Читать книгу Champagne Rules - Susan Lyons - Страница 8

The Awesome Foursome had decided to hold their ad-drafting meeting at Suzanne’s place, rather than a restaurant.

Her apartment was a renovated garage at the back of her parents’ yard in Kerrisdale. Furnished with hand-me-downs and garage sale bargains, the cozy space was divided into a small eating-and-living area, an even smaller bedroom-and-office and a closet-sized bathroom. Suzanne loved its compactness, plus how it allowed her to have both closeness to and independence from her parents.

Tonight, though, she could have done with it being about a hundred miles rather than a hundred yards removed from her mom and dad’s kitchen window.

She was nervous enough about what she and the girls were contemplating; she definitely didn’t need parental scrutiny. Of course, chances were, after drinking a bunch of wine and tossing out a few silly ideas, they’d abandon the whole project.

Pausing in the act of opening the Yellowtail cabernet sauvignon Ann had brought, Suzanne glanced out her own window to see her mother standing on the back porch, saying hello to Rina.

Rina, in black leggings and gauzy black tunic top, with a red scarf draped around her neck, was a gypsy in an English country garden. She handed two pizza boxes to Suzanne’s mom.

What on earth? Was she giving away their dinner?

Ah. Rina was rooting around in her tote bag and finally pulling out a brochure. For the Pacific Northwest Opera, no doubt. She played second clarinet, as well as teaching clarinet and piano to students of all ages.

She passed the brochure to Suzanne’s mom and retrieved the pizzas just as Jenny joined them, bearing a pan that hopefully contained her decadent double-chocolate brownies. The three chatted cozily—and far too long for Suzanne’s peace of mind. Jenny in particular was not noted for verbal restraint, and the last thing Suzanne wanted was for her mother to know about tonight’s agenda.

With a touch of desperation, Suzanne went to the door, waved the wine bottle and called, “Anyone ready for a drink?”

That did it. Her friends said quick good-byes, and hurried over. Rina said, “Your mom’s going to get tickets for PNO’s next concert.”

“Great.” Suzanne took one of the Martini’s pizza boxes. “You didn’t tell her what we’re doing tonight?”

“You betcha!” Jenny said loudly. “Told her we were pimping her daughter out to a Greek god.” Then, “Jeez, Suzie, give us credit for having a little discretion.”

Ann came in from the other room. “I’m hungry. I’ve laid out some deli salads. Would you guys get a move on?”

Jenny opened the pizza boxes. “I got a chicken-spinach-feta and a pepperoni-onion-mushroom.”

“Good,” Rina said, “I can eat everything but the crust.”

She was always on a diet, saying she was too fat—though as far as Suzanne could see, what she hid under all those layers of clothes was the kind of curvy body men drooled over.

“And I brought retsina.” Rina extracted a bottle from her tote, eliciting a chorus of “yucks.” She shook her head. “We don’t have to drink it all, just spill a few drops. A libation to the Greek gods, so they’ll bless this enterprise.”

Suzanne gave her the corkscrew and Rina opened the bottle and poured a bit into all their glasses. They flicked a few drops around. Melody and Zorro, two of Suzanne’s three cats, eagerly darted forward, took one sniff, then retreated, whiskers twitching in disgust.

“My feelings exactly,” Ann said. She lifted her glass. “Okay, girls, a toast. Down the hatch. Then we can have some decent Aussie cab.”

“To snaring a Greek god,” Jenny toasted, and they all clicked glasses.

Ann popped a couple of pills into her mouth before drinking.

“You okay?” Suzanne asked.

“Just a headache. Missed lunch, stressful day.” She grinned. “And it’s no fun writing a sexy ad with a headache.”

“You work too hard.”

“Don’t I know it.” She pointed toward the door, where she’d dropped her briefcase on the way in. “Yeah, I can leave the office at six. But only if I lug about three hours work home with me.”

“Sorry. God, Ann, you shouldn’t be wasting your time on this silly stuff, then having to work to all hours.”

Ann shook her head vigorously, then winced. “I needed a break anyhow. Besides, if a girl can’t make time for her best friends, there’s something seriously wrong with her.”

Suzanne reached over to hug her. Then they all settled around the coffee table. After the first few nibbles and sips, they got down to work, tossing out suggestions.

“Notes,” Ann said, putting down a half-eaten wedge of pizza and scrambling over to pull a legal pad from her briefcase.

Soon she was busy scrawling, crossing out, reading back. Finally, when they were into a second round of brownies—for all but Rina who’d only nibbled on her first one—she cleared her throat. “All right, children, I think this is it.” She held up the pad and began to read, putting on a breathy, sexy voice that was completely unlike her normal speaking voice.

“‘Are you the man who shared sizzling sex with a hot blonde in the cave above the nude beach on Crete four years ago? If you feel like another erotic adventure, drop me a line. Be sure to tell me what you remember about that afternoon, so I’ll know it’s really you.’”

“Escapade,” Jenny said. “Rather than ‘adventure.’ Comes from ‘escape’—i.e., to escape restraint, inhibition.”

“I keep forgetting you’re a writer,” Ann said, scribbling the change.

Jenny was a freelance journalist who scraped together a living researching and writing articles, mostly on human interest subjects.

“How flattering,” Jen responded. “Just ’cause I’m little and wear pink, doesn’t mean I’m a bimbette.”

“I know, I know. It’s just a surprise when you pull out the big words.”

Jen leaped to her feet, swatted Ann’s shoulder, then said, “Let’s boot up the computer.”

Ann handed the pad to Suzanne. “Final proofread?”

Suzanne stared down at the words. “Erotic escapade.” That was so not her. And yet, they perfectly described the afternoon on Crete. Could she be that woman again? Did she want to be?

She held up a hand in a “time-out” gesture. “Hold on. This has been fun, but we’re not really going to do it, right?”

“I did not skip out of work early, just for you to bail on us,” Ann said.

“Suzie, we’re just placing the ad,” Rina said softly. “What’re the odds of actually finding the man? And if by some wild chance he actually does respond, then you can decide what you want to do.”

True. If he didn’t answer the ad, it didn’t prove he didn’t exist. It didn’t mean her afternoon of magic—of being the sexiest woman in the world—hadn’t really occurred. And if, by some miracle, he did answer…Then the next step would be up to her.

Suzanne squared her shoulders. “Let’s do it.”

They crowded into her teeny bedroom and clustered round the computer that sat on a small desk by the window. Mouse, her little grey cat, who’d been sleeping on the keyboard as usual, jumped up. He shot her a dirty look and stalked out the door. Even though the bedroom window faced away from her parents’ house, Suzanne pulled the curtains firmly shut.

“Jenny, you’re the computer whiz. Do your stuff.”

Her friend clicked and tapped deftly, then said, “All right, Suzie-Q, what’s your alias?”

“Um…How about ‘islandgirl?’”

“Cute,” Rina said.

“Dull, dull, dull,” Jenny said. “It makes me think of that movie You’ve Got Mail. Wasn’t her e-mail name ‘shopgirl’? Can you think of any better way of saying ‘hello, I’m really, really boring’?”

But she was boring. Wholesome, traditional. She was a student who lived in her parents’ backyard, shared her apartment with three cats, and dreamed of one day being a modern-day version of June Cleaver.

Of course, on that enchanted afternoon her behavior had been so out of character, so…“Outrageous,’” she said, her voice coming out husky, almost sexy.

“Now you’re talking!” Jenny tapped away at the keyboard. “Oh damn, it’s taken. The good ones are always taken. How about adding a number to it? We can try ‘outrageousl,’ ‘outrageous2.’”

“‘69,’” Suzanne said, then clapped a hand over her mouth as her friends howled. “No, honestly, I didn’t mean that. My evil twin made me say it.”

“Your sexy twin,” Jenny said. “It’s perfect. Now, if only someone else hasn’t thought of it.” She tapped away then pumped her fist into the air. “All right! Suzanne Brennan, you are now officially ‘outrageous69.’”

Before Suzanne knew it, the ad was placed and her friends were splitting up the leftovers and heading out.

By the time she’d tidied up the kitchen, Suzanne was having serious third thoughts. What was she thinking, pretending to be some outrageous, sexy, sizzling gal?

She was a twenty-four-year-old vet student who had her life mapped out. She was a firm believer in setting long- and short-term goals, and so far that approach had worked beautifully for her. Her summer and part-time work as a veterinarian’s assistant not only paid her tuition, but assured her she’d chosen the right career, and even promised a job when she finally graduated.

She knew exactly what her husband would be like, because her dad and brother-in-law provided the perfect role models. Mr. Cleaver, as her friends jokingly called him, would have a job he loved—a meaningful job—but would work regular hours and put his wife and kids first, always.

Her friends teased her about being so old-fashioned, but Suzanne didn’t care. She valued security and truly wasn’t a risk taker. That’s why this whole internet thing was so crazy.

Crazy, yet…kind of exciting.

Yes, it was exciting to think she might again experience amazing sex with a stunningly handsome man.

Then she shook her head. Let’s face it, great sex and Suzanne Brennan didn’t go together. In her cave-sex dream, she became a sexy woman, but somehow that image of herself never carried beyond the dream. She’d had a couple of lovers in the last few years, but every time things got hot and heavy, she just kind of…locked up.

The word “escapade” came from escape, as in to let go of inhibitions, Jenny had said.

If her Greek god really did exist and she found him, would she be able to escape her stupid inhibitions with him?

What if she couldn’t? That was a scary thought.

After pulling on cotton pajamas, she stopped and stared at the computer screen. Would there be any answers yet? Why had she promised the girls not to look until next Monday?

Man, it was stressful, placing a personals ad. Kind of like throwing a party. What if no one came? What if too many people came? What if weird people showed up? What if the right guy didn’t?

Expecting one man, somewhere in the world, to see and respond to her ad was sillier than casting a fishing line into the ocean in hopes of luring one particular salmon.

If that very special fish even existed….

Jaxon yawned and rotated his head, trying to ease the ache in his neck and shoulders that had settled in an hour ago. What kind of guy had nothing better to do than sit at his desk doing research at eleven o’clock on Saturday night?

Answer: A lawyer who wanted to score brownie points with the senior partner. So here he was, spending his weekend researching a complicated point of antitrust law, so he could have a memo on Trent Jefferson’s desk before Monday morning—a memo outlining a strong argument they could make to the charge that their client had violated the laws governing unfair competition.

Besides, what would he rather be doing? Sitting in a bar, making meaningless conversation? Twiddling his thumbs in front of a television? No, he was right where he wanted to be, plodding steadily forward on the fast track to success.

Plodding on the fast track. What was that, an oxymoron?

Who cared? It was the life he’d chosen.

He stretched and took two steps to his office window. Outside, the city twinkled with moving lights. San Francisco was alive, but here on the thirtieth floor he was insulated from it. No sound reached his ears, and he viewed the world through tinted glass.

When had he last had a date? There’d been the lawyer he met at the continuing-ed course on intellectual property litigation. After they’d had to reschedule their first two dates, they’d both laughed ruefully and decided it wasn’t worth the effort. That had been…what? Three or four months ago?

A date. He couldn’t even organize a date. Yeah, he knew he couldn’t afford the time for a relationship, but he wouldn’t mind a date.

He chuckled at his reflection in the glass. “Fuck, man. What you really want is down-and-dirty sex.” He was a physical guy, with physical needs. Putting in fourteen-hour workdays tired out his brain, but his body had a deep-down craving to get sweaty and satisfied.

Oh yeah, he was definitely horny. That dynamite blonde from Crete was back in his skull. Christ, it must have been, what? Four years? And it had only been one afternoon. Since then he’d fallen in love, been married, got divorced. But still, that blonde had a grip on him that had never let go. He thought of her at the oddest times, as well as the completely predictable ones like alone in his bed in the middle of the night.

Gazing down at San Francisco, he remembered how she’d stared out of the cave and down to the beach, describing what she saw. Her slim arrow of a body arched above him, those gold curls tumbling past her shoulders, and all the time he was buried to the hilt inside her. Burning with the desire to move, to make her shudder and moan, to find his release. But holding back, wanting the impossible, wanting to stay forever hard, forever inside this woman.

Even now, thinking about it, he was hard. The memory always had that effect on him. Even in the days when he and Tonya’d been making love daily, there’d been something extra-sexy about the thought of that afternoon on Crete. About that particular woman. He ran his hand down the front of his fly, remembering her touch.

Then he gave a growl of frustration and strode back to his desk. Where had he got to in his research?

He tried to force his attention back to the screen, but damn it, his brain wasn’t functioning. What he wanted at this moment was to dream about hot sex in a cool cave.

He reached for the mouse, and gave in to his secret hobby.

In the time since he and Tonya had split up, he occasionally surfed the net, hunting for his sex goddess. He was a pro with internet research—enough to know his chances of locating her were slimmer than the odds of finding a needle in a haystack. The needle, at least, was actually there; diligence and persistence would turn it up. The woman existed, true, but she might not be in the haystack of the internet. The uncertainty somehow made the hunt even more compelling.

If he’d only asked her name, he’d have increased his chances a hundred percent. But at the time he hadn’t wanted to know. She’d been a one-afternoon stand; the less he knew about her, the easier she’d be to forget.

What a pile of crap that had turned out to be.

With a combination of mouse clicks and keystrokes he Googled the words “Crete,” “cave” and “sex.”

Every time he did this he got hits: travel notes, personals ads, even the occasional erotic blog. He and his blonde weren’t the only ones who’d indulged in cave sex on Crete. But the details and tone of the postings had never rung a bell, so he hadn’t pursued any of the leads.

This time he skimmed the list of hits, clicking on one, then rejecting it, and going on to the next. Another sounded possible, so he followed the link to a personal ads website. On his screen, words appeared.

Are you the man who shared sizzling sex with a hot blonde in the cave above the nude beach on Crete four years ago? If you feel like another erotic escapade, drop me a line. Be sure to tell me what you remember about that afternoon, so I’ll know it’s really you.

outrageous69

Adrenaline hit in a surge that had him leaping out of his chair. Goddamn! He thumped his fist against the desk. It was her!

Then practicality took over. Maybe it was her. His lover had definitely been a hot blonde, and the time frame was right. Why hadn’t she given more details, like the color of his skin, the people on the beach below?

He sat down again, drumming his fingertips against the frame of his keyboard.

She hadn’t given details because she wanted them to come from him, so she’d be sure of his identity. It could be dangerous for a woman placing an ad like this.

But then it could be dangerous for a woman walking off with a complete stranger to a cave in the hills. Having unprotected sex.

Yeah, like his hot blonde would worry about a little danger. She was gutsy, into excitement and adventure. Reckless. Outrageous. Outrageous69.

Sixty nine. Oh man, they’d sure shared some crazy fun.

His gaze snagged on the piles of paper, file folders and accordion files that littered his desk. What would she think of him now, with the brilliant but utterly conservative career he was so busily pursuing? She wanted a guy who was sexy, exciting, adventuresome. And he wasn’t.

What he was was a lawyer obsessed with piling up more billable hours, impressing the partners, kowtowing to old clients and hustling new ones. Oh yeah, he could guess how outrageous69 would view him. Sexy? Not a hope in hell.

Though his swollen cock was definitely ready and willing to perform.

Unable to resist the memories, he unzipped the fly of his jeans. She had stroked him with slender, deft fingers, and he’d felt huge in her hand.

Jax closed his eyes as his hand remembered her rhythm. She had stroked and teased, then she’d leaned down and all that sun-kissed hair had tumbled across his belly as she’d opened her lips and taken him in. She’d only managed to surround the first few inches of his length. But she’d compensated by caressing and licking, working her way down and back up, then down again, tonguing his balls until they tightened and clenched and he was ready to explode.

Then he’d grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her away from him, thrust her onto her back. And he was on top of her, inside her, swallowing her cries with his mouth even as his own climax shrieked through him.

Oh shit!

Jax pulled his wet hand away from his body. It wasn’t the first time he’d come, remembering her. But usually it happened in bed at night, or in the shower.

Thank God the office was deserted. Thank God he was wearing jeans rather than one of his good suits.

Praying the security guard wouldn’t pick this moment for a surprise check, he stumbled on shaky legs to the men’s room to clean up.

Back in his office, the message glowed at him from the computer screen.

He grinned and sat down in front of the keyboard.