Chapter 4

Richie traversed his way through the soft sand, the moon shining brightly off the ocean. All day he couldn’t get his mind off the petite blonde beauty, and when Jon said he had found out which hotel they were staying at, and in fact had scored a date with the raven-haired girl that seemed to have captivated his buddy, Richie had been more than eager to go keep her cousin company.

Reaching the hotel, he traipsed inside and to the front desk, and with a flash of his pearly whites, he asked, “Excuse me, ma’am, could you tell me the room number of a friend of mine: Emmie Caden? I wanted to pay her a surprise visit.”

The woman looked up and asked, “Can you spell that, please, sir?” Her fingers were poised over the keyboard.

Richie bit his bottom lip, trying to think how the hell you spell that. “Um...er...well, C-A-D-E-N.” He winced, hoping like hell he was right. If not, she might have security after his ass.

The woman smirked. She knew exactly who the man was looking for: Senator Caden’s daughter. The Senator himself had called earlier and asked the staff to keep an eye out for his only daughter and his niece. He’d also asked that no one hamper the girls’ fun in any way, or let it be known that they were being protected. She knew this man; he was famous enough that she felt safe in giving him the suite number. Hell, he and the Senator’s daughter probably ran in the same circles; most rich folks did. “Miss Caden is in suite 715. Top floor, last door on the left, Mr. Sambora.” She winked, letting Richie know she knew who he was and that, if she hadn’t, he wouldn’t have gotten a peep out of her.

Richie smiled and, with a wink, said, “Thanks, darlin’,” and strolled towards the elevators. Pushing the button, he waited for the doors to open. A few moments later, he stepped into the box, pressing the button for floor number seven..

He watched the numbers light up until the elevator reached the seventh floor and the doors opened. He turned left, walking slowly, peering at each number on the doors until he reached 715. He paused for a moment, giving himself a quick once-over, then knocked.

Emmie was startled out of her story by the loud rap on the door. She glanced at the clock. It was only half past eight; Gia couldn’t possibly be back already. Besides, she wouldn’t knock. Unless she’d forgotten her key. Emmie sighed and tossed her book face-down on the couch. She rose, tightening her robe around her waist, and padded to the door. As she opened it, she said, “Geesh, Gia, was he that bad? What happened, did you forget your...key?” she ended the sentence in bewilderment. It wasn’t Gia; it was Richie. The tall, handsome beach guy she’d completely forgotten about since she’d picked up her book. “Um, hi?” she said curiously.

Richie’s gaze fell on the little lady. She looked even more beautiful now than in her bikini. “Heya, darlin’. Heard through the grapevine you were alone and thought I would keep you company.”

“I...well, um.” Emmie wasn’t quite sure what to do. She and Gia joked about the whole slut vs. prude thing, but whereas Gia wasn’t really a slut, Emmie certainly could be considered a prude, and inviting a handsome stranger into her hotel with her--alone--was not something she would normally do. She let her eyes slide over him, up and down. He looked harmless enough, relaxed black jeans and a snug fitting t-shirt, both in much better repair than the tattered swim shorts he’d had on early. Her gaze landed on his shoes. They were brand new Barker Black Ostrich Cap-toes, and they cost one hell of a pretty penny. She raised an eyebrow, wondering how a guy like him could afford a pair of those! Intrigued, she opened the door, taking a step back to let him in. “Okay, sure, come in.”

Richie watched the indecisive expressions play across her face. “Darlin’, I promise I won’t bite. Just thought you could use some company, is all.” When she took a step back, a bright smile spread across his face, and he sauntered in, heading towards the couch. “Good book?” he asked, glancing down at the romance novel that lay on the couch.

“Huh?” She looked down. “Oh! Yeah. Yeah, it’s not bad. I, um. I really wasn’t expecting anyone. I would offer you a drink, but all I have is water, soda, and...well, that’s it, really.”

Richie smiled. He moved the book out the way, carefully marking it so she didn’t lose her place, and sat down. “Soda is fine. I don’t drink alcohol all the time.” He winked.

Emmie nodded, and nervously tugged the tie around her waist tighter before pouring him a cold soda. She handed it over. “I, uh...if you’ll excuse me, I should probably go throw something on. I was, um...well.” She shook her head, unsure why she felt so on-edge around him. She normally didn’t give a guy the time of day, so for her to feel off-balance and nervous around Richie was just insane. “I’ll be back in just a few, okay?” She turned and headed for her bedroom to throw on something a bit more covering and less enticing. She quickly shed the robe and tossed a simple black sundress over her head. Sure, it didn’t cover much more than her robe, but at least it wouldn't bunch and gap with the least little move. Now maybe she could relax. She headed back out and took a seat on the couch a few feet from him.

Richie had watched her take off for the bedroom, skittish as a newborn colt. A smile spread across his face. He was gonna have to take a different approach to this girl. When she walked back out, his eyes cast an appreciative glance. “That was quick,” he said teasingly.

Emmie shrugged and eyed him suspiciously. “So, how did you find me? Gia?”

“No, I didn’t even see her. Jon said he had a date with her, so I figured I would keep you company,” Richie replied as he took a sip of his soda.

“So you just walked up to the front desk and asked for a blonde named Emmie?”

“No. I added your last name, too. You told me: Caden, right?” Richie grinned sheepishly.

“I did?” Emmie frowned. “Oh, right, I did.” She nodded as she recalled the little bit of conversation they’d had in between sips of wine and Richie conversing with the other men, whom he said were part of his “crew”, whatever that meant. “So, I never did get yours.”

“I didn’t mention, did I? Well, my full name is Richard Stephen Sambora, but please, just call me Richie.” He chuckled, searching her face of some kind of recognition to his name, and when there was none, it cause him to smile even more.

She watched him laugh and wondered, “You find your name funny?”

“No, just don’t like Richard. Makes me sound old,” he laughed.

“Well, how old are you?” she asked.

“Twenty-nine.” He winced, waiting for the usual reaction he got, especially from a younger girl, which he assumed she was. But at least legal, he hoped.

Emmie simply raised an eyebrow, recalling the conversation she’d had with Gia earlier in the day about middle-aged thirty-year-old men with family jewels flapping in the breeze. She bit back a chuckle and said, “Well, that’s not too bad...I guess.”

“Not too bad, you guess. How old did you think I was?” Richie asked, his eyebrow arched. “And how old are you, may I ask?”

“I never was good at guessing ages, but Gia seems to gravitate towards older guys, so I figured about thirty-ish.” She paused. “As for me? Too young for you.” She winked and curled her legs up under her, settling back, becoming more and more relaxed with him.

“Does that mean you’re legal, or not?” He smirked, throwing his arm across the back of the sofa.

“Legal for what, Mr. Sambora?” she teased.

Richie waggled his eyebrows. “Legal for anything you want, darlin’.”

Emmie snorted, then laughed. “I’m pretty darn sure I’m not wanting the same things you and your crew are wanting. But I’m legal enough...almost.”

Richie laughed. “What are you wantin’?” Then it dawned on him what she might think his line of work was, “Darlin’, what do you think I do for a livin’?”

“I have no idea. Gia and I were debating.” She sat up to look him over again as she spoke. “At first I thought maybe you were just a beach bum, you know, surfer or whatever. Then when we were having those couple drinks, I heard you talking about shipping stuff and customs, so I thought maybe you were into, like, international freight or something. But then I saw those shoes...” She pointed at the shiny tops peeking out from under his jeans. “Now, I might not be the smartest girl in the world, but I know my fashion and those, those babies are REALLY expensive AND hard to come by, so...I don’t know, but whatever it is you do, I hope it’s not illegal.”

Richie snorted as he listened to her ramblings, then answered, “Darlin’, we’re musicians, and maybe some things we partake in ain’t quite legal, but our job is. I play guitar and sing back up for Jon. He’s our singer. Then there’s Tico, the Cuban you saw with us, and the kinda curly guy that was hanging with him is David, our keyboardist. Then there’s Alec. No description needed for him.”

“Oh...a musician...” It wasn’t what she’d expected at all. “That’s...nice.” She pushed a bit of her hair back from her face, still eyeballing his exquisite shoes. “I’m guessing it pays well?”

“Very well.” He paused, pinched the bridge of his nose. “You sure you’ve never heard of us? Bon Jovi? We are--hate to stroke my own ego, but--really big right now.”

“Bon Jovi? Uh, yeah. Yeah, I have, I think. On the radio.” Great! He’s rich and famous, she thought sarcastically. The first time she’d been even remotely intrigued by a man and he had to be rich. She hated rich guys!

Richie slightly shook his head, a bit amused. That was definitely not the reaction he expected. “So don’t tell me you hate musicians.”

“No, no, I don’t hate musicians. Why would you think that? You’re actually the first...real musician I’ve met.” She shrugged.

“Well, you just seem a bit indifferent now,” Richie replied with a bit of confusion. He really hoped he hadn’t scared her off because of what he did for a living.

“Do I? I’m sorry.” She sighed and got up, making her way to the double glass doors, looking out. “It’s not your fault. I just thought you were...well...” She looked back at him with a sheepish, if slightly embarrassed, smile. “Just a nobody, you know? Not... well-to-do, not...in my circles.” She fidgeted a bit, knowing how snotty that sounded, but there really was no other way to explain it.

Richie stood up, his expression one of surprise. It was the first time anyone was actually almost annoyed with him having money. He walked over to her, gently grasped her shoulders, and turned her to face him. “Is it that bad that I’m not the person you thought I was?”

She cleared her throat and looked up at him. Damn, he really is good-looking! “No, I guess not, it just...” She shook her head, unsure how he would take her next statement, but deciding to just blurt it out anyway. “But it kinda puts a kink in my plans to go slumming.”

He chuckled. “Well, we could. I could trade in these shoes for some raggedy shoes, torn shirt and jeans.” He pulled back for a moment and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Richie, a struggling, dirt-poor musician. Will play for food.”

Emmie couldn’t help herself; she laughed, and playfully pushed him away, opening up the doors to the balcony and stepping out. She beckoned him to follow her. “Well, you sure don’t act like the guys I’m used to, that’s for sure.” She shook her head and launched into a long-overdue explanation for her actions thus far.

Richie followed her out onto the balcony, a gentle ocean breeze woven around them like a caressing hug. He listened as she rambled on, then said, with a smile, “I happen to like this Emmie very much. And besides, we’re from Jersey; if we dared act like those rich guys, our mom’s would have our asses,” he joked.

The conversation continued as he held out a chair for Emmie, then sat in the chair opposite her, and she in return talked about what she hated and loved about her life. And for the first time Richie enjoyed just having a nice conversation with a woman, rather jumping quickly into bed with them and having a conversation, if at all, afterwards.