Who's on Top? (12 page)

Don't stop…

She moved restlessly, seeking his magic touch, but when it came, it was on her thighs. His strong hands pushed her knees far, far apart, and then his face was between her legs, nuzzling her, kissing the tender flesh. She quivered again and then froze, hoping beyond hope that the kiss would go further.

Before she'd completed the thought, his mouth closed over the core of her and she cried out.

Dominic made a sound of male pleasure deep in his throat and pushed her thighs back even more, until she felt exposed and vulnerable to the whole world. He bent his head again and parted her lips with his tongue, lapping her as if she were an icecream cone.

She melted under the assault, forming small unintelligible cries in the back of her own throat.

He went on and on, circling with his tongue one moment, plunging it inside her the next, gripping her bottom fiercely and possessively until she had the sensation that she was filling with helium, expanding and floating, going higher and higher.

Dominic suddenly fastened on her clitoris and
sucked hard, as if it were a ripe peach. Jane exploded in a maelstrom of light and a rainbow of color.

She opened her eyes to find herself alone in her shower with her sea sponge and gel.

D
OMINIC KNEW HE WAS BEING AN
ass to Jane. Perhaps being railroaded out of his job brought out his worst qualities—but he couldn't seem to help himself.

Whether being an ass was a step up or down from being a pig, he didn't know. And to continue his present barnyard status, he was randy as a goat.

However, there was no way that Ms. Jane O'Toole would meet him tomorrow night at the Three-Legged Dog. She had far too much self-respect to allow her competitive streak to get her into that situation.

Too bad. Because Jane drove him crazier than any woman he'd ever met. She was a maddening, sexy, brown-eyed challenge and he wanted to eat her with a spoon.

Why was it that the one time in his life he met a woman with such potential, she had to be working for his worst enemy? The injustice of it made him want to growl out loud.

And if only Jane realized how she was being used. But Arianna was perfectly charming…for as long as it took to identify any weakness in a victim. Then
she'd jab at the weakness, smiling, until it was red and irritated. Apply meat tenderizer, so to speak. And just when her prey got distracted, she'd lunge for the jugular and take him down.

Arianna was very, very good at what she did for a living—not work but human sabotage.

He got angry all over again just thinking about her. God, wasn't there some way to beat her without sinking to her level? Some way to win without compromising his own integrity?

 

J
ANE WAS AFFRONTED ENOUGH
by Dominic's challenge—or was she humiliated enough by her own private response?—to march straight into the office of Arianna DuBose the following morning.

“You're right,” she said by way of a greeting. “Dominic Sayers
is
impossible.”

Arianna's diamonds glittered, while behind them she looked very much like a hornet in her yellow-and-black suit. “Well, Jane, I tried to tell you. But of course you're a professional and needed to find out for yourself.”

Jane nodded while analyzing the peculiar nuance Arianna placed on the word
professional
. She'd swear the woman had sounded…condescending? Derisive? Yes, that was it. A hint—or two or three—of derision had tainted those four syllables. Jane's internal radar went up, even as Arianna aimed a friendly smile in her direction.

The smile was a generic baring of teeth and could
have been aimed just as easily at an assistant, a janitor or the woman who came to spray the office plants.

Jane sensed a disturbing disconnectedness about the vice-president—she looked right through Jane as though she were invisible.
Oh, she's probably just distracted over some business issue. She must wear a lot of hats.

Jane did her best not to wonder if one of them was pointed and black.

Arianna's gaze sharpened now, and Jane almost squirmed, finding the fierce focus even more disconcerting than the wide-angle stare. “Listen, Jane. I'd like for you to think about working closely with our HR department here at Zantyne.” She got up and closed the door.

“To be frank with you, this is a fabulous company, but we're experiencing some growing pains. We've got some bad seeds and some deadwood around here. They're holding up expansion and they're balking at R & D costs for a revolutionary product.”

The hairs at Jane's nape stood up and moved restlessly, sending a frisson of dislike down her spine.

Arianna produced an intensely charming smile and bestowed it upon Jane like a gift. “I need that deadwood gone. I need those bad seeds out of here. And you know HR people….” She laughed.

Jane forced herself to smile in return, but her mouth and chin felt like old wood—petrified.

“HR people are so damned warm and fuzzy.” Ari
anna bit out the words as if these qualities applied to criminals or terrorists. “They want to give everybody a second, third, fourth chance! For chrissakes, I don't have that kind of time.”

“I understand.”

“So I'd like to bring in an outside expert to help move these people out of here. I admire your style, Jane. I'd welcome you on board as that expert.” Arianna named a consulting fee that caused Jane's eyes to bug out and noted her reaction with a smug smile.

Jane blinked in the hope that her peepers would return to their sockets. “I'm…stunned at your generous offer. I don't know what to say.”

Her Hornetness beamed at her. “Say yes, honey.” There it was again, that faint derision in her voice.

“I'll need to consult with my business partners, of course.”

The wattage in the beam dimmed a bit. “Fine. But I'll need your answer as soon as possible. Can you get back to me by Friday?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” Arianna stood up, signaling that her visitor should now leave.

Jane got up and made her way to the door.

“Oh, and could you have the Sayers evaluation on my desk by Monday? I've been interviewing for his replacement and I've found someone quite promising.”

 

J
ANE TOTED A TRAVEL-SIZE
hair dryer with her back to Finesse and squinted once again at the hairy flower
arrangement on the office coffee table. She found a nearby outlet and plugged in, switched the device on to low power and aimed.

Surely this would work! The fan had simply been too strong. But the hair dryer, especially on low, should eliminate the dust without blowing the petals off the flowers.

Lilia emerged from her office to investigate the cause of the noise. Her faint, exotic eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. “Should I even ask?”

Jane turned toward Lilia, keeping the appliance pointed at the flowers. “They're dirty! I've got to find a way to dust them. I think this is the solution.”

“Are you sure about that?” Lilia's tone was rich and amused.

Jane turned back to her project and immediately switched off the hair dryer. In disbelief she noted that the remaining flowers were still attached to their stems. But the stems now drooped double, so that the petals dragged on the coffee table. The whole arrangement looked as if it had a bad hangover.

While Lilia's shoulders shook helplessly, Jane swooped down on the vase with a small shriek and tossed the works into the trash. “I give up! I hate the darned things anyway! They just collect dust!”

Shannon could be heard laughing from her office.

“Quiet, you!”

“I didn't say a word, lamb chop. Not a word.” Cackle, cackle.

“While I've got you all here, I need to call a meeting,” snapped Jane.

“An emergency session on…purchasing silk flowers? Or perhaps real ones?” Lilia grinned.

“No,” said Jane with all the remaining dignity she could muster. She stalked to the hair dryer, un plugged it and wound up the cord. Then she threw it in her desk drawer.

“We need to talk about a consulting gig I was of fered today.”

“The Zantyne possibility you mentioned?” Shan non appeared in her office doorway wearing a winter-white top that looked like shreds of old granny slips stitched to a sleeveless men's undershirt. Of course it looked fabulous on her, whereas it would have made Jane look like a giant mop.

She nodded. “Yes, it's the Zantyne deal.” She filled them in on the startling fee Arianna had offered her to serve as a consultant.

Shannon whistled. “That alone would turn us a profit this year. Unbelievable.”

Lilia eyed Jane shrewdly. “What's wrong?”

Jane slumped into a nearby armchair. “What's wrong is that I'd basically be a hatchet woman brought on board to—and I quote—“get rid of dead wood.” I'd be a hired assassin for Arianna DuBose—you've met her, Lilia.”

Her partner's brows knit. “Executive Women's
luncheon? Purple suit, vampire-red lips, lots of diamonds?”

Jane nodded.

“She seemed very nice.”

“She's nice with a purpose. There's something about her that gives me the creeps.”

“Well, isn't that a scientific opinion,” Shannon teased.

“No, really. Dom originally described her as sociopathic. I didn't believe him then. Now I really wonder.”

“Dom?” Lilia's brows rose for the second time. “Sounds like you two have gotten cozy.”

Jane grimaced. “Not at all. The man is—” She clenched her fists in her lap.

“Pond scum?”

“Nooooo. Not exactly. More like those plants that live half-underwater. Slimy but with patches of leafy-green.”

“I'm sure
Dom
would be flattered to hear that.” Shannon grinned. “And I still think you want him.”

“Wrong,” Jane retorted. “And not the topic of discussion.”

“Anything you say, boss.”

“So what do you think about the consulting gig?”

Shannon and Lilia exchanged glances. It was Lilia who spoke. “It's a lot of money, Jane. But if you don't feel right about it, then we'll back you up.”

Shannon nodded. “You're the CEO. It's your decision.”

 

I
T FEELS LIKE A DEAL WITH
the devil.
That was the thought that kept running through Jane's mind as she drove home that evening.

Her mind's eye wandered to a setting which it did not have permission to recall. Slick brown tile, assorted beer advertisements, rows of tired guys on bar stools shooting the breeze or staring blankly at the corner television. The big barkeep with the luxurious belly and the double chin presiding over all the elegance in his T-shirt and grungy apron.

No. No, no, no and furthermore,
no
. She was
not
going to the Three-Legged Dog to meet Dom tonight. Her competitive streak was getting out of hand if she was even thinking about it.

Chicken.

No!

She was a grown woman, staid and responsible and chock-full of self-respect. How could she even think about meeting that man's challenge? If she lost, she'd never forgive herself.

If she lost, she might just have the time of her life.

No! Absolutely not.

Jane looked at her watch: six o'clock. Plenty of time to get home, shower, change into jeans. She even had time to shave her legs.

Pathetic. Woman, you are pathetic.

Why? After all, she was going to
win
this time. She just had to take control of the table first and maybe toss him a psychological curveball to throw him off his game.

Jane drove home humming and mentally pieced through her closet. Jeans? No. She'd wear something black. After all, it was going to be his funeral.

T
HE
T
HREE
-L
EGGED
D
OG, IF NOT
precisely hoppin', was well stocked with burly, belching men by seven o'clock.

Dominic bellied up to the bar and started making friends, since he doubted Jane would show up.

He'd downed a couple of beers with a group of housepainters by the time she graced them with her presence, causing cardiac arrests all over the establishment.

The four of them immediately forgot their fascinating debate over the merits of silicone caulk. Every male spine on the row of bar stools straightened, every pair of shoulders thrust back, every gut sucked in. Jaws slackened. And the barkeep actually whistled.

“Hello, Dominic,” she said in husky tones.

Jane—
Jane?—
wore all black. Or rather, the black wore
her.
Displayed her. Intimately. Right down to the hot-pink hoochie-mama skyscraper sandals on her feet.

Dazed, Dom focused on her hot-pink toenails and then ran his gaze up every luscious, inky curve of her
to hot-pink siren's lips.
Say something, you jackass.
The message flashed to his muddled brain, which malfunctioned. “You're late,” said his mouth.

Her chin rose. “Yes. You have a problem with that?”

He slowly shook his head. His eyes moved from her lips to her breasts—gifts of God, swells of enticement, cruelly covered.

Dom lurched helplessly on his bar stool and forced his curiously rubbery legs to the ground. “I'm glad you came.”
And I'm about to.

She cocked a hip and smoldered at him. “You don't say.”

Dom peeled his dry lips apart. “You're dressed to kill.”

Her mouth curved. “It's appropriate for the occasion.”

Oh man, oh man. She's here to lose on purpose!
Jane had once again surprised him. He focused on a silver charm around her neck, the only jewelry she wore. The charm danced back and forth, dangling provocatively just above her cleavage, and glinted even in the dingy bar lighting. It was an arrow. It pointed down, toward everything he wanted from her tonight.

Dom ran a hand over his jaw and shifted from one foot to the other. Drops of sweat formed at his neck, under his arms, at the small of his back. Mother of God, she was going to kill him. She had indeed dressed for the occasion.

So it's true. Nice guys do sleep alone.
As soon as he'd shown her who was boss and tossed her out of
his life, she'd come back apologizing and she now wanted him badly enough to lose.

Dom grinned, displaying every tooth he owned. “Well, then. Let's get this game over with.” He turned to the group of painters. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Jane had already begun an unspeakably cruel sashay toward the pool table in the back. That delicious bottom of hers taunted him; begged to be peeled like a ripe peach; beckoned him to sink his teeth into it, then go lower and suck out nectar.

Dom wanted her so badly his teeth ached. He was cold, hard steel. He could barely walk. Somehow he made it to the table, thanking fate that a certain part of him wasn't facing the bar, because there was no disguising his arousal.

On the other side of the table, Witchy Woman chalked her cue stick and didn't bother to be subtle. The stick—
lucky, lucky stick!—
nuzzled her breasts as she worked the tip thoroughly until it shone deep blue. She met his gaze, then cast her eyes lower, registering the effect she was having on him. She smiled.

He gritted his teeth. Oh, but she'd pay for this!

“Shall I break?”

He didn't trust himself to speak; just nodded.

Jane racked the balls while he tried like hell to look away from that evil little arrow shimmering away between her lush breasts.

He summoned every ounce of willpower and refused to pant.

She removed the rack, stepped back, slid the stick
back and forth between her palms and nimble fingers. She bent over, the silver arrow dangling wildly, and Dom crammed his knuckles into his mouth as his gaze slid down, down, down. If only, only he were a Lilliputian! To tumble in utter bliss between those gorgeous, sumptuous breasts. To sink helplessly into their soft female flesh.

Oh, yes! He'd be Al in Wonderland, falling through the looking glass.

Jane's cleavage moved, and his eyes, visual slaves, moved with it. Registering why she moved seemed beyond him.

Ball after ball sank into pocket after pocket.
Lucky balls…

“Dominic.” Jane's voice reached him dimly.
“Dominic!”

He blinked.

“Your turn.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She'd sunk stripes. His were the solids. He lined up a shot.

She bent over to see better, and that tool of Satan, the little arrow, winked at him.
Look upward,
he told himself sternly.
Up.

Fuchsia lips, soft and pouty. Jane's little pink tongue darting out to wet them, just touching the cleft of her Cupid's-bow mouth.

Hey, man, you gonna shoot sometime this year?
Machismo, always so useful, spoke to him. He let it guide him, shot—and missed, the ball mocking him from the rails.

“Oooh. Good try,” said his female affliction, patting him on the arm.

Her touch sent a fresh wave of electric frustration zinging through him.

Jane walked around the end of the table, and he followed the arrow's symbolic instructions, dropping his gaze to her black-silk-encased thighs.

He wanted to drop to all fours and rub his cheek against one. He wanted to part them and bite into her center, tease her and punish her until she was calling his name and he'd had his revenge.

Naughty little psych major, dressed to kill.
Using her witchy-woman powers on him. Showing up here to lose so that she could save face about wanting him.

Why couldn't women just admit their desires? Why did it embarrass her to want sex with him? Strange creatures, women. Coy. Inexplicable.

But she wants me, she wants me! She's not indifferent…she dressed for me to seduce her.

Jane's wrap blouse slid up a bit as she bent over the table again to line up a shot, and her low-slung black pants dipped down. He bit his tongue hard as a fuchsia T-strap became visible.

Jane wore a hot-pink thong.

As the image sank into his overheated brain, he vaguely took in the wildly improbable sight of the eight ball hurtling toward a corner pocket.

Expertly Jane sank it, wriggled lower into her pants again and propped her stick against the wall.

“Thanks for the game, Dominic,” she said. And then she turned on her hoochie-mama heel and headed for the door.