Champagne Rules (30 page)

The sun was fiercely hot on Jaxon’s bare chest and shoulders, but the ocean breeze cooled the burn. He and Suzanne were sprawled on a blanket in Stanley Park, surrounded by picnic stuff they’d shopped for at a huge, colorful market on Granville Island.

Last night’s quarrel hadn’t been mentioned, but its residue lingered, despite their best efforts to regain their sexy spirit. Why did relationships always have to get complicated?

They’d set the Rules for a good reason, and should never have broken them. Everything had been fantastic when they’d focused on sex.

Well, things had been pretty good when they’d talked on the phone, and last night at her place, until they got into that argument. Fuck. They’d really blown it. He looked over at Suzanne, her curls golden in the sun, her slim body looking great in low-slung white shorts and a bluegreen tank top. He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. She smiled. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Great. Now they were talking about the weather. Earlier they’d discussed food, the bounty of Granville Island Market, the merits of various picnic sites. Never once had they mentioned work or family. He wondered what her plans were for the rest of the day, but he couldn’t ask.

Sex, he reminded himself. They should be safe if they stuck to sex.

He lay down on the rug and put his head in her lap, facing her. She started, glanced down at him, then tentatively rested her hand on his head and stroked his hair.

“You’ll have to play lookout,” he told her.

“Lookout?”

“Mm-hm. Unless you don’t want to . . .” He slid his hand under her top and bra, found her breast, teased her nipple. Her body tightened. “It’s so public.”

“We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

He shifted slightly so he could blow warm air against the crotch of her shorts.

“Oh!”

He ran his fingers down her fly, then the center seam between her legs, back and forth until she squirmed. Then he pressed his mouth against the place where the two seams crossed, and blew hard.

“Jaxon,” she hissed. “People will see.”

“They’ll see a guy taking a snooze, using his lady’s lap as a pillow. That’s all they’ll see, unless you squirm around.”

He waited a few seconds, then she said, “I’ll have to be careful not to squirm then.”

He laughed, resting his mouth against her shorts again, letting the chuckle press into her. And then, without ever undoing her shorts, he used his fingers, lips and tongue, his heated breath, to make her come. Too bad he couldn’t do it without turning himself on in the process.

She showed great self-control, hardly moving at all, even as the spasms of orgasm pressed the cotton of her shorts against his lips.

A few minutes later, she tugged on his ear. “Sit up.”

“Or we could do it again.”

“Or I could do it to you.”

His cock throbbed. She couldn’t. That really would be impossible, wouldn’t it?

He sat up and glanced around. They were on a slight hill, facing Vancouver Harbor. Below, on the seawall, people streamed in both directions—walking, roller-blading, cycling. But that stream was a couple hundred yards away.

“You’re hard,” she said.

“Oh yeah.”

“I could do something about that,” she said in a husky, sexy voice.

Other picnickers dotted the grass, but there were none within at least fifty feet. People did stroll across the lawn occasionally, though, and they’d even seen a couple of Mounties ride by. The cops, again.

He couldn’t let her do it. But . . . “What did you have in mind?”

“I thought I might take a nap with my head in your lap.”

“God.”

“Put on your T-shirt.”

He obeyed, letting it droop down to cover his shorts. He was growing harder by the minute, anticipating what she might do. She lay on her side with her head across his thighs. “Mmm, black T-shirt to match your shorts. How handy. No one will notice if I . . .”

Deftly, she eased down his shorts, freeing his cock under his T-shirt. Her hair fanned out over his groin, her breath was warm on him—and then she tongued his balls. He almost shot into the air.

“Jaxon! Hold still.”

“Then don’t make any more sudden moves.”

“I’ll only make teeny, tiny moves.” She suited action to words and began to nibble the base of his cock. Christ but that felt good. Her head moved only fractionally, yet her tongue and lips were working magic. Now her hand was under his T-shirt too, holding him firmly as she nibbled up and down.

She said something, her words muffled.

“What?”

“Are you keeping a lookout?”

He jerked his head up. He’d completely forgotten. But no one was any closer than before.

“All clear. Carry on, by all means.”

Her shoulders shook as she chuckled. Then her tongue drifted up his shaft and circled the head. She closed her lips around him and began to suck. Her hand stroked his length. She swirled her tongue. She slid her mouth up and down, and he could imagine he was dipping in and out of her pussy, ready to let the climax build, to move faster and deeper. He was close. . . .

He heard the chatter of voices and glanced over his shoulder. A tour bus had parked, and a group of Asian people was starting across the sweep of grass, heading, he guessed, for the seawall. They’d likely pass within ten feet of him and Suzanne. He pressed a hand to her head. “Stop. People are coming. Stay still.”

She froze, but her breath tickled him. Orgasm was so close. He clenched every muscle, recited basketball statistics in his head, but still he could feel her.

Sweat broke out on his forehead and he fought against the urge to thrust.

The first of the Asian group passed by. No one paid the slightest attention to him and Suzanne. They were chattering away, referring to guide books, lifting cameras. In agony he waited. How many people were on that damned bus? The stream seemed never ending, and all the time Suzanne’s hand gripped his shaft and her breath was warm against the most sensitive skin of his body.

The last of the group passed by and he waited, grinding his teeth together, until they were safe on their way down the hill.

“They’ve gone,” he grated out.

“We’re all alone?” Her breath teased him.

“Yes, and I’m—”

“Ready?”

“Dying!”

“Well then.” She licked the tip of his cock. “We’ll just have to do something—”

The orgasm was coming; no force on earth could stop it. With his last conscious thought, he reminded himself to stay still. Her mouth was there, circling him, just in time to catch the first drops that poured out of him. He couldn’t thrust upward or he’d give himself away, but she seemed to know what he needed, moving up and down just a little, sucking. Swallowing. Oh man. He felt almost giddy with the relief of physical release. And yet, a few minutes later, he felt an inexplicable sense of letdown. Last night, outside on her balcony, it had been so much more. He wondered if they’d ever have that again. He wound a few golden curls around his fingers and tugged.

“Come up, before the Mounties come back.”

She lifted her head, grinning and licking her lips like a cat.

“You taste good.”

She settled beside him. “Who went by?”

“An entire busload of tourists.”

A laugh erupted from her. “Honestly?”

He pointed toward the water. “With cameras. See.”

“I wonder if they took our picture?”

He shuddered. What had he been thinking?

Well, he was with Suzanne. That meant his little head governed his big one. Which reminded him . . . He checked his watch. “Time to pack up.”

Silently, she began to gather things together. When everything was organized, they walked to his rental car. No Porsche this week, just the standard economy car.

He drove to her building in False Creek and parked outside. His luggage was in the car and he wondered if she’d invite him in to change his clothes, but she didn’t. No problem, he could do it at the airport.

Now what?

He helped her unload the rug and picnic basket from the trunk. She stood, cradling them in her arms, keeping him at a distance whether she intended to or not.

Her face was inscrutable, and so was her voice when she said, “It’s been fun, Jaxon.”

“Sure has.” He winced at his own false joviality. “I guess—”

He’d been going to say something about getting together again, but wasn’t sure what he wanted. Or how she felt.

“I imagine you’ll have a lot of work to catch up on,” she said evenly.

True. He couldn’t afford to take more time off. The realization hit him that, right now, he wasn’t willing to sacrifice more billable hours for . . . sex. The sex had been terrific, but now he’d had enough to hold him for a while. It was time to get back to his top priority.

Plus, they didn’t want this to become a regular thing. Like they’d said in the beginning, champagne should be drunk infrequently, so it stayed special.

“Right,” he said. “Well, let’s keep in touch. Next time one of us feels like . . . what was it? An erotic escapade?”

Her eyes closed briefly. Hiding what? Relief, or disappointment? Then she nodded. He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. “Bye, Suzanne.”

Jax was on fire. He smashed the ball past Rick at a speed so sizzling his pal didn’t even try to hit it, just backed out of the way.

“Shit!” Rick gasped for breath.

“Fifteen,” Jax called. He’d won the match, two out of three games. His first decisive victory over Rick in months and he ought to be feeling great, but instead he just regretted their time was up. He wanted to whack the shit out of that ball a few more times.

“Man, what’s up your ass today?” Rick asked as they headed for the changing room.

“Nothing.”

Rick wiped the back of one hand across his sweaty brow.

“Work all weekend?”

“Should have.” If he’d worked, he and Suzanne wouldn’t have messed up something great. “I have this big case, could make or break my career.”

“What’s it about?”

“Class action against Family Friend.”

“Family Friend? Wow, that’s gotta be a biggie. What’s the cause of action?”

“Discrimination.”

His friend stopped in the act of unlocking his locker and turned. “Racial?”

“Yeah. Gender as well, but mostly racial.”

Rick nodded. “Makes sense they’d give it to you. Token black, huh?”

Fuck. He’d been resisting that thought. Damn it, he’d been chosen for his skill, not his race. Hadn’t he? Fighting back, he said, “What’s that mean?”

Rick shrugged. “You got a sexual discrimination case to defend, you pick a woman lawyer. Right?”

And who better to fight the NAACP than a lawyer of color?

“Okay, it makes sense, strategy-wise,” he admitted. “Still doesn’t mean it won’t do my career a hell of a lot of good.” He unlocked his own locker, and put his racquet in its case. Rick did the same. “Gonna settle or fight it?”

“Fight.” He explained his reasoning.

“Makes sense. If you win.”

“I’d sure as hell better. I’m betting it’s just a bunch of whiners leaping on the litigation bandwagon.”

“Who’ve they got for counsel?”

Damn. He shouldn’t have raised this. “NAACP.”

Rick, pulling his sweaty T-shirt off over his head, whistled.

“That’s gotta hurt. You’re up against an organization that helped make this a country where guys like us could get an education, have a fair shake at a decent job.”

“Every client’s entitled to a good lawyer,” Jax retorted.

“That’s the number one thing they taught us in law school. What’s it matter who’s on the other side?”

“If you were gay, would you argue a case against a gay rights organization?”

“Why not?”

Rick stared at him, his expression troubled. “I know you’re no Uncle Tom, but you ever think you’re taking this whitewash thing too far?”

Crap, not again. Hadn’t he learned on Saturday, with Suzanne, that a kid of the privileged middle class could never understand what life was like for him? Clearly it was too much to think Rick’s black skin would make him any different.

“You ever think you should stay the fuck out of this?” Jax retorted.

They glared at each other, then Rick took a step back. “Guess maybe I should.” He grabbed a towel and strode in the direction of the showers. Jax leaned against his locker, resting his forearms against the cold metal. Heart pounding, he fought a major urge to hit someone or something.

This week’s Awesome Foursome meeting spot was Favorito Pasta Trattoria on Broadway, a friendly neighborhood restaurant where the food was great and the prices incredibly reasonable. The women ordered a bottle of chianti and each chose a different meal, so they could share tastes. Suzanne had trouble picking; she’d had no appetite since she and Jaxon had parted on Sunday. She finally settled on lasagna, because it seemed like comfort food and she could doggy bag whatever she didn’t finish. Unless, of course, Jenny nabbed it first. The moment the waitress had gone, Jen leaned forward eagerly. “So, Suze, tell all. Discover any new sexual positions?”

Suzanne forced a smile. “Saturday we’d barely even said hello then we were doing it, right inside the door. Standing up.”

“Hot!” Jenny said approvingly.

“Later, we had sex on the balcony, all slow and sensual.”

“I never have time to go out on the balcony, much less have sex on it,” Ann said wryly.

“Sunday we went for a picnic in Stanley Park and—”

“You didn’t have sex in Stanley Park?” Rina said, sounding half horrified and half hopeful.

“Well, he, uh, made me come through my shorts and I, you know . . .”

“Gave him head?” Jenny said disbelievingly.

“Yeah.”

Her eyes gleamed. “In the park, in the middle of the day, with people around? Way to go, girl!”

“Well, there wasn’t anyone right around us, but there were people walking the seawall, strolling across the grass.”

“Wow,” Rina sighed. “I can’t imagine doing that.”

“I couldn’t have either, before Jaxon.”

“Suze?” Ann said. “Something wrong? You’re not sounding as perky as usual.”

“Don’t disillusion me and say you’re getting tired of all that incredible sex,” Jenny said.