Who's on Top? Page 8

  Instead he backed her against it and took her mouth again in a hot, demanding, no-holds-barred kiss. Jane almost melted and trickled down onto the pavement as his lips parted hers again urgently and his tongue took over her mouth, establishing the rhythm and possession that he wanted elsewhere in her body. He tasted of beer and something spicy—hot cinnamon?—and one hundred percent turned-on male.

  A whole series of quick sexual shocks electrified her, shook up her nerves and ignited them with pleasure. Mad rushes of sensation shot from the tips of her breasts to her lower belly and between her thighs.

  Dominic molded himself against her body, his erection hard against her belly and burning to go lower, seek her core, penetrate and stroke and pleasure her.

  Her breasts had grown heavy and ached to be touched, played with, suckled—even bitten. As if she’d said it aloud, Dom’s hands moved from her face to cup her there, lifting and squeezing until she went weak and rubbed shamelessly against him.

  Then somehow her blouse was half-open and his tongue descended into her bra, his hands pulling it away from her flesh. She almost collapsed with the sensation as he found her nipple and devoured it, sucking as if he couldn’t get enough.

  Before she knew it, the rest of her blouse was undone and her bra unhooked while he suckled her other breast, and pleasure had her whimpering again into his dark, curly hair. She lost her sense of time or place; nothing existed but him, her and sensation.

  She could have blamed it all on the beer, but she would have been lying. When he lifted his head, she kissed him hungrily again on the mouth, feeling his male stubble scrape around her mouth and chin; it burned her skin like desire. Again his tongue thrust between her teeth and explored inside, dancing with her own tongue; mating with it.

  He withdrew slightly, biting her lower lip and then sucking it in possessively, releasing and then nipping it a second time. He brushed his lips to the side of hers, along her jaw to her ear, which he invaded and enjoyed, too.

  A deep shiver ran down her spine as she felt his tongue in the delicate whorls, his breath warm and sensual. Then her lobe was in his mouth, along with her earring, and she could hear little metallic clinks as it came into contact with his teeth.

  Relentless, his lips traveled from there down the side of her neck and into the hollow at her throat; down again to the top slopes of her breasts. Here he lingered and nuzzled before taking them into his large, capable hands once again and kneading until she wanted to cry out.

  Her hands, restless for something to do, sought out the thick, hard length of him against her belly.

  He went rigid and his breathing came faster. His palms pressed her breasts inward until they met and then his thumbs began to move in slow circles directly on top of her nipples.

  Jane let a whimper escape and closed her hand around his cock. He shut his eyes, then opened them and gazed at her with heavy, half-closed lids, continuing to tease and pleasure her breasts.

  She moved her palm along the full, impressive length of him, which strained against his fly, and he groaned. His mouth swooped down again to her nipples, and her knees began to shake uncontrollably. She gasped as she felt his hand cup her bottom, the tips of his fingers moving along the cleft of her buttocks and then inward until he tickled and teased her mons from behind.

  Jane helplessly moved against the pressure, her body becoming loose and moist. Unaware she’d been holding her breath, she released it in a slow, ragged exhale.

  She gasped again as his hand plunged inside her slacks and then panties, massaging her bare cheeks but trapped by her waistband and prevented from going lower. With a growl, his other hand left her breast and made quick work of her fly. Then he was inside her panties, cupping her and stroking her, parting her with a strong, sure finger that quickly found her most secret spot and teased it relentlessly.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Jane was conscious of the Jaguar’s door handle pressing into her backside and the window glass cool and hard against her spine as she jerked at his touch, tension coiling within her, tighter and tighter.

  The night air was cool—even cold—on her aching, swollen nipples as he abandoned them for her mouth again, his fingers sliding inside her just as his tongue licked between her lips and plunged to meet hers. As they broke the kiss, she helplessly arched her back and moved to take his fingers deeper, and yet deeper still.

  His lips closed over one of her breasts again, and the sudden warmth after the chill, and the delicious suction, was almost too much to take. She felt herself climbing to that mysterious metaphysical height from which a woman falls to orgasm, closed her eyes and thought, Yes! Finally!

  Too close by, the door of the Three-Legged Dog crashed open and two beer-soaked contractors stumbled out, laughing and swearing at each other.

  Jane and Dominic froze, snapped back to reality. He straightened and stood solidly in front of her to protect her from their eyes. She clutched her shirt together and zipped up her pants in record time.

  To the casual observer they were two people just making out by a parked car. But the contractors recognized them from inside.

  “Ain’t you two got a room yet?” shouted one.

  The other one laughed and made a rude gesture: thumb and forefinger of one hand forming a circle while he poked the index finger of his other hand through it repeatedly.

  Dominic ignored them. If he took one step away from Jane, he’d expose her state of disarray.

  Finally they got into their trucks and roared away.

  Jane’s face burned as if someone had held every inch of it to an industrial sander.

  Dominic raked a hand through his hair and released a tense breath. He opened the door for her, and she slid into the luxury of the Jaguar’s buttery leather seats, beginning immediately to fasten her bra and button her shirt.

  Still in a state of confusion, she didn’t question the idiosyncrasy of a man who drove an expensive British import but frequented seedy, mangy bars like the Three-Legged Dog.

  Dominic got into the car himself, started the engine and began to drive, still sporting quite a stiffie.

  Jane sat in heated, embarrassed silence until she noticed that they weren’t heading back to her car. “Uh, Sayers? Zantyne’s in the complete opposite direction.”

  “I’m taking you to dinner.”

  Jane absorbed this. “It’s customary to ask a woman if you can take her to dinner before actually doing so. She might object.”

  “Are you objecting?”

  Of course her stomach chose that precise moment to emit a growl that was half lawn mower, half jungle beast. “Um, not exactly.”

  “Well, then, that’s settled.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit high-handed?”

  “Darlin’, better high-handed than underhanded. Don’t you agree?”

  “That’s not the point,” she said stiffly. “I didn’t agree to a…a…date.”

  He stopped for a traffic light, turned toward her and smiled. “And yet you’re such a hot one.”

  “Whoa,” Jane said. Dom thinks I’m hot. But she said, “I think we just, um, got carried away out there. You really shouldn’t talk to me like that.”

  “Mmm? Well, I don’t think you should kiss me or touch me like that if you don’t want me to talk to you like that.”

  Her cheeks caught fire for—what?—the tenth time that night? But she wasn’t giving up. “I didn’t actually kiss you. You kissed me.”

  “Yeah,” he said in a dry voice. “And I noticed that you kicked and screamed and broke a chair over my head.”

  “If you were a gentleman, you wouldn’t point that out.”

  Dom sighed and shook his head. “You know, we’ve had this ‘gentleman’ conversation.”

  Ooooooh! “You know what? I don’t want to have dinner with you.”

  “Do, too.”

  “Do not!”

  Dominic, blast him, began to laugh. Then he called her “chicken.”

  Jan
e pointed out, with any dignity that she could still scrape together, that she was not a chicken.

  “I know,” he said. “Because you’re coming to dinner with me. You’re not going to run away from what you felt out there.”

  Jane folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t feel a thing, Sayers!”

  “Liar,” he said in agreeable tones.

  She made a strangled noise.

  “Want me to prove it? Pucker up, sweet Jane!” The car swerved dangerously as he leaned toward her.

  “No! Drive. Just—drive, you lunatic.”

  “That’s better. Now, no more fibbing or I’ll leave you at Max’s Downtown to wash the dishes after our meal.”

  Beyond words, Jane simply clenched her fists and stared out the window. Max’s? Dom was taking her from the Three-Legged Dog to a four-star restaurant. The man was nuts, plain and simple. Would they go bowling for dessert? And whether he was nuts or not, she had to get things back on a professional footing.

  DOMINIC PULLED OUT JANE’S chair for her, noting with approval that she’d taken her hair out of that grungy rubber band. Her dark curls flowed freely to just above her shoulders, and he had to restrain himself from running a hand through them. Back off, now, buddy. You’re trying to seduce her, not scare her off.

  He seated himself and accepted a wine list from the waiter. He glanced at Jane’s face before he scanned it. Her firm jaw jutted in sharp contrast to her soft eyes. She was a strong, full-bodied woman with some spice and deep flavor to her. “Red zinfandel,” he said.“Excuse me?”

  “Do you like red zinfandels?”

  Her full, pale pink lips parted, and she straightened in her chair. “They’re my favorite.”

  He smiled. Good guess. He looked forward to running the game at this table, too. He’d sink her every objection into a handy pocket and sweep her off her feet—and into his bed. Those little whimpers she’d made in the back of her throat when he’d kissed her and pleasured her—sexy as hell—had given her away. She was his for the taking.

  Dom ordered an interesting Australian zin. They made small talk until the waiter brought it to the table, the requisite swirling/tasting was complete and their glasses had been supplied with ample amounts of deep ruby wine. He was preparing to make a toast to her when she preempted him.

  “Order anything you’d like, Sayers. I’ll expense this meal.”

  The romantic potential of their dinner wilted immediately. Sneaky little psych major. He’d bet she’d said it on purpose.

  A change had definitely come over her. She lounged back in her chair and lifted her glass to him quickly before drinking. “Mmm. Nice choice. A little too oaky for my tastes, but quite decent.”

  His mood darkened. “First of all, you’re not paying for this meal or any other while we’re out together. Second, if the wine’s not to your taste, we’ll send it back.”

  “Oh, Dominic, really. We’re past the millennium, which means you can drop the alpha-male crap. And there’s nothing so wrong with the wine that it needs to go back. It’s fine. Perfectly acceptable.”

  Alpha-male crap? Merely acceptable wine? Ouch. His seduction plans were going horribly awry. Jane was supposed to be under the spell of his male magnetism. He’d had her at his mercy—he knew it instinctively! Where had he lost her? He had to regain control of the situation, get her all soft and mellow and turned on again. Damn it.

  “So tell me about your background, Dom. Where you grew up, parents, siblings, all of that.”

  “Perhaps we could order,” he growled, “before you start peeling my psyche like a cabbage? And I never agreed to talk to you, sweet pea. I won. You lost. Match over.”

  “Cabbage,” she mused. “Interesting image. I think you’re afraid I won’t peel at all—I’ll just chop your cabbage head right into coleslaw.”

  Cabbage head? The waiter interrupted his glare. “Ready to order, sir?”

  “Yes. The lady would like—”

  “The lady,” Jane interrupted, “would like the shark steak, done medium. Thank you.”

  “The gentleman will have the lamb, rare.”

  “Very good, sir.” He vamoosed.

  “So,” said Dom, swirling the wine in his glass, “you like to eat predators, do you?”

  Jane smiled. “Oh, I just have a thing for sharks. I’ve got quite a few of their teeth on a necklace at home.”

  Dom would bet that was a bold-faced lie. She was just making a point; trying to tell him she had notches on her belt. “Really? You’ll have to wear that to Zantyne one of these days. Arianna will think it’s quite the fashion statement.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, but he continued despite the warning. “What’s the perfect foil for shark-tooth accessories? A grass skirt, perhaps? A top made of two coconut shells?”

  “That’s enough, Sayers. You can keep your chauvinistic fantasies to yourself.”

  “Oh, but that wouldn’t be any fun at all. I’d much rather share them with you. That way maybe you’ll invite me back to your place to view your lovely collection of shrunken heads.”

  “I’m not a headshrinker! I’m a behavioral psychologist and trainer. Can you cut me some slack here?”

  “Maybe I’d rather cut off your slacks.” His very white teeth gleamed at her.

  Her eyes widened. This had to stop, and now. She’d gone crazy and let things get way out of hand in the bar’s parking lot, God knew why. But enough was enough. “Okay, that’s it. We are going to disregard what happened and be professionals here. One more sexual comment out of you and I call a cab.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “I mean it,” she said.

  He raised his hands, palms up. “Okay. No more.”

  She tossed back some wine. “And you can start telling me right now why you’re using sex as a way to turn the conversation away from your main issue.”

  He felt his jaw tightening. “Which is…?”

  “Being judged by women.”

  9

  JANE LOOKED INTO SAYERS’S blazing eyes. His jaw was a block of granite.

  “You are way off base, O’Toole.” He drained the contents of his wineglass.“Oh, I don’t think so. Let me guess—domineering mother, quite possibly verbally abusive. Father not around much?”

  “You are so over the line.”

  “And you weren’t just now?”

  He pushed his chair back from the table, tossed his napkin on the surface.

  “Running away? What does a big, tough guy like you have to get intimidated about? If I’m so off base here, why not set me straight?”

  He froze. “You’re going to regret this,” he said softly. “I can promise you that.”

  “Maybe.” She couldn’t help a shiver but refused to look away.

  He sneered at her. “You really want to go there, huh? I suppose your professional instincts—and your vulgar curiosity—just scream for the information. Well, why not, Doc? After all, you’re so damned sure you know everything already.”

  She didn’t blink, didn’t back off, and his sneer grew more pronounced, but he began.

  “One of my earliest memories of Mommy Dearest is of her tossing me up on a high-strung two-year-old thoroughbred, seventeen hands. She gives me the reins and then slaps the bejesus out of its hindquarters.

  “I’d never ridden a horse in my life. My only emotion was terror, I can tell you—absolute terror. I hung on to that beast like a burr while it bucked uncontrollably and then galloped for miles, trying to scrape me off on trees, fence posts, even the side of a barn. You know how I dismounted? When the creature finally wore itself out, dropped to its knees and rolled on me.”

  Jane had covered her mouth with her hand and simply stared at him as he continued.

  “Mummy and her martini thought it was fabulous entertainment—she laughed herself sick—until she had to rush me to the emergency room with several crushed ribs and a snapped femur. Simply ruined the rest of the day for her, I’m sad to say.” Dominic poured himself
some more wine.

  “Then there was the sailing incident. Listen up, Jane. This is a good one! Mummy and her current beau hauled me out onto the Chesapeake on his shiny new J-35. No doubt she couldn’t find anyone to dump me on.

  “Somehow between the rumrunners and the sea breezes, they got a little confused with the lines and ignored the threat of some incoming weather. So who got sent up the metal mast in a thunderstorm to disentangle the spinnaker line? Yours truly, aged twelve.”

  “Oh my God,” Jane breathed. “Where was your father?”

  “Not in the picture at all. He’s some Austrian diplomat that she had a fling with. Never told him about me.”

  “Where was the coast guard? Why wasn’t this incident reported to Child Protective Services?”

  “It was. However, when your mother’s family owns half the town, these minor incidents get swept under the rug. And of course, we moved…across several states to shack up with yet another gentleman friend. By this time, Mummy wasn’t speaking to any of her family anymore and had finished putting her considerable trust fund up her pretty nose.”

  Dominic’s face was devoid of expression as he spoke, as if he’d heard about these events on the local news. “Mummy had not been trained to do anything, of course, except party or get married. And her inherent sense of superiority over the ‘masses’ was not helpful in her search for or attempts to keep jobs. By the time I was fourteen, I’d taught myself C-code and was paying the rent on our one-bedroom apartment with contract software jobs. Mummy paid for her nose candy in more unsavory ways, while I slept either in the offices of wherever I worked or on the couch if I had to.

  “By the time I was seventeen, I’d earned enough money to put a down payment on a house for her and get her into rehab. Finally I could realize my dream to get away. To go to college thousands of miles from there. I enrolled. I left her in Atlanta while I fled to San Diego. I was free—of her and of the programming work I loathed.”