Wine, Tarts & Sex

by Susan Johnson

  “My pleasure.” But her utterance was half-breathless, for a wild, leaping desire had fluttered through her senses and settled exactly where she’d rather it didn’t settle, seeing as how they were on the freeway in the middle of rush hour.

  “We should try out Chaz’s bed later on.”

  He knew. He could always tell. “I’d like that,” she said, trying to breathe normally when her body was already gearing up for action. Urgent lust bathed her vaginal tissue in fluid heat, an equally reckless ache of arousal throbbed deep inside her, and normal breathing was suddenly at issue. “I don’t suppose we could stop,” she whispered.

  He glanced at her, then at the traffic. “Everyone’s going eighty, babe. I’d say come sit on me, but this time of day, we’d have a helluva lot of company.” The traffic was three lanes, bumper to bumper, high speed. You could practically reach out and touch the car on either side.

  “I know, I know.” She took a deep breath. “Forget it. I’ll be fine.”

  He gave her a sympathetic look. She didn’t sound fine; she sounded really hard up. “Look, scoot over. I’ll drive with one hand.”

  “Would you really? I mean, thanks-jeez-keep your eyes on the road. Look, no sense in killing ourselves. I’ll survive. I’m not some horny adolescent. I can control myself. ”

  He grinned. She didn’t look like an under-control kind of woman right now. He patted the console between them. “Come on, babe. It’s almost an hour into town. Lean back against the door, bring your tush closer, and I’ll give you a ride you’ll remember.”

  She’d be stupid to refuse. Then again, maybe he was just being ultracourteous. “Are you just being polite?”

  “Fuck no. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it. Here, babe, bring that sweet sugar within reach.”

  She shouldn’t. She should have enough self-discipline to last for an hour or so. In fact, it was ridiculous that they were even having this conversation.

  “I don’t know how busy I’ll be once I get there,” he said in warning.

  Oh, jeez, why did he have to say that? She’d probably have to spend the whole day looking at him from afar, with tons of people around and no way to have time alone with him.

  He shot her a grin. “Hey, this isn’t a moral issue. I’m just being practical.”

  “Then, if you don’t mind,” she said, smiling back, “one pragmatic orgasm sounds pretty good.” She was already hitching up her dress and kicking off her sandals. “Lucky I wore a sundress today,” she cheerfully said, slipping off her panties and shifting in her seat so she was leaning against the door.

  He winked. “Lucky I can do two things at once.”

  Her smile was pure sunshine. “For which I thank you in advance.”

  “Damn,” he muttered, taking in the provocative sight of his number one turn-on zone unclothed, available, and obviously ready for action, if her glistening pink labia was any indication. “You can get me hard in under a second, babe.”

  “We could exit at the next town.”

  He glanced at the clock on the dash. “I wish.” He drew in a deep breath, reminded himself he actually had a restaurant to open, and he stoically yielded to present circumstances. Shifting slightly in his seat in order to position his arm properly-or more particularly his hand-he slid two fingers inside her soft, clamoring flesh, found the little rough patch on the roof of her vagina, and gently rubbed back and forth in a slow, come-hither, zigzag motion.

  Liv uttered a long, blissful sigh, stirred in her seat to rise into the glorious sensations, and a moment later whispered, “I owe you big time for this.”

  “I intend to collect.” He slid his fingers deeper into her pulsing, swelling passage. “Just as soon as I can.”

  She didn’t seem to be listening any longer; her eyes were shut, her hips were lifting and swirling around his hand, and when she urgently gasped, “More… more,” he shoved a third finger inside her slick warmth and pushed.

  It was a matter of staying in his lane, stroking her quivering tissue, forcing his fingers in and out of her melting flesh, and seriously trying to ignore her wild little cries in order to hold it together and not pull off onto the side of the freeway. When she began panting and her vaginal muscles tightened around his fingers, he willed himself to concentrate on the road and separate himself from his own needing-to-get-laid cravings.

  When she climaxed, it was even harder for him. She was so steaming hot and wet, so frantic to get screwed, she’d been begging him to pull over. “I can’t,” he’d grunted tersely, his fingers white-knuckled on the wheel.

  She must have discerned the tension in his voice, for the second after she came, she instantly tried to make amends. Coming to her knees, she threw her arms around his neck and between passionate kisses, whispered, “Thank you, thank you… you’re the most darling man on the face of the earth. I’ll pay you back, see if I don’t.”

  He smiled and kissed her back and politely said they’d work something out.

  “Don’t be mad,” she breathed, nibbling on his ear.

  “I’m not mad. I’m horny.” He shot her a grin. “You can take care of that later.”

  “I will, I will-whatever you want.”

  He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Sounds good. Now, cover up, babe, so I can stop thinking about jumping you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Smiling brightly, she reached for her panties. “Whatever you say, sir, Mr. Chambers, my lord and master, ” she teasingly added.

  “I’ll let you know what I say,” he noted with a wolfish smile. “Just as soon as I deal with everyone at the restaurant, you’re gonna be first on my list to get orders.”

  By the time they drove into the parking lot at Jake’s restaurant, they’d both achieved a level of calm. Liv, particularly, who had had the opportunity to relax more than Jake, was in a relatively serene mood and willing to wait any amount of time for Jake to finish his business.

  Walking into the restaurant a few moments later, they entered a major construction site, electricians tripping over plumbers tripping over HV guys tripping over carpenters. Jake politely introduced Liv to one and all, explained to her what was going on, and took her on a guided tour of the entire lower level. When the tour was finished, he discussed the orders of the day with his project manager.

  The L.A. people arrived as expected shortly after, and another round of introductions ensued.

  Four people had come out from L.A. to help Jake: three men, Eduardo, Sam, and Gunther, and one stunning woman named Elena.

  The moment Liv met the sleek woman’s cheeky gaze, she knew without a doubt that Elena and Jake were or had been more than employer, employee. She was Peruvian it was explained, her speciality naturally, her native cuisine. No mac and cheese then, Liv thought churlishly. That left her pretty much out-chefed. It didn’t help either that Elena’s exotic beauty was a perfect foil to Jake’s dark good looks. Nor that she had a habit of leaning in real close when she talked to him and whispering in Spanish.

  Get a grip, Liv cautioned herself as a wave of jealously gripped her. She’d never deluded herself that Jake was a monk. She’d always known there was a long list of women in his past. And it wasn’t as though she’d spent her leisure time home alone, knitting.

  Keep it real, she reminded herself. Their relationship was about sex-no hearts and flowers, no Hallmark card sentimentality.

  It was temporary fun and games.

  And she’d better not forget it.

  “If you don’t mind, Liv, Eduardo and I are going to check out the kitchen. It might take a while. Why don’t you go upstairs. I’ll be up when I’m finished here.”

  Leaning over, he kissed Liv gently on the cheek, giving out the message loud and clear that she was special.

  How could she refuse such politesse? Or argue? She couldn’t say, I don’t want to leave you with her, without sounding juvenile or-horror of horrors-possessive. “Not a problem,” Liv murmured. “I’ll wait upstairs.”

  But waiting turned out to be
torture. She kept imagining that Jake and his sexpot lover were flirting, teasing, touching each other, maybe even making plans to meet later. Jake had never said he intended to stay at Deer Lake for any length of time. Now that his L.A. people were here, perhaps he’d stay at his restaurant.

  She found herself watching the clock.

  She paced.

  She tried watching TV.

  She flipped through magazines. Chaz apparently didn’t read books.

  Fidgety and restless, climbing the walls, faced with a serious jealousy problem for the first time in her life, she managed to talk herself out of going downstairs for more than half an hour.

  Okay, thirty-two minutes, ten seconds.

  But only because she’d curbed her impulses by hanging onto the railing at the top of the stairs for a promised count of two hundred before she let go.

  Racing down the stairs, she recalled how she’d walked up these same stairs one evening not too long ago and had experienced a major seismic event. There was no other word for Jake Chambers in her life. He’d shaken her placid, predictable world to the core. Case in point: she was frantic with jealousy.

  She heard the men’s voices before she reached the bottom of the stairs. Jake’s and possibly Eduardo’s. The accent sounded like his.

  “Tell me about this babe with the great body and bad wines. This is the Liv you were talking about. Right?”

  “She’s the one.”

  “So only words of glowing praise will do, I assume, when it comes to any discussion of local wines.”

  “I’d appreciate it. Although it’s not as though her wines are absolutely terrible, it’s just that-”

  “They’re not up to your superior standards. Is that it?” Liv rapped out, her voice hot with rage as she walked out from behind the cooler. Her wines were not terrible. What a hypocritical prick! He hadn’t had the nerve to say that to her face, had he? He’d just lied through his teeth every time they’d drunk her wines! “For your information,” she snapped, bristling with fury, “you can take your fucking taste in wines and go fuck yourself!”

  “I’ll catch you later,” Jake murmured, dismissing his manager with a nod before turning to Liv. “It’s not like that,” he gently said as Eduardo beat it out of the kitchen. “Eduardo misunderstood me.”

  “It didn’t sound like he misunderstood,” Liv shot back, her face flushed with anger. “It sounded to me like you were agreeing with him. Who the hell do you think you are, saying my wines are terrible?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

  “You mean, make it up to me by screwing me and making me forget all about being angry? You think I’ll just forget the fact that you can’t stand my wines because you’ll make me feel so-o-o fucking good. Is that it, you lying prick?” Cranked up, boiling hot, she clenched her fists to keep from slapping his sanctimonious, double-dealing face. “Here’s a news flash for you,” she said, her voice terse and bitter, “getting sex isn’t a problem for me. There’s lots of men who can make me feel good. So do me a favor. Stay the fuck away from me.” She jerked her hands up as he moved toward her. “I mean it. Do. Not. Touch. Me.”

  Each word was cold as ice. He stopped, took a step back, let his hands drop to his sides. “Let’s talk about this,” he said very, very softly.

  “No thank you.” Each word was pissy, her gaze gelid. Then, turning, she walked away.

  “You don’t have a ride home. I’ll drive you.”

  “I have friends who’ll give me a ride home. You stay here and drink some of those French wines you ordered. You know, the really good ones,” she said with withering contempt.

  “In case you forgot, you’re staying at my place.” A definite Hail Mary pass.

  “Fuck if I am.”

  The kitchen door slammed behind her.

  Jake swore under his breath. Although it wasn’t as though he could make her damned wines better by waving some goddamn magic wand, he wished he could if it would get him back into her bed. He swore again, the thought of her having sex with other men messing with his head. She knew plenty of men, she’d said, and he didn’t doubt it. He couldn’t think of a man with a heartbeat who would refuse her.

  So now what? She wasn’t exactly in the mood to listen to reason at the moment, and if push really came to shove, he didn’t know if he was willing to grovel.

  Not if it meant having to pretend her plonk was world-class. Okay, it wasn’t precisely plonk, but it wasn’t grand cru, either.

  And seriously-he wasn’t that good at duplicity. Not over the long haul.

  Also, come to think of it-reality check time-he wasn’t in this for the long haul.

  He softly sighed. Maybe this blowup was for the best. He should have been staying here at the restaurant anyway, working every day, not fucking his brains out like some hot-to -trot, randy teenager. Maybe fate had stepped in at the right time.

  He had his best players here with him.

  Everyone knew the drill when it came to getting an operation off the ground.

  Maybe it was time he started acting like a man with a restaurant to open.

  If they kicked ass-with luck-they could have opening night at the River Joint in four or five weeks.

  Thirty-three

  Who the hell did he think he was, Liv fumed, walking fast toward downtown. Robert fucking Parker? Screw Jake Chambers. She didn’t need his insults. She’d gotten along just fine before she met the almighty, know-it-all, fancy-smancy restaurateur. She’d always hated wine snobs anyway. Most weren’t willing to give their benediction to American regional wines unless they were already vetted by some celebrity connoisseur. They couldn’t think outside the box. Even many of the now-famous California wines had struggled to be taken seriously in the early years.

  So to hell with Jake Chambers.

  Diss my wines, diss me; that was her motto.

  Although it wasn’t as though she was unrealistic about her wines. She understood all the unknowns: the incompatibilities with accepted norms, the rough provincial edges, the variables of weather. Still, she considered her wines promising; in some cases, fairly seamless examples of earthy, down-home, delicate to voluptuous wines. They were not and maybe never would be grand cru quality. But her vineyard was blessed with good terrain and serious slope, often prerequisites for distinctive wines, and in that instance, luck was definitely on her side.

  At base though, luck aside, it was simply pure pleasure to produce her own wines.

  And she wasn’t going to allow anyone to get between her and her dream.

  Squinting into the sun, Liv gauged the distance to Shelly’s office. Another eight blocks or so. Good. It would give her time to cool down-or partially cool down-and disengage from the tumult in her brain. She kept thinking of clever insults and slurs she could have served up to Jake. Wasn’t that always the way, though? You think of the good stuff when it’s too late.

  But as the politicians say: we don’t want to talk about the past; we’re interested in the future. In her case, her immediate future required a ride home. She’d ask Shelly. It wasn’t as though the wiseguys were interested in her anyway. She didn’t have anything they wanted, unless they were into Minnesota wines. And with luck, Janie might have hashed out her settlement deal with Leo by now and everyone could-la-dee-da-go their merry ways. Hopefully.

  Of one thing she was certain, however.

  She wasn’t going back to Deer Lake.

  Pulling her phone from her purse, she called Janie to clue her in. Their conversation was short. Liv didn’t mention any Peruvian beauties. She only mentioned Jake’s disparaging remarks about her wine. “So I’m not coming back to Deer Lake. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course, darling,” Janie replied. “What a terrible thing to say when you’ve worked so hard on your vineyard. He’s a jerk. Don’t give him a second thought.”

  Then Janie had begun talking about something Roman had said that was so utterly sweet she was giddy with j
oy, and Liv’s problem was sidelined.

  Not that Liv had expected more, well acquainted as she was with Janie’s self-centered views on life. Actually, it made the conversation easier. She hadn’t been required to angst over anything or explain her feelings. That was the beauty of dealing with Janie. Everything was always about her.

  Shelly was quick to shut her door behind Liv after she walked into her office. Waving her to a chair, Shelly said sympathetically, “You look angry. Need some help?”

  “Yes and yes,” Liv muttered, dropping into the chair in front of Shelly’s desk.

  “Seeing how you’ve been largely incommunicado of late, I’d venture it’s man trouble.”

  “Definitely man trouble.” Liv scowled. “He doesn’t like my wines, the prick. Can you imagine the gall?”

  “He said that to you?”

  “No. He’s not that stupid. I overheard him talking to someone.”

  “How did he respond when you confronted him. Knowing you, I assume you did.”

  “Damn right I did. He said he was sorry; it was a misunderstanding. If it was a misunderstanding, why did he have to say he was sorry?” Liv spread her arms wide. “I rest my case.”

  “I understand you’re angry, but let me play devil’s advocate for a second. Are you sure his not liking your wine is reason enough to toss away a darling like-I presume you’re talking about the handsome Jake Chambers?”

  Liv gave her friend a jaundiced look. “That’s like me asking you if you’d put up with some guy who told you you weren’t capable of making money in the stock market.”

  Shelly dipped her head. “Touché. So what can I do for you other than listen to your whining-and I mean that in the nicest way. You heard your share from me about Darren. ” Compared to Shelly’s divorce battles, Star Wars inter-galactic struggles would qualify as a day at the beach.

  “If you could drive me home after work, I’d appreciate it. I rode into town with him,” Liv said with disgust, “so I’m without transportation.”

  “Will do. I may not be able to leave very early, though.”

  “I don’t care. My place is supposedly in a combat zone anyway. Another day to let things cool off won’t hurt.”