Champagne Rules (13 page)

He gave a pleased hoot. “And you’ll get your chance.” Then his face softened. “You look gorgeous. Vibrant, exotic.”

“Do you think I look like Nicole Kidman?”

“What? You mean the actress?” He narrowed his eyes and studied her again. “I guess maybe your hair, a little bit. But no, I don’t think so. Are you, uh, trying to?” he asked cautiously. 

She threw back her head and laughed. “No, I’m not. Most definitely not. Thank you, Jaxon.”

He shook his head, and his bafflement was the highest compliment she could receive. It was clear he’d never seen a resemblance. It was her, just plain Suzanne, who stoked his libido.

“I got your e-mail this morning,” he said. “Yeah, I did have naughty dreams.” He leaned close and whispered in her ear,

“You gave me a wet dream.”

“Should I apologize?”

He grinned. “Not to me. Maybe to the chambermaid, but I did leave a big tip. Now, where am I taking us?”

She was more than a little tempted to tell him to head back to his hotel. But she could hear Ann’s voice in her head warning her it wasn’t safe.

The restaurant was less than a mile away, but she wanted a little time with him first. A scenic detour seemed in order. She directed him down to Cornwall, a narrow road that ran near the ocean, past Kits Beach.

He rested his hand on her bare thigh. “I like the short skirt.”

His fingers flirted with the hem, which had crept almost to the top of her thighs. A few inches away from where he stroked, the new thong she’d finally had the guts to wear was growing damp.

“You look wonderful.” She touched his bare forearm.

“Coffee.” Then she plucked at the shirt sleeve. “With whipped cream on top.” Finally, she put her hand on his leg, feeling the rough linen and the firm thigh underneath. “And a splash of Bailey’s Irish Cream. My favorite liqueur.”

“Thirsty, are you?” He released her thigh to shift gears at a stop sign, and she felt the play of muscles in his leg.

“Getting thirstier by the moment.” She caressed his thigh, sliding her hand to the inside, and upward. The bulge in his pants grew and as it did, so did the tension between her thighs. She crossed her legs.

Through the thin fabric, she closed her hand around him. He sucked in a breath, then took a hand off the steering wheel and placed it over hers, squeezing down, encouraging her. When he let go, she slid her hand up and down, feeling him respond. But this was too frustrating, touching him through two layers of fabric. She eased his zipper down and slipped her hand inside his pants and underwear, finding his nakedness and curling her fingers around him.

His pelvis tilted and he thrust upward, into her hand. She released her seat belt and moved closer. Then she freed him so she could see that beautiful dark shaft rising out of the creamy trousers. A chocolate Popsicle, just waiting for her to lick, suck. . . .

“Suzanne! We’ve got the top down.”

“Oh yes, we certainly do.” She began to stroke up and down.

He groaned. “My God, woman . . .”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

He groaned again. “Don’t stop. It feels too good.”

It did. He felt so good in her hand that she was getting unbearably aroused too, just from touching him, seeing him. He was huge. Where imahottie had likely been exaggerating when he claimed seven inches, Jaxon had all of that, and a good inch more. She marveled that her body could encompass all of him. Moisture beaded the tip of his cock and she used her index finger to swirl it around his velvety softness. He squirmed in the seat, then cursed and said, “God, I can’t take it.”

She glanced up. They were on Point Grey Road now, a street of large, expensive homes, some set back from the road. She pointed toward a tree-screened drive. “There, turn into that driveway.”

Jerkily, he obeyed, driving to a parking area beside a West Coast–style mansion, and turned the engine off. “That’s . . . the restaurant?” Her hand kept up its rhythm and he could barely choke the words out.

“Nope.” But, as she’d hoped, there were no other cars, and no sign of life.

She released him, hunted in her purse for a particular condom. “Chocolate,” she said, opening the package. “Seems like the perfect match.” She eased it onto him, bent over and locked her lips around him.

He came out of the seat, gasping, “Oh yeah!” Then he fumbled for a lever and his seat suddenly reclined, giving her better access.

Her taste buds were flooded with an odd, but not unpleasant flavor. Chocolate? Definitely not as tasty as a chocolate bar, but not bad. She explored every inch of him, sucking and flicking and swirling her tongue. And while her tongue played, so did her hand, circling his base, sliding up and down. He squirmed, thrust, moaned, then gripped her head and tried to lift her away. “Stop, you have to stop or I’ll come.” The words grated out.

She smiled, reveling in her female power. “You don’t want to come?”

He groaned. “Of course I want to. But it’s so one-sided—”

Before he could finish the thought, she leaned down again and carried on where she’d left off. Her own thighs were clenched tight, against the mounting desire that had her too, on the verge of orgasm.

Jaxon’s muscles were locked, resisting her. Then, suddenly, he surrendered. He began to move with her, then let go with a wrenching groan and exploded.

She could smell that special musk that was Jaxon’s skin, Jaxon’s sweat, Jaxon’s essence, and wished she was tasting him rather than a condom.

Finally the spasms subsided and his body flopped back bonelessly.

After a moment, she raised her head.

His eyes were glowing with an emotion she couldn’t read, but it was definitely positive. “You’re going to kill me.”

“You’ll die happy.” Without even trying, her voice came out Dietrich-husky.

“You’re every man’s sexual fantasy come to life.”

All she cared about was being his fantasy, but that was something she probably shouldn’t tell him. He glanced down, then removed the condom, knotted the end, and slipped it beside the seat. “I can’t believe you did that. I mean, here, in someone’s driveway. You don’t know the people who live here, do you?”

“Uh-uh. So, maybe you should zip up and we should move on.”

His lips curved. “Not quite yet.”

“But . . .”

He did zip up his pants. But then, rather than turning the key in the ignition, he leaned across her and fumbled for something. Suddenly her seat went back until she was almost lying down. “Jaxon!”

His hand slipped under her skirt. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Oh my God.”

His fingers found the crotch of her thong, where she was soaking wet. “Pull up your skirt, Suzanne.”

She obeyed, revealing her lower body, clothed in a skimpy triangle of black lace. He made a husky purring sound in his throat and leaned over, struggling with the steering wheel, trying to contort his body so he could put his face in her lap. It just wasn’t possible, so he raised himself up again and kissed her, running his fingers over the strip of silk between her legs. She shuddered as he somehow found all the places that were most sensitive. Her hips writhed as he tantalized her. He slid the silk aside and now stroked the swollen, aching flesh. She lifted herself against him shamelessly, begging for release. He stroked faster and she squirmed, pressed, felt the tension building inexorably. Their mouths were locked together, but she wasn’t really kissing him, just panting her need against his lips. And then he touched his finger to her clit and sensation exploded. She arched and cried out, feeling the spasms wrench through her and spend themselves against his hand. He held her until her muscles relaxed and she let out a long sigh. “Oh . . . my . . . God.”

He laughed softly. “My sentiments exactly.”

Then he eased away. “Should we go before someone comes along and catches us?”

“I suppose,” she said dreamily. Then she pulled herself together enough to remember where they were. “Oh yes, let’s get out of here.” It was pure luck no one had discovered them yet. In the tiny Greek restaurant, Jaxon studied Suzanne as she chatted with the waiter. She’d been here before, obviously. Many times. With other men? Well, of course. He hated the jealousy that sprang up inside him. Why should he think he was special? Why would he
want
to be special? It wasn’t like he was looking for a relationship. Been there, done that, failed miserably. Wasn’t about to try again. Even taking this much time off work made him antsy. But hell, he’d got a lot done today, and if he put in a long night when he got back to San Francisco tomorrow, he ought to be caught up by Monday morning.

Realizing he was frowning, he forced away all thoughts of the office. Instead, he concentrated on how vibrant Suzanne was in those vivid colors, with her glowing hair now freed from its knot to tumble past her shoulders.

The waiter headed for the kitchen and Suzanne turned her attention to him. “This place isn’t fancy, but the food is great.”

“I don’t need fancy.” He sipped the tart Cretan white wine they’d decided on, and glanced at the painting on the wall across from him. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

“You bring back memories. When I think of Greece, I always think of you.”

Nice. “That afternoon was wild. I remember it often myself.” He gave her a quick grin. “And always get hard.” He was now too, just from mentioning it. “And here we are now, going back on the decision we made four years ago.”

She slitted her eyes slightly. “Decision?”

“To leave it at the one afternoon. Not exchange names and phone numbers, not keep in touch or see each other again.”

She ran her finger around the rim of her wineglass. “I guess . . . we didn’t want to spoil it?”

He frowned slightly. It was almost as if she didn’t remember. It seemed their Cretan idyll hadn’t been as mind-blowing an experience for her as for him. But then, being Suzanne, it would be the sex she remembered, not the talk. Truth was, he hadn’t spent a hell of a lot of time replaying their conversation himself.

“That’s what we said,” he reminded her. “It was like champagne. If you drank it every day, it would lose its magic.”

She leaned forward, bright-eyed. “That’s exactly right!”

Then she gave him a mischievous grin. “Though I think we’ve proved we can drink champagne more than once in our lives, without it going flat.”

Jax thought of what she’d done to him in the car, and felt his erection grow. “Definitely not flat,” he murmured, slanting a glance toward his lap.

Her eyes widened, then she gave a quick burble of laughter.

“Not flat, eh? Um, let me guess. Round and hard, and getting bigger?”

Definitely bigger. Those loose linen pants were growing tighter by the moment.

She leaned farther toward him and whispered, “Do you ever wear boxers?”

“I do wear boxers. Boxer briefs.”

“No, I mean plain boxers, the ones that look like shorts.”

He was glad for the dark skin that hid his blush. He shook his head.

“Why not?” Her eyes were gleaming.

“They’re, uh . . .” What the heck kind of conversation was this to be having with a woman, over a restaurant table? He shifted as his erection strained against his fly. “They’re too revealing. I might as well not be wearing underwear at all.”

Her eyes sparkled. “That’s not such a bad idea.”

“Tell you what, when we’re alone I’d be happy to ditch the undies. But in public, it’s indecent.”

Jax heard his own words at the same moment Suzanne began to laugh. “Of all the things we’ve done,” she choked out, “I think that ranks pretty low on the indecency scale.”

He had to laugh too. “True. But it’s one thing to get down and dirty with you. It’s another to walk around with my, uh . . .”

“Attributes?” she supplied.

“Yeah, okay. Attributes hanging around for everyone to see.”

“Nice attributes,” she purred. “But I see your point. If a guy’s well endowed, he is kind of hanging out there, in boxers. So—” She took a slow sip of wine, then ran her tongue suggestively around the edge of the glass. “I should never give you a pair of silk boxers?”

Silk against his skin, Suzanne reaching inside the fly, hauling him out, running that pointy pink tongue around him. He groaned.

Her eyes sparkled. “That didn’t sound like a no.”

He wasn’t saying no, but he wasn’t saying yes either. “How about you? If I gave you . . . oh, how about a silk thong?

Would you wear it?”

She tossed her hair back. “You didn’t notice?”

“Notice?”

“Earlier, when you were, uh, inspecting my underwear, you didn’t realize I was wearing a thong?”

A thong. His cock surged against his zipper. She was sitting there with a naked butt under that tiny skirt.

“Let’s order dinner,” he said gruffly.

She grinned happily, then beckoned him toward her and put her lips to his ear. She flicked her tongue out to touch his earlobe. “Am I torturing you?”

“God, yes.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m just as aroused as you.”

Yeah, it was a consolation, but mostly more of a turn-on.

“Want to skip dinner and go park in another driveway?” he asked hopefully.

She chuckled. “Anticipation is fun, don’t you think? Why don’t we have dinner, and do some anticipating? The calamari is excellent here.”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Sounds good.” If they could keep the conversation on food, maybe he’d get his boner under control.

He’d just taken a sip of wine when Suzanne said, “About calamari? Those little rings? Don’t they always remind you of cock rings?”

It was all he could do to not spew wine across the table. She was chuckling as she flagged down the waiter. They decided to share calamari—which he’d never be able to eat again without imagining cock rings—followed by spiced roasted lamb served with rice, roasted potatoes and Greek salad.

Talking about food got his stomach remembering that he’d skipped lunch, too busy concentrating on work in his hotel room. Fortunately, the calamari arrived quickly, and he and Suzanne shared memories as they munched.

They ordered red wine to accompany the lamb, and when they were midway through the meal Jaxon realized it was past nine o’clock. The conversation had flowed easily and he was thoroughly enjoying Suzanne’s company. He’d learned she had a way with words, a sense of humor, compassion and an interesting perspective. And he’d learned all that even though they had never touched on a subject more serious than the deficiencies of Greek plumbing. What a novelty. He’d spent two evenings with this woman and she had yet to ask him about his job. They still hadn’t exchanged last names or phone numbers, much less the ubiquitous business cards. Four years ago, they’d decided not to see each other again. Would they do the same thing now? Would this weekend have to last him for the next four years, or even longer?