Who's on Top? (16 page)

J
ANE AWOKE AT THREE IN THE
morning with one of Dom's legs thrown over hers and his arm across her belly. It set off every alarm bell in her head.

Aha! Possessive, alpha-male behavior, even in his sleep. See, this can't go on. You've got to break it off now, before it gets too complicated.

The romantic side of her argued.
Aw, what he's doing isn't possessive, it's sweet and loving.

Ha. A lot you know.

The sex kitten in her mewled,
How can you give up this guy's between-the-sheets techniques?

Easily. It's been scientifically documented that romantic love, and usually frequent sex, die in relationships after a maximum of three years.

You are such a cynic. There are lots of romantic, sex-charged relationships out there.

Exceptions to the rule. And I won't be lucky enough to be an exception.

How do you know?

Go away. I have to pee.

Fine. But can't we just keep him around for amazing sex? Just for a few weeks?

No!

Jane slipped from beneath Dom. He stirred sleepily but didn't wake—just rolled onto his back and looked like a magnificent, snoozing Caesar. Even with his features relaxed, he vibrated power. He had an arrogant nose. His lips pulsed with sensuality. He was far, far too good-looking. Good-looking men always demanded their share of obeisance, and she simply wasn't up for kissing His Highness's ring. So there.

She headed quietly for the bathroom and went through the motions of relieving herself. Nope, no ring-kissing for her. She preferred nice, humble men who knew their limitations—like her father. He was sensible, stable and didn't demand too much from life. He'd been content to be ruled by her mother….

So what are you saying, Jane? That you want a man who kisses
your
ring? Oh, that's fair.

“That's not it at all!” she said aloud.

Great. She was not only talking to herself but now answering. Having entire conversations with voices in her head. This did not bode well for her sanity. She pulled her robe off the back of the bathroom door and headed for the living room, where she sat cross-legged on the couch, staring out a window at the trees illuminated by a streetlight.

Jane turned from self-examination to ethics. From an ethical standpoint alone, sleeping with Dom was wrong. She had to cut things off immediately.

Worse, she'd been weak. Weak to give in to him and weak to give in to herself. The sexual byplay be
tween them had turned into a power struggle, just like everything else, and she had lost.

So what if she never had another orgasm during intercourse again? She couldn't afford to turn into a weak, mewling, moonstruck, malleable, mawkish, m—uh. She was running out of
m
adjectives and finally settled on pathetic. Yep,
pathetic
pretty much summed everything up.

She couldn't afford to turn into a pathetic, love-scrambled mess—especially over a guy like Dominic. He was a lot like cocaine in male terms. Not that she'd ever done cocaine. But she'd studied its effects and she was positive that Dominic was pure coca leaf for easily addicted women.

Now, back to that losing thing. She refused to do that either—not on a permanent basis. So she'd lost a couple of rounds and given in to her own sexuality. Big deal. That didn't mean she'd lost the game. It was time to take back the power while she still could.

I am woman,
Jane told herself.
Hear me roar—
“Yaahhk!”

Someone had sneaked up behind her and kissed her neck. Jane screeched and shot upward. Her head collided with something hard.

“Uuurrfff.
Ow!
”

She then fell forward, ending ass-up on the carpet with her robe around her ears.

“If you hadn't just broken my jaw with your skull, I'd be admiring the view,” said Dom.

“You scared the crap outta me!”

“And here I was, trying to be affectionate. Christ, woman!”

Jane jerked her robe over her bare butt and assumed a human, rather than canine, position. “Do you need ice?”

“If this is what a guy gets when he nuzzles your neck, how do you react to a good old-fashioned snuggle?”

She inspected his jaw, ignoring the question. “It's not broken.”

“I'm asking a serious question here. Would I get a knife in the ribs, or your knee in my 'nads?”

She glared at him. “Depends on my mood. Now, do you want ice or not?”

Dom rubbed at his jaw. “Nah. But I'd sure like you to kiss it and make it better.” He smiled that addictive smile of his.

She felt her insides going all soft and gooey, which was of course the evil man's plan. “Look, Dom, we've got to talk.”

He looked at the glowing blue numbers of the clock on her stereo. “Now? It's 3:35 a.m. I can think of a lot of better things to do than talk.”

“I can't,” she said firmly. “Want some coffee?”

“Hell, no.”

“Hot chocolate?”

He stopped rubbing at his jaw and began to look resigned. “Sure.”

She padded into the kitchen, pulled out the milk and poured two cups into a saucepan. She set it on a
burner of her stove and turned on the gas underneath it. Then she retrieved cocoa powder and sugar from her pantry.

“Oh, good. You make real hot chocolate, not the lousy packet kind with water.”

“Of course.”

“What do you need to talk about at 3:37 a.m. that involves you creating a diversion with the stove and a beverage? Are you going to do this every night?”

She stirred the warming milk with a wooden spoon. “No. Because this is the last night. It has to be.”

He sighed and yawned. “Must you give me the kiss-off speech before 4:00 a.m.? Don't you think it's a little early?”

He didn't seem upset at all. She told herself that was good. She told herself that was excellent, in fact. She refused to be miffed that he wasn't hurt or surprised or angry—even if it did take a small toll on her ego. Jane stopped stirring and put her hands on her hips. “Would you prefer that I wait until five?”

“No,” he said in the voice of reason. “I'd
prefer
that you not give the speech at all. But you will, being you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You've got a whole load of excuses up both sleeves, Jane, and we both know it. Do you have them on index cards? Or did you memorize them, in alphabetical order?”

She gaped at him for a moment before recovering. “That's so unfair.”

“Nope. It's true.”

The milk was bubbling angrily now, and she slid her wooden spoon under the thin skin that had formed on the surface. The nasty stuff clung to the spoon. She turned off the heat under the pot, carried it to the sink and poured a little milk into each of the cups she'd set out. This turned the chocolate and sugar mixture into goo and enabled her to beat out the cocoa lumps before pouring the rest of the milk in. She gave a final stir to each cup and then handed him one.

“Look,” she began. “I only have two reasons for breaking this off now, while it's still fun. And they are not excuses, okay?”

His eyes had grown hooded and his lips had flattened, but he listened.

“One, we are two very strong personalities. And in my experience—”

He snorted.

“—relationships between two extremely stubborn individuals do not work because each constantly seeks to control the other.”

Dom sipped his chocolate. “Which keeps things interesting.”

“Which makes things bloody in the long run,” she corrected.

“What a cop-out. So what's reason number two?”

“Reason number two has to do with my profes
sional ethics. I have never slept with a client. I've made a mistake with you, and the only way to rectify that error in judgment is not to do so again.”

“How flattering,” said Dom. “To be an error in judgment.”

“Dom, you know what I'm saying….” Jane retreated behind her own mug of chocolate and avoided his gaze.

“Yeah. I know what you're saying. And I also know what you're
not
saying. What you're not saying is that you're scared of letting things go any further. And you're also not saying that you're afraid you're being weak. It's all very symbolic, Doc, if you think about it.”

“Don't call me ‘Doc.'” She set her cup down with a snap.

“Fine. Back to the symbolism. You're afraid of losing your pants.”

“What?”

“Yup. Who wears the pants, Jane? If you don't have them on, you're naked and vulnerable. You're not in control.”

“That is
so
not true. Would you leave the psychology to me, please? It's not your field.”

Dom raised his hands, palms up. “Treading on your territory, darlin' Jane? My apologies. After all, I'm not supposed to have any insights. I'm just the beef here—you're the farmer.”

Her jaw worked. “I think you should leave now.”

“Getting out your cattle prod?”

It sure is tempting.
How did the guy make her feel so in the wrong? Especially when she was doing the right thing? She was being ethical, darn it. And fair, too! So why didn't she feel better about it?

A
RIANNA
D
U
B
OSE HAD RESEMBLED
a hornet the last time Jane saw her. Today she looked like a rabid bat. She flew into Jane's office at Finesse, swooped down upon her in black dolman sleeves and extended her claws to get a good grip on her neck before she bit down hard.

In those narrow claws she held Dominic's evaluation, and her blood-red lips opened in a snarl to display her pointed teeth. Jane figured she must have used her rearview mirror to wipe her mouth free of foam flecks before entering the building.

“Hello, Arianna. I was expecting you.”

“This,” hissed the woman, “is
not
what we discussed.”

“Please have a seat. Would you like coffee?”

“No. What I would like is to reach an agreement which I thought we'd already settled.”

“Arianna—”

“I made you an excellent offer.”

“You certainly did, but—”

“You want to play hardball. I'll up the offer by twenty percent. That's it.”

“Thank you. I'm flattered. But I have to decline.”

Arianna stared at her. “Jane, dear. Are you crazy or just stupid?”

“Neither, thanks. We've just got a lot of commitments for the next two years,” Jane lied, “and I can't take on that kind of workload. We're too small.”

“Oh, puh-lease. You have no ambition? You don't want to grow? Establish a real name for yourself?”

If only she knew. Jane was ashamed of herself for even considering the Zantyne offer. She had actually come close to selling her soul in the name of money and success. She'd thought about selling out Dominic. That was disgusting.

“Of course I want to grow,” she said to Arianna.
How to be diplomatic here?
“But the truth is that I don't think we'd work well together.”

Her visitor threw up her hands. “We've been working together just fine. At least until you decided to screw the pooch!”

What exactly does that phrase mean?
Jane found the imagery disturbing. And, ahem, she'd bypassed the pooch for the big alpha dog—Dominic. But there was no need to mention that. None at all. She kept her face impassive, her gaze unwavering.

“Fine,” said Arianna. “You want to walk away from an amazing offer, then that's your own foolishness. But I need you to rewrite the Sayers report.”

Jane took a deep breath. “No.”

Arianna's diamonds sparkled dangerously. They
vibrated with anger. Her nostrils flared. “I've already hired his replacement.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“We had an understanding!”

“No,
you
had an understanding.”

“You know damn well that you led me to believe you were on board. You came into my office and admitted that Sayers is difficult!”

“He is when he's angry. He felt railroaded and he was defensive. You set it up that way.”

The vice president's eyes narrowed to slits. “Don't
go there
with me, little Miss Muffet.”

Miss Muffet?
Jane almost laughed.

“You get one more chance. Rewrite this, or I will crush your little two-bit business.”

Jane straightened her spine, ran her tongue over her front teeth and raised her brows. She folded her arms across her chest. “My goodness. I'm trembling. Excuse me while I sit on my, uh,
tuffet
to catch my breath.” She sat in her leather chair and placed her hands flat on the desk. “Now, I'm quite sure that I didn't just hear you threaten me. Because that would be unprofessional.”

“It's not a threat. It's a promise. And don't think I can't do it. You think long and hard before messing with me, Jane O'Toole.”

“I'm not ‘messing' with you. But I don't respond well to threats. And may I say that during the course of my research I looked into your past, as well as Dominic's. You've had quite an interesting career path.”

Arianna froze. “You can't prove one bloody thing.”

“No.” Jane smiled. “But I sure can connect the dots.” She got up and opened her office door, indicating that they were through. Shannon and Lilia were suspiciously close by. Jane looked for any cups they might have been holding to the wall.

“Arianna, have you met my two business partners?”

“No. Nor do I wish to.” The woman brushed past them.

Lilia's brows rose. Unfailingly polite, the etiquette consultant still wasn't about to tolerate the snub. “Oh, but we
have
met, Arianna. At the Executive Women's luncheons. Let me show you out.”

Shannon was more belligerent and let it slip that she and Lilia had definitely been listening. She put her hands on her hips and called after the two women.

“By the way, Ms. DuBose, you can threaten all you want, but we're not closing anytime this decade. And we're a
three
-bit business, you bitch!”

 

“I
CAN'T BELIEVE YOU SAID THAT
, Shannon!” Lilia lectured her later.

“She deserved it. She's got a nerve coming in here and trying to throw her weight and her
bling-bling
around. I'll bet she's even got a diamond through her—”

“Don't say it, Shannon. That's gross.”

“Aw, you're no fun. Anyway, I hope she gets mugged and none of the rocks are insured.”

“Bad karma,” said Jane.

“Poetic justice.”

Lilia changed the subject. “We're proud of you, Janey!”

“Why? Because I kissed off the biggest contract we're ever likely to be offered?”

“No. Because you handled her like a pro, you didn't back down and you didn't compromise your integrity. That means a lot.”

“Huh. So how'd you hear everything, anyway? Did you guys hunker down near the HVAC vent?”

“Jane, sweetie, give us credit for more dignity than that. We just switched on the intercom at the reception phone. You can eavesdrop brilliantly that way.” Lilia smiled, her face all innocence.

“I think you're an undercover agent,” Jane said to her. “You wear Prada and Chanel, yet you can probably kill people with your bare, French-manicured hands.”

Lilia's smile widened. “No. But I did take a self-defense class in college. And I once used my hard-cover copy of Emily Post to rack a date when he got a little too aggressive.”

Jane choked.

Shannon cheered.

Lilia smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of her sleeve. “See? I was born to be an etiquette consultant. I'll teach manners by force when necessary. Now, I think we should all have champagne tonight—to celebrate getting rid of the charming Madame DuBose.”

 

D
OMINIC WHISTLED AS HE MADE
his way to the office of Arianna DuBose. She'd called him in for a chat.

Jane's words the other night had reassured him that he had nothing to worry about. He couldn't wait to watch the diamond-studded old crow eat…crow. And hell, cannibalism suited her to a T.

She sat behind her massive walnut desk, visible only from the waist up. Her severe black hair and pale skin made her red lips look even bloodier than usual—as if she'd just raised her head from a fresh kill. Perhaps she had another employee's severed thigh or arm stored in her stainless-steel minifridge?

Dom did a
rat-a-tat-tat
on the surface of her open door.

She barely glanced up. “Dominic.” She sighed. “Come in. Shut the door.”

He noted two things that he didn't like the looks of. One, an opalescent gleam in her small black eyes. Two, the glossy Finesse press kit on her desk.

“Have a seat,” Arianna ordered him. She opened a file drawer and pulled out an official-looking bound report with a blue cover.

“I'd prefer to stand, if it's all the same to you.”

She shrugged. “As you know, Jane O'Toole, the behavioral psychologist who spent some time here, has submitted an evaluation of your personality and performance here at Zantyne.”

“Yes, Miss O'Toole and I met and discussed the situation.” He played his cards close to his vest.

“Dominic, I'm sorry to say that her report is very disappointing—though not, may I say, a complete surprise to me.” She paused. “It can't surprise you, either.”

Dominic held himself very still, though shock and betrayal and fury surged from his ears to his heart and pulsed through every vein in his body. He set his jaw and clenched his teeth as she continued.

“Your attitude toward women is perhaps understandable, given your upbringing, but it simply won't fly with me. Since you can't seem to swallow your resentment or control your tendencies toward insubordination and, frankly, chauvinism—”

The jaw he'd clenched fell open at that. “This is complete and utter bullshit!”

“Do not raise your voice to me or use profanity, Mr. Sayers. Both are against clearly stated company policy—”

“I don't believe this!”

“You'd better start believing right now, because you are fired.” Arianna stood up. “And don't consider trying to pursue legal action, because I have every incident and warning documented. You've been a trial to work with since the day I transferred here from Chicago and took what you considered to be ‘your' promotion. I have tried to work with you, Sayers. I've bent over backward to smooth things over between us, but you just can't take orders from a woman. Top management finally understands, and they are backing me up one hundred percent.”

Damn, she was good. She even managed to look pained and wronged at the boorishness and “injustice” of his behavior. He recalled hearing that the best liars were those who convinced themselves first.

“You're a piece of work, woman. Do your lies ever stop? How do you look at yourself in the mirror every day? Christ!” he spat. “I don't think you take a piss without calculating what angle to work, what it will get you.”

“Vulgarity and hostility to the end,” she noted. “By the way, did I inform you that I'm tape-recording this conversation? Just in case.”

He wanted to vomit right on her desk. “No, Arianna, you didn't inform me. Not until you had some good ‘attitude' and ‘insubordination' documented.”

He walked right up to her desk and leaned on it, his face inches from hers. “What makes me sick is how you roped Jane O'Toole into backing you up. What did you offer her? Money? Contacts? A job?”

She didn't blink. “Don't try to physically intimidate me. Back off.”

“For the purposes of the tape,” Dom bit out, “let me clarify that I am standing on the other side of Vice President DuBose's desk and am no physical threat to her at all.”

Arianna's eyes flashed.

Dom continued. “Also for the purposes of the tape, may I conjecture that none of the Connecticut staff nor Ms. O'Toole knows how you got your transfer here from Chicago.”

“Don't you dare—”

“You were screwing Blankenship behind his wife's back, Arianna, and you blackmailed him into this promotion!”

“That is complete nonsense—”

“Not to mention the fact that you got the transfer to Chicago after threatening to file a sexual harassment suit against the regional manager in Dallas! Do I need to say more?”

“Get out. Get out, you bastard, or I'll call security.”

“I want a copy of this tape. The whole unedited discussion. Understand? And I'm entitled to a copy of that piece of shit report, too.”

Arianna lunged for her phone and hit two buttons.

“Oh, no,” Dom told her. “I'm leaving peacefully on my own steam. You'd just love to
document
that I had to be forcibly ousted, wouldn't you? I'll have to frustrate you on that score.”

Dominic strode to the door and threw it open. He left with one last parting shot. “Just remember, Arianna, that all evil dictatorships end in bloody revolution.”

 

D
OMINIC TOLD HIMSELF THAT HE
should calm down before confronting Jane, but he didn't anticipate being calm any time in the next month.

All the pieces fit together now—why she'd told him she couldn't see him anymore. It had nothing to do with her ethics! It was because of her lack of them. She'd wanted to sever all ties so that she didn't feel guilty for hanging him out to dry.

Arianna had obviously offered her something in exchange for her cooperation, hence the Finesse PR folder sitting so prominently on her desk.

He simmered with anger at Jane's betrayal. He didn't hate women, damn it, even though after this latest stunt he had a right.

What had gotten into Jane? One night she'd seen stars in his arms, let down her guard, dropped her competitive edge. The next day—it must have been the very next goddamned day!—she'd written up a negative report about him. What had gotten into her? How could she turn on him like that?

He thought about her fear, her need to win and that clinical superiority of hers. He'd left her apartment, and all of those qualities had bubbled right back up to the surface in her. A shower, perhaps a cup of coffee, a good look at a stack of bills…and any feelings for him had fallen by the wayside. She'd been too tempted by whatever Arianna had offered her.

Half in love with her? Was he crazy?

Dom squealed into the parking lot at Finesse and stormed the front door.

He made straight for Jane's office, but the blond amazon who was sprawled on the sofa, filing her nails, stopped him. She did so by raising one of her giraffe legs to the height of his knees. “Is she expecting you?”

Dom looked down at the black-leather-clad leg and spike-heeled boot blocking his way. “No, but she should be.”

“She has an appointment right now,” said the blonde. “You'll have to wait.”

“Do you make a habit to trip clients?”

“Only when necessary.” She smiled insolently at him. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”