A Cat in Cream
When a cat burglar out on a job saves a lawyer from being killed by a crazed one-night stand, both of their lives are changed forever. Somewhere along the way, the now former cat burglar realizes that even the not-so-good people of this world deserve love too, and that sharks should always mate…
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Chapters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16.
All That Jazz
Wow, this club was rockin’. Jazz Sullivan glanced around the dimly-lit interior, his eyes finding specimen after specimen of hot and eligible manhood. He practically licked his lips as he sipped at his drink, a frothy pink concoction with an umbrella stuck in it. “Thanks for bringing me here!” he called over the loud, pounding music to his friend Basil. “It’s like a smorgasbord!”
Basil laughed. He called out in his light voice with its lovely British accent: “Told you so, darling! So many fetching men, so little time! Where to start, one wonders?”
Jazz giggled. “More like, where to stop?” he replied happily.
Basil shook his head. “Go get them, tiger. You’ll have half the men in this place wrapped around your little finger in no time.”
Jazz smirked as he sipped at his drink again. He didn’t bother to refute this statement, because it was true. Wherever he went, gay men fell over themselves to try to get his attention. What was there not to like? His tall, slender, graceful body with the dazzling pale skin just waiting to be stroked? His face, which was almost feminine in its beauty, with a full pink mouth that one could get lost in? The fall of silken hair that he’d dyed a sort of slivery color? His eyes, with their long lashes and mysterious depths, that he always accented with smoky eye shadows? It was a delectable package, and since he specialized in casual hook-ups, Jazz didn’t care about any of the men he slept with finding out what was actually IN the package. Looks over substance, when all you wanted was to get laid.
Hmm, so many choices. That handsome, clean-cut college boy? The one who looked like a rocker? The charming scoundrel currently seducing another pretty boy out on the dance floor? Jazz knew he could take that scoundrel away from his pretty boy in a heartbeat, just by crooking his little finger. He almost purred in anticipation as he let his eyes move onward. He’d make his choice soon, but for now he was just enjoying the view.
His eyes came to rest on a man leaning on the bar, talking to another man. The first thing that Jazz noticed was that this guy was big - not tall, maybe a few inches shorter than he was - but built like the side of a brick house. He could see muscles straining under the open-necked blue shirt the man was wearing. He wasn’t horribly over-muscled - he could put his arms down - but he looked strong. Very strong. Jazz appreciated that. It was sometimes nice to have sex with a man who looked like he could snap you in two easily. Made him feel all weak and helpless.
The man turned his head, and Jazz saw his face. Not handsome, not really - his face was too rough-looking to be called handsome. Craggy cheekbones, a jutting chin, a nose that was not only a blade but a broken blade(it had a decided drunken tilt to it), and thick black brows hiding his eyes…Jazz was intrigued. This guy looked dangerous. He felt a little wriggle in his stomach. Maybe he WAS dangerous! Mmm, that would add a bit of spice to things!
“I think I’ve found Mr. Right Now,” he purred to Basil.
His friend lifted his brows. “Oh? Which one is the lucky fellow?”
“That one, over at the bar. The big one,” Jazz said, pointing.
Basil looked where he was pointing. “HIM? He’s enormous! And ugly,” Basil remarked in disbelief.
“He’s interestingly-ugly,” Jazz chided his friend. “Sometimes a change of pace is good, especially when it’s as big a change of pace as HE is. I’ve got to go get me some of that.”
“Well, whatever you like,” Basil said with a shrug. “I won’t try to discourage you. Just be careful, Jazzer.”
“I’m not made to be careful,” Jazz replied with a wicked grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bas,” he added as he slid out of the booth they were currently occupying and sauntered away toward the bar.
“Lucky sod,” Basil muttered, attending to his own drink. Not that his accent didn’t land him enough men to keep him busy, but he would have killed to be as beautiful as Jazz was.
He slid through the crowd, fending off propositions and improper touches as he went. Not that he minded those improper touches most of the time, but right now they were simply getting in the way of his objective. His eyes were fastened on his prey, the large, muscular man leaning on the bar. Jazz’s lips spread in a sultry smile, and his narrow hips began to sway provocatively. He sauntered up to the big man, and called out: “Hey, there. Do you come here often?”
A dark head turned, and the man pinned him with a pair of steel-blue eyes so intense they reminded Jazz of a falcon he’d seen at the zoo once. His smile faltered a little, but he plastered it back on. Silence, as the man stared at him thoughtfully. Jazz felt like he was being undressed by those eyes, and not in a good way. It was as though they were stripping him of all of his defenses and pretenses, rather than his clothing…
Finally the man spoke. His voice was low and deep, fitting his face and eyes perfectly. “This is my first time,” he replied coolly.
“Oh? It’s my first time, too…at this club, that is,” Jazz said with a seductive smile. “I thought I’d come over and introduce myself. I’m Jazz.”
“Jazz? As in jazz music?” the man said, arching one brow.
“Yes. My mother loved musicals and Liza Minnelli, and one of her favorite movies was All that Jazz. So she named me after it. I like to think that she knew about my sexual orientation from the womb,” he added with a whimsical smile.
“Huh,” the man said.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Jazz asked, fluttering his eyelashes a little in invitation.
“I’m fine, actually.” the man held up his drink, showing that the glass still contained a good bit of liquid.
“Oh. Well then, would you like to get out of here?” Jazz said, fingering the collar of his shiny shirt to call attention to his lovely skin.
The man stared at him, making Jazz feel a little uneasy again. Then he shook his head. “No,” he replied. “No, thanks.”
If someone had kicked him in the groin, Jazz wouldn’t have been more shocked. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had turned him down, let alone in such a cool and dismissive way! His eyes narrowed, not in a sultry manner this time. “Why not?!” he snapped angrily. “Is there something wrong with me?”
“Well, on first sight I’d say that you’re vain, shallow, egotistical, and probably extremely promiscuous,” the man drawled. “In other words… I don’t know where you’ve been.”
Jazz’s mouth fell open. He spluttered, now so angry that he was literally seeing red. How dared this ugly Neanderthal judge him! “You probably just don’t want to do it with me because you’ve got a tiny dick and you‘re ashamed of it,” Jazz hissed furiously. His eyes ran in a cutting manner over the muscular form, “Taking steroids will do that to you,” he sneered.
The man’s lips quirked. “That’s probably it,” he agreed calmly. “Now why don’t you go and find somebody else’s leg to hump?”
Jazz was no so enraged that he could barely breathe. The man was implying that he was a bitch! If he’d had long fingernails, he would have proved that implication by scratching this motherfucker’s eyes out! He stormed away without saying another word, since he would have been incoherent with fury anyway. Basil looked alarmed when he arrived back at the table and sat down, his eyes blazing and his pink mouth compressed. “Jazz? What’s wrong?” he asked worriedly.
“Gah! Fucker…kill him…hope his dick falls off!” Jazz grabbed his drink and finished it in one gulp, then waved a hand at a nearby server and ordered half-a-dozen more like it.
Now truly alarmed, Basil grabbed his arm. “Jazzer! Please tell me what happened!” he cried.
“That asshole said I was a slut and a bitch!” Jazz snarled.
“He said that?” Basil asked, amazed.
“Not in so many words, but that’s what he meant! All I did was ask him if he wanted to leave with me, and he insulted me!”
“That’s strange,” Basil murmured. “So it was totally unprovoked?”
“Well, I might have said that he had a tiny dick after he basically called me a slut,” Jazz sniffed.
Basil stared at him, and he shrugged defensively. “He started it! I didn’t do anything to him to make him start calling me names!”
“So what did he actually say?” his friend asked.
Jazz looked sullen, but finally told Basil about what had happened. After he was done, his friend frowned. “I guess he was kind of harsh,” he said, “But you have to admit that he was right about a couple of things, Jazzer.”
“Like what?!” his friend cried, looking put out.
“Well, you can be kind of vain sometimes,” Basil said gently. “And you are - let’s face it - pretty promiscuous. You’ll sleep with anything that has two legs and a cock. Admit it, you know it’s true.”
“Well, maybe,” Jazz muttered, grabbing at the drink the returning server was handing him. “But what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all,” Basil reassured him. “But some men don’t like that kind of thing, Jazzer. Maybe he’s one of them. Look, just put him out of your mind and don’t worry about it anymore. There are plenty of other men here, just pick another.”
“Yes, that’s true,” he said, glancing around. “You’re right, Basil! I’ll just find another hot guy and that bastard can go to hell!”
“That’s the spirit!” Basil said, clinking glasses with him.
Jazz finished another drink, scowling down at the empty glass. In spite of what he’d said to Basil, he still found himself thinking about(and fuming about) that asshole who’d insulted him. He sent dagger’s glares at the bar every few minutes, trying to burn a hole in the insulting jerk’s head. He knew he should just pick out a hot guy and beat feet, but he was still too mad to be able to concentrate on his choice. He was obsessing about being turned down(and in such a rude and insulting way, too!) and he couldn’t think of anything else. Basil had finally gotten tired of his going on and on about the incident, and had cozied up to a nice-looking man on the dance floor. From the way they were moving, Jazz knew they’d soon be leaving. Leaving him alone, deserting him…
He knew this wasn’t fair to his friend, but he was in no mood to be fair. He gulped drink after drink, getting smashed. As his alcohol level went up, his temper began to cool. Soon he was weaving in his seat, a large smile on his face. Jazz was in charity with the whole world right now. He wanted to kiss every man in the club(well, except for the ugly guy at the bar) and dance sexily out on the floor. Yes, that’s what he’d do. He staggered to his feet, shambling toward the dance floor while humming under his breath. He’d show them all his amazing moves!
But before he could get that, he caromed off of something large and solid. He almost fell, but a large hand caught his elbow and cradled it, steadying him. He squinted muzzily at his savior, and saw the same interestingly-ugly face of the man who’d insulted him over at the bar earlier. Suddenly, all of his pique came rushing back, and he jerked out of the man’s hold. “Yooo!” he yelled, pointing an unsteady finger at him.
“Me?” the man lifted his black brow.
“Yesh, yooo!” Jazz managed to poke him right in the middle of his broad chest. “Yoo shuuck!”
He tilted his head. “Do I?”
Jazz nodded so vigorously that he almost fell over. “Yoo’re meannn,” he pouted. “Callin’ me names. Not a shllluutt!”
“I never said you were a slut,” he replied, sounding amused.
“Yesh, yoo did. Sayin’ I was pra-pre-pro…mishshoousss.” Jazz slurred, glaring at him.
“I call them like I see them,” the man said, his lips quirking.
“Jeerrkk. Thash yoo…” Jazz whined, poking him in the chest again. “Woodnn schleepp wish me. Callin me names. Meann,” he added, nodding along with his own words.
“Well, if you say so. You’re really drunk, you know that?”
Jazz scowled at him. “No, I’shh not,” he said, sticking his tongue out at the bastard for good measure.
A chuckle. “Yes, you are. I think you should go home and sleep it off.”
“Nahh gonna,” Jazz said petulantly. “Waana schtayyy and fin’ shomeboddy to f-f…f-f..schleep with.”
“I doubt that you’d be able to perform very well in the condition you’re in,” the man remarked humorously. “Come on, I’ll put you in a cab.”
“No, no, no, no!” Jazz yelled, struggling futilely against his hold. “Waannna schtayy!”
“Well, too bad,” the man replied, then to Jazz’s shock he found himself being picked up and slung over one broad shoulder as though he weighed nothing. He dangled over the man’s right shoulder, wriggling and cursing, as the man began to carry him out of the club.
“I hattess yoo!” Jazz screamed, pounding weakly at the man’s back with one fist, getting nowhere.
“I know you do. There,” he found himself set on his feet, and he staggered a bit before the man steadied him. “Now what’s your home address?”
“Liikee I’s schtell yoo,” Jazz grumped, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his lower lip.
The man pulled a cell phone from his pocket and called a cab company. His other hand held Jazz in place so that he couldn’t bolt back into the club. Once he’d made the call, he turned to Jazz. “Let’s see your i.d.,” he said, stepping toward Jazz.
Alarmed, Jazz tried to back up. But the man’s hands caught him, and one held him easily while the other one dipped into the barely-there pockets of his painted-on pants. “Ah, hah,” he said, extracting Jazz’s i.d. from his hip pocket and looking at it. “Jazz Sullivan. 824 Beach Street. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Jazz snarled at him, which made him grin. “Here, let’s put that back,” he tucked the i.d. back into Jazz’s pockets, and the feeling of those long fingers rubbing over the material of the pants did bad things to Jazz’s anatomy. His body didn’t care that he hated this guy…
A fuming Jazz stood and glared at his captor until the cab pulled up in front of the club. The man guided him to it, and practically shoved him in the back. “You’ll thank me in the morning,” he remarked to Jazz, who called him a string of extremely slurred curse words in return. The man turned to the cabbie, who was watching this exchange with interest. He leaned over and gave the man Jazz’s address, along with enough money for cab fare and a generous tip. “Make sure he makes it into his apartment all right, would you?” he told the cabbie. “He’s pretty drunk.”
“Sure, pal,” the cabbie replied readily.
The man straightened up and turned to the back of the cab, where Jazz was slumped in the seat half out-of-it. “Goodnight, Jazz.” he said, before he stepped away from the curb and walked back into the club.
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