Wine, Tarts, & Sex (8 page)
Read Wine, Tarts, & Sex Online
Authors: Susan Johnson
“I’m not usually like this,” she panted a moment later, as if she needed to apologize for her lack of restraint. But with an enormous dildo cramming her full, with her every sexual receptor singing the “Hallelujah Chorus” at frenzied pitch, she decided it didn’t really matter about restraint or the lack thereof.
“Hey, everything’s good,” Jake whispered. “Go for it.”
How sweet he was—not selfish, chivalrous even, thinking of her pleasure, apparently understanding the finer points of truth and beauty as related to unbridled desire as well.
And since when had she felt the need to apologize for her sexual urges?
Never.
So there.
Having rationalized away her novel unease having to do with really blissfully countless orgasms that she had to admit were unusual even in her worldly take on life, she stopped quibbling or thinking at all and gave herself up to the extraordinary, superacute pleasure occasioned by Jake’s sculptural talents.
She screamed more than usual when she came the next time.
Perhaps he wouldn’t make his call just yet, Jake decided. Perhaps he’d first talk to her about making less noise. Diplomatically, of course.
On the other hand, it wasn’t as though Eduardo would really give a damn.
Christ, what was he thinking?
Withdrawing the dildo marginally, he shoved it back in and smiled faintly at her gratified sigh. “Enjoy yourself, darling. I’ll make this quick,” he murmured, settling once again into a gentle, adroit rhythm of arousal as he reached for the phone.
Negotiating via a conference call with Eduardo and Devain to save time, Jake kept the conversation as brief as possible. He wasn’t in the mood to quibble over price, which speeded up the process considerably, not to mention Jake’s French was serviceable enough to soothe over Devain ’s notorious irritability.
A price was agreed on in mere minutes, the rare wines locked in for Jake’s restaurants. As Jake made his adieus, Christophe Devain, owner of one of the best vineyards in the world, said, “Jake,
mon ami
, my regards to your lady. Such lovely little moans. I envy you your evening’s pleasure. ”
mon ami
, my regards to your lady. Such lovely little moans. I envy you your evening’s pleasure. ”
Jake didn’t offer demur. He only said, “
Merci
,” understanding how fortunate he was to have darling Livvi in his bed.
Merci
,” understanding how fortunate he was to have darling Livvi in his bed.
Immediately Jake set down the phone, he forgot what— only hours before—would have been a coup of prime import. Rare Bordeaux vintages were dismissed from his thoughts, as was Eduardo’s earlier hysteria. Reaching for one of Chaz’s convenient supply of condoms, he shifted his attention to more pressing activities.
A moment later, the zucchini dildo was tossed aside, Jake settled between Liv’s legs, and the two individuals on the Bollywood bed returned to their quest for the perfect orgasm.
Eight
The next morning Jake walked Liv out to her truck. “Christ, the sun’s barely up,” he muttered, squinting at the pink glow in the east.
“My work crew comes in early. I try to be there in case anyone has any questions. Or wants to bitch. You didn’t have to get up.” She grinned. “I could have sent you a dozen roses and a thank-you note.”
He grinned back. “Make it red roses. You
did
work me pretty hard.”
did
work me pretty hard.”
“I should apologize”—her brows flickered—“although I think I did a bunch of times already.”
She always had—right before she asked for it again. “Hey, babe, I’m only teasing. The pleasure was all mine.” He opened the driver’s door for her.
She climbed in, Jake shut the door and, rolling down her window, Liv said with a smile, “Thanks again. I had a really good time.” No one in Minnesota ever got in their car after a visit and just drove away. The Minnesota good-bye was lingering and often involved several extra cups of coffee—although in this case sex had been substituted for coffee.
“Come keep me company again—anytime.” Jake’s reluctance to have her leave had nothing to do with Minnesota good-byes. He was still horny.
“I might take you up on that.”
“Please do. I’m at loose ends for a while. I’ll feed you, too.” For a man who preferred one-night stands, he surprised even himself with the invitation.
“It’s busy this time of year for me. I’ll give you a call before I come over.”
“Don’t bother. Come anytime.” Every word he spoke was such a clear departure from normal, he was thinking he must be losing it. And how much he could contribute to fatigue was unclear.
The first few bars of Natasha Bedingfield’s “Unwritten” echoed in the morning air.
“Shit, that’s my phone,” Liv muttered, rummaging through the mess on her truck seat to unearth it. Plucking it from under a denim jacket, she glanced at the caller ID. “I better take this,” she murmured. “A friend from the past.”
“Go for it. I’m not in a hurry.” Screw it. He liked her
and
the sex. No way he was going to analyze this to death. “Stay for breakfast,” he offered.
and
the sex. No way he was going to analyze this to death. “Stay for breakfast,” he offered.
“I wish,” she said, flipping open her phone. “But my crew . . .” she whispered. “Hi, Janie,” she said in a normal tone. “What a nice surpri—hey, slow down, slow down. Oh, Jeez—sorry; I left my phone in my truck. You’re
where
? Okay, gotcha. Hey . . . don’t cry. You’ll be fine here. No one in New York ever even
thinks
about Minneapolis. I’ll come and get you. It’ll take me about twenty minutes. Don’t move.”
where
? Okay, gotcha. Hey . . . don’t cry. You’ll be fine here. No one in New York ever even
thinks
about Minneapolis. I’ll come and get you. It’ll take me about twenty minutes. Don’t move.”
Flipping the phone shut, she turned to Jake. “Crisis in paradise, as you may have surmised. Like the soap operas my friend from New York used to star in. Apparently, Janie went to the gym yesterday and came back to find the locks on the apartment had been changed. Neither the doormen nor servants would let her in, no matter how big a scene she made—and knowing Janie I expect it was a doozy. Luckily, she’d taken her little boy with her for his swim lesson or she wouldn’t have had access to him. Gypsy fate there. Anyway, ” Liv added, “they’re at the airport Hilton. She’s been trying to get in touch with me since last night. Moral of the story—never marry a Mr. Big who’s already divorced three wives.”
“You wouldn’t be talking about Janie Tabor?”
“You know Janie?”
“I did a long time ago. She was trying to break into movies like every other woman who came out to la-la land from small-town U.S.A. Mind if I come along?”
Liv hesitated. “I’d better ask Janie. She’s pretty uptight right now.”
“I’ll wait.”
He said it so calmly she figured he knew what Janie’s answer would be. And sure enough, when she called and asked, Janie screamed, “Jake’s
there
? Put him on the phone!”
there
? Put him on the phone!”
After a lengthy conversation that made Liv beaucoup curious about their past as well as making her just a little pissed for some stupid, unknown reason, Jake said good-bye and handed Liv her phone. “Let me grab my wallet and lock up. I’ll be right back. Want me to drive?”
“I’ll drive.” What she really wanted to say was,
Tell me everything
, because what she’d heard of their conversation sounded just like the soap operas Janie used to star in before her marriage to one of the richest men in New York. Not that Liv hadn’t tried to talk Janie out of marrying a man who was into serial marriages.
Short
serial marriages. But at the time, Janie had been tired of acting and tired of dating. She’d also been nervous about her biological clock, along with pop-psychology issues like where she was going with her life. She’d been twenty-nine and had spoken longingly about wanting a baby of her own in the same sappy phrases as one of the flaky characters she’d played on the soap operas.
Tell me everything
, because what she’d heard of their conversation sounded just like the soap operas Janie used to star in before her marriage to one of the richest men in New York. Not that Liv hadn’t tried to talk Janie out of marrying a man who was into serial marriages.
Short
serial marriages. But at the time, Janie had been tired of acting and tired of dating. She’d also been nervous about her biological clock, along with pop-psychology issues like where she was going with her life. She’d been twenty-nine and had spoken longingly about wanting a baby of her own in the same sappy phrases as one of the flaky characters she’d played on the soap operas.
Not a good reason to get married, Liv had thought.
Particularly not a reason to marry someone like Leo Rolf, who already had five children by three former wives.
But then Liv had always been a romantic, unlike Janie, who was looking for someone rich to take care of her and give her a baby. Liv was still holding out for that
great true love that passeth all understanding
. Or something along those lines.
great true love that passeth all understanding
. Or something along those lines.
The passenger door suddenly slammed shut, jarring her from her mindless reverie. Returning to reality, she gave Jake one of her practiced, camera-ready smiles. “All set?”
“Yep. Ready to hit the road.”
For a man who had been complaining about the early hour just minutes ago, he was suddenly raring to go. Not that she should care or even give it another thought. Just because she’d spent one night having fabulous sex with Jake Chambers didn’t give her the right to question his motives.
The sex had been prime, but that was it. End of story.
Particularly with a man like Jake Chambers, who’d spent years enjoying all the pleasures of life without so much as finding himself engaged, let alone married. Leo Rolf should take lessons.
“Traffic should be light this time of day,” Liv said, firing up her truck. “Tell me how you know Janie?” Crap. Where did that come from? Hadn’t she just cautioned herself against overt curiosity?
“We lived together in L.A. for a while. She needed a place to stay, and I had plenty of room.”
His tone was casual. But men were always more nonchalant about living arrangements. Like the time she thought she might actually be falling for Serge in Paris, and she’d found out the apartment she shared with him was his wife’s. Perhaps that memory added a little edge to her voice. “Living together like roommates you mean?”
He stopped humming under his breath and gave her a quizzical look. “Yeah. For a while.”
“Oh, crap.” She could feel the blush stealing up her cheeks. “It’s really none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked. Please . . . go back to your humming.”
“Look, I probably don’t have to explain Janie to you. She’s nicer than hell; I like her. But let’s face it, she looks out for numero uno first. My story is hers in reverse. I came home one day and she was gone. She’d left with a New York director who’d promised her a part on Broadway.”
“I’m sorry.” Leaving midtown, Liv turned onto the freeway ramp. “If it’s any consolation, she’s done that more than once.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t die of a broken heart. I was just surprised. A note would have been nice. But we had our good times, and I wish her well.”
“How long did you live together?”
“About a year.”
She almost said,
Holy shit, that must be a record for you
. Jake Chambers could pretty much have his pick of women—and did. “That must have been a long time ago,” she said instead.
Holy shit, that must be a record for you
. Jake Chambers could pretty much have his pick of women—and did. “That must have been a long time ago,” she said instead.
“It was—like a couple lifetimes ago. You know, I’m hungry again. Let’s eat breakfast somewhere after we pick up Janie.”
Was he politely changing the subject, or was he really hungry? Was he going to ask Janie to stay with him again? Was last night’s world-class sex all she was going to get of Jake Chambers now that Janie was in town? If she knew him better, she could ask him all of the above.
Shit, the morning after really
could
be awkward. Munch’s painting of the young woman seated on the edge of the bed, while replete with nineteenth-century moral overtones, did portray a kind of universal uncertainty typical of those occasions.
could
be awkward. Munch’s painting of the young woman seated on the edge of the bed, while replete with nineteenth-century moral overtones, did portray a kind of universal uncertainty typical of those occasions.
On the other hand, she wasn’t exactly the bashful type.
“Is Janie going to stay with you?” So sue her; she wanted to know.
He gave her another of those quizzical looks. “Not unless you don’t want her at your place.”
“She’s fine with me. I just thought I’d ask.”
He smiled. “I wasn’t planning on picking up where Janie and I left off, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“I wasn’t, okay?”
He looked amused. “No problem, then. By the way, I meant what I said. Come and see me anytime.”
It was scary how his casual invitation could make her entire body begin to rev up again. It was even more scary that a happy, blissful glow seemed to inundate her psyche. She’d never felt either of those sweep-you-off-your-feet sensations before Jake Chambers and his magnetic force field had entered her life.
Apparently, the phrase,
warm your heart
, wasn’t just BS.
warm your heart
, wasn’t just BS.
“How long have you known Janie?” Jake reached for the power switch on the radio. “What’s a good local station?”
“The second button. Top forty. I met her in New York.” Liv glanced his way. “She’d just come out from L.A. But Tommy Farrell didn’t get her that Broadway part.”
“So I heard.” Sitting back, he jabbed a finger at the radio. “Great song.”
“Yeah. It always puts me in a good mood.”
“So you were living in New York? With a modeling career, though, I suppose you would.”
“I had an apartment there at the time. Janie stayed with me for a while after Tommy dumped her. She needed a shoulder to cry on.”
“She’s good at crying.”
“It wasn’t so bad. I had my whiny moments, too. And we did a lot of clubbing in those days. She’s fun to party with.”
“Do you miss the bright lights?”
“Uh-uh. I came here to escape the bright lights—camera lights included. I was raised not far from here. My comfort level is far, far away from big cities.”
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