Champagne Rules (2 page)

His fingers drifted lower and her words came out in little gasps as she panted for breath. “It’s
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
, except he’s changing it, because they’re gay. He’s saying it’s Lord Chatterley who’s having an affair with the gamekeeper. Oh, sorry, do you know the book?”

“Saw the movie. Sexy.”

“There’s a scene where the gamekeeper threads flowers into his lover’s, um, hair.” Okay, she might be sexy this afternoon, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the word “pubic” aloud. All the same, he seemed to catch her meaning. “No flowers. Just fingers.” As he spoke, two of those strong fingers pressed gently against her clitoris.

“Fingers are—” She gasped at his touch, at the pressure building inexorably within her. “Fingers are good.”

“Forget the beach,” he commanded. “Look at us now. Look at how we fit together.”

She turned her gaze downward, but her eyes, shocked by the transition from sunlight to shade, were momentarily blind. Disoriented, the only sensation she trusted was the solid heat of the man beneath her. Inside her.

But that was sensation, not . . . sense. What was she doing, making love—for the third time—with a man she’d just met? A man whose name she didn’t know.

This was crazy. What had happened to sensible Suzie?

Yet, enchantment was in the air, and she was powerless to resist.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You with me?”

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness again, and she looked down at their bodies. “Oh yeah.”

Long reddish-gold tendrils of hair dangled down, glowing even in the dim light, against her breasts. High, small breasts, almost white where her bikini normally covered them, compared to her holiday tan. Contrasts.

Even her darkest tan was pale compared to his skin. Her attention focused on the center, the place where their bodies came together. The golden curls of her pubic hair tangled with his black ones. She’d never been with a dark-skinned man before, never seen how beautiful the contrasts could be.

“Stop thinking,” he whispered.

As if he’d clicked a switch, her brain shut off. All that was left was her body. A body that was pure sensation, nothing more, nothing less.

She savored the intoxicating musk of their lovemaking threading through the tangy Cretan scent. Her lips were open, gasping for air, moaning her pleasure, and on those lips she tasted the salt of her own sweat and the deeper, darker musk of his kisses.

Easing herself up, she watched as her body slid free of him, reveling in the sight of the rigid shaft that rose from his curly hair. She’d never seen anything so utterly male in her life. Then she slid down again, engulfing him, feeling his length and breadth fill her to capacity, thrilling at the way her body opened to take him in. Glorying in the friction, the tension of his flesh sliding against hers, pressing deep into her core. The sensations twined together, demanding her response, and inside her the pressure built, collecting itself and coiling tight, and tighter.

Suzanne squeezed her thighs together, clenched her internal muscles. She fought against the inevitable, but he was moving faster now and she couldn’t hold back, she had to move with him. She whimpered with tension, pleasure, the need for release, the desire to capture and hold the moment forever. He arched and cried out. His climax exploded into her, demanding her response. As he pumped, she threw back her head, shut her eyes, and the coil of tension sprang free, unwinding in waves that crashed against him.

Her body dissolved, melted, began to collapse, but his hands held her upright.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, to see the beach. Her head was spinning, her vision blurry, but still she could see sunbathers glancing around, turning to look up. She ducked quickly, feeling even dizzier.

“They heard us,” she whispered, knowing her whole body was blushing as his hands loosed their grip and she slid bonelessly down to cover him. He was still inside her as her eyelids drooped and sleep claimed her.

Everything after the cave had to be an anticlimax, Jaxon Navarre thought, as he and his sexy blonde emerged from the darkness and started down the goat trail to the beach. They were walking, step by step, back to reality. Inevitable, but awkward. Easier to have gone when she fell asleep, but Jax wasn’t a guy who’d leave a woman alone and vulnerable.

Not that he could imagine his blonde being vulnerable. She was the most no-holds-barred lover he’d ever had. And he’d had more than his fair share.

Yeah, finding sex had never been a problem. Finding a woman who didn’t see him as some stupid stereotype was a different issue. He’d had girls throw themselves at him to prove they weren’t prejudiced, to taste the exotic, to find out whether black guys really were better hung. They’d wanted him because he was the captain of his high school basketball team, then of his college team—quite a feat for a guy who was only six-footthree—and now they wanted him because he was going to be a lawyer. A successful, rich one too, if he stuck to his plan. This woman was different, though. She knew nothing about him, not even his name, and there’d been none of that artificial

“Oh, are you black? Honest, I hadn’t noticed” crap. Too bad he couldn’t pack her up in his duffel bag and take her home to San Fran.

He chuckled. Yeah, like that’d ever work. He would start articles with a very, very high-powered law firm next week, and he’d be on the line to prove himself. No sweat, though. He’d met every test so far, and he would meet this one too. Tuning in to his surroundings, he saw they’d just emerged from a thicket of scrubby little trees that separated the nude beach from the next one over. He stopped and turned to his companion with a rueful grin. “Hell. Time to put our clothes on.”

She swept a bold glance down, then up, his body. “Pity.”

Juggling her towel, she tried to step into the bottom of her green bikini, and lost her balance. She would have tumbled if he hadn’t caught her shoulders.

Staring into her flushed face, he thought again how gorgeous she was. With her striking features, cloud of wavy golden hair, small breasts perched high on a sleek, slender body, he was almost ready to believe she was a mermaid come to land for one afternoon to weave a spell around him.

Except, his mermaid definitely had legs and was having trouble finding them right now. And those pretty breasts were blushing with something that looked a lot like sunburn. “Are you okay?”

She tossed her hair back and almost lost her balance again.

“Sure. Well, maybe a little drunk on wine and sun and sex.”

“Wine? I missed out on wine?”

“At lunch. You have to have wine at lunch on Crete. At least on your last day.” She gave him a dazzling smile. That smile was a beauty, but her green eyes looked a little unfocused. The beginning of a hangover?

Or just too much sex? His own legs, legs that could play every quarter of a b-ball game without faltering, felt rubbery. He took her towel and held her arm as she struggled into her bikini. She had trouble with the halter top, fumbling with the ties at the back. He turned her around, scooped her hair out of the way, and fastened her up. A bow, on a special gift. Too bad he wasn’t unwrapping her rather than wrapping her back up. He buried his nose in the nape of her neck, and breathed in the scent of peaches and sex.

Whoa! He was getting horny again. Quickly, he stepped into his own bathing suit.

When he offered her his arm, she slipped her hand through, and they began to walk again.

“You said it’s your last day?” he asked, not sure if he was glad or sorry. An afternoon like this couldn’t have been repeated, could it?

“Yeah. Home tomorrow. How ’bout you?”

“I have a couple more days.” He’d let a law school pal persuade him to come on this holiday, though he hadn’t seen much of Chase since his buddy’d hooked up with that sexy redhead on the long trip over.

“My hotel’s jush . . . just up there.” She pointed. She’d slurred her words. He frowned, thinking of the sunflush on her skin, wondering how much wine she’d drunk. Earlier, she’d seemed in control, but now . . . Christ, he hadn’t taken advantage of her, had he?

He tugged her to a stop and turned her to face him. “Are you all right?”

“Wonderful!”

“And, you’re okay about this afternoon?”

“Oh yes! I,” she announced firmly, “am sexy.”

He chuckled. “That’s the truth, woman.”

“I am a sexy
woman
.”

Or a sexy mermaid
, he thought. “So, no regrets?”

“No way.”

He’d been right all along. She was every man’s wet dream—

a gorgeous, uninhibited, sexy gal who knew exactly what she was doing.

They stood staring at each other for a long moment, and Jax wondered if she’d ask for his name, his number. His ego wished she would; his brain said he didn’t need the complication.

“So, I guess this is it,” he said tentatively. She nodded, then giggled and held out her hand. “I forgot to say thank you.”

Thank you? “Uh, you too.” He took her hand gently, but she pumped his in a businesslike handshake. She was making it easy, but he couldn’t let it go at that. He kept hold of that slender hand and squeezed it. “It’s been great. Like . . . the best dream I could imagine.”

She nodded. “Dream. Yes.”

“We should keep it like that, right?” he probed.

“Mmm-hmm. Perfect dream.” She yawned widely. “Time to go back to sleep.”

And with nothing more—no kiss, no good-bye—she turned and walked a little unsteadily, but with hips boldly swaying, the last steps to her hotel.

Jax stared after her as she disappeared through the open door into the dark lobby.

Weird.

But then, the whole afternoon had been weird in the extreme. As he turned to go, he realized he was still carrying her towel. He should leave it at the desk of her hotel, but . . . He snorted and shook his head.

Damn it, he wanted the souvenir.

“So, tell all, Suze.” Jenny leaned forward, elbows on the table, pink flamingo earrings dancing. “What’s the best sex
you
ever had?”

Around their outside table at Las Margaritas restaurant, three flushed female faces grinned at Suzanne. It was Jenny Yuen who’d launched the topic, with her description of hot sex in her boyfriend Pete’s double Jacuzzi. “It was the best sex of my life!” she’d exclaimed, brown eyes flashing. “I swear, Korean men beat Chinese, hands down.”

“Ssh,” Suzanne had said, used to the fact that Jenny’s personality was twice the size of her petite body, but wishing she didn’t always have to be quite so out there. She wished she’d kept quiet, though, when Jenny turned the question on her.

“I, um . . .” Best sex? Suzanne barely suppressed a nervous giggle. That would have to be with her dream lover. Jenny rolled her eyes, turned a pink sweatshirted back to Suzanne, and said to Rina Goldberg, “So, what’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“Not with Marty, that’s for sure.” Tonight, at the Awesome Foursome’s regular Monday dinner, Rina had already told them she’d called it quits with the man she’d been seeing for the last several months. Her heart definitely didn’t seem broken.

“The best sex,” she murmured. Looking like a gypsy with a fringed burgundy shawl over her usual black clothing, she pulled a wayward lock of curly black hair behind a multi-ringed ear as she sipped her second margarita and considered the question. The others waited, munching from the platter of nachos locos—laden with everything yummy and fattening you could possibly imagine—and working on their own second margaritas. Rina began to smile, and nodded her head firmly. “Yeah, I know
exactly
. The summer I turned eighteen, I went to a music school in Banff. There was this other student, Giancarlo, from Italy. He was a pianist and he had the most awesome hands.”

The others oohed and aahed as Rina described the things Giancarlo had done with those hands, including making her come three times in a row atop the grand piano in a student rehearsal room. Somewhere during the recitation, a third round of margaritas got ordered for everyone but Suzanne, who had a strict two-drink limit.

When Rina finished, Jenny turned to Ann Montgomery.

“Your turn,” she said, talking around a guacamole-and-sourcream laden chip.

“You know I’m a conventional gal.” But Ann’s eyes were twinkling. “I’m not much into Jacuzzis or pianos. I like big, comfy beds. And a man who wears a tie.”

“A tie? Bo-ring,” Jenny scoffed.

“Not when there are four of them, all silk, and they’re tying you to a four-poster bed.”

“Bondage?” Suzanne frowned. “Ann, that’s—”

“No, no!” Ann held up a hand to stop her. “I totally consented. And they were tied really loosely. He made slow, beautiful love to me, and all I could do was respond.”

Jenny gave a skeptical frown. “I can’t imagine you surrendering control to anyone. You’re the control freak to end all control freaks.”

Ann stuck her tongue out, then shrugged. “Okay, I concede your point. And yes, it surprised me too.” She smoothed her short brown hair and straightened her shoulders inside the jacket of her navy suit. “I’ve never come so hard in my life. It was a little . . . scary.”

As Suzanne glanced around the table, she thought how lucky she was to have found these women. They’d met last year at an introductory yoga course. The bonding began when, after the second lesson, they decided food, chat and alcohol were far better tension relievers than contorting their bodies into pretzel shapes. The four didn’t have a lot in common, but that made the conversations even more stimulating. Strong ties of friendship had formed, and now the Foursome members were deeply loyal to each other and their Monday nights. She stopped feeling lucky when Jenny turned to her with an evil grin. “Didn’t think we’d forget you, did you, Suze?”

Oh God, after her friends’ sexy tales, how pitiful to have to confess that her own sex life ranged between boring and nonexistent. Except for her cave-sex lover.

The thought sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her. She slugged back the last of her second margarita and took a deep breath.

“Remember me telling you how I treated myself to a week package deal on Crete, after my second year of university?”