag of his cigarette, looking down to watch his boot-clad foot kick at a stone. “We’ve been working long nights,” he said, “and Ob and Rich thought I could use a break.” He laughed again, and met Cheryl’s eyes. “Most likely they’re the ones who needed a break.” He’d just keep the little part about the bet to himself.

Cheryl nodded absently and took a final pull of her cigarette. She stuck it into the sand-filled receptacle by the door and took a slim canister from her bag. Breath spray, Jon noticed, and watched as she spritzed her mouth. Cheryl saw him watching her and tilted the canister in his direction. Jon nodded, and stubbed out his own cigarette. Rather than take the Binaca from her, he gently grabbed her wrist and brought her hand close to his face. He smiled at the look of shock in Cheryl’s eyes, and felt her pulse race under his thumb. He slowly opened his mouth and waited. With a shaking finger, she pressed the plunger, sending a burst of sweet, minty spray into his mouth. He held her hand longer than what was necessary, stroking the back of her hand with his forefinger, and when he finally released her hand, it hovered for a moment before dropping to her side.

He thought he detected signals from Cheryl, THOSE signals, but he couldn’t quite be sure. He didn’t miss the glint of the wedding band on her ring finger, but she wasn’t fussing with it like some of the married women he’d met. In his experience, that usually meant the ring was worn out of habit, not devotion. After searching her eyes for a moment, he decided to test his theory.

“Well,” Jon said softly, leaning in close. “How do I smell?” He blew softly in her face. He watched as Cheryl’s eyes glazed over a little. Yes, he thought, he didn’t misread her.

“Delicious,” Cheryl whispered, absently licking her lips. A light flush suffused her skin; she hadn’t meant that thought to be spoken out loud. Fine, she could have said. Minty. But no, she had to choose delicious. Cheryl wished the ground would open up and swallow her. Although, if it did that, she wouldn’t be seeing what she thought she was seeing. Jon’s eyes were darkening just a little around the outsides.

Interesting.

Jon chuckled at her description, the corners of his mouth tipping upwards in a smile. “Want me to check your breath, Willow?” he asked. “See if you’re delicious too? Your friends don’t know you smoke, so they?”

Cheryl’s breath caught in her throat as she shook her head slowly from side to side. “No, they don’t know,” she said.

Jon put a hand on Cheryl’s shoulder and pulled her half an inch closer to him. He watched her eyes, terrified, excited eyes, searching his. They were flitting from side to side as if she was watching a tennis match. He would bet his Chevelle he knew what she was thinking.

He was thinking the same thing.

“Breathe for me, baby,” he said, and waited for her to part her lips. As soon as she did, he touched his lips to hers, tasting her. After a moment of stiffened surprise, Cheryl relaxed, reveling in the feel of Jon’s warm lips on hers. She gripped his forearms firmly, to keep from falling at his feet. After a moment, Jon broke the kiss and inched back.

He smiled, gently tucking a wind-caught lock of hair behind Cheryl’s ear. “Yes, delicious is the right word,” he said, licking his lips. “Shall we return to the party, Willow?”

“It’s Cheryl,” she said softly. “And I guess we should.”

Jon crooked his right elbow in her direction and made a little half-bow. She dropped a quick curtsy before looping her left arm through his, resting her hand on his forearm. He covered her cold hand with his warm one, and they made their way back inside.