Champagne Rules (26 page)

“Hate to admit it, but I’m in my office. Spent the day scheduling interviews for a big case I’m working on, and I’ve still got paperwork to catch up on. But I needed a Suzanne break.”

“I’m glad.” His words gave her a warm, glowing feeling that was kind of nice, but kind of scary too, because the glow was closer to her heart than her crotch. Yikes, that’s not what their relationship was about. Trying for breathy and sultry, she murmured, “So, big boy, you wanna talk dirty?”

He groaned. “Can’t think of anything I’d like better, save having a magic carpet transport me directly into your bed. But the truth is, I do have to work. Sorry, lover, I’m letting you down.”

And the truth was, she was tired too, and not in the mood for sex, and she loved that he’d phoned just to talk. Crap. Was she really heading into trouble?

If so, maybe he was too, and they could toss out the Champagne Rules. But what then? The Rules had defined them. What would they be without them? They’d avoided the term

“relationship,” both saying it wasn’t what they were looking for. But this was turning into a friendship, and friendship
was
a relationship. And friendship plus great sex was . . . Oh God, she was really getting ahead of herself. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to test the waters, to find out if they really might be compatible on more levels than sexual.

“You’re not letting me down,” she told him. Trying to picture him, she imagined him sitting behind a big mahogany desk stacked with papers and files. “You’re really busy these days?”

“Seems to be the story of my life.”

That didn’t sound good, in terms of compatibility. “A workaholic?” she asked, then wished she’d found a less judgmental term.

“A busy lawyer.” He gave a snort. “Same thing, I guess.”

“I have a girlfriend who’s an associate at a big firm. I have a pretty good idea.” Poor Ann was always lugging a briefcase, drinking coffee so she could stay awake to work late, suffering from tension headaches. “Every time she takes some social time, she ends up working into the small hours to make up for it.”

“That’s pretty much it. In fact, that’s exactly what I did last night.”

“You took time off?” To do what, with who? She certainly had no right to ask.

“Had some business papers to discuss with my mom, so I took her out for dinner.”

She smiled with relief. “That sounds nice. What about your father?”

“Never knew him. He and Mom weren’t married. She was just a kid when she got pregnant, and she and her mother raised me for the first few years. That was in Jamaica.”

He’d been born in Jamaica. And wow, that wasn’t how she’d pictured his family. With his innate classiness, she’d assumed rich, well-educated parents. “Was your father a Jamaican man or a tourist?”

“Jamaican. Older, a businessman. Married.”

“Oh.”

“He used her. She was naïve. He told her . . . Well, you can guess. And it’s her story to tell, not mine.”

“How sad for her.”

“She was fourteen when she found out she was pregnant. Fifteen when she had me.”

Suzanne shook her head, trying to imagine what it must have been like. “When I was fourteen, I’d never even gone on a date alone with a boy.”

“Making up for it now, are you, Suzanne?”

“Doing my best. Thanks for helping, Jaxon.”

“My pleasure, ma’am. Anything to be of service.”

“Anything?” But she was actually more interested in his past than the sexy talk, so she quickly asked, “When did you come to the States?”

“I was almost four. Mom could see what life would be like for us if we stayed in Jamaica, and she wanted more. For me, especially. She met an American tourist who wanted to marry her and bring us to California.”

“Are they still married?”

“No. It only lasted a few years. They were both fooling themselves. She tried to believe she loved him. As for him, he was a white guy, loved her exotic looks when he met her on holiday, but once he got her home, she didn’t fit with his friends and colleagues.”

“That’s not fair,” she said indignantly.

“Nope.” He sighed. “He was an older guy, sold real estate. Wanted to entertain clients and have a wife who wasn’t just a babe, but sophisticated too. Asshole. My mom’s a fast learner; she could’ve picked up what she needed to know if he’d given her a chance.”

“Jerk. So, they got divorced?”

“Yeah, and she got a raw deal because she was naïve and let his lawyer handle the settlement.”

Suzanne frowned. “Couldn’t she have had it reexamined?

Especially when there was a child?”

“She had too much pride. Besides, it’s not like I was his kid.”

“But he brought you both to the States. He had an obligation.” Another guy who’d taken on family responsibilities, then bailed.

“Mom said bringing us here, getting us our citizenship, was what really counted. After that, she said it was up to us to make our way.” He paused, then said softly, “She’d say to me, ‘Jaxon Navarre, the future’s yours to make. You can be anything you want, anything white folks can be, and even better.’ ”

Oh yes, a proud woman. Maybe too proud, or stubborn, or maybe just too ill-informed to get what was due her and her son. “She went to work?”

“Yeah. She hadn’t finished high school so the only jobs she could do paid peanuts. Often she’d work two—waitressing during the day, cleaning offices at night. I got kid jobs as soon as I could. Paper route, unloading crates at the corner store.”

Her heart ached for both of them. He’d been forced to grow up early, but what choice had his mother had? “Was it—” She broke off. The only time they’d talked about race had been after the cops caught them in the playground. Should she raise the subject?

“What?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but I wondered if it was harder for the two of you, being from Jamaica.”

“For her, probably. She had two strikes: black and female. But Darissa Navarre’s always hung on to her dignity. As for me, it wasn’t too bad. School I went to had lots of black kids. I worked hard, got good marks, did well in sports, got along with the other kids. Hell, color probably worked in my favor when I got that basketball scholarship.”

“Really?”

“Come on, girl, you know white boys can’t jump.”

She chuckled, liking the fact he didn’t have a poor-me attitude. It sounded like his mom didn’t either. Darissa: an interesting name for a gutsy, interesting woman. Would they ever meet? She was beginning to hope so.

“Once I was in college, though,” he was saying, “it was hard getting people to take me seriously. Everyone knows jocks are dumb. Coach and the counselor kept trying to get me to sign up for the slack courses, but the whole reason I was there was to get an education.”

“And you did so well in college you got a scholarship for law school. That’s quite an accomplishment.” She felt a glow of pride, and could just imagine how thrilled his mother must have been.

“Yeah, well. I’m a hard worker.”

“Why law, Jaxon?”

“Mom brought me here to make something of myself. While I was delivering those papers, I read them too, figuring out which jobs had the status and money. Lawyers, for sure. Then I found out there was a black man, Thurgood Marshall, on the United States Supreme Court.”

“One? Out of all those judges, only one?”

“Yeah. But he proved it could be done. A black guy making decisions that bound people regardless of race or social position. Who else has that kind of power? Only politicians. So I decided I’d aim for either the bench or politics, and the best route to either was becoming a lawyer.”

Wow, he really was ambitious. And it seemed he wanted to make a difference in the world. Admirable, but she was selfish enough to want a man who put family first. “So, your goal is to either be on the Supreme Court, or be president?” she asked, half teasingly, half serious.

“For the moment I’ll settle for making partner at my firm. Then we’ll see.”

Hmm. Maybe he meant he’d see what else was going on in his life then. Whether he was married again, had kids. Should she ask?

Instead, she chose a more casual question. “Where did you study law?”

“Boalt Hall, Berkeley. We were living down in L.A., where I grew up. But Mom and I both thought San Francisco sounded good—less racism, less pollution, less traffic. And Boalt Hall’s a good school. I applied, got a scholarship, so we moved up.”

“That’s nice, that she could move with you.” She liked it that he was close to his mother.

“It’s worked out well for both of us.”

Suzanne’s brain conjured the image of a woman who looked older than her years, her body worn out from hard work, but her eyes glowing with love.

Her own mom would like Darissa Navarre. Now her mind’s eye put the two of them in her mom’s kitchen sipping coffee, talking about their kids, dreaming about grandchildren. Suzanne shook her head roughly. What the hell was she doing?

Jaxon said, “You’ve got both your parents, and a sister, didn’t you say?”

“My folks have been together almost thirty years. Dad’s a history prof. Mom works part-time at a garden center and also does landscaping as a volunteer at some seniors’ centers. My sister Bethany is eight years older than me. She manages a florist shop and married a high school teacher. She and Joel have a couple of young children.”

She realized what she was describing: two
Leave It to
Beaver
families. Not rich, but no one had ever had to wonder where the next meal would come from. Neither she nor Beth had ever held part-time jobs during high school.

“Sounds nice,” he said, and she wondered if he was envious. But then he said, “We’re both lucky, to have loving parents.”

“That’s the truth.”

They were quiet for a moment, then he said, “So, how did an almost-vet from such a wholesome family turn out to be such a sexpot, Suzanne?”

She’d told him a lot about sensible Suzanne, and he still thought she was a sexpot. She grinned happily. “Lucky again, I guess.” Lucky to have found Jaxon, who brought the sexy twin to life. “Sure wish you were here. I can’t believe you’ve still got work to do.”

“Law’s a tough game. There’s lots of hoops.”

“A basketball player ought to be used to hoops.”

He laughed. “Easier to toss a ball through a hoop than to jump through it yourself.”

“I should let you go.”

“Much as I hate to agree . . .”

“I’m looking forward to Saturday night.” Really looking forward to it. For more than just sex.

“Me too, lover.”

His voice, deep and husky, sent a sexy shiver through her body.

“And you do promise to wear them, right? The red silk boxers?” She hung up, laughing, before he could reply. 

As he wound through a maze of streets and buildings between Sixth Avenue and False Creek, Jaxon was impressed by the attractive condo and townhouse buildings. How could a student afford to live here? This neighborhood was pretty far removed from the poverty-stricken ones where he and his mom had lived when he was in school.

Yeah, he and Suzanne did come from different worlds, but he wouldn’t trade. If he’d grown up the way she had, he’d probably be settling for a middle-of-the-road career too, rather than striving to be the best he could possibly be. Not that there was anything wrong with being a vet, any more than there was with the kind of jobs her family held, or with his pal Rick’s little law practice. Not for people like them. They didn’t have anything to prove.

As for him, he needed more. He needed to go as far as he could go.

He pulled into the parking lot across from her building, feeling a little nervous. On the phone he’d felt a friendship developing, and now he was going to her home. Yeah, he was looking forward to seeing her, having sex, talking some more—but he didn’t have the time or the energy to put into a relationship. If things started to get too heavy, he’d have to call a halt. It wasn’t fair to let Suzanne think he could give more than he was capable of.

He climbed out of the car, collected a couple of packages to take in, and crossed to her building. It was a low rise with a brick-and-plaster exterior and luxuriant flowers tumbling from some of the balconies. He pressed the buzzer and thought about balconies. Maybe when it was dark, they’d have sex on hers.

Sex. Yeah, that’s what he and Suzanne were all about.

“Jaxon? Third floor, then down to the end of the hall. Hurry up, big boy.”

Just the sound of her voice made him start to grow hard. He couldn’t wait to touch her, and the elevator ride took forever. Her door swung open before he reached it and there she was, even more beautiful than he’d remembered, with a welcoming smile on that lush mouth. And clad—holy hell—in a skimpy garment of silk and lace almost the identical color to her skin.

He stood in front of her, gaping.

“Should I have dressed up?” she murmured, a wicked glint in her eye.

“God no!” He lunged toward her, dropping his parcels, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her through the door. Their lips slammed together in a bruising kiss, then parted as the kiss deepened.

She tore her mouth free and gasped, “The door,” then reached behind him and shoved it closed. “Would you like—”

At this moment his body and brain were capable of only one thought. “You.” He claimed her mouth again and she flung herself against him, her lips and tongue as hungry as his, her hands as greedy.

She pulled his shirt out of his pants and ran her hands up and down his back, kneading the muscles. Then she reached down and gripped his butt, pulling him against her. His rigid cock was a fierce pressure between their bellies and he couldn’t wait any longer.

He reached between them and yanked open his belt buckle. As he started on the button of his pants, her hands were there too, making him even more impatient.

“Oh Jaxon,” she moaned as she pulled his zipper down.

“Hurry.”

He yanked his pants and underwear down, freeing his erection. Suzanne was peeling off a tiny strip of fabric. If he didn’t get inside her soon . . .

He swung around, taking her with him, pressing her shoulders against the closed door as he thrust one hand between her legs. Yeah, she was ready, hot and so wet his blood boiled. He gripped her waist and hoisted her, feeling her legs wrap around him. Already she was reaching down, her warm fingers inflaming him. He shoved her hand aside, grabbed hold of his cock, found her entrance and surged inside her.