The Player's Club: Lincoln (15 page)

She went wet again in anticipation.

She suckled on him, gently, with increasing urgency as his hips arched up to meet her insistent mouth. As she could only fit him partially, she made up the difference by stroking his shaft with her hands, alternately cupping his balls in a way that had his pulse increasing. She got into it, didn’t even think of any other alternative until he finally said, “Juliana, stop.”

She paused, holding his shaft firmly. “What?”

“I want to be inside you,” he said, and his voice was hoarse. “I have to be inside you.”

She smiled, then laughed quietly when he shifted their positions. He covered her like a blanket, and she felt his hips position between her thighs.

“Why, Lincoln, you’re so…”

Before she could finish the sentence, he was reaching down and positioning the broad, blunt tip of himself at her entrance. Then, with a slow, steady motion, he buried himself into her, his full length filling her until she shook with the pleasure of it. She couldn’t speak…she couldn’t think. All she could do was revel in the sheer overwhelming feel of him.

“Juliana,” he rasped, as he withdrew by slow inches and then pressed forward. The pressure of him, gliding against her sensitive flesh, was stoking the fire of her next orgasm. She clawed at his back, her rounded fingernails dragging at his flesh before settling on his ass and pulling him tighter. His movements grew less refined, more energetic.

Every time he pressed full into her, bumping against her clit, she let out a cry of pleasure. The rhythm went faster. She hooked her legs around his, rising up to meet his every thrust as her body shook with his unrelenting passion.

“I want you,” she panted. “I want you…to come…inside me....”

“Juliana!” he shouted, as his hips rammed against hers mercilessly.

The slamming pleasure of him, the feel of his heated release, was like pulling the trigger of a gun. The orgasm exploded inside her and she screamed, clutching at him, shuddering in waves.

When it was over, he collapsed on top of her for a moment, and she didn’t care. After a minute, he slid to her side, twisting so she was on top of him. “You all right?”

“I’m incredible,” she assured him.

“I’ll second that.”

She laughed. “Yeah, well…let me get my breath, and we’ll see about seconds.”

In fact, she thought, she’d probably see about thirds.

9

JULIANA HAD GOTTEN ABOUT two hours of sleep the night before. Now she was in the lobby of a swanky steak house during lunch rush, standing with the man who had made her body sing like a Stradivarius in his pitch-black bedroom.

And his magnificent marble shower, when they bathed that morning.

And in his car, in the underground parking garage of her condominium complex.

Consequently, she was feeling a little punchy, deliciously sore…and, frankly, a little puzzled at the man standing next to her, looking remarkably well dressed and well rested.

“You’ve got superhuman stamina,” she muttered, and he shot a lazy smile at her. At least she wasn’t as nervous about finally seeing her parents....

“Juliana, darling!”
her mother sang out in greeting, getting the attention of everyone within earshot. Which was, Juliana remembered, the point.

Juliana tensed as her mother strode through the entrance of the exclusive Gary Danko restaurant and kissed her. Arianna looked great, as always. She was fifty-four years old, but still willow thin, wearing a wonderful, sexy midnight-blue dress, her hair tastefully colored a slightly darker mahogany than the last time Juliana had seen her. Her mother was wearing large, Jackie O-style sunglasses, which naturally brought attention to the fact that she was trying not to attract attention. Her legs were still phenomenal, and the four-inch stilettos certainly emphasized that.

“What a lovely restaurant! I haven’t been out to San Francisco for ages.” She air-kissed her daughter, then looked speculatively at Lincoln, who was standing at a respectable distance behind them. “Ah! Now, is this the reason you brought me all the way out—”

“Jules, bunny!” Her father’s voice carried from the curving maple bar near the front door, heard as easily as if he were again treading the boards on Broadway or the West End. He moved quickly past the diners and linen-draped tables, gracefully, like a dancer. He kissed Juliana’s cheek, gave her a quick hug. Then glanced at her mother, smiling ruefully. “Arianna.”

“Jason,” her mother said, bored with a twist of sour. She removed her huge sunglasses, tucking them in her tasteful purse, and revealed violet-blue eyes that had a snap of anger lighting them. “I’d forgotten that Juliana invited you, as well.”

“I figured it had to be pretty important if she invited both of us together,” he said, his voice more appropriately modulated now, although people were still staring at them. He, too, noticed Lincoln, and stuck his hand out. “Jason Mayfield.”

“Of course,” Lincoln said, shaking. “Lincoln Stone.”

Juliana could see her father cycling through his mental Rolodex, trying to figure out if Lincoln was “in the business”…and consequently, how hard he ought to be schmoozing.

“I’m a friend of Juliana’s,” he clarified, and she saw her father’s quick, almost dismissive grin as he turned back to her.

“And such a handsome friend,” her mother said, looping an arm through his and shooting him a flirtatious smile. “Juliana, why didn’t you mention that such a handsome friend would be joining us?”

Juliana grinned tightly.
I am in hell,
she thought. “Let’s just—”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Lincoln interrupted, “but I got you a private dining room. Thought it might be more conducive to, ah, catching up.”

Her father’s face flashed, just a second’s worth of recalculation. Lincoln could get the private room at Gary Danko on a whim, she could almost read her father’s thoughts. Lincoln was rich. Which meant her father’s schmooze alert was probably pinging again.

She knew Lincoln’s presence would be a problem, she thought, quashing an internal sigh. She just
knew
it. She followed the waiter, her family and Lincoln to the intimate dining room. It screamed wealth: burgundy walls, black marble wet bar, exquisite floral centerpieces. The waiter seated them, set the leather-bound menus in front of them, then vanished. Her father looked around for a second, nodding. Her mother simply smiled behind the menu.

Neither of them, she knew, were as well off as they’d been ten years ago. Hell, five years ago.
Guess times are tough all over for the Mayfields,
she thought caustically.

Well, at least she’d get this farce over with, pick up the check. Then she could figure out what the hell she was going to steal, and how she was going to film it. The more important challenge. This would all be a blip, a technicality. No big deal.

If this is so insignificant, why are your palms sweating?

She sat down, her parents on either side, Lincoln across the table from her. She waited until everyone had ordered their meals and the waiter had delivered their drinks. She took a big, fortifying sip of Cabernet.

“This is lovely, but I can’t help but wonder…what’s so crucial, that we needed to see you face-to-face?” Arianna asked, eyeing her daughter. “What’s the big news?”

“It’s nothing earth-shattering, Arianna,” she said, and caught Lincoln’s eyebrows lifting at the use of her mother’s name. She’d explain later. “I’m just here to see you two. Talk to you a bit.”

“So how do you know my daughter?” her father said, focusing on Lincoln. “You’re not her usual crowd of useless trust-fund kids.”

“Dad,” she muttered.

“What? Perhaps it’s a bit impolitic, but Lincoln here looks like a businessman,” he said, nodding sagely. “A man of the world. And let’s face it, Jules, you’re not exactly the, ah, serious type.”

She glanced at Lincoln, trying to gauge how he was taking this. Her mother, on the other hand, tilted her head, propping it on one hand. “He isn’t your usual type, darling,” she admitted.

“Mom…Arianna,” she corrected quickly, at her mother’s stern look. “I know Lincoln through mutual friends, that’s all. He wanted to be here.”

“Moral support,” Lincoln said.

“Moral…” Her mother blinked, her luminous eyes widening. “What
is
this about, Juliana? Are you sick? Is something wrong?”

Now her father tuned in a little. “What? What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to…” She took a deep breath. “I haven’t talked with you that much in the past few years. I just wanted to say…how much you guys mean to me.”

They sat, silent, staring at her.

“You, ah…”
Inhale. Just spit it out. Just like you rehearsed.
“You sacrificed so much to get me to the best schools. You set up my trust fund.”

“Which your father regularly pilfered,” her mother said, sipping champagne and sending him a saccharine smile.

“To help pay for those best schools,” her father retorted. “You’re the one who insisted on a European boarding school, for Christ’s sake. When there are plenty of ones in the States, for maybe half the cost. And why did she have to go to boarding school, anyway? Whose idea was that?”

Juliana pressed forward, over their exchanged sneers. “I’ve gotten so much from both of you. I just wanted to thank you for all of that. And tell you…how much I love you.”

There. She’d said it. She shot a glare at Lincoln. If that didn’t count, she didn’t know what did.

“God. Is it cancer?”

She blinked, momentarily thrown by her father’s comment. “What?”

“Cancer,” he repeated, and he looked pained, scared even. “Do you have cancer? Is that what this is all about?”

“Cancer,” Arianna said, pressing her hands to her chest. Okay, to her cleavage. “Oh, no. This is all my fault. I didn’t make sure you ate the right things as a child, always let the schools make those kind of decisions. You never learned how to diet properly. Is this my fault?”

“It probably is,” her father agreed eagerly. “You never were a proper mother to her, and now…”

“What? She’s an adult. She’s almost thirty,” her mother carried on, her guilt quickly swamped with rage. “And you were hardly a role model! If anything, she probably got it from all those partying ways. And I can just bet where she learned
that.
”

“Hello? No, I don’t frickin’ have cancer,” Juliana snapped. For pity’s sake, did they have to make everything so bloody dramatic? “I’m fine. I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Then why in the world are you spending your frequent flyer miles to get us in the same room? You know I’m not overly fond of spending time with your father. Obviously.”

“At least I’m being civil,” her father retorted.

Juliana fought the urge to rub at her temples. She’d just wanted to get it over with, one fell swoop, rather than wining and dining both her parents at separate venues. Besides, she knew that they’d be at each other’s throats…counted on it, really, to keep the whole thing short, if not sweet.

“I just wanted to tell you both how much you mean to me,” she said. “I just wanted to say what I…” She swallowed. “What I really felt.”

The lie stuck like glue in her throat.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, then she glanced at Lincoln again. “Oh, I get it,” she said, with a smile that was a blend of smugness and sagacity. “He’s your mentor, isn’t he?”

Her mouth dropped open, and she glanced at Lincoln, who looked similarly gobsmacked.

How did she know about the Player’s Club? About the challenges?

Her father nodded, as well. “Sponsor, Arianna. They’re called sponsors,” he said sharply. “If you’d ever completed a rehab program, you would know that. Now, let’s let her get on with…whatever. You know, making amends, opening up, what have you.”

Juliana felt her stomach drop, as though she was on a roller coaster. “I am
not
in rehab.”

“There’s no shame in it, kiddo,” her father said, raising his glass in salute. “Hell, I’ve been in rehab four times. Getting straightened out was one of the best things to happen to me, and my career. Each time.”