Practice Makes Perfect (20 page)

So she pulled back, eyeing J.D. across the candlelit table. “Perhaps. But for now maybe you should start by buying me a drink.”

“That’s awfully retro for you, isn’t it?”

“Can’t I be old-fashioned, too?” she asked. Even if she knew what she wanted, that didn’t mean the games had to be over.
Yet
. After all, they had at least two hours to kill and she needed something to distract her through dinner.

But J.D. was on to her. He leaned back in his chair. “So, this is how you want to play this.”

“Hmm . . . disappointed?”

With a smile of amusement, J.D. shook his head. “Not at all. Just remember, Payton,
two
can play at that.”

More smoky blue eyes.

Damn. She really needed to devise a countermove to scorching hot sex looks.

But until she did, Payton planned to savor every moment of the possibilities that lay ahead.

“WHAT DO YOU say, Jameson? Another Scotch? Come on, Payton, you don’t seem like the type of girl who’d let a man outdrink her.”

Jasper was in rare form that evening.

J.D. watched in amazement as the CEO flagged down their waiter and ordered another round. He’d forgotten how much these good old Southern boys could drink. And Jasper—apparently oblivious to the fact that everyone else at the table still had untouched drinks from the previous two turns at “how ’bout another?”—showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon.

Richard Firestone, Gibson’s Drug Stores’ new general counsel and one of those—to put it delicately—tight-ass-style lawyers who gave all the others a bad name, leaned in his chair toward Jasper. “Don’t say ‘girl,’ ” he whispered under his breath.

“What’s that?” Jasper asked loudly.

Richard glanced in Payton’s direction. “ ‘You don’t seem like the type of
woman
who’d let a man outdrink her,’ ” he corrected Jasper’s phrasing. “We don’t say ‘girl’ anymore.”

“You know what I say about all this political correctness these days? It’s a load of steamin’ bull crap.” Jasper waved his glass around as he peered across the table. “Payton, you’re my discrimination expert—can I still say ‘girl’?”

“You can say anything you want to your lawyers, Jasper.”

“Ha! See—you boys are too uptight.” Jasper pointed at Richard and J.D. “And notice I said
boys
,” he emphasized proudly, “lest anyone ever accuse me—or my company—of being unequal in opportunity.” He polished off his whiskey on the rocks in one gulp and slammed down the glass with indignant emphasis. Then he glanced around the table. “Okay—so I guess this is as good a time as any—should we get down to business? Talk about this little case of ours?”

J.D. bit his tongue and fought the urge to check his watch.
Now
Jasper wanted to talk about the case? That wasn’t a discussion they could’ve started, say,
two
courses ago?

He stole a quick glance at Payton, who sat to his left. She either had the best poker face he’d ever seen, or she was awfully damn nonchalant at the fucking tortoise speed with which this dinner was moving, because she actually appeared quite amused by Jasper’s antics. And that, come to think of it, was beginning to piss him off, too. He’d told her earlier that two could play at her game, and indeed for the first
two
courses of their dinner he’d been as cool as she. But the truth of the matter was, he just wanted to be alone with her. Frankly, he was fed up with all the things that constantly came between them, like work and Chase Bellamy and client dinners. And clothes.

J.D. watched as Payton nodded along while Richard launched into his introductory take on their litigation strategy. Fine. Whatever. If she saw no pressing reason to hurry things along, then neither did he.

“. . . So what I’m thinking,” Richard was saying, “is that I’d like each of you to give me a short overview on how you plan to approach your part of the defense. Payton, since Jasper pointed out that you’re the discrimination expert, why don’t you start—tell me your thoughts on how we should attack the substantive issues presented in this case.”

“Sure, Richard, I’d be happy to,” Payton agreed. Then she chuckled. “You know, I can be a bit long-winded once I get going. I think I see our waiter coming—why don’t we go ahead and order dessert now? Get that out of the way.”

J.D. suddenly felt Payton’s hand rest on his thigh underneath the table.

Interesting.

The waiter set dessert menus down in front of everyone. With her free hand, Payton picked up her menu and casually looked it over. “Now what am I in the mood for?”

She began lightly stroking her finger along J.D.’s thigh.

Very
interesting.

“Come on now, Payton—this is Florida. Y’all have to try the key lime pie,” Jasper declared. He took the liberty of ordering for all of them, and the waiter scooted off.

“In fact,” Jasper said, “did you know that just last year, key lime pie was named our official state pie?”

Payton’s fingers moved higher on J.D.’s thigh, now approaching Semi-Naughty territory. Two more inches and they would be officially within the limits of Outright Naughty.

“I didn’t know that, Jasper,” Payton said, never breaking stride. “In fact, I didn’t know that states even had official pies. Did you know that, J.D.?”

“No.”

He could give two shits about pies.

“Oh, absolutely,” Jasper assured them. “It caused quite a stir in the senate, actually. There was a fairly large contingent that lobbied to name another as the state pie. Any guesses? Payton?”

Circle. Circle. Fingers. Thigh. Higher.

Payton cocked her head, thinking. “Hmm . . . some kind of pie with oranges?”

“Nope.” Jasper smiled, clearly enjoying being the only one in the know. He turned to his right. “Richard?”

“Peach pie?” the general counsel guessed halfheartedly.

“That would be Georgia, sorry. How ’bout you, J.D.?”

At Jasper’s question, three pairs of eyes suddenly turned and stared directly at J.D., who, in addition to not giving two shits about pies, had been busy concentrating on the fact that Payton had teasingly stopped her fingers right at the Semi-Naughty/Outright Naughty border.

“Are you okay, J.D.?” Payton asked with a mischievous grin. “You’ve been so quiet these past few minutes.”

Ha. She was going to pay for that later.

J.D. paused. Then—

“Pecan.”

Payton blinked, then smiled as Jasper smacked his hand on the table and shouted.

“Yes! With all the pecan farms in Florida, there was a push to make that the state pie. Good going, Jameson,” Jasper said, impressed.

“What can I say? I work well under pressure,” J.D. replied, with a smug look in Payton’s direction. “Now—if we’re through with the games . . . I think Payton was going to give us her overview on the substantive ways in which we should attack the plaintiffs’ claims.”

“Yes, I was—thank you, J.D.”

“No problem, Payton—the floor is yours.”

Three sets of eyes turned to Payton. Just as—underneath the table—one of J.D.’s hands moved to her knee. How convenient it was that the slit of her dress parted at her thigh, giving him easy access to her bare skin.

Payback could be such a devilish little bitch sometimes.

Twenty-two

SHORTLY AFTER TEN o’clock, Payton and J.D. stood in the lobby with Jasper and Richard, waiting for the valet to pull the car around front.

“I’m really glad we got a chance to do this,” Jasper said, shaking their hands warmly. Richard did the same, saying how much he enjoyed meeting them.

“Didn’t I say you’d be impressed with these two?” Jasper gave Richard a jovial slap on the back, nearly knocking the poor guy right into the heavy mosaic urn that sat atop the oak table next to them. J.D. had a sneaking suspicion the new GC wasn’t going to last more than a month.

“Now normally I don’t like lawyers,” Jasper drawled with a chuckle, “and I definitely don’t like it when somebody tries to sue one of my companies for two hundred million bucks, but with you two”—he squinted one eye, taking aim with his fingers at Payton and J.D.—“I’ve got a good feelin’ here. I think I’m in good hands with y’all.”

That had been the only negative part of the evening.

J.D. watched as Payton tried to keep her expression impassive, but he could see it in her eyes. She hated not telling Jasper the truth just as much as he did, that because of the firm’s—to coin Jasper’s colorful phrasing—load-of-steamin’-bull-crap decision, one of them wouldn’t have anything to do with his case in about five days. Not for the first time, J.D. resented Ben and the other powers that be for putting him and Payton in this position. That being said, he had to acknowledge his own shortsightedness; perhaps he had jumped too quickly at the opportunity to go to Palm Beach, before really thinking through the fact that going would also mean he’d have to be deceptive, in part, to Jasper. But candidly, it wasn’t Jasper he’d been thinking of when he had agreed to the trip.

Not that J.D. regretted his decision to come to Palm Beach—far from it. True, the under-the-table hijinks between him and Payton during dinner had never crossed the Semi-Naughty/Outright Naughty border, but in reality, he never really believed they would. Without having to say a word to each other, they both knew exactly where to draw the line with the fun and games. Although at one point during dinner, J.D. had briefly worried that Jasper had seen something.

They had just finished dessert, and the waiter had finally brought the check. Payton and Richard had both excused themselves from the table to go to the restrooms and, after sliding his credit card into the check folder, Jasper turned to J.D. “Would you mind if I ask you a personal question, Jameson?”

J.D. grinned. “Sure, although I can’t promise you that I’ll answer. And remember that you’re a gentleman, Jasper.”

Jasper chuckled at that. “Fair enough. I’ll put this in the most gentlemanly of terms: Are you courting Ms. Kendall?”

“That
definitely
is a question I’m not going to answer.”

“Because I get a vibe.”

“We can’t have this conversation, Jasper. Sorry.”

“Something about the way you look at her.”

“Hmm.”

When J.D. remained absolutely, firmly silent, Jasper laughed. “Wow—my whole life, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lawyer shut up so fast. You guys are normally happy to shoot your mouths off about anything. All right then—I know when to back off.”

J.D. had simply smiled, and as quickly as possible, steered them onto another topic. Because if there was one thing he knew, it was to never make the same mistake twice.

WHEN THE VALET finally pulled Jasper’s car around, J.D. couldn’t help but give a low whistle of appreciation. Even the valet—who undoubtedly encountered many an expensive car while working at the Ritz-Carlton, looked giddily shell-shocked as he stepped out of the driver’s seat and held open the door of the sleek admiral blue Rolls-Royce Phantom Drophead Coupé. Perhaps not J.D.’s first choice in color—he fancied himself more a jubilee silver kind of guy—but the car made quite an impression nevertheless.

Jasper killed the hush of respect that had momentarily befallen every man within sight of the Rolls by giving Richard another hearty slap on the back. “Thanks for offering to drive, Dick. I think that Baileys they put in my coffee musta done me in.”

J.D. and Payton exchanged amused looks. Or maybe it was the eight whiskeys on the rocks, but who was counting? At least Jasper had the sense not to drive himself home in his condition, or at the very least, the awareness that the three lawyers surrounding him would never
let
him drive himself home in his condition.

Jasper handed the valet a tip—a generous one, J.D. surmised, judging from the way the guy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the bill in his hand—and climbed into the passenger side of the Rolls-Royce. But just before he and Richard drove off, Jasper—being Jasper—rolled down the passenger window, unable to resist a few parting words.

“Now you kids be sure to enjoy the rest of your stay, y’hear?” he called out to Payton and J.D.

With a sneaky wink, Jasper rolled up his window and gave a decisive “let’s roll” signal to Richard. Carefully, ever so carefully, Richard nudged the four-hundred-thousand-plus automobile out onto the hotel’s circular drive, and—at a breakneck speed of at least six or seven miles per hour—they were off.

Payton turned to J.D. as the car pulled away. “Is there anything I should know about that wink Jasper gave us?”

“He fished around about us when you and Richard were in the restrooms,” J.D. told her.

Payton stared him in the eyes. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

“You mean, like how all through dessert you could barely keep your hand off my c—”

“
Yes
, J.D.’ ” she bluntly cut in, although not without a smile, he noted, “did you say anything about that, or anything else about us in general?”

Now it was J.D.’s turn to give
her
a look. “Of course not, Payton. I know better than to mix business with locker-room talk.”

Her slow exhale of relief reminded him just how narrowly he had dodged that bullet a few years back. Yes, he certainly did know better.

Now, however, was not the time to drag up unpleasant parts of his past. Right then, all J.D. wanted to do was focus on the present. He reached out and took Payton by the hand. “Come on. There’s something I want to show you.”

“I bet there is,” she said with a laugh.

J.D. grinned. “I meant the beach, sassy. We’ve been here for eight hours and haven’t seen it yet.” He led Payton through the lobby, in the direction of the verandah. When he held the door open for her as they stepped outside, he caught her look.

“What?” he asked.

A light breeze blew her hair across her eyes. With her free hand, Payton reached up and tucked a long blonde strand behind her ear.

“Nothing,” she said. “You surprise me sometimes, that’s all.”

Noticing that this came shockingly close to an actual compliment, J.D. led Payton down the stone steps that would take them to the walkway he had spotted earlier from the balcony of his hotel room. He liked the way her hand felt in his, liked the simple intimacy of the gesture and the way it said—without the need for words—that they were together.

Not that he particularly minded where her hands had been earlier that evening, of course. But there was plenty of time for that later. Although he certainly wouldn’t kick up too much of a fuss if she wanted to forego the romantic moonlight stroll and started grabbing again for his c—

“What are you thinking about?” Payton cut into J.D.’s thoughts. He peered down and saw her studying him curiously.

“You have such a devious look on your face,” she said, her dark blue eyes sparkling with interest.

J.D. laughed, pulling her closer to him. She really did know him too well.

THEY FOUND A gazebo, presumably one used for small weddings, at the end of the walkway. Payton made an executive decision that they should stop there—J.D. wasn’t the only one running this show, after all—and led him to the railing that overlooked the ocean. There, she turned around to face him. Sure, the view was great, but that wasn’t what she stopped for. Without so much as another word, she reached up to J.D. and kissed him.

His hand slid to the nape of her neck, demanding more from the kiss as his tongue met hers. Every part of Payton’s body reacted—she wanted more, too, needed his hands on her, needed to feel him, and her breath caught and she nearly moaned out loud when J.D. pushed her back against the railing and slid between her legs. His mouth left hers and trailed down her neck and along her collarbone. Then he daringly went even further, to the dip in the neckline of her dress, and without any hesitation he pulled her dress and bra aside and lowered his mouth to her breast.

This time, Payton did moan. Only vaguely aware of the sound of waves crashing behind her, she arched her back and tangled her fingers in J.D.’s hair, giving into pure physical need. Wanting to touch him, she pulled his mouth up to hers and slid her hands along his chest, then down his stomach. She felt his abs tighten under her fingers as they came to rest on his belt buckle. She kissed him hungrily as she started to undo his belt. J.D. pulled his mouth away from hers. “Let’s go up to my room,” he whispered.

Payton could hear—and feel—how badly J.D. wanted her. The thought of making him totally lose it sent thrills running down her spine.

“Maybe we should walk a little farther. We do have all night.” She took J.D.’s hand and brought it to her mouth. With her eyes on his, she kissed his finger and—while he watched—slowly slid the tip between her lips. From the look in his eyes, she could tell how much that turned him on. She may have been the first to moan, but she had a feeling she could quickly even the score right here, so she boldly flicked her tongue around the tip of his finger and gave him a look that unmistakably said how much more fun it would be if her mouth was somewhere else instead . . .

J.D. tangled his hand in her hair and stopped her. His eyes were dark and intense as he peered down at her. “Do you want to hear me say it, Payton? I want you. Now.”

Payton felt her entire body go instantly hot.

Game over.

THEY HAD A minor disagreement in the elevator.

“What floor are you on?”

Fumble. Fumble.

“The top. Club level.”

Zipper.

“My room’s closer.”

More fumbling. Gasp.

“My room’s oceanfront. Fuck it—this thing keeps getting in the way.”

Loud rip.

“Oceanfront? Hmm . . . I see somebody was a little presumptuous at check—”

Sharp intake of breath. “Oh,
yes
. . .”

Moan. Hands gripping rail. Heavy breathing.

“Screw it, I don’t care . . . do it here, J.D. Now.”

Wicked laugh.

“Not yet.”

“You’re gonna pay for this.”

Devilish grin.

“I certainly hope so.”

J.D. PRESSED PAYTON against the door to his room as he slid the key card into the lock. When he heard the familiar click, he grabbed Payton by the waist and pulled her into the room with him.

Okay, fine—at check-in, when she wasn’t paying attention, he had asked to be upgraded to an oceanfront suite. He’d been feeling a little . . . optimistic.

And Payton didn’t exactly look displeased with his decision. Still holding his hand, she walked around the room, checking out the oversized living room area, the separate master bedroom, the marble bathroom with a solid stone ocean-facing soaking tub, and, of course, the private balcony with a direct view of the Atlantic.

“You approve?” J.D. asked when she finished her perusal of the room.

Payton smiled. “Do I even want to know how much this cost you?”

In truth, he’d spent over a grand out of his own pocket for the upgrade. He debated what was better: to let her think this was all part of his so-called “extravagant lifestyle,” or to tell her the truth. He decided to go with the truth. So far that evening, saying exactly what was on his mind had been paying off in spades.

“It’s for you,” he told her.

Payton seemed momentarily surprised by this. Then she pulled in close and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“It’s perfect.”

She kissed him. Before J.D. knew it, they had made their way into the bedroom. The hotel housekeeping staff had already turned down the bed and the lights were low and ambient. He peered into Payton’s eyes and saw that familiar mix of daring and mischief. Seeing how the whole being-direct thing was working for him—

“Take off your dress,” he said.

Payton gave him an “Oh, really?” look, and J.D. could tell that part of her wanted to get sassy again. But he could also tell that the other part of her really, really liked it.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Easy enough. You already ripped the zipper in the elevator.” With her shrug and the simple tug of one strap, the dress fell to the floor.

Interesting.

And here he’d thought she looked amazing
in
the dress.

J.D.’s eyes traveled from (black lacy) top to (racy thong) bottom. And she still wore her high heels.

This was going to be one long fucking night.

Gesturing to the black lace, J.D. gave Payton an “Oh, really?” look of his own. “It looks like somebody else was being a little presumptuous, too. Unless you wear that to all your client dinners?”

With a slight kick of her leg, Payton nudged the dress out of her way. She wrapped her arms around J.D., one hand at the back of his head, and threaded her fingers through his hair. She looked up at him and repeated his earlier words.

“It’s for you,” she said softly.

J.D. looked deep into those dark blue eyes.

This girl drove him absolutely crazy.

With a grin, he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed.

Because tonight, she was his.

FOR NEARLY AN hour they teased one another, until Payton finally caved and grabbed a condom off the nightstand.

J.D. hooked one of her legs around his waist and grabbed her hand. “Put it on me,” he whispered, nearly a groan.

So she did. Then she told him she needed to quickly check for polo ponies.

When J.D. threw her other leg around his waist and pinned her arms over her head, Payton decided to reschedule the pony-check for another time.