Champagne Rules (9 page)

Her jewelry was gold to match her hair: strings of dangly coins in her ears, a dolphin ring she’d bought on Crete on her right hand, a bangle bracelet on her left wrist. People dotted the beach and her gaze moved nervously from one to the next. What would he be wearing? He’d had great legs, yet shorts seemed too casual for such a significant meeting. Her breath caught. A tall man had just come down to the beach. All she could see from here was that he was black. From head to toe. Dark skin, dark clothes.

She knew it was Jaxon.

She wanted to run toward him as much as she wanted to run away. The muscles in her legs locked and she had to force herself to keep walking. As she got closer, she could see the exact color of his skin, so warm and alive in comparison to the sexy black clothing. 

Clothing tight enough to leave no doubt his body was still lean and firm.

He was clean-shaven now and the dreads had been replaced by short, tight curls, but the new look suited his strong features. Her muscles became fluid again and she felt strong, sexy, powerful. They were magnets coming together. When finally she stood in front of him, she smiled up and he smiled down.

“Suzanne.” His husky voice caressed her name, making it beautiful.

“Jaxon.”

He looked a little older, but even more attractive. Mature. His eyes, deep chocolate, full of light, were the same. Captivating. Her sexy, mysterious stranger.

He held out a tiger lily.

She smiled and took it. “Thank you.”

Then he held out his hand, and she took that too, her own hand enveloped by heat, a throbbing pulse of sensation. Wordlessly, they began to walk, strolling away from the city, toward the more remote stretches of Spanish Banks.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” She tilted her head to gaze up at him. She had no idea who he really was. Part of her wanted to know everything, but another part said it would spoil things. Besides, if she asked him questions, then he’d be bound to ask her. She didn’t want to lie, nor did she want to confess to being such a humdrum person.
I’m outrageous69
, she reminded herself.

“I can’t believe we’re together,” he said. Suddenly, he stopped and released her hand. He touched her shoulder, stopping her, then gripped her around the waist and lifted her effortlessly onto a chunk of driftwood, so now she was his height. “Beautiful Suzanne.” He lifted a hand, traced the line of her cheekbone, then twisted a curl of hair around his finger. He touched her lips, outlining the top one, then the bottom. Then he leaned closer and her heart stopped. Their lips touched. It was the gentlest of meetings, a hello and a question. But the moment the question was asked, she knew the answer. The magic was there. She let out her breath in a soft sigh that parted her lips. His mouth moved, slanting against hers, kissing the corner of her mouth, nibbling her lower lip. His lips were firm, soft, full, utterly tantalizing and she smelled his slightly musky, very male scent.

Heat surged through her and she moved toward him, losing her balance and almost toppling off the driftwood. His arms came around her waist, steadying her, and hers came up to circle his shoulders. He moved a step closer, and their bodies touched.

She gasped. He was aroused. Already. And in the next breath she realized she was too. Beneath the filmy skirt, her new silk panties were wet.

She wanted to grind herself against him in mindless passion. On a public beach. Oh yes, she was outrageous69. It was amazing what this man did to her. To her surprise, he didn’t deepen the kiss. Instead, he lifted her down from the log and held out his hand. She took it and they began to walk again.

No, she didn’t want to ask questions. For the moment, she knew everything she wanted to about Jaxon. She gazed sideways at the front of his black jeans. If anyone spared them more than a passing glance, they’d notice his erection despite the fist he’d jammed in his pocket. But the people they passed seemed occupied with their own concerns, either packing up and heading home or spreading out picnic suppers. The picnic basket was in her car, together with a rug. And she and Jaxon were walking in the opposite direction, strolling along the waterline, feeling the chilled Pacific lap their feet. Moving away from her friends.

He bent down and picked up something, then presented her with a fragment of abalone shell. She examined it, running her finger over the gleaming bands of blue, mauve and silver. Jaxon caught her finger and brought it to his mouth. He sucked the tip gently, and she felt his touch through her whole body. Luckily, as a woman, her arousal wasn’t so obvious.

“What do you taste?”

“The ocean, and Suzanne. Enough to whet my appetite. I want more of you.”

She imagined his tongue exploring her most private spots, and a shiver of desire rippled through her. “We want the same thing.” Though her cheeks were burning at her boldness, her lust, she tilted up her chin and met his gaze. He lowered his head and kissed her again, this time sliding the tip of his tongue across the crease of her lips. She opened readily and touched her tongue to his, inviting him in. He accepted, exploring her mouth, thrusting, then retreating, and she reciprocated.

The sun had almost hit the water now, the light was fading. She eased her mouth away from his and dropped her head to his shoulder, clinging tight. In the distance, her friends were rapidly becoming silhouettes.

Now that she was with Jaxon again, every instinct told her she could trust him.

Behind his back, she lifted a hand and waved, giving the signal. One of them waved back and she waved again, to confirm. They rose and moved in the direction of the parking lot. She’d just bet Ann was telling the other two they were crazy to leave her on her own.

Jaxon put his hands on her shoulders, easing her away.

“What are you doing?”

“Chasing away a bug.”

His grin was a flash of white. “A bug?” He glanced over his shoulder, then shrugged.

She guessed he didn’t believe her. He probably knew she wasn’t so foolish as to come here alone. And, even though she trusted him, she would keep her promise not to stray from the populated part of the beach.

She slid a hand down his back, feeling first the silky fabric of the T-shirt, then the coarseness of denim. Curving her palm around his butt, she wished her hand was on the inside of his jeans.

“It’s getting dark,” he said, “and I want to see you.”

He added an emphasis to the last two words that made her think,
Naked
.

“The moon’s almost f-full tonight,” she stammered, “and it’s clear, so there’ll be stars. Our eyes will adjust. You’ll be surprised at how much we can see.” She forced herself to stop babbling. “I want to see you too.” Yes, naked. But they couldn’t do that here. Could they?

“Do you want to stay here?” he asked.

Yes, and no. If they didn’t stay here, where would they go?

His hotel? That didn’t feel right, at least not yet. “I brought a picnic.”

“Perfect.”

His finger toyed with a curl of hair. “I wondered if you’d have cut it.”

She often thought of having it styled short and practical, the way Ann did, but kept it long as a reminder of their lovemaking.

“You cut yours. And shaved the goatee.” She tried not to make it an accusation.

He shrugged. “Getting older, I guess.”

It suited him, though. Made him look more mature. Classy, rather than trendy.

He traced the low neckline of her top. “When I saw you walking toward me, for a moment I thought you were naked from the waist up.”

She wanted to feel his hand on her breasts. Suddenly, nothing was more important. She reached under her top to undo the front hook of her bra, then eased the straps down over her arms and pulled the bra off. “Almost.”

Jaxon sucked in a loud breath. Positioning himself between her and the path, screening her from passersby, he reached under her top to cup one of her breasts. Gently, oh so gently. He circled a nipple with his finger. His head was bent and she leaned forward to kiss his hair, those tight, short black curls. His musky scent, a sexy contrast to the fresh ocean air, intoxicated her.

He bent further, took her nipple between his teeth, and began to suck.

Arousal was an ache low in her body, a weakness in her knees. She slid her hand across the front of his jeans, molding her palm to his erection.

Jaxon lifted his head, gave a groan of pleasure and pressed against her hand. “Feel how much I want you, Suzanne.”

“I want you too.” Inside her, please.

He removed her hand and stepped back. “Let’s find a patch of sand and a couple of logs and have that picnic.”

Was he talking about food, sex, or both? Sex, hopefully. Maybe after, she could think about food. Right now, her body was crying for release.

She turned toward the car, her new bra—silk and lace to match the lace-trimmed bikini panties—dangling from one hand. “No pocket,” she said, and gave it to him. He stowed it in a jeans pocket, then took her hand and they strolled back to the parking lot. The overhead street lamps were a shock to eyes attuned to the dim light of the beach. Suzanne blinked a few times, then studied Jaxon. Yes, he really was perfect.

“It’s me. Remember?” he said.

“Every inch.”

She led him to her car. Or, rather, Ann’s—a sporty red Miata with the top down. Suzanne hadn’t wanted to bring her own car, the old Volkswagen van she’d bought when she was seventeen. She loved the VW, despite its dents and rust, because it had space to transport friends, animals, vet supplies and the other paraphernalia she tended to accumulate. Yes, it was ideal for her real life, but it didn’t fit the sexy twin image.

“You like convertibles,” he commented.

“Love them.” That was the truth, though they were, and would always be, utterly impractical for her lifestyle. Not to mention, way beyond her budget. Lucky Ann, with a lawyer’s income—even if she did spend more time at work than enjoying her cute little car. Suzanne unlocked the trunk, careful not to scratch the gleaming paint. She handed Jaxon the picnic basket and reached for the travel rug.

“No, not the rug.”

She frowned. What was wrong with it? She’d washed it twice to get rid of the cat hairs.

“I’ve got something better,” he said.

Curious, she followed him across the parking lot to a black Porsche convertible. “Oh my. Very nice.”

He shrugged. “It’s a rental. But I like convertibles too.”

Was this what he drove, back in San Francisco? Probably so. Whatever he did for a living, he must be doing just fine. If this was a normal first date, she’d already know the basic details of his life. She was definitely curious. Maybe he was a successful artist, a spy, a . . . She couldn’t think of a job glamorous and exotic enough to suit Jaxon. Perhaps he had inherited wealth and was a jet-setter, a patron of worthy charities and arts.

Probably it was better not to know. After all, he might be an accountant. She studied his firm butt as he leaned into the trunk of the sporty car. Nope, that butt did not belong to an accountant. He pulled something out and handed it to her. “Remember this?”

A striped beach towel. The kind of thing a person bought on holiday. Wait a minute! “That’s my towel. From Crete.” She gazed at him, dumbfounded. “How on earth . . .”

“You left it with me. Don’t you remember?”

He was talking about the part of the afternoon she’d forgotten, and she hastened to cover her slip. “Yes, of course. But, you kept it all these years?”

“A souvenir.”

She smiled and folded the towel over her arm. “Let’s see if we remember what to do with it.”

“I’d bet on it.”

As they walked back to the beach, she thought about what she’d just said. Were they actually going to have sex on this towel again? On a public beach, with other people around, in only semidarkness?

The ache between her thighs told her yes. In some fashion, they were. They’d find a way, and it would be edgy and adventuresome and incredibly exciting. Again, their hands joined as they walked past a few couples and groups who had staked out their own patches of beach. Neither spoke, but the air between them seemed charged with tension. Sexual tension.

Finally, Jaxon stopped. “Here.”

A huge log would serve as a backrest—and a token privacy barrier. Spreading her old towel, Suzanne thrilled to the fact that he’d kept it. She sat down and looked up at him expectantly. A shiver flicked across her shoulders, caused not by the balmy evening air but by the anticipation of his touch. Jaxon lowered himself to the towel beside her. He was all shadows but for the glint of his eyes under the moon and stars. She reached out, touched his chest. Firm muscles, under the thin fabric. “Off,” she whispered.

He hauled the T-shirt over his head and now she could run greedy hands over his bare shoulders, chest, flat stomach. She could trace ribs, tease nipples. She leaned forward and took one of those pebbly nubs between her lips. When she sucked, hard, his body clenched.

Then he reached for the hem of her crop top and eased it off. His hands gripped her shoulders and pressed her back until she was lying on the towel. Then he leaned over her, scattering kisses over her face, then down her chest, finally making it to her needy breasts.

Desire built again, a roller coaster making that long, slow climb to the top.

He rolled a nipple between his lips, flicked it with his tongue, circled it, then sucked, but more gently than she had. She held her breath, savoring the intense sensation. Needing to touch him
now
, she fumbled with his belt, undoing the buckle, the button of his jeans, sliding down the zipper. When she thrust her hand inside, she gripped hard, pulsing heat.

He lifted his head from her breast and his mouth came down on hers in a hungry kiss.

She ran her hand up and down his shaft, and he moaned into her mouth. “I want you, Suzanne. Now.”

“Yes!”

Her fingers still circled him as he ran his own hand up the inside of her leg. When he encountered the wet silk at her crotch he pressed his palm firmly against the curve of her body, then stroked her with a finger, through the silk. It was her turn to moan and he murmured, “Ssh, lover.”