“Can you come back here?” JC asked once he’d awaken enough to call his gypsy.
Francesca had just been toweling off her hair when her cellphone chimed. “Didn’t I just leave?” she mused.
“Not just. Please, Gypsy? We can have breakfast together,” he suggested.
“Check your watch, lover. Breakfast is over.”
Ten-thirty-five. Okay, so he was dealing with a woman who was not nocturnal... “Brunch then. Early lunch?”
“When is the big game?”
“This afternoon. About that... What are you plans for the day?”
She could already see where this was going. “I think I am going to a basketball game where my favorite player sucks,” she teased recalling his own assesment of his skill.
JC chuckled. “Umm... Yeah, I’d like that a lot. If you can come back here, I’ll get all your passes and shit arranged. You can go to the game from here.”
“Sounds rather involved.”
For sure, it was bound to be a hassle for her, dealing with security. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised.
“I just bet you will,” she replied huskily.
Fuck. She was making him hard simply talking! “And then there’s the after party...” In for a penny, in for a pound. As long as he was taking up her time...
“Let me get this straight. I just got home and you want me to turn around and come back. Go to this game as your personal cheerleader and then attend a party with a bunch of strangers till probably all hours?” She was already amused at his demands.
“Well, yeah... Is it possible, Gypsy? I know I have no right to ask. But I wanna spend time with you — out of bed, too. I like you.”
And she had liked him too, damn it all. This was more complicated than a club fuck was ever supposed to be.
“We weren’t just club fucks,” JC stated quietly, sensing the direction of her thoughts.
Francesca sighed. Whoever this JC was she had the distinct feeling he was going to try to mess with her well-ordered life. “What does your personal cheerleader wear to the game?”
“You’ll come? Fan-fucking-tastic! Whatever my cheerleader wants to wear.”
“To the party?”
“I’m pretty low maintenance. Jeans and a teeshirt for me. Baby, what you wear isn’t important. Your being with me is.”
“You’re getting the real me,” she warned. “No make-up, nothing. Give me about a half an hour.” Luckily her loft was mere blocks from his hotel. A taxi would have her there in no time. “I’m packing for overnight, right?”
Though she couldn’t see his grin, it was heard in his voice. “Oh, hell yeah!”
“And I supposed I need to bring a box of condoms along with my toothbrush...”
“I like a girl who knows how to prepare.” Since he hadn’t been planning on having sex while in Chicago, he didn’t have an unlimited supply. Asking staff to go buy condoms would be embarrassing. “Baby, I need your name to give security and hotel people.”
“Francesca Carlisle.”
“Cool. By the way, Gypsy, thanks.”
JC took a quick shower then decided he’d better let his parents knew of his change of plans. Instead of going to their home after the party, he was going to spend another night with his beautiful gypsy girl.
“Francesca Carlisle of the Carlisles?” Karen Chasez questioned her son when her son announced his change of plans — and who had precipitated them.
“I don’t know. I know her name is Francesca Carlisle. We met last night and we hit it off. We didn’t have time to exchange life stories.” They’d been too busy using their mouths in other ways.
“If she is who I think she is... Her family is like Chicago royalty. The Carlisles are like the Kennedys in Massachusetts.”
His gypsy didn’t seem like an upper-crust snob. “She isn’t like that. She’s just like regular folks.”
“I would imagine. I wouldn’t think Lucia Carlisle would allow her children to be snobs.”
“You know Francesca’s mother?” That was unreal!
“I have met and spoken with her. I wouldn’t say I know her. We belong to a couple of the same charitable organization. Lucia is very down-to-earth.”
Earthy, oh, yeah, Gypsy was very down-to-earth. “Maybe it isn’t the same girl...”
“If you have a copy of today’s Chicago Tribune, look at the business section. Richard Carlisle and two of the children are featured. There’s a picture. They are into real estate.”
“Okay.” The complimentary paper had been tossed onto the desk. Flipping through, he found the business page. Richard Carlisle was a bigwig investment banker. His son Jeffrey was a real estate broker. Daughter Francesca was an architect. The three were a driving force in reviving the downtown Chicago area. Francesca was renovating lofts for high-end living spaces. The picture was grainy but the woman wearing a colorful business suit and long side ponytail was his gypsy girl. Reading on he learned she was successful on her own terms, had her finger on the pulse of Chicago, and seemed to have ‘the touch’. Thinking of her hands and mouth on him... Hell, she did indeed have the touch!
With her garment bag and overnighter in tow, Francesca headed up the short steps leading to the Hotel 71 door. Lots of people, mainly females, hovered with cameras. Who in the world was worth just standing around for? She recalled the cries of “JC!” the night before.
“That’s the girl was with JC last night,” one girl called.
Lovely, Francesca thought grimly, with her luggage she couldn’t look more obvious.
A big security man in a suit and carrying a clipboard stopped her.
“Francesca Carlisle,” she muttered through gritted teeth. She was not used to such treatment. It was an insult to have to dig out her driver’s license.
Suddenly the man was much more respectful. “Miss Carlisle, you need to check in with the desk. Mister Chasez left instructions.”
Nodding, she grumbled, mimicking the guy. “Mister Chasez left instructions...” Chasez... the name did have a familiar ring to it. Had he told her his last name last night?…
“I wonder if she is somebody,” some other girls stated in a stage whisper.
Francesca bit back a stinging retort. Why did she have to be ‘somebody’ to be on JC’s radar? Did he only date other celebrities?
“Francesca Carlisle,” she announced to the young man at the desk.
He smiled warmly and handed her a manila envelope and a key card. “Mr. Chasez left this. He said for you to join him. ‘Just come on in’ I believe he said.”
Oh, goodie, the whole world knew what she and JC had done the previous night now, she thought wearily. Well, he’d be gone by Monday and she could have her life back. This weekend she would just have to go with the wild ride of insanity.
As she rode up on the elevator she dug into the envelope. Parking pass for the hotel... Official guest pass for the game... A pass for ‘Le Passage’ evidently where the victory party was going to be... and a brief missive from Mister JC Chasez himself.
Brief but to the point, she mused.
The elevator doors slide open and another security person eyed her. She flashed the pass stating she was JC’s personal guest and the world was a friendlier place. Crapola! Did everyone he knew have to clear this sort of security? No wonder he was alone!
Then she let herself into JC’s room.
JC was still on his cellphone with his mother when Francesca quietly entered his room. His eyes took in her long hair and the gauzy sundress she wore with male approval. She didn’t appear to be a jeans girl in the least. That was cool by him. Mouthing ‘Hey, babe’ in greeting, he gave her a wink and a smile.
In his sloppily tied robe, JC looked like an invitation get nasty, Francesca decided as she removed her clothes from the garment bag and hung them in the closet. She took her vanity case from the overnighter and set it in the bathroom. The next item she pulled from the bag was a box of condoms. That she carried over the desk, causing a leering grin to spread across his handsome face.
“No... Like I said we just met,” JC was saying. “No idea...” He enjoyed the fact Francesca didn’t have a clue who he was. He was just JC, lover.
Not caring to be ignored when she had immediately answered his plea to return, Francesca leaned up to kiss his mouth lightly as she easily untied his robe. The next kiss landed on the pulse point above the lion medallion he wore. It lingered until he began to squirm. She lifted her head to give him a wicked little smile. Kiss number three landed in the middle of his chest with some tongue action. Reaching down she encountered his already stiffening manhood. Her fingers took it in a firm grip, causing him to moan.
“I-I’m fine, Mom.” JC hoped in emphasizing to whom he spoke, he could halt his gypsy girl.
He was mistaken.
Francesca plucked a square packet from the condom box and tore it open. Dropping to her knees on the plush carpet, she unrolled a condom onto his fine long, thick offering.
The phone slipped a little. The camera came on. He was mesmerized by the sight of her curtain of glossy hair brushing his thighs… “Fuck,” JC muttered under his breath. His mother was going to get an earful... Another groan escaped him as soft lips glided along the length of his shaft. What sort of condom was she using? He could feel some of the texture of her mouth and could most certainly feel the moist heat. “I—uh-Mom, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, ‘k? Yeah, see you there... Bye.” He rushed the end of the conversation then tossed the phone to the desk.
“You’re a bad gypsy,” he scolded. Looking down he watched her mouth on him. Damn it felt so good!
The gentle squeeze of his sac accompanied the quick swirl of her tongue on the purple head of his now throbbing erection. This was not very satisfactory, she decided. She wanted to taste him... “You make me sound like a dog... Besides I thought gypsies were supposed to be bold and wild.”
JC knew for a fact she could be both. “Good gypsy then. My mother thought I was getting ready to puke or something.”
“Or something,” she said impishly. “Wasn’t this why I was summoned?”
“No, baby,” he told her quietly. The sex was fantastic, he couldn’t lie; but he wanted Francesca’s companionship even more. “Thank you for giving me a way to contact you.”
Blue eyes so sincere and lonely reached into her soul. This was something with which she was unfamiliar. She couldn’t remember being truly lonely in her entire life. She had her family, close friends and satisfying work. Maybe celebrity — even minor — could become a prison. “I don’t know why I did.” Well the sex had been exceptional. She didn’t voice that thought, sure it would not make him feel any better.
“Then it was kismet.”
It was probably more a small self-pity party. She and her friends had gone to the club to celebrate Gaëlle’s engagement. Francesca had been feeling a wee-bit jealous. There was no one special in her life. Plus she was fairly certain no man would make her giddy and all moony-eyed. She simply wasn’t made that way. Despite having a passionate Italian mother, Francesca was more like her cool-customer father. The previous night with JC had been an aberration she couldn’t even blame on alcohol!
Had he said too much? JC watched her go thoughtful and silent. How could he take back the moment and not make it about sex? Stroking her hair, he murmured, “You left it down... For me?”
“It was still damp when I left. I prefer to let it dry naturally.” In other words, don’t think I went out of my way for you, bucko. “Before we leave, I’ll have to put it up again. It’s going to be another hot day.”
Okay, her back was up and she seemed to be on the defensive. The ‘not sex’ thing clearly wasn’t working. Taking her shoulders in hand, he brought her to her feet. “Planning on doing anything with my dick?” he demanded teasingly, gaining a relieved smile from her.
“Oh... something like this.” She lifted her shirt and wiggled out of her thong. Rising on her toes, she secured her arms around his neck and gave a hop. Her legs wrapped around his waist.
Laughing, JC stumbled back to land on the easy chair close by. Okay, it wasn’t a bed but it worked. Sliding his hands beneath the dress, he caressed and stroked silky flesh until he found her breasts. Playing with and fondling them, he had her whimpering in delight. “Frisky, huh? Didn’t get enough last night?”
“If I had I wouldn’t have given you my number and I wouldn’t be back here.” Lifting herself away from him, she came down on him, loving the full feeling of him inside her.
Damn! One thing about her... she didn’t require massive amounts of foreplay when she was ready to go! One hand left her dress to cup the side of her face, bringing her mouth to his. “Francesca...” he whispered.
Hearing her name in his low growl made tingles skitter over all her nerve endings. She couldn’t recall sexier three syllables ever uttered. Rubbing her cheek along his whisker-rough jaw, she purred, “What am I going to do with you, JC?” He made her so vulnerable...
“Well... in the short-term, make love to me. Long-term we’ll have to work on.”
Long-term, he’d said. Long-term?… Geeze... Now she was so totally out of the mood for a hot, nasty quickie!
Realizing he had once again spoiled the teasing tone she’d set with his assumption of more, JC rose carefully. He went to the bed and lowered them to the mattress. “It’s okay, Gypsy. I’ll make love to you then.” He drew back to lose his robe and remove her dress.
It made her weak and weepy. The man made such slow, exquisite love to her, she thought her bones had melted. Every inch of her felt well loved and sated. When they had finally came, it was together in slow, undulating waves of bliss, not some crashing, screaming explosion. No one had ever made her feel that before. She was so stunned, when he attempted to move off, she held him. “No... Not yet...” She wanted to savor the hot hard feel of him a while longer.
“Francesca?” JC questioned the quiet woman. Were there actually tears sparkling in her eyes.
Her smile was tremulous. “You have to quit making me think so much, JC.” This weekend was supposed to be fun and sex. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything real. She didn’t want to think about relationships.