Champagne Rules (12 page)

“You’ve deserted the keyboard.” She bent down to stroke him. “I should take advantage of that.”

She didn’t want to be sappy, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to send a quick message to Jaxon, in case he checked his e-mail before she saw him again. She accessed her outrageous69 account and started a message. Don’t know when you’ll pick this up, Jaxon, but I wanted to . . . She stopped. What she wanted to do was gush about how wonderful the evening had been. She wanted to tell him how he’d made her feel like a sexy woman. That she’d again had that deep sense of intimacy when they joined, the feeling that their bodies belonged together, that they somehow completed each other.

How distinctly uncool.

As she stared at the screen, running her mouse aimlessly in circles on the mouse pad, she noticed the envelope icon indicating she had new messages in her normal e-mail program. When she checked, she saw notes from both Rina and Jenny. 

Rina’s said, I’ve been thinking of you all evening, Suze. I had a really good feeling about you and Jaxon. You seemed so natural together. And wow, I know you said he was gorgeous but I figured maybe your memory was exaggerating, and obviously it wasn’t. Sure hope you had a good evening. Let me know, okay?

Suzanne clicked REPLY. We had an unbelievably wonderful evening, and I’m home safe and alone. I’m seeing him again tomorrow night. At a restaurant, as I’ve already reassured Ann. I promise to tell all—well, almost all—on Monday night. Jenny wrote, I have one word for you, Suzie Q. Hottie! No, make that two words: major hottie! Hope the two of you got seriously down and dirty. She wrote back, Very seriously! She grinned smugly, thinking how those two little words of her own would torture poor Jen, and clicked SEND.

Then she returned to her message to Jaxon, feeling better equipped to finish it. . . . I wanted to tell you I’m tingling inside, remembering the feel of you. You are so . . . incredibly . . . hot. Can’t wait for next time. In the meantime, I wish you sweet—no, make that naughty—dreams.

Good. No schlocky romantic stuff. Just sex. Exactly the way both of them wanted it.

Suzanne woke late on Saturday, realizing she’d forgotten to set her alarm. Hurriedly, she rushed through her morning preparations, then grabbed her backpack and stared into her closet, wondering what on earth to take for tonight’s dinner date. Maybe it was a good thing she had no time for deliberation or she’d have been there for hours. She selected a few colorful items, remembered to add earrings and hurried outside.

“Morning, dear.” Her mother’s voice made her spin around, feeling as guilty as a teenager sneaking in past curfew. Her mom, grey-streaked blond hair tousled, clad in a pretty cotton bathrobe, was holding a pair of secaturs. There was a gardening basket on the lawn, half full of peonies in two shades of pink.

“You’re up early,” Suzanne said.

“You know it’s better to cut flowers before it gets too hot.”

“Right, sure.” Yes, she knew, but guilt was cramping her tongue.

“We noticed you were out late last night,” her mom said.

“Your van wasn’t back when we went to bed. But it seems you’ve traded cars with Ann?”

The joys of living in her parents’ backyard. No doubt they’d done some speculating as they sat at the breakfast table, seeing Ann’s Miata where the VW usually sat. “Um, yes.” Avoiding an out-and-out lie, she said, “Sometimes a gal needs a bigger car. The Miata’s fun, but not so practical.”

“Yes, I’ve always been surprised Ann owns a car like that. I think of her as such a sensible girl, just like you.”

Suzanne stifled a groan, but at least the sensible car/girl discussion beat facing questions about where she’d been to all hours. Her mother bent to pick up a handful of peonies.

“You’re working today? Why not take some of these to the clinic? My plants are flourishing this year, and the season’s so short, let’s spread the joy.”

“Thanks.” She accepted the flowers and buried her face in the fluffy, overblown blooms, inhaling the familiar scent—

spicy, almost sultry.

“By the way, Bethany called last night to say she and Joel were offered theater tickets for tonight, so your dad and I are keeping the grandkids. Why don’t you come over and join us for a video and popcorn?”

Just the kind of homey evening she loved. But not tonight.

“Sorry, I can’t. I’m having dinner with a friend.”

“Oh?” Her mother’s eyebrows asked, “Anyone I know?”

Suzanne evaded the question by glancing at her watch. “Oh my gosh, I’m going to be late.” She hurried toward the Miata, saying over her shoulder, “Thanks again for the peonies.”

When she climbed into the car and started it up, she saw her mother hadn’t gone back to cutting flowers. She was still standing, secaturs in hand, watching Suzanne. Although the distance was too great to be sure, she just knew her mom’s eyebrows were still cocked high.

When she arrived at work, Trish, the receptionist, gushed over the flowers. “Peonies are so feminine and sexy.”

And so am I
, Suzanne thought, grinning like a contented—

and yes, very feminine and sexy—cat.

In the clinic kitchen, Trish arranged the flowers as Suzanne fixed herself a cup of coffee. The younger woman rattled on about her Friday night movie-and-pizza date. Suzanne wanted to say, “Girl, if you knew how I’d spent the evening, it would knock your little pink socks off!”

When Suzanne pulled a lab coat on over her T-shirt and khakis, Trish frowned at her in puzzlement. “Have you changed your hair? You look different.”

“Same old me,” Suzanne lied blithely.

She certainly hadn’t changed her hair; she was wearing only her usual minimal amount of makeup, and the clothes were her standard working attire—and yet the two vets and several of the regular clients also commented on how well she was looking. “What’s your prescription?” old Mr. Abernathy, owner of an equally ancient Boston Bull, asked her teasingly. 

Not figuring it was wise to say, “Sex on the beach,” she substituted, “Fresh air and exercise.”

He nodded approvingly. “It’s so nice to see there are some young people who live healthy, wholesome lives. Listen to the news these days and you get the picture it’s all drugs and computer porn.”

Well, at least she didn’t use drugs!

When she had a break, she checked her cell phone and found voice mail from Rina asking her to call, and a text message from Jenny, reading, Bitch! Gimme deets!!!

Finding a private corner to hide out in, she tried Jenny, got a busy signal, then dialed Rina.

“So,” her friend said, “it was everything you’d hoped it would be, seeing him again?”

“And more.”

“I’m so happy for you. And you’re going out tonight?”

“Dinner at Maria’s.”

“Oh Suze, that’s wonderful. It sounds so romantic.”

“I’m not sure I’d say romantic. But definitely erotic.”

“Dinner at Maria’s is erotic? Nope, this whole thing of you and Jaxon rediscovering each other and starting a relationship, it’s the most romantic thing I’ve heard since, oh, since I watched
Ghost
again last weekend. I’m absolutely puce with envy.” She let out a long, sappy sigh.

“In
Ghost
, her love interest was dead, for Christ’s sake. Besides, you don’t get it. Romance isn’t what we’re looking for. And if Jaxon really did get to know me, he’d probably dump me like a hot potato. After all, potatoes are the most boring vegetable in the world.”

“I love potatoes.”

“Me too,” Suzanne said gloomily. “Especially mashed potatoes and gravy, with roast chicken and those tiny baby peas Mom grows in the garden each year and sticks in the freezer to last through the winter.”

She shook her head dismissively. “Jaxon is this sophisticated guy who lives in San Francisco. He probably goes to all sorts of fancy restaurants. Bet he hasn’t eaten mashed potatoes since he was a kid. If then. He has such a . . . an innate classiness, it’s got to be nature plus nurture. I’m guessing his parents are wealthy, successful, sophisticated, not plain old normal folks like us and—”

“Good God, Suze,” Rina broke in. “Slow down. Why don’t you stop guessing and ask the guy?”

“Because our relationship isn’t about parents and history; it’s very much in the present, and all about sex.”

“Then stop obsessing over his parents and history.”

“Oh, stop being so damned logical.” Chuckling, Suzanne hung up.

Next she phoned Jenny, and this time got through.

“You had sex!” Jen screeched.

“More than once.”

“Where? How? And does the Denzel guy measure up to expectations?”

The Denzel guy? What was that about? “More than measures up.”

“C’mon, Suzie, don’t torture me. Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“On Monday. With the rest of the Foursome. Besides, there’ll be more details after tonight.” At least, she hoped there would. Unless she managed to bore him to impotency over dinner.

“You are doing the safe-sex thing, right?” Jenny asked.

“He brought condoms.”

“You left it to him? Hey, anything new and supercool?”

“I honestly wasn’t noticing the condoms.”

Jenny gave a wicked giggle. “Good point. If the condom’s more interesting than the guy, you got a real problem. Still . . .”

Her voice trailed off.

“Still what?”

“Nothing. Gotta go.”

Hmm. It wasn’t like Jenny to break off a conversation on sex.

Suzanne learned why an hour or two later when she went out to reception to get the next patient, and a grinning Trish handed her a brown paper bag. “A friend of yours dropped this off for you.”

“For me? Who?”

“A tiny Asian woman, dressed in hot pink, with glitzy fingernails.”

Jenny.

Suzanne took the bag, peered inside, and promptly dropped the package on the floor, scattering condoms. As Trish giggled, Suzanne hurriedly scooped the contents back into the bag, then rushed to her locker and shoved the bag into her backpack. When she returned to the reception area, Trish murmured,

“Hot date tonight?”

“The hottest,” she whispered back. Then, at normal volume,

“Okay, who’s next?”

She did find an opportunity later in the afternoon to study the contents of the paper bag. A note from Jen said, “Recommended by the condomologist at Rubber Rainbow. Enjoy, on the condition you report back .”

Wow, Jenny’d actually gone to the specialty condom shop, just for her.

And there was sure lots to enjoy. Tricolor condoms, and glowin-the-dark ones. Flavors: chocolate, cola and banana. Banana? On the theory that if it looked like a banana, it might as well taste like one?

But if Jaxon was a banana, he was definitely a chocolate-dipped one.

Then there were textures: ribs and dots, spirals, ribs and studs. Studs? Hmm.

When she hurried into the bathroom on the dot of six, Suzanne had to admit she did have a I’ve-had-great-sex-andam-going-to-do-it-again glow. She pulled on a shower cap and took a quick shower, then changed into the clothes she’d brought along: a lacy thong and demi-bra, a denim miniskirt, a skimpy teal tank top and an emerald-green silk shirt. Leaving the shirt unbuttoned, she knotted it at the waist and rolled the sleeves up her forearms. Then she added dangly earrings enameled in shades of green and blue, and took a deep breath.

A vigorous toothbrushing, a quick mascara touch-up. No point applying lipstick. With any luck, it wouldn’t last long. Her hair was still wound back into a knot, the way she wore it for work, and she decided not to set it loose. Wild was good, but riding top-down in Jaxon’s Porsche would result in crazylady hair, which wasn’t her most attractive look. Oh God, this was dangerous. She and Jaxon had shared two amazing encounters. Was it pushing their luck to try for a third?

When she walked into the reception area, Trish whistled.

“Watch out, Nicole Kidman!”

“Thanks,” she murmured, trying not to grind her teeth. She bent to stroke Honey, a golden retriever pup who’d been in for shots and was waiting impatiently as her owner paid the bill. She stepped out the door and paused to remove a couple of blond dog hairs from her sleeve. “The sexy twin,” she murmured, reminding herself. Then she scanned the street and there he was, down near the corner. Jaxon lounged against the black Porsche, gazing in the other direction. His clothing was the opposite of last night’s. Today he wore a crisp white cotton shirt, open at the throat and rolled at the sleeves. It was tucked into tan linen pants, belted in sleek brown leather that matched his stylish loafers. He turned his head, saw her walking toward him and strode in her direction. He gripped her hands. “Suzanne.”

She tilted her head up for his kiss, a soft, closed-lipped one that lingered against her mouth. Her knees turned to jelly and she stumbled slightly, leaning against him for balance. His arms came around her and she put hers around his waist. They leaned together, not kissing, just holding each other. Her body was completely aware of his and she delighted in the heat of his skin beneath the white shirt, the strength of his thighs. Against her belly, she felt him harden. She pressed closer, feeling the response in her own body. How could the desire be so immediate, so powerful? But was his desire for her, Suzanne Brennan, or for a Nicole Kidman knockoff?

A passerby whistled, and she eased back slightly. “Jaxon?”

“I know,” he said reluctantly, his arms falling away. “Even we wouldn’t have the nerve to make love here.”

Though, almost, she would have. Why had she worried about her ability to play her sexy-twin role? The moment she was with Jaxon, she slipped into that skin without conscious thought. When they reached his car, he opened the passenger door for her, then went around and got in on the driver’s side. In silence they did up their seat belts. She glanced across, saw the way his erection tented the loose trousers, and squeezed her thighs together. She wanted all that hard maleness inside her, but first she wanted a good, up-close and personal look. Last night, under the light of moon and stars, his body had been magnificent, but she wanted to make a more detailed, well-lit inspection.

“See something you like?” he drawled.

She smiled boldly. “So far, so good. Can’t tell for sure until I get the wrapping off.”