Richie sat on the deck in the late afternoon daylight, his notebook open on the little table next to him, his guitar in his lap. He idly strummed the guitar and glanced out across the water. He hadn’t played in days, hadn’t felt a need to even pick up the instrument. He looked to the door and beyond where he had left Stephanie asleep on the curtain shrouded bed.
Paddleboards had been the activity of choice that day. Stephanie had balked at first, she had never done it before, but he had convinced her to try it just once, promising her that if she didn’t like it they would do something else. A flash of his dimples had sealed the deal.
They had spent hours out on the water.
She had not only thoroughly enjoyed herself, she seemed to have had a knack for getting up on the board and keeping her balance too. Where he had toppled into the water more than once, she managed to stay upright and mostly dry. Until he had dragged her into the water with him. He snickered as he replayed the scene in his head. She had laughed at him the last time he fell in so he tipped her board and she joined him in the drink. She had tried to be mad at him, but he knew better. She, they were having too much fun and her laughter was all needed to hear to know there was nothing for him to worry about.
After their wrestling match in the water, they had come back to their bungalow for a wrestling match of another sort. And that would be why she was sleeping and he was out here with his guitar.
He strummed some more, picked up his pencil. The words floating around in his head landed on the paper. He noodled around a bit more and studied what he wrote. Could be something. He tested it out. Could be nothing. He scratched through it with his pencil, tossed it down on top of the notebook. Ignoring the paper and pencil, he sat back in the chair and played just for the pure enjoyment he got from playing.
His playing and low voice carried into the bungalow, rousing Stephanie from a light sleep. She rolled to sit up on the side of the bed, listening. Pulling on her silky robe, she tightened the belt and followed the music, pausing in the doorway to watch. A smile crept across her lips. He was slouched in the lounge chair, guitar across his lap, eyes closed and totally lost to the moment.
I missed you so much
That I begged you to fly and see me
You must've broke down
Coz you finally said that you would
But now that you're here
I just feel like I'm constantly dreaming
Coz something's gotta go wrong
Coz I'm feelin' way too damn good
For 48 hours I don't think that we left my hotel room
Should show you the sights
Coz I'm sure that I said that I would
We gotta make love just one last time in the shower
Well something's gotta go wrong
Coz I'm feelin' way too damn good
And it's like, every time I turn around
I fall in love and find my heart face down and
Where it lands is where it should
This time it's like
The two of us should probably start to fight
Coz something's gotta go wrong
Coz I'm feeling way too damn good, oh
Feelin' way too damn good
She recognized the Nickelback song and waited for him to finish. He stopped strumming and set the guitar aside, picking up the pencil again and flipping to a different page in his notebook. When he started writing she stepped out onto the deck.
“Rich?”
“Sweetheart” he dropped the pencil and closed the notebook. “I thought you were still sleeping.”
She took three short steps and was standing in front of him. “I heard you playing and singing, so I came out to see my own personal concert.”
He chuckled and took her hand, tugging her down on to the chair with him. “Wasn’t really a concert. I was just foolin’ around.”
She nodded toward the notebook on the table, “were you working on a new song?” Just the thought got her fangirl juices flowing.
“Nah, not really, just putting some ideas down so I don’t forget them.” He winced inwardly at the small fib he just told her. While he was writing ideas down, they weren’t for a song. Playing the guitar reminded him of the decision that was looming in his future. He danced his fingers up her thigh, sliding them under her robe to cup her hip and did his best to put those thoughts out of his head.
She maneuvered herself so she was straddling him on the chair. Eye to eye, she could see that something was troubling him. She thought back to their wedding night and remembered the pensiveness he had exhibited to her before he rocked her world on the balcony off their bedroom. “Are you all right? Do you want to talk about it?”
He loosened the sash on her robe and slipped his hand inside, cupping her breast. “I’m fine and not yet.” He knew he should, but he didn’t want anything to put a blemish on their honeymoon. Before she could say anything else he fastened his lips to hers, ending the conversation he wasn’t ready to have yet.
Easing back from the kiss, Stephanie took a steadying breath. “Why won’t you talk to me?” They had always been able to talk to each other. Why was he shutting her out now?
He skimmed his thumb back and forth lightly under an already tight nipple. “Not ready to yet, darlin’.” He leaned up, replacing his thumb with his tongue. “Do you really want to talk right now?” When they got home would be soon enough to talk about him ripping his life apart and starting all over again. He drew the taut nub into his mouth.
Her head dropped back, her hair cascading down her back, all thoughts of conversation scattering around her like grains of sand on the deck. “God Rich, don’t stop.” She rocked against him seeking that extra little bit of friction that would send her flying.
He let her nipple go with an audible “pop” and stood with her in his arms, “let’s go back inside.” He was no prude but he didn’t want the entire island to see his wife naked. Laying her on the bed he simply stood and stared at her. Her dark hair was spread in a dark fan on the white pillowcase and her robe was like a pink cape under her. Her skin was dusky, gold from the sun except where her bathing suit protected the most private parts of her.
Reaching behind his head, he pulled at the collar of his shirt, dropping it on the floor even as he unbuttoned his shorts. They had no sooner joined his shirt when he climbed up on the end of the bed. His mouth was butterfly light as he caressed her calves. His tongue lightly grazed the backs of her knees as he slid higher. He nibbled gently at the inside of her thighs.
She shifted restlessly beneath him, knowing what was coming. “Rich” she whispered hoarsely, nearly unable to stand the anticipation.
He ignored her plea, continuing to worship her body with his hands, his lips, his tongue. He kept her on a teetering edge, watching the rosy flush of arousal creep over her body before finally sending her soaring. Before she got her breath fully back, he flipped her onto her stomach and started all over again.
When she was on the brink a second time, he pulled her to her knees, plunging into her, glorying in the feeling of completeness he felt with her. It was like no other he’d had before. With every push, every thrust he could feel her gathering, tightening around him. A hand slipped from her hip; long, agile fingers slid to her clit, teasing her along. And with a last push, a final caress, he joined her in a free fall over the edge.
He watched her as she finished getting dressed. She wore a filmy, floaty, sundress on a rich red that left her shoulders and back bare. Her hair was a wild tumble of gypsy curls that fell in a waterfall of deep brown down her back. She was stunning. He came to stand behind her, pressing a light kiss to a shoulder that was a bit more pink than golden brown from the hours they had spent in the sun that day. She had been liberal with the sunscreen for them both, but the south Pacific sun had won the battle and she was left with a bit of a burn on her shoulders and, his gaze drifted to hers in the mirror, the tip of her nose. It left a dusting of freckles on the apples of her cheeks. It did nothing to detract from her lovely face.
He ran his fingers through his hair while she fussed with her face and finding her shoes. He knew she thought he hadn’t made any plans for them beyond arranging their travel and accommodations, but she couldn’t be more wrong. He hadn’t filled every day with activities, because, hey, honeymoon, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve. Tonight they were having a private dinner on a secluded portion of beach. They had taken a helicopter tour of the islands earlier before spending the afternoon on the beach and in the water. They were set for snorkeling later in the week and there were paddleboards with their names on them one of the other days. He pulled his phone from his pocket, he had reserved seats for them at a traditional Polynesian dinner and show one night too. He opened the calendar app; that was next week. He had built in enough quiet days of no plans to balance out the busyness.
Her hand on his forearm had him tucking the phone away. He looked her up and down, “you are a picture, Sweetheart. Red is definitely your color.” She very rarely wore red and he knew that was because of him. Yes he was colorblind to red, brown and green, but when each color was on its own, he had no trouble discerning it. He tried to remember the last woman who took his colorblindness into consideration when they decided what to wear. He couldn’t come up with one, other than the one he was looking at.
The urge to touch her had his hand moving and cupping her cheek. His thumb lightly caressed her cheek. She lifted her head slightly, her eyes, brilliantly green tonight, met his and her lips dropped open. He touched his lips to hers, a barely there kiss, just enough for a taste of her. He stepped back before could act on the temptation to say the hell with dinner and he took her right here on the floor.
“Rich?” His name was a near breathless whisper off her lips. She kept her eyes on him. He was so lost in his own thoughts she wasn’t able to read him.
He closed his eyes and took a breath, her scent surrounded him. If he didn’t get them out of here now, they wouldn’t leave again until the morning. He took her hand and led her outside where the tender boat was waiting to take them to the beach. After helping her board, he settled next to her on the bench seat and slid his arm around her shoulders.
She nestled in to him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Turning his head toward hers, he pressed his lips to her head, “couldn’t be better. Why?”
She closed her eyes, “you seemed, I don’t know” she trailed off. He hadn’t seemed upset or anything like that. “Introspective I guess is the word I’m looking for.”
He rubbed his hand lightly up and down her arm, “just thinking about how beautiful you are and how lucky I am.”
She smiled and pressed her lips to his throat. “I’m the lucky one.” She felt the boat bump the dock. “Are we wherever we’re supposed to be?” She had no idea where they were going, just that they were having dinner somewhere on the island.
Richie stood and tugged her up with him, “we’re here, Sweetheart.” He took her hand and helped her off the boat, “come on.” They followed the dock to where wood met sand and he stopped.
Stephanie nearly bumped in to him, so engrossed in what she was looking at she didn’t realized he stopped. “Oh, Richie.” She moved around him and just stared. Tiki torches and candles lit the way to where a table set for two and two high back chairs waited. The setting sun sparkled across the water and the waves lapped gently at the shore. She looked back at him, “it’s so beautiful.”
He took her hand and led her across the sand to where the concierge from the hotel was waiting. “Bienvenue” Welcome. He led them to the table and got them settled. Bon appétit. Enjoy your meal.
“Merci” they thanked him as he walked away.
Their waiter was attentive but unobtrusive and, once their meals were served, left them to their own. Richie took her hand across the table. The candlelight gave her skin a warm glow. “Are you enjoying yourself so far?”
She sipped her wine, “how could I not?” She looked around and back at him, “you know, I thought Hawaii was the most lush, gorgeous tropical island I’d ever seen. This,” she gestured around them with her free hand, “this beats Hawaii by miles.” She sipped her wine again. “I still find it hard to believe I’m here. With you.”
He took a bite of his dinner. Even after all this time she was still uncertain about them? “Sweetheart, why do you keep doubting us?”
She set her fork down. “I’m not doubting. It’s just sometimes I look at you and I have to remind myself that this really is my life now.”
“How long before we met had you been a fan?” This was one thing they very rarely talked about. He knew she had been and still was a fan, but he really didn’t know much about that aspect of her.
“When did you release Runaway?” she asked blandly.
He nodded in understanding. “So you know that, from the very beginning, we always said we were just regular guys from Jersey, right?”
“Yeah, I know, but you have to look at it from where I’m sitting. I’m a normal, everyday girl from western New York, raised in a working class neighborhood with no aspirations to be famous. The radio and MTV introduced me to you and the band, but NEVER in my wildest dreams, well maybe my wildest dreams but never in my regular dreams did I ever think I’d end up as Mrs. Richard Stephen Sambora.”
He smiled at her, giving her the dimples she was so fond of. “Did you hear the first part of your statement?”
“What, that I’m a normal everyday girl from a working class family and neighborhood?” At his nod she added, “so?”
“So, where do you think I came from? Just trade western New York for central New Jersey and we had the same upbringing.”
She sighed, “but you’re famous and I’m still just a normal, everyday girl from western New York.”
“Do you want to be famous?” He was sure he knew the answer to that question. She hated that side of his life, she dealt with it, but she hated it.
She smirked, “hell no. I’ve seen what you have to put up with and on occasion what I have to deal with. I’ll stay in your shadow, thank you very much.”
He sat back in his chair, “but in my heart, at my core, I’m still that same guy from Jersey.”
She tried one more time to get him to understand. “I understand that, but try this. Is there someone, stage actress, screen siren, musician that you haven’t met and would fanboy hard over if you did?”
He mulled over her question, “well, back in the day, Farrah Fawcett was hot.”
Stephanie laughed, “Back in the day?! How old are you again?”
“Brat!”
“Anyway” she chuckled, “imagine now you met her and ended up married to her.” She watched the light come into his eyes when he finally understood. “So you see, I don’t doubt us, not in the least. It’s just sometimes I have to pinch myself because this is my life now.”
He set aside his napkin and stood, holding out his hand to her, “come here.”
She put her hand in his and stood in the circle of his arms.
Caught between the candlelight and moonlight, he moved them in a lazy circle to a tune he hummed quietly. “It’s all about the choices we make” he murmured “with a bit of luck, karma, whatever tossed in for good measure.”
Tilting her head up, she pressed kisses along his jaw. “Choices and luck, huh? I guess I made the right choice in going to The Grove that day with my friends.”
His lips found hers. “You did.”
She kissed him languidly. “And karma had us running into each other everywhere.”
“She can be a persistent bitch sometimes.”
Stephanie smiled up at him, “and thank God for that.”
