Going Down?

Donna Kauffmann

Chapter One

"We'll need to have everything delivered by the tenth. No, that won't do." Callie Montgomery firmed her tone. "Doing your best isn't good enough. Weaver Enterprises is going to be your biggest client. Disappoint us, and we'll take our annual six-figure office-supply budget elsewhere." She smiled, relaxed back in her seat. "Yes, the morning of the ninth would be just fine. Thank you."

Someone cleared her throat from the doorway. As there were only two people presently occupying Crystal City, Virginia's newest office building, the twenty-five story S. E. Weaver building, Callie knew it was her boss, Stephanie Weaver. She hung up and straightened in her chair. "Yes, Ms. Weaver?"

Stephanie was a walking billboard for how to be a business mogul by your fortieth birthday. She was beautiful, smart, wealthy, and about to push the latest company she'd founded into the upper echelons of the Fortune 500 list. And office temp Callie Montgomery, currently Stephanie's executive assistant, secretary, receptionist, coffee maker, and all around office slave, planned to be right beside her when she did it.

"Well done," Stephanie said, nodding to the phone.

Callie swallowed hard. It was much easier to play power junkie when her boss wasn't around. Not that she played fast and loose with the responsibilities Stephanie had laid on her since the temp agency had sent her here six weeks ago, anything but. But she did have to admit that after Peter left her for Jennifer, their twenty-two-year old bimbette dog sitter, with legs up to here, boobs out to there, and a brain—well, Peter probably didn't care much about that miniscule body part … as long as the clothing covering the aforementioned body parts were equally miniscule—but since he left and took a good deal of her self-confidence with him, wielding power of any sort had been a real confidence boost.

Since there was no one around who much cared about her body parts, scantily clad or otherwise, playing mogul—even if it was just grand poobah of office supplies—was the only thrill she got these days.

Callie gave her an honest smile. "I'm learning from the best."

Stephanie smiled back. "You bet you are."

Callie figured Stephanie Weaver had exited the womb with her confidence already fully developed, and it had probably never wavered once since. She, on the other hand, was not superhuman. For a while after the divorce, she was lucky to feel even subhuman.

"Listen, I know we've been pushing the limit here lately," Stephanie went on to say. "And I probably haven't said this, but I do appreciate your dedication."

Callie could have told her she was thankful for the distraction. Since the divorce papers had been signed, sealed and delivered ten months ago—actually, since she'd walked out six months before that—she'd done little but think about Peter and her previous job failure. Who knew being a wife could be such a brutal occupation? Whatever visions she'd had about being a dedicated partner, about having a family, a future, had died the minute she'd hit that dining room door. Not that things had been progressing all that well up to that point.

So, while eighteen-hour days spent setting up the Weaver empire had left her eyes crossed and her fingers numb, and cancelled whatever little social life she had managed to resurrect, it had also left her with precious little time to think about the past sixteen months … and the three long years that had preceded them. For that alone she could have kissed Stephanie. "I don't mind hard work."

"I can't promise things will lighten up anytime soon, but if you don't bail on me, it'll be worth your while in the long haul."

Callie grinned, even as her stomach did a nervous little flip. This was exactly what she'd been hoping for when she'd signed on with AAA Temps, wasn't it? A ground-floor position somewhere that could lead to something permanent, with potential for upward mobility. She was a decent typist, could file adequately, was competent on the phone, juggled appointment books with aplomb, and made a killer pot of coffee. Individually not the most amazing of talents, but combined, she knew she would be indispensable to the right person. After all, hadn't Peter first hired her to be secretary at his legal firm for the very same reasons? If only I'd stopped at arranging his file drawers instead of his sock drawer.

"I'm thankful for the opportunity," Callie told her.

"I need to go over tomorrow's list with you," Stephanie said, "but first I've got a last-minute meeting, and it might run a bit long. I hope you don't mind staying a bit later than usual."

Considering it was already after five, and that Callie was usually still at her desk until at least nine every night as it was, that was no small request. But she was in no hurry to go home to her tiny Alexandria rowhouse and nuke another Lean Cuisine, although the frozen Hostess cupcake she treated herself to afterward was calling her name right about now. So, she'd have two of them instead. It was the only decadent pleasure in her life these days anyway. And if she put on an extra pound or two, who was going to care? "No, that's no problem," she said, "I don't mind." It should have made her feel pathetic, that she really didn't mind spending her life behind her desk. But she readily admitted that, right now in her life, being needed was exactly what the doctor ordered. So what if it was business? She hadn't done all that well in the personal department. Maybe professional success was where she was meant to make her mark. After all, look at Stephanie. She had no life outside the job and she was single, happy, rich. Sexy, powerful, confident. Okay, so her boss had a few tools Callie lacked. She'd simply start with the single and dedicated part and work her way up from there.

"Do you want me to order in dinner?" Callie asked.

"Please. Have it delivered at six. Noor's will be fine. The usual for me. Order the curry, too. I'm pretty sure hot and spicy is his—" Stephanie was interrupted when the door to the office swung open.

And in walked Dominic Colbourne. The British version of Stephanie Weaver. Only Stephanie didn't make Callie's body temperature spike and the soles of her feet sweat. Dominic Colbourne did. At least the magazine articles she'd read about him had. She'd never seen him in person. Amazingly, he was even better looking in real life. The Panther, they'd called him. Because of the silent, stealthy way he'd climbed the corporate mogul ladder. One after the other, in fact.

Seeing him in person, she thought that moniker might have been earned for an entirely different reason. He was all dark, smoldering good looks, with the rangy kind of physique that made women of all ages drool. Oh, he gave off a predatory vibe all right.

He barely spared her a look before murmuring something to Stephanie about being regrettably detained, his accent as delectable as the rest of him, then quietly disappeared into Stephanie's private conference room.

An hour passed. Dinner was delivered and consumed separately. The two of them in Stephanie's boardroom, she alone at her desk, privately fantasizing about just what was going on behind that closed door. Figures, she thought. Not only did Stephanie have the looks and the figure, and more money and power than Midas … now she got to have Dominic Colbourne, too. Probably right on the conference table. God only knows what uses they'd found for that curry. Hot and spicy indeed.

Another hour passed. Then another. Cassie finished the filing, faxing, and typing. Recorded all the deliveries, meetings, and various and sundry other details on her appointment book, the Palm Pilot Stephanie had assigned her five minutes after she was hired, and Stephanie's personal appointment scheduler on the computer.

She might have paused to listen on occasion … okay, strained to hear something, anything, even a hushed murmur, or an orgasm or two, behind the closed conference room door. But had only been rewarded with total silence. "If I have to put in all these extra hours, plus torture myself with images of Dominic Colbourne naked and doing God knows what on the conference room table, the least they can do is give me a good 'Oh baby, yes, yes, yes!' every once in a while," Callie grumbled.

She supposed screaming orgasms weren't exactly Stephanie's style. And she couldn't imagine anything more than a dark, glittering smile of satisfaction on Dominic's unearthly, gorgeous face. She sighed as she dumped the coffee filter and rinsed out the glass pot. Maybe she should stop by a bookstore and pick up a hot romance or something. If she was going to live vicariously through the orgasms of others, at least that way she'd be guaranteed some satisfaction.

Another hour passed and she'd finished sharpening every pencil in the office, wiped down her computer screen and even cleaned the lunch crumbs from her keyboard. Still not a peep from the conference room. Carnal or otherwise. She debated on whether or not to simply head home. It would likely be a bit awkward for them to come stumbling out of the conference room, all flushed with postcoital glow, only to find her perched behind her desk, waiting.

But Stephanie always demanded they do a wrap up, discuss what was on the slate for the next day, go over whatever problems needed handling, and so on. The last thing Callie wanted was to be summoned back when she was halfway home. But tomorrow she was definitely bringing the Hostess cupcakes to work with her.

It was after eleven o'clock when Stephanie suddenly emerged—not from the boardroom, but from her own offices, which had their own access to the boardroom. And a wide leather couch. Her boss looked fatigued, but was smiling.

I should be so lucky, Callie thought with a sigh. She glanced behind her boss, but the office door closed again, leaving Dominic sequestered within. Probably washing up in Stephanie's private bathroom. Which only spurred mental images of Dominic naked, water sluicing over his hard body, soaping up his—

"I'm sorry to keep you penned up out here for so long," Stephanie said, interrupting her visual interlude. "But I'm glad you stayed. I need another favor."

Callie sort of regretted letting go of the mental montage. It had been the highlight of her day. "You do?" she asked, forcing her thoughts back to her boss.

"I have to run out of here for another meeting."

"At eleven o'clock?" Callie said, the words popping out before she could think better of it. "I'm sorry, that's none of my—"

"No, that's okay. It's cocktails with an investor who just flew in from the west coast. It's the only time I can spare." She smiled, albeit a bit tiredly. "Success doesn't work nine to five. Never say no when opportunity knocks."

Callie definitely seconded that emotion. "What do you need me to do?"

"Stay here until Dominic is done with his call to Hong Kong. He's been on for a while. I'm not sure how much longer it will be."

Stay here. With Dominic Colbourne. Alone. Gee, what a hardship.

Not that he'd notice her any more than he had when he walked in. But even if it was only a silent elevator ride down to the lobby, she'd take it. When you put in eighteen-hour days, you had to take your thrills where you could find them. Hostess cupcakes and Dominic fantasies. She could do worse.

"If you're worried about being alone in the building with him," Stephanie said, apparently misreading her pause in responding, "don't be. Trust me, Dominic is only interested in making his next million. Women are too easy to conquer apparently." Then she shocked Callie by winking at her. "I know, I tried. Nothing. Zip."

Callie blinked. As much in shock that her boss had shared something so personal, as in the fact that even the glamorous, powerful Stephanie Weaver could get rejected by a man.

Stephanie dangled a set of keys. "These lock up the front door and activate my personal elevator. The main ones shut down when the security guy heads home at midnight." She glanced at her watch. "You might not need to use it, but just in case."

Callie took the keys. "Do you want me to lock up your offices, too?" Stephanie's private elevator was only accessible through her office.

"Please. I really appreciate this. I don't know what's holding things up. He took the call thinking it would be a fast one and he's been in there for almost an hour. Probably buying and selling a small country." She laughed. "And I thought I was driven."

"You're no slouch," Callie said, then grimaced when she realized she'd spoken aloud. She really needed some sleep.

Stephanie's eyes widened momentarily; then she laughed again. "You're right." She scooped up a stack of folders from Callie's desk and shoved them into her leather bag. "Oh, and put us down for lunch tomorrow at Basil. We never got to finish our meeting." She was backing out the door when she paused one last time. "You should speak your mind more often. It suits you."

Peter hadn't thought so. Screw Peter, she thought smugly. Better yet, let Jennifer screw Peter. A mindless bimbette is obviously all he can handle. She straightened, smiled. "Thanks. I will."

"In fact, if you promise not to ever bullshit me, I'm making an executive decision right here and now. I'd like to retain you on a permanent basis as my personal assistant."

Callie opened her mouth, then closed it again and tamped down the urge to pump her fists in the air. "Thank you. I accept." Her toes did tap out a little victory dance beneath her desk, however.

"We can discuss salary after I get done meeting with Dominic." Stephanie's eyes gleamed. "Then you can start hiring your own staff. And mine, too. If everything goes as planned during lunch tomorrow, four weeks from today, the S. E. Weaver building will officially open for business. And we've got a lot of work to do. Get some sleep. Be here at seven tomorrow."

Callie stared at the closed office door for a full five minutes, not moving, as Stephanie's words sunk in. Personal assistant. Permanent salary. Hiring staff. Her own staff. Four weeks to get a twenty-five story building stocked, staffed, up and running. She didn't know whether to jump up and down … or throw up. She wanted to do both. But as soon as the latter feeling subsided, she was eating that whole damn box of Hostess cupcakes.

She pulled out a yellow legal pad and began making notes, writing so fast her tired brain and cramped hand finally couldn't keep up the pace and she reluctantly forced herself to stop.

Sleep, that was what she needed. A full night of it. Then she could begin taking steps toward total global dominance. She grinned. Or, at least her small corner of it anyway.

From subhuman to superhuman in sixteen months, three weeks and—she glanced at her watch and groaned. It was straight up midnight. And she had to be back here in seven hours. So much for feeling like Cinderella on a power trip. She stood up and stretched the kinks out of her back, then walked over to the windows to shut the blinds, but found herself staring down at the lights below. Personal assistant to Stephanie Weaver. A vibrant little hum of energy started buzzing through her despite the late hour. And she ignored the smaller, but just as profound twinge of regret. So, she wasn't going to do the wife and mom thing as she'd always dreamed. She'd just have to be satisfied with being Callie "Mogul" Montgomery instead, she thought, her lips twitching to a grin.

"Starting on the ground floor, ha!" she murmured, looking across the Potomac, beyond the Kennedy Center, to the lighted monuments on the mall and around the tidal basin. For once I'm starting out on top. "And this time I'm staying there." She punched her fists in the air, just as the door behind her opened.

"I beg your pardon."

Callie spun around, yanking her arms down and folding them instinctively across her chest. Dear God, how could she have forgotten all about Dominic Colbourne? "I—I'm sorry. I was just … stretching." She unfolded her arms, feeling quite self-conscious as he continued to stare at her. His thoughts were probably still a million miles away in Hong Kong, but at that moment, it sure felt like they were focused right on her.

She pasted on a smile … and hoped like hell he couldn't tell her nipples had gotten hard. Stephanie probably hadn't been kidding when she'd said he found women too easy to conquer. Lord knows her body was all ready to wave the white flag … and he'd only glanced at her.

"Do you need me to call you a car?"

"No, I'm staying close by. I could use the walk."

She tried not to look surprised. Dominic Colbourne didn't strike her as the type of guy who took midnight strolls. "Fine then," she said. "I'll escort you to the lobby if you're ready to go."

He nodded. "Lead the way."

His voice was deep, a bit rough. Was it simply fatigue? Or did it always sound like sandpaper on velvet? Don't think about that or your nipples will stay hard for a week. Shielding that part of her anatomy from view—not that he was noticing—she flipped the blinds closed, snagged her purse and keys from the desk, did a quick run through with the locks to the hallway door, then turned and gestured to Stephanie's office. "We'll have to take her private elevator. The others are shut down for the night."

He merely nodded, then stood waiting to follow her. She held the door to Stephanie's office open for him, then tried not to swoon when he brushed past her. He smelled like aftershave, freshly laundered cotton … and cumin. It packed quite a wallop at the end of an eighteen-hour day. Better than a cream-filled cupcake.

She locked the door behind him, allowing herself one brief glance at the leather couch, untouched, but so … available, then sighed a little as she walked over to the walnut-paneled door that led to the elevator. Maybe she'd skip the cupcake and the all-night bookstore and find fresh batteries for her vibrator instead. Of course, after tonight she'd probably never be able to look at that couch without blushing. She glanced at Dominic, thought of the fantasies she could easily come up with … and come to … and decided it would be worth it.

Using the key Stephanie had given her, she opened the elevator door. It was a small car, big enough for about six people if they stood very straight. Since it was usually just Stephanie, she supposed this was one time when size really didn't matter.

Except now it was her, alone with Dominic. And suddenly the elevator felt quite … intimate.

He stepped in after her, his expression more distant now. Probably wondering what to do with the country he just bought. And not how to ravish Stephanie's executive assistant in twenty-five floors or less. Darn it. She pushed the button for the lobby. He could have done it in less than five, most likely. Ten tops.

The door silently slid shut, making Dominic's presence even more overwhelming. She spent the next five floors wondering what he'd do if she suddenly ripped her clothes off and begged him to take her. She had to fight the urge to snicker. That would give the phrase "going down?" a whole new meaning, wouldn't it?

She spent the next five floors wondering if she should say something, perhaps verify his lunch appointment with Stephanie. She knew the urge had more to do with hearing him speak again, than any professional courtesy. But before she could open her mouth, the car suddenly lurched to a stop, throwing her back against the wall … and Dominic up against her.

A second later, the lights went out.

Chapter Two

Hard. That was the first thing that registered in Callie's mind. And the second.

It might have been the third as well, but then his hands were on her arms and he was gently, but firmly pushing himself away. She might have whimpered. Thankfully he misunderstood.

"I'm terribly sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

Callie wondered how a man could sound so incredibly gentlemanly … and sexually carnivorous at the same time. Probably the latter element was just wishful thinking on her part.

"No, no I'm fine." My nipples are permanently rigid and my panties are damp, but otherwise, totally fine. She let out a little sigh.

"Don't care for the dark?"

Callie hadn't even given that part a thought yet. She was still dealing with how the full length of his body had felt pressed against the full length of hers. "No," she managed. "I mean, it doesn't bother me. It just, the whole thing took me by surprise."

She felt his hand at her elbow. How he knew exactly where she was in the pitch dark she had no idea. Panther sight, most likely. She tried not to shiver at the feel of his fingers brushing her skin, but it was almost impossible. Afraid of the dark? Ha! Not as long as he kept touching her, she wasn't. "Hand me your keys."

"I beg your pardon?" she said, rattled from her thoughts.

"Your elevator keys," he repeated. "I think I can get us up and running again, but I need your set of keys."

She was glad for the dark for other reasons now. He couldn't see her hot blush. Here she was fantasizing about steamy elevator sex and he was calmly trying to get the hell out of here. And away from her, no doubt.

"Here," she said, pressing them into his hand. Broad palm, warm skin. She noticed every little detail. The dark did that to a person, enhanced other senses. At least that was what she told herself.

She shifted to the opposite wall as he stepped in front of her. She could hear the sound of the panel door being opened, but that was it. Unlike other men in crisis situations, he didn't breathe more heavily or swear. In fact, she was tempted to reach out and touch him to make sure he hadn't vaporized or something.

"No luck," he said after another minute passed. "No lights, no power. I pressed the emergency button, but if the main lifts are shut down, it isn't likely there is anyone left in the building to help us out."

She heard the jangling of the keys and reached her hand out. He dropped them in her palm without otherwise touching her. "You have excellent night vision," she uttered, impressed.

"So I've been told." There might have been the smallest hint of a smile in his words. "We should make ourselves comfortable. We're likely to be in here for a passing bit."

"Comfortable?" Like taking all our clothes off and having hot, sweaty sex? That would definitely pass the time. She managed not to suggest that to him. She definitely needed new batteries for her vibrator. And, perhaps, a social life might not be a bad idea either. A shame she wouldn't have time for one anytime soon.

Callie heard the rustle of expensive fabric. Funny how his clothes rustled far more sensuously than her Dress Shack mark-down did.

Callie tucked her dress between her knees and carefully slid to the floor. Then rolled her eyes at her precautions. Like he could look up her skirt in pitch blackness. Still, she crossed her ankles.

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes. What did a person say to a embarrassingly wealthy, global magnate? A drop-dead sexy, embarrassingly wealthy, global magnate hunk, to be more specific.

Several more minutes elapsed and the combination of the silence, the darkness, and knowing he was mere inches away from her and yet she couldn't even hear him breathe, finally undid her.

"I set up your lunch—"

"How long have you—"

Both of them spoke, then broke off at the same time. She chuckled. He did not. Even silent and invisible the man was intense.

"You go first," she said. "Please, you."

You most definitely could, she thought with a private smile. Then realized he couldn't see her anyway and let the grin surface. If she had to be stuck in this airless box for who knew how many hours, the least she could do was enjoy her fantasies. "I was just going to say that I'd made a reservation for you tomorrow, at Basil, for lunch with Ms. Weaver."

"Ah."

His voice gave her shivers. So cultured and smooth, and yet somehow even a simple syllable carried an innate sexual inflection.

When he didn't say anything else, she prodded him. "Is that what you'd been about to ask? About your lunch meeting?"

There was a pause; then she swore she heard the slightest of sighs. What did that mean? Had she bored him to tears already? She readily admitted she didn't have the dulcet tones or smooth dialect he did, but—

"I was going to inquire how long you'd been in Ms. Weaver's employ," he asked.

Now it was her turn. "Ah." Somehow she doubted her voice gave him shivers. "Six weeks. Although I've put in so many hours, I probably qualify for major medical already."

"Yes, there is much to be done, I suppose."

He'd said it more to himself than to her. Again, they drifted into silence. Unable to see his face, or anything else for that matter, Callie found she had a bit more nerve. She'd never been particularly self-conscious before her marriage and subsequent divorce. Peter had done a bigger number on her than she liked to admit, but she'd been working at regaining her former sense of self. No sense in backing away from that goal now. Megamogul or not, she wasn't going to sit here in the dark in total silence. Not when listening to him talk was so very entertaining.

"Have you known Stephanie—I mean, Ms. Weaver—a long time?"

"Our paths have crossed from time to time."

Callie stifled a sigh. What did she have to say to get more than a handful of words out of him? Several things came to mind. None of which she actually dared to utter, not if she wanted to keep her job.

The air grew as stifled as the conversation. That was when it occurred to her that the power must have gone out in the whole building, not just the elevator. "I wonder why the generator hasn't kicked on," she mused. "I know we haven't officially taken full occupancy yet, but doesn't some kind of building code require that kind of backup system be in place?"

He didn't respond right away, and Callie felt her frustration level rise. "Listen," she said, a bit more forcefully than she'd intended, belatedly realizing that she was perhaps a teensy bit more claustrophobic than she'd ever realized. But it was easier to blame the little swell of panic on Dominic's refusal to be decent and talk to her, than to another possible weakness on her part. She had a long enough list to conquer as it was. Speak your mind, Stephanie had told her. Well, why the hell not? Being subservient certainly wasn't getting her anywhere.

"I know I'm a nobody, and you and I have less than zero in common, but if we're going to be stuck with one another, maybe we can at least chat to pass the time. I mean, there's nothing else to do in this stifling heat, in complete and total darkness."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Callie swore she could feel a spike of tension arc between them. And it wasn't businesslike tension, either.

"It's been my experience that there are a number of things one can do in the heat … and in the dark."

"I bet," she muttered, then snapped her mouth shut. Speaking her mind to Stephanie was one thing. Jeopardizing her entire career by pissing off the man Stephanie was hoping to finance a good deal of her new company was another.

"So," he said into the sudden stillness.

Callie's breath caught and held as she waited for him to tell her he'd see she was out of a job by sunrise.

"The cat has claws," he finished.

"Cat?" she spluttered, too surprised by the comment to reign it in. "And the panther has teeth, I see," she shot back. Idiot! What do you think you're doing? But, job security notwithstanding, a part of her took pride that she'd stood up for herself. Maybe if she'd done more of that during her marriage she wouldn't be in her current situation.

"So I've been told," he said, definite amusement in his tone now. "Although not quite as colorfully as you did, I'll admit."

This time it was Callie who let the silence spin out. She should have never provoked him.

"I can see why Stephanie has placed such a high level of trust in you," he added, at length.

"She hired me from a temporary agency a little over a month ago, sight unseen," she retorted, apparently unable to regain her common sense now that she'd tossed caution to the wind. "I don't know how much trust I've earned."

"You lack confidence in your worth to the company?"

"You're putting words in my mouth." And why don't we just stop this verbal sparring and put other, more pleasurable things in our mouths, eh? her little voice nudged. Right. Like she still wanted him, Mr. Obviously Misogynistic.

Well, okay, she still lusted. A little. But only after his body. And his voice. But he could keep his acerbic little comments to himself. "I'm not afraid of hard work and long hours," she told him. "I expect Ms. Weaver respects that. She definitely compensates me well for my time." Or will, now that I've been hired full time, Callie thought. "Trust, however, is another issue entirely."

"Indeed it is. However, Stephanie doesn't do anything without a great deal of forethought. Most especially when it comes to hiring people, even temporarily. I imagine she knows a great deal more about you than you realize."

That sat her back. Both what he'd said, and that he'd actually spoken more than one complete sentence at a time. But it was what he said that stuck in her mind. She'd hoped to present herself as confident, capable, and reliable. She knew it was silly, particularly in this day and age, to feel any sense of guilt or shame over being divorced. After all, there were myriad reasons that marriages came to an end, and it certainly didn't automatically point fingers in her direction. And yet, she couldn't honestly say she didn't point a few of those fingers at herself.

Apparently she had a bit further to go with this self-reclamation thing than she'd thought. She sighed, but curiosity got the better of her. "Did she say anything? Personally, I mean, about me?" She broke off with a little laugh. "What am I saying? Like the two of you were discussing anything having to do with me."

"We discussed a great many things," he said, as enigmatically as ever. "What sort of personal information is it you don't wish Stephanie to have?"

Callie hung her head. She'd been stuck a half an hour with the guy and somehow she'd managed to wedge her foot firmly in her mouth, along with most of the rest of her anatomy. If only he'd just ravished her instead. Now there was some guilt and shame she could have lived with. "Nothing," she said. "At least, nothing that would be important to her."

"Such as?"

Callie squinted in the dark, trying unsuccessfully to see even a hint of his face. She'd asked—demanded actually—that he talk to her. And, so he was making an honest effort, actually sounding interested in her responses, if not offering much of himself to the conversation. He didn't sound angry with her … actually, she couldn't quite tell what he was feeling. His words were smooth, dulcet and deep, but ultimately emotionless.

"Such as?" he prodded again, surprising her.

Enough that she simply answered him.

"Such as my entire life got turned upside down about a year and a half ago when I came home and found my husband on the dining room table with our dog sitter. Needless to say that while there was much panting and drooling involved, none of it had anything to do with our dog."

"How unpleasant."

She laughed. "Unpleasant. How British of you. Yes, it was. Bloody unpleasant actually."

He didn't laugh along with her. Instead, he asked, quite seriously, "And I take it this … discovery, left you feeling less than confident about your value in the relationship?"

"Can you blame me?"

"I think your husband's actions speak far more to his worth in the relationship than yours."

Callie paused, thinking that was an interesting way to look at it. One she rather liked. "Have you ever been married?"

"No."

If she stopped and thought about the fact that she was asking Dominic Colbourne such personal questions, she'd have never done it. So she didn't think about it. In the dark, they were simply two strangers, passing time. "Have you ever found your significant other in bed with another man?"

There was a pause. "No."

Callie folded her arms. "Then how can you know what it would make you feel like?" She half-laughed. "Never mind. I imagine women are so available to someone like you that you exchange them like some men change ties."

"Rather harsh."

"But true?"

Another pause. "At times, perhaps."

She nodded, satisfied. "Exactly. I don't think people like you, or Stephanie, for that matter, can understand what it's like for someone who doesn't wield much power. Not just financially, but emotionally, mentally. So sure of yourself, of your abilities, that you don't know what it's like to have your confidence seriously rattled. Or if you did, it was so long ago you've forgotten."

He didn't say anything and she compulsively filled the silence. Otherwise she'd have to realize just how insane it was to be saying this stuff to him.

"It wasn't like I was some meek, mild thing, living for her husband's approval. But at some point along the way, Peter's little comment here, well-meaning criticism there, began to add up and I allowed them to slowly erode my sense of self. It wasn't until I was no longer in the relationship that I saw how neatly he'd manipulated me into questioning myself, my value, my worth as a person. But knowing that doesn't automatically bring with it an instant reversal. It takes time to rebuild the strength and integrity you let someone else so neatly tear down. And there are all sorts of nasty little emotions that go with that, number one being guilt for letting the bastard do such a number on you in the first place, and shame for being such a stupid twit that you didn't realize it sooner."

She slowed, took a breath, shook her head, laughed a little. "Obviously, I still have some issues. All I was getting at was that some of us don't rebound swiftly from being passed over for a twenty-something blond with big boobs and the sex drive of a mink. Yes, it showed Peter to be the louse he was … is. But then you factor in his ever-so-rational explanation of why he was forced into it—yes, forced, as if my supposed inability to fulfill all of his needs was an engraved invitation to have sex on our dining room table with someone who wasn't as … I think the phrase he used was 'sexually limited.' Someone who, unlike me, didn't mind swinging from chandeliers, or flaunting her body in public, or … or any of the other 'sexually limiting' things I refused to do."

There was a pause, just long enough for Callie to groan inwardly at her rapid-fire speech.

"Did it occur to you that he only went on the offensive as a way to deflect his guilt back onto you?" Dominic asked into the sudden quiet. "Shifting blame is a highly effective tool, but only if the opposition allows their vulnerabilities to be manipulated."

Callie's bravado left her in a silent whoosh. "Yes, well, some vulnerabilities might exist for a reason."

"But rather than deal directly with them, with you, he took the cheap tour, fixing his problem, but not caring whether he fixed yours. I'd say he was the limited one, unable to meet your needs."

She smiled. "I hadn't thought about it exactly like that, but yes, you might have a point."

Dominic fell silent again. Callie sighed and leaned back against the paneled wall, thinking about what he'd said. If only the therapist she'd sought out when she'd separated had made half as much sense, she might have continued to see her.

"I think you underestimate yourself."

Dominic's words startled her.

"I know I did," she said honestly. "Do, still, sometimes. Like I said, it takes a while to climb out of the rut you allowed someone else to dig for you. I didn't tell you the kicker. Peter didn't even want the divorce. He honestly thought I'd be understanding, happy even, that he'd found a solution for his needs and so wouldn't have to bug me about fulfilling them anymore. As if he'd banged Jennifer on our dining room table, and God knows where else, as a favor to me." She shook her head. "And I actually wasted more than five minutes wondering if he might have a point. Pretty pathetic, don't you think?"

"Pathetic would have been giving in. You didn't, I assume, since a divorce did take place." There was an urgency to his tone that startled Callie. Surely he really couldn't care less about her personal life. He had nothing invested in her beyond knowing she worked for the woman he was working a deal with.

"You don't even know me, how do you know what—"

"I know what you've done with your life since then. You're strong. Focused. Driven."

"Ah, finally an area you do know a little something about."

"Precisely."

She smiled at the hint of amusement in his tone.

"You didn't wail and thrash about after the ugliness was over, you got on with the business of living."

Yeah, Callie thought, but not with the business of loving. That was an obstacle she had yet to deal with. In fact, with all the time she'd spent working for Stephanie, she'd mercifully been too tired to even think about it. And now, with her promotion, she supposed she wouldn't have to worry about it for some time to come. The idea of a further reprieve should have been a relief. Instead she felt that little nick of doubt. But she hadn't given up on love, not really, she'd simply chosen not to focus on it for a while. No one could blame her for taking a path that was more imminently rewarding, could they?

And the last person she wanted to discuss any of this with was a man like Dominic Colbourne. And yet she heard the words come out of her mouth anyway.

"Being successful in business hasn't exactly been a problem, but then, it never was. My problems were of a more … personal nature, I guess you'd say." And why the hell had she?

The silence descended once again, like a heavy blanket, smothering the conversation. Callie sighed inwardly, wishing yet again that she'd kept her mouth shut. She smiled wearily. So she was sexually repressed and verbally overeager. At some point in her life, maybe she'd find the happy medium between those two things.

Then, slowly, the stifling air between them seemed to take on a different charge, an added element or tension. It was as if she could sense him staring at her through the dark, those panther eyes of his seeing her clearly … with a predator's gleam. She shivered slightly and rubbed her arms, smiling at her flight of fancy. Add an overdeveloped fantasy life to the list. If only she had the nerve to act on even one of them, maybe she'd snuff out that last twinge of doubt.

Suddenly she felt something brush against her leg. She realized it was Dominic's foot. She stiffened slightly, edged away. He found her again, touched her deliberately.

"Would you tell me?" he asked quietly, and yet there was an edge to the request.

"Wh-what? Tell you what?"

"You mentioned feeling … limited."

"No, my ex thought I was limited. I thought—" She broke off then, not sure how to finish that sentence. "I don't know what I thought," she said quietly.

"Then don't tell me all the things your husband wanted you to do that you wouldn't."

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could find a reply—whatever that might have been!—he went on.

"Tell me the things you've always wanted to try … but haven't."

"I—" She couldn't form the words, still stunned by his request. Was he … what? Offering to help her out? She felt an almost hysterical bubble of laughter rush up her throat. Could he have possibly guessed where her thoughts had drifted, over and over again? And if so … why wasn't she insulted that he was arrogant enough to think he was the answer to all her problems?

Probably, she thought, because he just might be. Trapped alone, in the dark, her inhibitions were definitely diminishing rapidly…

"You wanted conversation," he murmured. "So tell me, Callie Montgomery," he coaxed, his tone relaxed, bordering on being disinterested. Only the sizzle zinging around them was anything but. "Tell me what you want. Then I'll tell you if it's worth doing."

Chapter Three

Worth doing? Dominic swallowed a curse or two. Since when had he thought anything that felt good wasn't worth doing? The sobering answer to that was … not in some time. In fact, he couldn't quite put his finger on the moment when he'd lost the ability to detect pleasure. Physical or otherwise. Or worse, caring about finding a way to experience it again in some fresh way that actually excited him.

Oh, he knew all the mechanics of achieving pleasure. But finding physical satisfaction was a long way from finding emotional satisfaction. Or so he'd so recently and thoroughly been told.

Which begged the question, when was the exact moment that everything had felt so … done. As if he'd accomplished it all? To the point where there was nothing left to achieve? At least nothing that truly excited him. And yet, if that was truly the case, and he'd done it all, why then did he still feel so bloody incomplete?

And why in God's name was he badgering this poor woman in some buggered effort to make sense of it all?

"That's a rather provocative request," Callie responded, finally finding her voice. A voice that was bit thready now. He could blame it on the closeness of the air, but he suspected something else entirely was affecting her. Or someone. Him.

And what a novel experience it was for him that her response hadn't been the least bit suggestive and yet managed to snag his attention anyway. Callie Montgomery. Office temp, woman scorned, survivor. With her sense of humor well intact, to boot. And perhaps that was suggestion enough for him. Because she certainly provoked him, whether she intended to or not.

"I can be a very provocative man," he said. Or, at least, at one time he had been. He couldn't recall the last time his pulse had spiked at the sound of a woman's voice, the scent of her skin, the little catch in her breath when he lowered his mouth to hers. Or when he'd stopped noticing or caring.

He was certain Isabella could tell him, and probably had during their marathon discussion this evening. He should have never placed that call to Hong Kong. Now it was his turn to smile in the dark, though there was absolutely no humor in it. Not talking to her tonight would have only delayed the inevitable. He supposed he should be thankful that she'd honestly cared enough for him to sit him down, figuratively and literally, and talk to him like she had. No screaming, no vituperative poison, though he suspected he deserved both. She was better than that, the best, in fact. She was the true meaning of friend, one of the few he'd ever had. He suspected that of the two he was the more fortunate that she'd remain his friend, even after tonight. Although she probably counted herself equally blessed that she was no longer his lover. Or his fiancée.

Neither of the latter roles had suited them, not really. He should have known better than to push things that direction in the first place. It had simply made sense to him at the time. A rational approach to moving into the next phase of his career.

The fact that he'd thought of marriage in terms of his career should have been a bold warning right from the start.

And what did it say about him that the best thing he could do for a woman was to let her go? Yet, if he couldn't love a woman like Isabella, the way a man should love his life partner, then he might as well leave the rest of them alone.

Which didn't remotely explain why he wasn't going to leave Callie alone. Or maybe it did. She'd been burned, she wasn't looking for romance, much less love … but she was looking to prove herself sexually. He'd done his share of burning, and it was now painfully clear he wouldn't know romance, much less love, if it came up and slapped him in the face. But he did know something about proving himself sexually. A lot, in fact. So, maybe there was something he could give a woman after all. This woman, anyway. Proof.

"Maybe that's my problem," she responded, followed by a sound that was part laugh, part sigh. "I'm not provocative. Although, I suppose it's only considered provocative if someone else thinks it is. Otherwise, it's just sort of an embarrassing attempt. Isn't it?"

He found his lips curving. Something she managed to make him do with relative ease. Considering his mood when he'd left Stephanie's office earlier, that was a remarkable accomplishment. "Are you saying I'm past my prime, then?"

Her laughter came then, and he felt something inside him begin to unwind. This wasn't the well-rehearsed cocktail banter he'd partaken in a thousand times over. In fact, he had no idea what she'd say, or how she'd react to things he might say. Which made him want to say all sorts of things to her. Provocative indeed.

"I'm fairly certain you'll be ninety and using a walker, and women will still swoon when you glance their way," she said.

His eyes widened at the flattery … and the dry tone in which it was delivered. Meaning she understood his appeal … but wasn't personally affected by it?

"I was referring to me anyway," she clarified. "As the embarrassing attempter."

"Meaning you don't think yourself capable of saying provocative things, committing provocative acts?"

"Oh, I might be able to suggest them, even do them. I'm just not certain of the reaction I'd get."

"So you'd rather go on not knowing."

Her tone was wry. "It's rather a moot point since it's not like I've been faced with much of a choice lately."

"Some opportunities have to be made. If you wait for them to present themselves, you'll miss out on the best of the lot."

"Point taken. But I work long hours, with one other woman, after which I go home, sleep, then head back to work. Where is the opportunity?"

"Everywhere. On the street corner, picking up coffee or lunch—Stephanie does let you eat, doesn't she?"

"We order in."

"Delivered by?"

Callie laughed. "Old Mr. Peterson. If he's my only shot at being a sexual rebel, I'd just as soon remain pathetically uninformed, thanks."

Dom felt his smile spread to a grin. "Fine then, we'll discuss it hypothetically."

"Will we?" she said, imitating his sardonic tone.

Oh yes, she was quite refreshing. And incredibly provocative, without even trying. Not that she'd believe him if he told her that. No, she'd require proof positive. There was that word again. Proof.

"Yes, we will," he decided, unsure exactly what it was they'd do. At the moment, he refused to put boundaries on it. "Hypothetical situation number one. Say you whistle for a taxi at the same time as another bloke, a man who catches your eye. What do you do so that you catch his?"

She didn't answer right away. Dom relaxed further, folding his arms, finding himself quite interested in her response.

"Well, if he takes the cab without even glancing my way, nothing. I don't want or need the attentions of a jerk."

"True. And if he pauses? Allows you a moment to plead your case, as it were?"

Callie sighed on another half laugh. "Well, I'm no good on the eyelash batting, hip wiggle, hair-flip thing."

"To the utter and complete disappointment of the entire male population, I'm sure."

She laughed outright. "Thanks, but even if I were foolish enough to buy that, which I'm not, I wouldn't go that route anyway. If he's responsive to the whole giggly bimbette routine, that's another guy I'd just as soon not have paying me any attention."

"First off, I must clarify that, as part of said male population, there will always be some element of the 'bimbette routine' as you put it, that we'll respond to. It's in our DNA. However, responding to it and acting on it are two entirely different things. And I respect your decision. Well done. So, how would you get his attention?"

"I don't suppose just smiling and asking him if he'd like to share the cab would be considered a provocative thing."

"Not initially. But never underestimate the impact of a fresh smile and a sincere tone." He grinned. "Of course, if you're wearing something deliciously seductive, that won't really matter."

Callie sighed. "The Woof Factor?"

He chuckled. "Absolutely."

"And here I thought British men were more staid than their beer guzzling, monster truck-loving, American counterparts."

"We're all mongrels at heart."

"So then what's the point of my trying to be provocative? Basically all I need is white teeth and a short skirt, according to you."

"And what's not provocative about short skirts, I ask you?"

She laughed. "I thought we were discussing this on a more, I don't know, intellectual level. You don't strike me as a man who drools, at least not visibly, over everything in a tight skirt."

Actually, if she wanted to know the honest truth, he hadn't drooled over much of anything of late, tight-skirted or not. And as much as he'd like to claim it was because he'd been affianced for the past several months, he knew it went farther back than that. Had he honestly become such a driven, single-minded cad that even the simple pleasures of girl watching had become lost on him? He was the pathetic one, after all. "How do I strike you, then?"

Again she lapsed into silence. His pulse accelerated slightly, and the longer the silence stretched, the more he anticipated her response. As if the opinion of a woman he'd known all of an hour or so could matter all that much? Perhaps it should. Perhaps had he cared more about the thoughts and opinions of others, he wouldn't feel so emotionally adrift. Isabella claimed that if he'd let someone inside his head, rather than simply his body or his wallet, he'd feel more whole, more complete.

And a whole lot less lonely.

He didn't want to think that of himself, that he was that closed off. Since when was being driven, focused, successful, something to be ashamed of? He didn't want for wealth or power. And if what he'd put Isabella through was any indication, love was a complication he was better off without anyway.

Callie's quiet response mercifully broke his uncharacteristic reflective train of thought. "You strike me as a dominant male. Very alpha. Yet also very controlled. I'd think you'd have little patience for game playing or vapid conversation. With either sex."

Dominic thought she'd pegged him pretty well. Domineering and impatient. Oh yes, quite the catch he was.

"I also think you appreciate finer things, including women."

"You think I value form over substance?"

"I've seen the photos in the various magazines and newspapers. You might not squire the implant-enhanced Bambi's or Bunny's of the world around town, but I haven't seen too many Enid's or Esther's either."

Dominic never paid attention to the media. Not where his personal life was concerned. He had so little of one, whatever they wrote about him couldn't be of much consequence. Though some of those women he'd squired about had felt otherwise. Isabella had chosen to remain out of the spotlight altogether, preferring to keep their private life very private. Of course that was relatively easy to do when they only saw each other once or twice a month. "I suppose you have a point there. I have no defense."

She laughed. "None needed. Honestly, if you have your pick of the litter, why go with the runt, right? But that was the point I was making earlier."

"That you consider yourself the runt of the litter? That's quite harsh and entirely un—"

"No, I have more self-esteem than that. But it's sort of the men-don't-make-passes-at-girls-who-wear-glasses defense. I'm in that group. The kind of woman who's not drop dead, not fringe weird … but firmly part of the invisible middle. I could probably fling myself at a guy and he wouldn't even notice."

"I doubt that."

"You know what I mean. Dog DNA or not, it only pays to be provocative when you can put some punch behind your pucker."

"And you think you lack … punch?"

She didn't respond. All he heard in the darkness was a little sigh. Wistful. Or perhaps simply resigned.

"So, you believe if you smiled and asked to share a cab, the gentlemen in question wouldn't accept?" he pressed.

"He might be gallant and allow me to have the cab, which is charming, but gets me nowhere since he'll be left behind on the sidewalk. Or he might accept the compromise and climb in with me." She sighed again. "Then smile blankly and spend the entire ride staring out the window."

Definitely resigned, he thought. "Which is precisely the point I was making earlier. That is your opportunity. Right there, in the cab. He's basically a captive audience to your charms."

Callie snorted.

"You seriously underestimate yourself."

"Do I? You walked into Stephanie's office and didn't even glance in my direction. I'm sure if someone asked you, five minutes later, to describe me, you'd have come up blank."

"Don't judge other men's reactions by mine. I'm the last person who'd fit the present scenario."

There was a pause and Dominic wished he had directed the conversation away from himself. But she'd surprised him with her comment. And he'd been less than happy to realize she was right.

"Why do you say that? Because we're from different class levels, or whatever the American equivalent is to that?"

"I can be accused of many things, but snobbery isn't one of them." He managed a smile. "Like most men, I'm an equal opportunity ogler."

"Then I was dismissed because…"

"You weren't dismissed, because you were never considered." He swore when she made a little insulted noise. "That came out entirely wrong."

"But does prove my point pretty darn well."

He sighed. "What I meant to say was, I haven't noticed any woman in quite some time. My attentions have been somewhat diverted from that pleasure of late."

"Well, I hate to make you drag your head out of the sand, but you're not alone. And observant, ogling, or just plain making it through the day, men don't typically notice women like me."

"I have."

There was instant silence and another little spike of tension arced about the small interior.

"You could hardly avoid it," she said after a moment, her tone dry, dismissive. Though he'd bet a small fortune she'd felt it, too. "You were pretty much trapped into noticing me." She laughed a little then, but all the lovely warmth had left it. "Maybe that's the ticket. Get a guy trapped in total darkness so he has to overlook the form to get to the substance."

"I found nothing lacking in your form," he said quite seriously, then tried to picture her and realized, to his shame, just how right she'd been. He remembered soft brown hair, an expressive face, and a figure that was rather … invisible. Not overtly … anything.

The skin at the back of his neck heated and for once he was thankful for the darkness. Surely it was just him, though. Any other man, any man who was less distracted, would certainly have noticed her warm smile, her lively tone, her acerbic wit. Along with the package it came in.

"Thank you," she said at length, but didn't add anything else.

The flush on his skin deepened. He cleared his throat. "So, you're in the cab, he's staring out the window … and you say?"

She didn't respond right away. "I say nothing. I know I could mention the weather. Sports. Comment on the latest editorial in the Post, or whatever the current scandal is on the Hill. All of which might get me a nod, a grunt, or even an intelligent response. But none of which I assume is what you meant by provocative."

"Depends on the comment you make."

That got a slight laugh out of her, which in turn made him feel like he'd won the lottery or something. Since when had making small talk, putting a woman at ease, been such a challenge for him?

Never. But that was likely due to the fact that the substance of the small talk … or the woman … rarely mattered to him. This conversation had ceased to fit that profile the moment she'd uttered her first word.

"So you say nothing rather than take the risk," he went on. "Rather than make an opportunity."

"For what? Rejection? The best I could hope for would be a nonplussed expression, followed by a very uncomfortable cab ride."

"I could toss out the trifle expression that you'd never know until you tried, but you—"

"Would toss right back that I've been faced with enough humiliation, thanks. I wasn't cut out to be provocative. Some of us aren't. So I'll have to find my future romances the old-fashioned way."

"Which is?"

"Letting well meaning friends fix me up with the remaining single relatives they have left in their families. Agonizing over what to wear, how far you'll go on your first date, then going out to dinner, smiling, nodding at appropriate moments during what turns out to be interminably boring small talk, discovering there's a really good reason why he's the last single man in your best friend's family tree, no longer worrying if you have spinach stuck in your teeth because you're not going to kiss this guy good night anyway."

He couldn't help it, he laughed. "Sounds quite horrific."

"It is, trust me. But what's a single girl to do? Bar crawling lost its appeal during my college years. Singles groups and spa memberships fell by the wayside shortly after that. I don't have time for civic or charitable organizations, being my own charitable organization of late, and the only unmarried guy in my neighborhood under the age of seventy-five, while gorgeous, spends the occasional few minutes we spend picking out fruit at the corner stand, commiserating with me over the lack of single men. So blind dates are pretty much all that are left."

"I still say you're limiting your scope. Surely there are other men at that fruit stand … thumping their melons, as it were."

She snickered. "Not that I've noticed. And I realize just how whiny I sound, here. Honestly, finding a man isn't something I spend an overt amount of time thinking about, nor do I think that a woman necessarily needs a man in her life to be happy or fulfilled."

The reverse being true as well, he thought. Or at least he had.

"I'm very happily focused on rebuilding a career," she went on determinedly, sounding almost too determined, if there was such a thing. "And despite the long hours and hard work, I very much enjoy working for Stephanie. In fact, just before she left tonight, she offered to hire me full time. So, it's not like I'm going to have a lot of time for romance in my life anytime soon, anyway."

He spoke without questioning the wisdom of revealing the troubling direction his thoughts had taken. "A few hours ago I would have heartily agreed with that assessment," he said quietly. "Applauded it even."

"But not now?"

"I'm not sure." He rubbed at the spot in the center of his chest, as if he could assuage the odd ache that lay somewhere below it, then realized what he was doing and pulled his hand away. "Maybe it's simply a matter of flowing toward what comes more easily to us, whether it's business, sex, love. Not to say we don't risk rejection anyway, just that, as you mentioned before, we're confident enough in our skills in whatever area we've chosen, not to allow it to affect us too deeply, or ultimately sway us away from it."

"And you're telling me you lack confidence in yourself in one of those areas?"

"Don't sound so surprised."

"You don't strike me as someone who is unsure of anything."

"Appearances are deceiving." Hers certainly were. Dutiful and loyal assistant, willingly subordinate to her boss in order to get ahead … and yet, on the inside, maybe still yearning to be a provocateur, the dominant one, a sexual aggressor. His body hardened at the thought of being the man who guided her down that particular carnal path. She was sharp, focused, and in tune enough with her body's needs to know she wanted things beyond what she'd experienced thus far.

"It's well documented that you made your first million when most guys were still in college," she said. "You have women throwing themselves at you right and left, and considering you didn't refute my opinion of you as an alpha male, I'm guessing the women you catch aren't complaining later."

"Which rules out business and sex, but not—"

"Love?"

Dominic fell silent.

"Is it that you don't believe in it?" she asked, when the silence dragged on. "Or are you simply too jaded to fall prey to it?"

"Jaded. I suppose I would qualify there." But he knew that was the easy out. She'd confessed her weaknesses, her vulnerabilities … so it was only fair that he respond in kind. Despite the fact that he'd never once thought of doing so with anyone else. But why shouldn't he? After all, this was one midnight confession that wouldn't likely come back to haunt him. Callie Montgomery was not a gameplayer or a gold digger with an agenda. He had every expectation that they'd exit this elevator come morning and go on their merry ways, back to their busy lives, never to give this conversation another thought. So there was no real risk.

And yet he hesitated even after he'd opened his mouth. Let someone inside your head, instead of just your body or your wallet. Isabella's words echoed through his mind. Risk indeed.

"I'm not sure what I believe," he said quietly, as much to himself as to her. "I've never given it much thought, really." He let out a short laugh. "Which I suppose is worse, really, than actually having an opinion on the matter, isn't it?"

"So, you're saying you've never been in love? Not ever?"

"Boyhood crushes, perhaps. But I was focused on other achievements at a fairly early age. Didn't leave much room for anything else. I suppose, after a time, it became habit, patterned behavior."

"Well then, it's more a matter of making room in your life to allow it to happen then, isn't it? Or meeting the person who makes you want to make room." She made a little sound of amusement. "Sounds like you're the one missing out on opportunities."

He thought about that. Isabella had said much the same thing to him, that if she'd been the right one, he'd have wanted to make time for her. Would have instinctively done the right thing. He doubted her then, but now…? "I'd like to believe that," he said, realizing as he said it how much he meant it. "But there have been some very wonderful women in my life, deserving women, and I haven't felt that … whatever it is one feels to justify the truth in all that romance mumbo jumbo."

"Jaded indeed," she said. "But just because a person is wonderful doesn't mean she's the right person. You know, the one. Or maybe it means you're not giving her the chance. Have you allowed yourself to be swayed by that romance mumbo jumbo? Give in to that first rush of emotion? Beyond the sexual rush, I mean," she added pointedly.

"I'm not sure I'd have the first clue how. Or that I've felt that specific, nonsexually oriented rush you talk about."

"Oh, I find that very hard to believe."

He wished he felt otherwise. "I understand the grand gesture as well as the smaller, meaningful one. But romance, so I've been told, is more than flowers or a weekend in Paris."

Callie laughed. "It's a damn good place to start while you're looking for it though."

He smiled, but it faded quickly. "Romance, the kind you're speaking of at any rate, is more than that. What you mean is the whole of the emotional involvement between two people. The longing to please one another, the need to fulfill your partner in some way beyond the material gesture, a way that brings pleasure and satisfaction to both of you on some deep, intimate level that goes far beyond the physical."

Callie sighed. "I don't know. I think that was the best description of how romance should be that I've ever heard. You're more in touch than you think. And maybe it's a matter of being more distracted than jaded."

"Well, I can describe it." Thanks to Isabella anyway. "But I haven't the first bloody idea how to experience it."

"So, you're saying we're both emotionally stunted, then." She'd said it in a clearly amused, self-deprecating way. But he responded dead seriously.

"No, what I was saying was that you could be intensely sexually provocative but you'll never find out because you don't dare to."

"Then it follows that you could be the most romantic, emotionally in tune man on the planet. But you'll never know either because you write yourself off without even trying. We are stunted."

Again, silence descended between them and Dominic found himself swearing silently. What in the hell had gotten into him? Isabella's rejection shouldn't have sent him into this kind of ridiculous tailspin. It was probably just the prolonged isolation, sitting here in the dark, with nothing better to do than dwell on the supposed weaknesses of his, which she'd so carefully itemized and detailed for him.

He'd thought he was merely provoking Callie because she was so ripe for the provocation. How he'd allowed himself to become the subject of this conversation he had no idea. Worse yet, Callie hadn't started it, he had. What he could do, however, was shut the hell up. He was facing the largest merger he'd ever put together, which meant the next ten days were likely to be the most frenetic and most important of his entire life. He had no time for this … this…

"So," Callie said softly, easily breaking his train of thought, "if we wanted to change that … it means we have to be willing to risk it, right? That I'd have to be willing to…"

She paused for so long, he didn't think she was going to finish. Only he wasn't relieved at the thought, wasn't hoping she'd give up and let it drop so he could spend his time thinking about more important things, the so very important things he spent every waking second of every day thinking about. Not one of which he could force to mind at that very moment.

Because his entire attention had been neatly captured by this one purportedly invisible brunette. And he was dying, sitting so still he wasn't even drawing breath as he literally strained to hear her next words.

"Just how would a person go about finding her inner sexually provocative self?" she queried, more to herself than to him. "Where do I begin?"

His body tightened, surprising him with the ferocity of his sudden reaction.

"I mean," she went on, her tone a bit less confident now, but nonetheless determined. "I've had romance, I've had intimacy. I know what love is, and I don't want it in my life right now. I don't have time for it anyway. But I do miss the other parts. The zing of awareness, the rush you get when you look at someone and want him. Instantly, immediately, totally. So, maybe it's time I figured out how to go after those parts, just reach out and take what I want. Maybe it's a self-fulfilling prophecy that works both ways. If I don't believe it will happen, it won't. But if I just believe, then…"

Dominic could have told her she was doing a damn fine job of it without even trying. He had to curl his hands inward to keep from reaching for her right then and there. It was insane, this sudden need he had to yank her against him, where he could prove to her quite easily that she was a bloody lot closer to achieving her goal than she knew.

She laughed, but this time it was tinged with a bit of resignation. "A shame we can't compare notes when the opportunity arises. I could tutor you on the finer points of emotional entanglements. At least the 'what not to do' parts anyway, and maybe a few of the 'to do' parts," she added a bit wistfully. "And you could mentor me in—"

"Name one thing you would do in this elevator with a man you want," he said abruptly and somewhat heatedly. But he was only human damn it and she'd pushed him far enough. "If you knew he'd respond positively to anything you requested, name the first thing you'd tell him to do."

He tried to slow his heart rate down, so he could hear her slightest intake of breath, but it was impossible. Bugger if she didn't have him riled up in a way he couldn't remember being riled in a very long time. Ever, perhaps. He knew it was strictly the situation they'd found themselves in, that neither of them would perhaps react like this in any other place or time. But they weren't in any other place or time. They were here. Alone. Together. And while he didn't want any of her instructional tutoring on the finer points of romance and love … he was pretty damn sure he could take care of one or two of her concerns.

He might not have experienced that exquisite torture of prolonged sexual tension in some time, but he bloody well hadn't forgotten what it felt like. And the tension singing between them at the moment was thick enough he was surprised it hadn't fogged the air.

"Tell me," he repeated. "We'll consider it lesson number one."

"In?" She breathed the word, her voice hardly more than a hoarse whisper.

He leaned forward, knocked off one of her high heels and drew a slow line with his finger up the center of the sole of her foot. She shuddered, then gasped when he closed his hand around her ankle.

"In how to provoke a man into giving you whatever you want."

Chapter Four

Callie swore she'd swallowed her tongue the instant he'd touched her. Either that or her libido was so firmly lodged in her throat she was going to choke on it instead. Either way she couldn't answer him.

Dear God, had he really just said what she thought he'd said? And did he mean to be that man?

His hand on her ankle said yes.

She rubbed her arms … and pressed her thighs together. Surely she was misunderstanding—

"Tell me what you want done to you, Callie," Dominic said, his voice dark and rough, his accent making the words even more commanding.

She opened her mouth, but surely she couldn't just say it. Hell, she didn't even know what to say. Isn't this about taking risks? her little voice nudged. Well, hypothetical risk-taking was one thing. Leaping head first into the fire for real was quite another.

"Is it the idea of doing something sexual in an elevator that's so distasteful," he asked, his fingers lightly stroking the inside of her ankle. "Or that you'd be putting yourself in an explicit situation in public?"

She started to speak, but was forced to clear her throat—twice—before she could finally answer. "Exhibitionism isn't a big turn on to me."

"Because it was to your ex."

He'd made it a statement. And based on what she'd said earlier, she could see why he thought he was right. "I don't think I'd consider it anyway. The thrill of being caught, literally, with my pants down, instills panic, not lust."

"So, the idea of a man having his way with you in the backseat of a taxi—"

"Isn't one of my fantasies, no."

"Well then, what is?"

She'd walked right into that one. "I—" She broke off, suddenly aware of just how unreal it was that she was actually sitting in the dark, even contemplating revealing her most basic desires to Dominic Colbourne.

"Just one," he commanded softly.

"I—I don't have specific … scenarios."

"So, it never once crossed your mind, when you stepped into this elevator, what it would be like if I caught your eye, noticed a flicker of interest, and … pursued it." His hand tightened ever so imperceptibly.

She tried not to squirm, certain he would know then just how much his words, the images they painted, were affecting her. This was a lesson … a discussion … not reality. No matter how badly she wanted it to be. "But you didn't," she managed. "And anything I did wouldn't have changed that. Only made you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable now."

"But you're also not—"

"Oh. But I am."

There was no questioning what he'd meant. Just as there was no stifling the tiny gasp that slid out between her lips when he drew his fingers along her calf. "So, you're … we're … what, role playing?" she asked, tentatively, not sure what answer she wanted him to give.

"Hardly."

Her remaining breath left her in a silent whoosh. "Now I've made you uncomfortable," he said.

"Hardly," she said, before she could stop herself. "I—I mean—"

His fingers skated back to her foot and he began to knead her arch. The shock of pleasure that brought made her moan before she could stifle it.

"You mean the kind of discomfort this brings you…" He once again stroked a finger down the center of the sole of her foot. Her shuddering reaction to even that minimal stimulation was palpably intense, "isn't all that uncomfortable?"

She said nothing.

"Say it, Callie."

Dear God, his voice was downright hypnotic. Did she dare let him pull her under the spell he was rapidly weaving? Here in the dark? Away from everything that was real?

"No," she breathed, then held her breath while she waited to see what he'd do next.

"You like my hands on you."

She nodded, trying not to whimper when he took his hand away. She should have known this was too good to be true.

"You like my hands on you," he repeated.

She hadn't realized he expected an answer. "Yes."

"Then tell me where you want me to put them. And I will."

She heard the rustle of fabric, then detected the scent of his cologne as the air shifted when he moved closer to her. When he spoke, his voice was intensely close, almost touching her ear.

"You've provoked me, Callie," he said, making her skin prickle in awareness and her heart begin a rapid tango inside her chest. "With your words, your thoughts, your laughter."

"I—I didn't mean to. Not … like this."

Now he chuckled, and it made her squirm. Pleasurably so.

"So, you'd rather I retreat to my corner?"

She shifted slightly, knowing, even though she couldn't see him, that his mouth was a mere breath away from hers.

"Tell me to go away," he said softly, his voice vibrating in the dark. "Tell me not to touch you, not to do whatever you command me to do … and I'll stop this."

She felt his mouth brush against hers. Not quite a kiss, more a fleeting impression of warmth, of softness.

"Tell me," he commanded, his lips by her ear. "Tell me you don't want me to want you."

She shivered. "I—" Dear Lord, what was she about to do?

His teeth briefly pinched her earlobe. How did he know right where she was? He didn't fumble, didn't touch any part of her other than the part he meant to touch. In the dark, knowing he was so close, yet totally unaware of his intentions, of where he'd touch her next, had her fighting to sit still.

He brushed her lips with his fingertips. She quivered. "Can you see me?" The darkness was complete, and her eyes weren't ever going to adjust enough to be able to see him. How had his?

"I can scent you."

Dear God. The shiver became a shudder. The muscles between her legs tightened almost painfully. "The Panther," she breathed, not meaning to say it out loud. But it simply slipped out.

That chuckle again, only this time his breath moved her hair so it tickled against her neck, so sensitized now even that brief caress made her pulse leap. "When it suits me."

Then his fingers were on her face. Not holding her, framing her face, but tracing the contours. So lightly it was almost as if it was air brushing her skin.

"Tell me to stop soon, Callie." He reached in and nipped at her bottom lip, releasing it before his teeth could leave a mark.

She moaned.

"Or tell me to keep touching you." He pressed a long, firm finger across her lips. "But be warned … I'll expect to be told where to touch you … and how … and for how long." He slowly drew his finger from her mouth, making her breath hitch at the protracted contact. Then his lips were touching hers, a breath separating them from an actual kiss. "Tell me, Callie. Provoke me."

Her pulse drummed so hard it thundered inside her ears. Her throat tightened until she could barely breathe, much less swallow … or speak. She willed him to simply take over, take the responsibility away from her, to allow her to sink under and give in to the wicked spell of seduction he'd so expertly weaved.

Then she felt the air shift as he moved away, surprised at how swiftly she'd become in tune to his presence. "No," she blurted, instinctively reaching for him.

She'd barely brushed her hands against him when her wrists were taken hostage in his grip. Not harshly, but definitively. "I'll be the one doing the touching," he said. And for the first time, she heard a thread of hoarseness in his voice.

The sense of empowerment that roared through her was swift and certain. She wasn't the only one being affected by this. She really had provoked him.

"Yes, Callie," he said, as if he could read her mind. And maybe he could.

She was rapidly beginning to believe anything was possible. "I want to be touched by you." She swore she felt him shudder, felt the air between them tremble.

"But then we've only begun, haven't we?"

She nodded, then realized she needed to speak, said, "Yes."

"This is about you, about what you want to feel, want to be made to feel."

She pressed her thighs tight and fought against the urge to squirm.

"So there will be no touching. Only directing me where you want to be touched." He took her hands and slid one behind the small of her back. "So we can leave them here." He lifted the other one, pressing it to the wall above her head. "Or here."

Her breath locked in her throat. Trembling harder now, she tugged one hand free … and tucked it behind her back with the other one. Shocked at how badly she'd wanted to keep it above her head.

"Fine," he told her, then leaned in and ran the tip of his tongue along the side of her neck. "We'll leave them here." He crossed her wrists, pinning them with one hand, his grip tightening briefly, enough to let her know he wanted her to keep them that way, before withdrawing his hands all together. "For now," he added, the words barely audible above her ragged breathing.

She turned her head as she felt him move away, straining to see him, wishing she had the same sense of his body's position as he did of hers.

When he spoke again, it was clear he was back in the opposite corner. "You are completely in charge of what happens next."

I don't think so, she thought.

"Why the impatient sound? Tell me what just went through your mind."

She hadn't realized she'd made a noise. Did the man have total jungle sensory perception? The very idea made her body tighten. As it was, she was so highly sensitized she could already feel every inch of the fabric of her dress against her skin. Her nipples had tightened almost to the point of pain. And there wasn't enough pressure in the world to assuage the ache that had become an almost constant throb between her legs.

"I don't feel like I'm in control," she said, striving to sound like she was. "You understand the seduction game far better than I do."

"This is no game," he said, sounding almost insulted at the very notion.

She laughed shortly. "It's all a game."

"Now who's the jaded one?" he responded, obviously amused.

"What if I say that I trust you to take things from here?"

"Then you won't have learned anything."

Oh, I'm already on information overload, she wanted to tell him. "You'll teach me," she said, damning the quiver that threaded through her words. But the very idea of him "tutoring" her in the finer points of seduction … and all the pleasurable things it might lead them to do, was almost enough to make her climax just thinking about it. And though he'd moved out of her immediate personal space, that hadn't remotely lessoned the tension screaming between them. In fact, it seemed to increase it somehow. Her crossed wrists even more so, along with the slight arch to her back the position forced her into. Supplicant, she thought. And felt her panties soak at the very idea.

"No," he said, then flicked his fingers lightly against the sole of her foot making her flinch—and moan softly. "You'll teach yourself."

Callie was overwhelmed with conflicting sensations, emotions, but was afraid if she let herself analyze them in any depth, she'd lose whatever nerve she had to see this through. And after long months of celibacy, she was not going to jeopardize what was looking to be the highlight of her entire year. Hell, maybe her whole life.

She heard the rustle of fabric as he shifted away from her again … and made her decision. "Take off your jacket."

There was a sudden stillness and she held her breath. Then there was another rustle of fabric, followed by the twin sensations of linen and silk lining as he drew his suit jacket across her legs as proof that he'd done as she'd asked.

It was immensely heady, the duality of her position here. She commanded him, and yet it was she who willingly kept her wrists pinned behind her back.

"Now your tie."

"Do you plan to undress me entirely?"

"Isn't that my prerogative?" She grinned when he paused. "You set up the rules."

"That I did," he said quietly.

She said nothing, merely waited. She was rewarded shortly with the sounds of silk sliding on silk. Never had her sense of hearing been so acute. Then she swiftly drew in her breath as her hypersensitivity to touch was also tested. He drew the length of silk tie along the inside of her ankle … then higher.

"What—are you doing?"

"Offering proof."

She struggled to keep from moaning when he continued the soft torture up past her knee. She could easily flick away the tie, but that would mean ending the invisible bond on her wrists … and possibly the end of their agreement. No, he'd set it up so that she'd have to tell him, clearly, what she wanted. And what she didn't want.

"I didn't ask you to do that," she said, not in as commanding a tone as she'd have liked. The silk was doing incredible things to her senses. But she instinctively knew she shouldn't let him have the upper hand, no matter that she'd been ready to beg him to have just that.

You won't learn anything that way.

She wasn't entirely sure she believed that, but he was right in that she wouldn't necessarily learn the things she'd been most curious about. One of which was finding out what she could get … just by asking for it. But doing that was a lot harder than she'd expected.

The tie stopped moving, but remained just brushing at her leg. "You don't like the feel of this on your skin?"

"I didn't say that," she managed, working hard not to tremble as the tip of the tie continued to tickle her senses.

"Ah," he said. And the tie disappeared.

She stifled a sigh. If she was going to keep the upper hand, push her own boundaries, she had to be decisive … and direct him before he directed her. "Take off my other shoe."

Her heel was popped off almost instantly.

"I—I liked it when you began to massage my foot."

His hands skimmed over her feet. "You want me to continue."

It seemed about the safest way to start. If there was such a thing with him. "Yes."

But the instant his thumbs pressed directly into the arch of her feet, she moaned … and realized nothing about this interlude would fall under that heading.

He kept the pressure up. Kneading, stroking, then concentrating both hands on one foot … then the other, until she thought she'd simply slide down the wall completely onto her back. And here she'd been upset when she hadn't been able to find a pair of panty hose with no runs in them this morning. She decided right then and there she might never wear panty hose again.

She also knew she couldn't have him massage her feet forever.

As if sensing this, his hands slowed, then finally rested on her ankles. He said nothing, letting the silence—and the tension—build between them.

"I—you—would you—" She broke off, disgusted with her inability to be simply bold, daring.

"Would I what?"

For God's sake, just say it. She swallowed, hard. "Your mouth." She paused, licking suddenly dry lips.

"What about my mouth," he asked quietly.

"Your hands feel wonderful," she said. "So did—" Her heart was pounding almost uncontrollably. It was only partly terror … the rest was an almost unbearable spike of anticipation. "So did your mouth."

A shocking moment later, she felt the tip of his tongue trace a circle around her ankle bone. She hadn't meant him to replace his hands with his tongue, but as he began to work his way up the curve of her calf, she didn't stop him.

"Your skin is soft," he murmured. "Sweet."

She sighed as he shifted his body around, so he could continue the torture. Her legs were only an inch apart. She silently begged him to push them wider, wishing she had the nerve to do it herself. Or tell him to.

He hovered just above her knee, pressing hot kisses on the tender skin just inside. She trembled, she shuddered … but when he started to move higher, she lost her nerve. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

She could feel his warm breath, caressing the skin on her inner thighs. "Come—come here. Up here."

She'd meant for him to sit beside her, bring his mouth to hers, or even to her neck, or her ear, as he had before. To her continued shock, he straddled her legs, keeping his weight on his knees as he braced his hands on either side of her head … and leaned down until he was so close she swore she could hear his heart beat.

"I'm here," he said softly. "What do you want me to do to you, Callie?" He moved in until his lips barely touched hers. "Kiss you?" He moved slowly, his lips almost but not quite brushing her chin. "Lick you?" He moved along the curve of her neck until he was beside her ear. "Taste you?"

Her control snapped and she slid her hands out from behind her back. She ran her fingers over the hard contours of his face and told him exactly what she wanted. "Take me." She ran a shaking finger over his lips and felt his swift intake of breath. Yes. That was all the provocation she needed.

"I want you, Dominic Colbourne, to take me." He groaned, somewhere deep in his throat. She slid her fingers into his hair, and stepped off the highest of cliffs. "All of me."

Chapter Five

He took her hands from his face, rocked by the power of her words. Of the trust she'd placed in him. He pinned them to wall well above her head, swallowed the little gasp with his mouth.

"I've been dying to taste this mouth," he said, kissing the corners, nipping at her slightly fuller lower lip. "I could spend hours making love to your mouth."

"Dear God," she whispered.

"He can't help you now. Don't you know you've just signed yourself over to the devil himself?"

It was his turn to be surprised when she laughed and said, "Then my prayers have been answered."

And that was when he felt the first real tug at his heart. The first sense of what she'd meant … about those other emotions that weren't entirely sexual.

She was teetering on the edge, an edge he'd purposely pushed her toward … and yet despite the power he knew he wielded over her, she continued to tease him, spark him, nudge him toward his own edge. Defense mechanism … or natural instinct, he didn't know. Didn't care. What mattered was that it wasn't a calculated response, it was simply Callie. And he intended to take her. Couldn't imagine not taking her now. She'd all but demanded it of him.

He'd intended to go slow. Take them both to the very ragged edge of control. But when he finally took those lips, parted them with his tongue and barely dipped himself into her … he lost his focus. And when she whimpered, opened herself to him, arched toward him in an effort to feel more of him than his lips on hers, he ceased to care how they got there. Fast and furious this first time, he thought, racing past that edge. Slow and languorously the next. Because, oh, there was going to be a next time. He'd led her into this exploration as a guide, but had somehow become the adventurer himself. And it had been a long time since he'd discovered a new treasure. He planned to savor every last bit of it.

As he sunk more deeply into her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers, coaxing her into a duel, he was tempted to drag her the rest of the way to the floor and strip them both just enough that he could truly sink into her. He'd felt her quiver with every touch of his lips and tongue along the delectable skin of her legs, had scented her readiness, which had made his body harden to the point of pain. He could take her right now, fast, deep, and rip them both over the edge in no time at all.

But he couldn't seem to let go of her hands, or take his mouth from hers long enough to accomplish the task.

"I ache to feel you wrapped around me," he said against her lips, shocked at the desperate need he heard in his own voice. "Every inch of you." He speared his tongue back into her mouth, then withdrew it just as quickly. "Every." He dipped his tongue again. "Inch." Again. "Of me." This time she took him tightly into her mouth and didn't let him go, moaning deeply when he met her silent demand, thrust after thrust.

She tried to slide down, all but growling at the limitations their current positions had put them in. He understood the frustration. Agreed wholeheartedly with her notion. Which did nothing to explain what he did next.

He left her mouth, rocked back onto his feet, and dragged them both upright, walking her up against the wall, hands still pinned above her head. It took every last scrap of his control to keep from shoving his hips into hers, or yanking her dress up and his pants down so he could wrap her legs around his waist and bring their bodies truly together.

He just barely brushed the contours of her body with his. A slight tease of her dress against his shirt, a brush of her skirt against his pants.

"Imagine what this would feel like if I were to undress you," he said, his own voice sinking to a rough whisper. "How my shirt would feel against your bare skin. And my pants shifting across the damp skin of your thighs."

She quivered hard beneath his grip. "Yes."

He shifted forward, fabric rustling against fabric, making her moan. But she didn't arch her back, or buck her hips in a blind search for his. Which told him she wanted to extend this exquisite torture, too.

"So do it," she said, a bit of a growl in her words.

He thought his heart would claw right out of his chest. That he wouldn't need to take off his trousers as he'd simply bust through the zipper. He pressed her wrists to the wall, then slid his hands slowly down her arms, around the outer edges of the swell of her breasts, bringing his hands to rest on the span of her waist, trembling himself as he felt her quiver beneath his touch. He couldn't remember the first detail of what she'd had on, not even the color of her dress. He really was as blind as Isabella claimed, as Callie had so adroitly noticed only seconds after meeting him.

No more. And never with her. It would be impossible now. In fact, at that exact moment, he couldn't imagine not being consumed by the burning need to know every last thing about her. Her taste, her thoughts, her scent, her laughter. Her dreams, her desires. He could tell himself it was lust driving those thoughts … but he'd lusted before. And it didn't come close to feeling anything like this. To consuming him the way this did. The way she did.

He flattened his palms on her stomach and pushed upward with his thumbs, moving his hands slowly up the center of her torso. He stopped just shy of cupping her breasts. Her chest was moving in and out as she took rapid, shallow breaths. No buttons. No zipper. He slid his hands back to her waist. She whimpered. His pulse thundered in his ears.

Then he spun her around, pushed her up firmly against the wall. She moaned at the contact the hard wood made against her hypersensitized body. He groaned just thinking about it. He traced his thumbs up her back, walked just close enough that every aching inch of him brushed against the insanely sweet curve of her buttocks. He thought he'd lose it then, would have for certain if she'd moved even a fraction of an inch back against him.

But she stilled instead. Completely. "Yes," she breathed.

And he realized, with stunning clarity, just what it was his Callie wanted now. She'd made her demands, gotten him to do what she wanted. At least as much as she knew what she wanted. Because she'd never been shown the actual breadth of what she could have. Never truly seduced to the depths and sparkling heights he now knew she could be taken to.

Her former husband had been a complete idiot. If he'd only taken the time to show her, to teach her body the wide range of pleasure it could feel … he'd have never let her go. But Dominic knew without a doubt that even if her ex had been clued in enough to know that … he'd have been far too selfish and insecure to do anything about it. Hence his harsh criticism. Much easier to make Callie out to be the one with the problem.

Dominic's mouth curved wickedly in the dark as a certain kind of peace settled over him, despite his highly aroused state. Because he knew, with absolute certainty that he did possess the patience and the skill to take her to whatever limits she was willing to allow him to take her. Yes, she'd wanted—needed—to know she could drive someone mad with desire. And Lord knows he thought they would both easily agree she'd done that in spades.

But that was only the beginning. Now it was time for someone else to step in, take her. Drive her. Remove responsibility for all the decision making so she could simply feel, absorb … react.

And though he was fully aware how limited he was in terms of emotional connections … he could bloody well push this physical connection to whatever extreme she desired. And he planned to.

Did that mean he intended to pursue this beyond a stolen couple of hours in a broken lift? He refused to think about it … or put limitations on it. He also refused to think about what she'd do with this new knowledge he'd bestow on her … and with whom. Another tug at his heart, this one surprisingly painful. He forced his thoughts away from that path, knowing now he was out of his mind. He'd only just met her, surely there was no connection between them but physical. His body certainly agreed. His head … and heart … weren't part of that equation.

He didn't know what in the bloody hell he was doing. He was operating on instinct. And he didn't question his instincts … even when they drove him into new territory … drove him to take risks others would deem insane. So what if this new territory was personal, not professional like the others had been? So what if he learned something new about himself in the mix of things. Would that be so bad?

But if it wasn't so bad … then why was he so terrified?

Because he had no clue where it would lead him. And yet he'd be damned if he was going to stop. So they'd proceed.

One step at a time. One breath. He very deliberately drew one finger down her spine, stopping just above the curve of her sweet derriere. One shudder.

He took her hands and placed them, palms flat, beside her head. "Keep them here," he commanded softly next to her ear. Then traced his tongue around the delicate shell.

She said nothing. Her breath, coming in short, shuddery little pants, was enough of a response for him.

He shifted his body so that he was close, so very close, to hers … but no longer touching. If he'd continued pressing his aching length into that sweet backside of hers, all the patience in the world wouldn't keep him from a rather abrupt end to their little interlude.

Her cheek was pressed to the wall, so he drew his attentions to the side of her neck, nudging her hair aside and dropping hot kisses around to her nape.

"You taste like sin," he told her, feeling a bit seduced himself. Just the taste of her tested his control. "Hot, sweet, wicked." He pressed his lips to the base of her neck, darting the tip of his tongue so that it pushed against the heavy pulse there. She gasped. His body throbbed.

Just who was pushing whom to new depths, he began to wonder.

"You want my hands on you," he told her, grasping for control.

"Yes," she breathed.

He drew his finger from the base of her spine up the length of zipper that held her light cotton dress together. Then pulled the tab back down. Slowly exposing her damp skin to his lips, his tongue. He followed the zipper with his mouth, all the way to the end, dropping to a crouching position behind her. With his lips pressed to the small twin dimples just above her panties, he let his hands drop to her ankles. She sucked in a small breath as he circled them with his fingers.

"Part them for me," he told her, nudging her feet apart a few inches. Then a few inches more. "Wider." He loosened his grip, allowing her to move them herself. She did. "More," he commanded. She slid them again, until they were about a foot apart. He squeezed them. "Lovely," he breathed, as he began skimming his hands upward, over her calves. "Strong," he murmured, feeling the flex of her muscle.

"Horses," she rasped.

He glanced up, though in the darkness he couldn't see her. "You ride?"

"Yes," she said, panting as his hands paused to draw little circles at the backs of her knees. He grinned. "How … handy."

She moaned, and his grin turned almost feral. Damn but she made him feel downright primal. It was daft, really.

He continued his path, smoothing his palms up the outside of her thighs, beneath the dress that now hung limply from her shoulders. He slowly stretched to a stand behind her, continuing to skate his hands up to her hips, taking her dress with him. He paused, his own breath hitching slightly when his fingers encountered the slender strap that held the front and rear silk panel of her panties together.

He slid one finger, then another beneath the straps on either hip. "How … naughty of you," he murmured against the side of her neck. "You're barely covered." He crowded his body close to her again. "How incredible that silk would feel against me. Hot … wet."

She shuddered hard, a small moan escaping her lips when he brushed against her. Or maybe it had been him. He was so wild for the feel of her now, he wasn't sure who was more in danger of losing control.

He tugged at the slender bands. "Or I could just rip them off of you."

She moaned again … and he tugged, making her gasp, her body tense beneath his hands. "Oh."

"Oh yes. You'd have to walk home in the morning, with nothing on beneath this tidy little business dress of yours."

Another moan. His, hers, it no longer mattered.

"Only you would know, every time your thighs brushed, about your naughty little secret."

"Ahhh," she gasped, her damp palms squeaking as they tried to grip the wooden paneling as he brushed against her again.

"Only you would know, as people pushed and rushed past you, what you'd been doing all night. Here. In the dark. With me."

"Jesus," she swore heatedly, her hips bucking back ever so slightly.

He immediately pulled back. Though he wasn't sure whom he was torturing at this point. She groaned in frustration.

"Keep still," he admonished, then pushed up behind her again. He put his lips next to her ear. "Don't move." He pushed his hips tighter into hers, so close to where he wanted to be, and yet far too many layers of clothing restricting them both from having what they so badly wanted. He rocked his hips, pushing his aching length against her soft buttocks. "I want to rip these off," he murmured against the skin of her neck, tugging at the thin bikini straps. "I want to bury myself in you." He twitched. Hard.

She groaned as her body jerked in response.

"Keep your hands on that wall," he instructed, then tugged her hips back into him as he stepped back. He reluctantly released her panties and wrapped one arm around her waist, palm flat against the bare skin of her stomach, tugging her fully against him, running his free hand up the bare expanse of her back. His hard bulge was snugged up tight between her legs and he thought he would howl with the ravaging need demanding he take her fully, completely.

He slipped his hand into her hair, stroked his fingers across her scalp, making her arch her neck and moan. Then he slid his fingers down her spine, flicking open her bra as he skimmed over it, then slipping that hand around her waist, inside her loosely gaping dress.

With both palms flat on her abdomen, he moved her so her back arched, pushing her more fully onto his erection. He groaned, a deep guttural sound that felt like it went on for ages. It took considerable will not to climax right then.

"Do … not … move," he told her, his voice shaking with need.

He released her, making them both groan at the absence of touch.

He stepped back, just enough to unhook his trousers. He had to feel that hot wet silk directly on his skin or he'd surely go mad. She moaned softly at the sound of his zipper opening, continued to moan as he kicked free of his clothes.

When he put his hands back on her waist, finding her with unerring precision despite the darkness, she jumped at his touch. His fingers sunk into her soft flesh as he fought for the last bit of control that was so rapidly deserting him. He stood just behind her, struggling to even out his breathing, not daring to brush against any part of her until he did.

"Dominic," she whispered. "Please."

"Dear sweet God," he swore, and yanked her back onto him. The long hard length of him pushed between her thighs, gliding along the slick, damp panel of her panties. He slid his hands inside the back of her dress and molded her to him. One hand slid down to the elastic edge of her panties, the other up to shift her brassiere out of the way so her breasts were free to his touch.

He stopped then, breathing heavily, groaning as she twitched on him. "You feel what you do to me," he all but growled. "As God is my witness, I have never ached for anyone the way I ache for you." The confession was torn from him before he could think better of it, or be stunned at the depth of sincerity in which he'd said it.

"Then do it," she all but begged. "It's torture. Sweet, but incredible torture."

And it struck him then, the real danger of the dance they'd entered into. He had no way to protect her. And doubted seriously she did either. He could have roared with the rage of sexual frustration that realization sent thundering through him. His hips flexed, pushed in instinctive rebellion, urging him to ignore the fear, take what he wanted and damn the consequences.

He bent over her, pressing his cheek to the bare skin of her back, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as her thighs squeezed just as tightly around him.

"Dominic," she whimpered.

Hearing her all but moaning his name, knowing the depths to which they'd driven each other, almost undid his resolve. He held on to her, fought to steady himself, his breathing, his raging, intense, aching need. And only when he thought he could move any inch of himself without ripping her panties off and shoving himself deep inside of her, did he dare continue the dance.

He slid his fingers along the swell of her breast as he slid his other fingers beneath the elastic of her panties.

She moaned and squeezed him between her thighs. He all but bit his tongue off, but managed not to pump himself along that wet stretch of silk until he came. He smoothed his hand over one bare breast, rubbed one delightfully hard nipple along the width of his palm, making her shudder hard. He rolled her nipple between his fingers, squeezing it slightly, earning another rippling shudder and a long, shuddering moan. He slid his hand to her other breast, and continued to wring pleasure from her as he rubbed her nipple between the length of his fingers.

And when she began to twitch against him … he slid his other hand lower, praying he could do to her what he wanted, give her what she so badly needed at this point, without coming all over her in the process.

"You are ready. For me," he said, struggling mightily to return to the role he'd so swiftly abandoned.

"Yes," she groaned. "Very."

He slid his fingers lower, and his own breath caught tight in his chest. "Slick, so needy."

"Yes," she growled.

He pushed one finger along the slippery crease. "What will it take, sweet Callie, to make you come for me?"

"Not much," she managed, somewhat dryly, which surprised a tortured little laugh from him. But also gave him the shred of an edge he so badly needed to see this through.

"One finger?" he queried, sliding the tip of his finger into her, while at the same time squeezing her nipple between his other fingers.

She gasped and jerked hard against him.

"Or two?" He gave her no warning, but slid two fingers deeply into her.

She convulsed immediately into a shuddering, gripping orgasm.

He continued to move his fingers inside her, holding her tightly to him as she twitched and groaned. Continued, even as the muscles ceased to constrict around him.

She squirmed against him, trying to move away as her climax subsided. He slid his free hand back to her waist and held her tight against him … but kept his fingers inside her. "One more," he told her.

Her head thrashed against him. "Can't," was all she managed.

He slid out of her and spun her back to the wall. "Can," he told her, pinning her wrists to the wall and himself to her as he took her mouth in a deep, soul-thrusting kiss.

He pushed between her legs as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Her soaked panties clung to the length of him, the scent of her filled the air, driving him mad.

"Can," he said raggedly, when he forced his mouth from hers. He left her wrists pinned beside her head and drew his hands down her body, shoving her dress up and pinning it behind her back, before sinking to his knees. "Will," he told her, then yanked her panties down and drove his tongue into her.

She screamed then in wild, convulsing pleasure. Her knees buckled and he thought she was going to take them both crashing to the floor. He no longer cared. As badly as he wanted to be inside her, as painfully as his tortured body needed release, he wanted to do this more, to drive her someplace she'd never been, show her the heights of pleasure her body could ascend to … and take her screaming all the way there.

He braced her waist to the wall with his hands when she could no longer bear her own weight, and never once let up in his assault. She quivered, grunted, growled, then shouted when he ripped her over the edge again.

And then he pulled her down on top of him, falling to his back as he took her full weight on top of him. Shuddering, panting, gasping for breath. Himself, as well as her.

His body quivered like a bow strung too tightly and he was forced to roll them to their sides, willing his aching erection to subside. He stroked her damp curls, fighting for rational thought. It was beyond him. How could bringing someone else pleasure leave him feeling so incredibly satiated? His body still raged, demanding its own release, and yet there was this intensely … settled feeling, somewhere deep inside his chest. He'd gone raving starkers, it was the only explanation.

Sweat streamed down his face, sliding beneath his eyelids, stinging his eyes. He shifted to rub his sleeve over his face and she slowly shifted her weight away from his. He pulled her close, instinctively unwilling to allow her to leave him, tangling her legs and arms with his. She murmured something he couldn't understand, then slid her hand across his chest, wanting to keep him close, too. He turned his head then, seeking her, blindly now, with his mouth. He found her forehead, then her cheek, kissing both, before finally nudging her mouth to his.

He didn't want to think about the emotion that soared through him as their mouths met, mated anew. The kiss drew out, slowed … deepened, changed into something that wasn't completely carnal. Evolved into something else entirely. Something far more intimate. Far more powerful. Far more dangerous.

He told himself it was the heightened awareness from the intense sexual interlude they'd shared. And yet, somewhere deep inside, he knew it was a whole hell of a lot more than that.

He stroked her hair, broke the kiss, but continued touching her with his lips as their breathing gradually slowed. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was his now, in some unnamed, intangible way that defied explanation. As if he were somehow responsible for her now … her pleasures, her needs. Maybe more. And even stranger still, he yearned to fulfill them. That was the only word he could come up with for the deep ache settling inside his chest. Coupled quite alarmingly with fear. He wasn't a man who feared anything.

And yet as her fingers curled over his chest—over his heart—he knew true terror. Terror that he wouldn't be able to do for her all the things he wanted to do … be the man she'd need him to be.

And as the air ceased to be filled with their panting gasps, the silence grew. And so did that terror. For the first time in his life, Dominic had no idea what to say. Much less what the next step should be. Surely she'd think him just as starkers if he so much as uttered one word of the wildly, fantastic thoughts and feelings careening about inside his head.

The wise thing to do was say something urbane or witty, that would put them both at ease and allow them to view their coupling in some abstract, serendipitous way. They'd make a few gentle jokes, rearrange their clothes, comment on what a fantastic memory this would be and—

Bugger it.

He didn't want to say any of those things to her. Didn't want to reduce what they'd shared to some superficial sex act between two consenting adults. Because it hadn't been. Never would be.

Which meant he wanted … what?

That train of thought was almost instantly derailed when she began unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing?" he asked, not particularly minding. In fact, her questing fingers, tickling between the ridge of muscle leading from his chest to his navel, was actually quite delectable. His body, still half hard, stirred anew. He wasn't sure he could withstand any more, though, and with a sigh of great regret, took hold of her clever fingers and stopped her.

"Fair is only fair," she said, not remotely put off.

He found himself grinning, wondering why he was always surprised by her direct, wry little comments. Perhaps it was the duality of her somewhat untried sexuality, and her almost jaded sensibilities. The possibilities were so tantalizing he—

She slid her hand free and shifted her body down, pressing warm, damp lips along the center line of his abdomen. "I've had two, it's only fair you have at least one," she was saying.

And then her hand was around him and he lost all rational thought.

"I trust you'll tell me what to do?"

He could only nod, forgetting she couldn't see him in the dark.

"I've never been very … encouraged in this area," she said, sounding anything but discouraged at the moment.

"Mmmph," he managed, then groaned when her tongue darted out. "Dear God in heaven."

She laughed, then sighed a little as he grew rigid in her hand. "Imagine that. I guess it helps when you actually want to try."

"Yeah," he grunted. "No problems with your punch, or your pucker."

She stroked him once and his hips bucked wildly, as if he'd never had a woman touch him this way before.

"Had I only known it was this easy," she murmured.

He started to tell her there was nothing easy about any of this, but then she was sliding her mouth over him. And rational speech deserted him.

Chapter Six

Callie could hardly believe what she was doing. So she didn't think about it. She simply let herself feel it, experience it. And when she made him shout, buck, and growl his way through a control-ripping climax, she felt like she'd hit the peak of Everest.

He was still shuddering when he dragged her up next to him and wrapped himself fully around her, burying his face into her neck. It was pure fantasy, but as he tucked her almost fiercely against his chest, she swore she felt like she'd found the one spot in the universe created exclusively for her.

Amazing the havoc multiple orgasms could wreak on a person's rationale, she thought, but couldn't wipe the accompanying smile from her face. She did wipe the approaching stampede of questions, concerns, and what-next worries from her mind. He was holding her so tightly it was doubtful he was letting go anytime soon. That was all she needed to know. For now.

The silence this time was easy, contented. She stroked lazy patterns on his back and kept conscious thought at bay by letting herself float on lingering sensations and a wondrous replay of what they'd just done together. Never had she known, suspected even, that her body was capable of hitting that kind of peak. Once, much less twice. Never had she known she could make a man scream when he climaxed. Her smile grew. All she needed now was the cape and leather thigh-high boots to complete the superpower image she had of herself at that very moment.

Knowing Dominic, he might enjoy a little dress-up sex.

"What was that little amused noise all about?" he asked, his deep voice delightfully drowsy.

Sexually sated, she thought. All because of her. She reveled in the thrill that thought sent through her. Her superpowers emboldened her. "I was debating the merits of dress-up as part of foreplay."

She felt him lift his head, suspected he was looking down at her despite the dark. "Were you now?"

She shivered at the predatory tone.

"And who would you be wanting to dress up as?" he asked.

"I'm torn," she said, quite seriously.

"Between?" he asked, equally deadpan.

Had she known postcoital banter could be so tantalizing she might have tried it sooner. Thinking back on Peter's ability to go from climax to snore faster than most sport cars go from zero to fifty … she knew it wouldn't have mattered. Funny just how clearly a good orgasm could make you see where the flaws truly lay in previous attempts. And with whom. "Catwoman," she said, decisively. "Or Barbarella."

He laughed then. "I would definitely enjoy either."

She should be so lucky. "What about you?" she asked instead.

"Me?" he asked, obviously surprised.

"You don't think I'm going to be the only one risking mortification, do you?" As soon as she spoke, she bit her tongue. She sounded like she assumed they'd be doing this again sometime. And though she realized the chances of that were about nil, she wasn't quite ready to hear him put it into words. She spoke quickly, before he could say anything. "I was thinking something suave and debonair."

"Cary Grant?"

"Mmm. More like James Bond." She grinned when he snorted. "You definitely left me shaken … and stirred."

He pinched her bottom lightly, making her squeal even as she laughed. "Quite the cheeky one," he said devilishly.

"Apparently. Who knew I had such an adventurous soul, hmm?"

His hand stroked up her back and sunk into her hair, tilting her head as he rolled her to her back and lowered his mouth expertly to hers. Rather than ravenous or playful, his kiss surprised her by being slow, drugging, touching down somewhere so far inside her, she couldn't give it a name.

"I knew," he said quietly, when he finally pulled his lips from hers.

At that moment she would have given anything she owned to see his face, see what was in his eyes, because she was very much afraid she was reading far too much into his words, or the oh-so-intent tone threading through them.

He stroked her face, and she sighed, wondering if it was possible to fall in love with someone in a matter of hours. Of course not, her logical mind interjected. That's the climaxes talking. After a prolonged abstinence, it wasn't surprising she was going emotionally overboard for the first man to take the time to attend to her needs.

Only she didn't quite buy that either. Dominic, for all his intensity, his focus on business, and his professed inability to connect emotionally, was connecting pretty damn well with her. And with far more than the location of her G spot.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, skimming his hand down her arm.

She couldn't dare tell him the truth. She didn't know the whole truth herself. Wasn't ready to dare find out what was real about this interlude they'd shared, and what was fantasy.

She should just accept the joy of discovery, and be satisfied with that. Now if only she had a clue how to do that.

He drew her hand up over her head, then wove his fingers through hers. That simple twining, such a natural joining, so intimate in ways joining bodies could never match, unhitched something inside her, and she sighed wistfully without meaning to.

"Callie—"

This time she turned to him, taking his mouth with unerring aim, not wanting to hear his next words. Words of appreciation, perhaps, but words of good-bye. Not yet.

His fingers squeezed hers as they took the kiss deeper. He sunk into her mouth, slowly, surely, and drew her into his the same way, until they were mating with their tongues in the one way they hadn't yet mated with their bodies.

"I have an almost desperate need for you," he said, his breath warm against the damp skin of her cheek. "It's insanity really."

"I know," she said, thinking that was exactly what this was. And she was insane for thinking it could ever be more than a fast, hot coupling between two people caught in a place out of time. Where it didn't matter who he was, what he did, what they did together. Once they stepped out of this airless box, back into the real world, this time spent together, what they'd done, would shift to a memory. Replayed endlessly, in her case, she was certain. But a memory was all she'd have to hold on to. Better to understand that right now.

She shifted next to him, her body twitching with renewed hunger. He pulled her more tightly against him and she gasped at the velvety, rigid feel of him brushing against her. Apparently she wasn't the only one who wasn't finished yet. She'd felt him, tasted him, ran her fingers and tongue down the glorious length of him. And now she had an almost screaming need to feel him in the one place he belonged, and had yet to be.

No, that was crazy. The one place she wanted to feel him, certainly. But … belonged?

"Callie," he whispered next to her ear.

She rolled her head so their lips brushed. "Mmm. I love the way you say my name, so elegant, so—"

"Desperate," he repeated, his voice somewhere between amused and strained beyond control.

She laughed and pulled him on top of her as she rolled to her back. "Never let it be said I left a desperate man in need."

He settled so easily on top of her, she almost swooned at the sweet perfection of it. "As long as that desperate man is me," he murmured, as he settled between her legs.

Her heart paused for a split second as his words filtered past the pulse drumming in her ears. But her body was already moving to accommodate the insistent nudge, pressing so close … so close.

"Bloody hell," he swore, shifting away slightly, but enough to make her moan in dismay. "Callie, we can't—I don't have—"

"Oh," she said, relaxing, tugging him back. "That." She shifted her hips and he slipped easily between her legs again, making her clench tightly in anticipation. It dragged a deep moan out of her when he pushed his hips. "Don't need it," was all she could manage as he began to nudge inside her. She was never so thankful in all her life that she'd continued taking the pill after she'd left Peter. She'd done it to keep her period in check, and she supposed in the blind hope that someday she'd meet someone and would have one less thing to worry about if it turned serious. Never had she thought it might come in handy because of hot elevator sex with a gorgeous British magnate.

The thought made her grin, even as her body strained up against him, searching, wanting, so close to having what it now desperately needed. "I'm—" She gasped as he teased that tiny little part of her that was so enormously sensitized. "On the pill—please—Dominic—for God's sake, just—"

With a growl that was somewhere between feral and primal, he pushed deep inside her in a single thrust, driving them both across the slick marble floor. His hand was still joined with hers, and even as they bucked, clawed, and pumped wildly against each other, he never let her go. He rolled to his back and pulled her astride him … another first for her.

She'd always been too self-conscious to display herself so overtly. But there in the complete darkness, she let herself go, moving on him any way her body demanded she move. He met her rhythm, matched it, drove her farther, higher… And their fingers stayed joined as she arched her back, sinking fully down onto him, feeling more in tune with her body, freer, heart and soul, than ever before. So much so, she didn't stop him when he moved their joined fingers to where their bodies joined … letting him guide them both into teasing her into a thrashing, screaming climax, the intensity of which was far beyond anything she thought possible.

She was still shuddering, convulsing almost, when he rolled her to her back, then slid her hips high as he pushed to his knees and took her with him. Back arched way up, he wrapped his free arm around her waist, tugged her snug down onto him, again and again, as he thrust into her. Small screams pushed past her lips with each thrust, her climax literally vibrating with the steady friction he'd created, paired with grunts and growls as she tightened around him each time. Faster, deeper, with a fury that took her somewhere beyond all thought, into some primal place where she was reduced to her most basic self.

How long they went on she had no idea, it seemed like an endless mating, that they'd stayed joined like this for all eternity, were maybe meant to. Then it was his turn to shout as the last of his control was ripped away and he went over the edge.

And when they collapsed into a coiled mass of tangled limbs and sweat-soaked flesh … their fingers remained twined.

"And here I thought women were the only ones who could be multiorgasmic," she murmured drowsily, unable to wipe the smug smile off her face.

He only managed to grunt in response, which made her laugh.

Then he pulled their joined fingers to his mouth, where he dropped a warm kiss on each knuckle, then tucked their hands over his heart.

Callie's breath left her in a long, shuddery sigh. Oh boy, she was in serious trouble here. But she couldn't manage to make herself worry about it at that particular moment.

* * *

She didn't realize she'd drifted to sleep until Dominic kissed her awake. "How long have I—"

"Shh, we have to get dressed. It's almost six."

No, her heart screamed. She wasn't ready for it to be over.

"I imagine if the building crew works till midnight, they come in early as well," he told her.

She tried to pull away, at least mentally. It would take more strength than she presently had to make herself pull away from him physically. One step at a time, she told herself. Only she couldn't even make the mental step.

It didn't help when Dominic lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, slowly, so assuredly. Like she was his. Or something.

She sighed, feeling tears burn behind her eyes, thanking God it was dark so he wouldn't see, would never know. "Thank you," she whispered, unable not to say that much. It sounded lame, inadequate, especially after what they'd shared, but she meant it. More than he could possibly know. Or maybe he did. And that was what made this so damn hard.

He said nothing, just kissed her again. And even though she knew it would only make it harder on her, she sunk into the kiss, reveled in how well their mouths were mated, how easily they'd learned each others' bodies.

When he finally pulled away, she wished desperately that she could make some witty comment, something dry and humorous, that would allow her to—

A sudden clanking noise somewhere below them in the elevator shaft, had her leaping off of him as if scalded.

"Wait, wait—" Dominic started to say, reaching to keep her from slipping on their clothes.

"Mr. Colbourne? Ms. Montgomery?"

Someone was shouting their names.

"Yes," Dominic called out, smooth and unruffled. "We're in here. Unharmed."

There were sounds of arguing, some muffled swearing; then the voice returned. "We'll have you out shortly, sir. Ma'am."

"Well done," Dominic called, sounding every bit as urbane and witty as she'd wished she could be.

She started casting about for her underwear. Her bra had come off at some point as well. Dominic helped her, and in a silence punctuated only by their breathing, they quickly, if awkwardly, pulled everything back to rights. Callie had no idea what her hair looked like, but she supposed no matter how bad it was, it would be chalked up to a night spent in an airless elevator. Now if she could only manage not to flush hotly the minute the doors opened. It wasn't even that she was worried about herself, her reputation, even her job. But she didn't want to jeopardize anything with Dominic and his deal with Stephanie.

She groped around for her shoes, then felt Dominic's hand beneath her elbow, helping her to a stand. Her knees were wobbly and he caught her against him.

"Callie—"

Just then the lights flickered once, twice, then burned steadily, making them both squint and look away from each other.

"Hold on in there!" the voice shouted. Dominic shifted his weight into the corner, and when Callie would have groped for her own space on the wall, still blinking furiously against the sudden return of light after so much time spent in complete darkness, Dominic pulled her against him instead.

She instinctively braced her hands on his chest. "We can't," she whispered.

The car jerked once, then smoothly began the remainder of its descent as if nothing was wrong.

"The doors are going to open any second," she said.

Dominic merely lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her hard, fast, making her sigh before she could catch herself. At the last possible moment, he broke the kiss and stood her away from him, his hands at her elbows until she steadied herself. It was then that their eyes locked on one another for the first time. Ever.

Her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his gaze, the directness. The naked hunger.

She swallowed convulsively. "Dominic," she managed, but had no idea what she would have said next as the car jerked slightly as it came to a halt on the ground floor.

He reached out and smoothed her curls from her face, his fingers brushing her cheek, making her entire body vibrate with the same need she saw in his eyes. Then he turned her toward the door and pushed away from the wall, his hand at her elbow, keeping her steady, maybe keeping himself steady as well.

When the doors slid open, revealing three men in blue work garb, the two morning security guys, and Stephanie, they stood as impersonally as they'd begun, with the exception of his hand still on her elbow. However the gesture probably looked gallant, rather than intimate. It felt both to Callie. He was both things to her. Always would be.

"Are you okay?" Stephanie asked, looking more frazzled than Callie could ever remember.

In fact, she'd never seen her boss look anything other than completely put together. But right now her hair was mussed, and she wore no makeup. If Callie hadn't been so worried about her own appearance, she would also have immediately noted that Stephanie was wearing the same thing she'd left the office in last night.

West coast investor, late night meeting, hmm? Callie thought, barely suppressing a smile. But she could hardly fault her boss for mixing business with pleasure, now could she?

"Building security paged me the minute they came on duty this morning and realized the power had shut off."

"It probably went down with a number of others during the storm we had last night," one of the serviceman said. "Generator didn't kick on and it knocked the whole system out of whack."

There had been a storm last night? Callie worked hard not to shoot a glance toward Dominic. They'd shared their own storm, hadn't they?

"I buzzed you at home," Stephanie said, pulling Callie's gaze back to her. "And I realized this might have happened. I am so sorry." She turned to Dominic. "Please accept my apologies. We've never experienced any malfunctions before, but—"

"With new buildings, things such as this are bound to arise," Dominic said easily, guiding Callie out of the elevator.

Stephanie moved in, placing one hand on Callie's arm, the other on Dominic's, unintentionally forcing his hand to drop away. Callie managed not to sigh. Or cry, for that matter.

"Are you two okay?" Stephanie asked, sincerely concerned, despite the fact that she must also be nervous about what this might do to her negotiations with Dominic.

"We're fine," Callie said, as her boss came between them, literally, separating them even farther as she turned to Dominic once again.

Best to let the distance grow wider and wider, she thought, working hard to shore up her defenses. Before she caved and launched herself into his arms and begged him not to walk away from what they'd begun last night.

But what had they begun, really? The sex was phenomenal, but surely all the rest, all the deep emotions, the soul connection she felt, was simply a manifestation of their predicament. She was going to be adult about this, mature, just as she'd been after discovering Peter in flagrante delicto with Dog Girl. She hadn't made a scene then, she wasn't about to make one now. Better to just hold the memories close and appreciate what their interlude had shown her, taught her, about herself. That Peter was an idiot when it came to women. And that she'd allowed the insecurities his rejections had spawned to propagate themselves way out of control. Never again. Not after this.

"I'll call and have our lunch postponed," Stephanie was saying. "Will you be able to stay in town an extra day, or do you want to meet this evening?"

Stephanie sounded like her typical direct, in-control self, but Callie detected the thread of nervousness beneath her words and found herself holding her breath, waiting for his reply. Except her trepidations weren't because a multimillion dollar deal hung in the balance. Hers were far more private, but every bit as crucial. It took all her willpower not to look at him, connect her gaze to his in any way. It was all she could do to remain standing here at all, pretending like nothing had happened, when her entire world felt like it was eroding beneath her very feet.

She might be able to pull it together, if she never had to see him again. But if he stayed, came back to the office, would she really be able to deal with him professionally, without giving any outward indication of what had happened between them? And would he?

Of course he would, she thought. That was what he did best, divorce emotion from action. Only he hadn't seemed so divorced last night. I've never ached for anyone the way I ache for you. His words echoed through her mind, sent a shiver of sensation all the way through her. Had he meant it? Or had it been the passion of the moment? Maybe he said that to every woman he made love to?

The very thought of him touching anyone else made her fingernails dig into her palm. Made her want to lash out, dare anyone to even think about coming near her man. That very visceral reaction stunned her so thoroughly, she missed Dominic's answer.

"Fine, fine," Stephanie was saying. "I'll have the arrangements taken care of." She turned to Callie. "Why don't you head home, grab a few hours of sleep and freshen up. I wish I could give you the entire day, but I can't. I'm really sorry, it's—"

Callie held up her hand. "It's okay." And it was. She'd far rather be kept too busy to think right now. The idea of being all by herself, with nothing better to do than think about Dominic, held all the appeal of a multiple root canal. "I'll be back by one at the latest."

"I called a cab for you, if you don't feel up to driving yourself home."

"No, that won't be necessary." In fact, had it not been so far away, she'd have walked. She needed, desperately, to clear her head. She thought about the horse ranch out in Upperville where a friend of hers worked, who used to let her come out and exercise some of the horses on her days off. She hadn't had a day off in so long, she wondered if she'd still remember how to ride. And out of nowhere, a rather wicked grin curved her lips before she could stop it. No, she hadn't forgotten how to ride, she thought, remembering how she'd sat astride Dominic.

"Listen," Stephanie said, concern clear in her voice. "I'm packing you into that cab right now. You look like you're going to pass out on me here. Make sure you get something to eat, too, okay?"

Not the most maternal of women, Stephanie's concern touched Callie, but then she was being steered out the lobby doors to a waiting cab before she'd gotten a chance to say anything to Dominic, to even send a silent good-bye. Not that she'd have known what to say, silently or otherwise.

"But, Do—Mr. Colbourne," Callie stuttered. "What did—"

"We're meeting at his hotel this evening. He has a flight out to Denmark tonight that can't be changed, so we'll just have to wrap this up quickly." She stuffed Callie in the back of the cab. "Listen, I don't know what you said or did to keep things on level ground, but thank you for not letting him blow this deal off. I appreciate it." She grinned. "And I'll make sure that shows up when we discuss salary later." The door was closed before Callie could reply. Stephanie slapped the roof twice and the cabbie pulled away from the curb.

"Where to?" he asked.

Callie looked back at her office building in time to see Stephanie and Dominic in conversation as a sleek black limo pulled up to the curb. Her heart stuttered, then dropped. And cracked a little on impact.

"Good-bye, Dominic," she said, thankful at least that she wouldn't have to see him again. At least not so soon. Surely if the deal went through, their paths would cross in the future. But just as surely by then she'd have been able to put this all in perspective. "Yeah," she muttered, "if it's about a hundred years from now."

"I beg your pardon, Miss?"

Callie turned back to the driver and gave him directions to her apartment.

And missed the searing look that Dominic sent at her retreating cab when Stephanie finally turned away.

Chapter Seven

Dominic hadn't heard a single word Stephanie had said to him in the lobby earlier. His mind had been clouded with Callie. Thoughts of Callie, the scent of Callie … her vulnerabilities, her laughter … her whispers in the dark, her humor. Her innate strength. How had he stood there and just let her walk away?

He paced the floor of his penthouse hotel suite, ignoring the riveting view of the nation's capital, sprawled below him, just across the river. He'd repeatedly told himself since he'd gotten back here, that the whole thing was simply a result of that call from Isabella. But it wasn't news to him that he wasn't, what had Callie called it? "The most emotionally in tune man on earth." And yet, he'd been quite easily and thoroughly in tune with her. Still was. For Christ sake, he had millions of dollars and over a thousand jobs on the line with this merger with Stephanie, and what was he doing? Wondering what in the hell he could say to Callie to get her to give him a chance?

Yes, Dominic Colbourne was afraid he wasn't going to get the girl.

The only one he'd ever wanted.

But there were complications. His business deal, the fact that she worked for Stephanie. The fact that she was rebounding from a bad marriage, and he was rebounding from yet another failed romance. "Romance," he snorted. "Like you know the meaning of the bloody word."

He understood corporate strategy, but he'd never developed a strategy for relationships. Which might well be his problem, that he thought of it as some sort of campaign to be waged. He didn't want to "win" Callie. She wasn't some trophy to be collected. He wanted to—

He stopped dead in his tracks. "What in the hell do you want?" And the truth was, he didn't know. Beyond seeing her again, he had no idea what he wanted. To see her again after that, he supposed. And again. And again. Not just sexually. She said she rode horses. He'd never had the pleasure, but perhaps he could learn. That was something they could do together. Travel. He suspected she hadn't seen much of the world. He could show her that. The idea of seeing it through her eyes excited him in ways he hadn't felt in some time. And then it had been about some acquisition. Except she wasn't an acquisition.

He slumped down on the coffee table and raked his fingers through his hair. "Dear Christ, I'm lost." He propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed at the dull ache forming behind his forehead. An ache, he suspected, that had its roots not in fatigue, or even frustration. But something that felt a lot like fear. An emotion as foreign to him as love.

Love.

He straightened. Could it be this was his heart finally stirring to action? "Either that, or I've got an ulcer," he said, rubbing at the queer clench in his belly. He stood again, suddenly restless, unable to sit still, as the ramifications of this amazing discovery attacked all his senses. It was ludicrous, obviously, to fancy oneself infatuated with someone they'd only just met. Despite the wild night spent together, despite the screams of passion they'd shared, despite the fact that—"I can't get her out of my bloody lunatic mind."

He yanked at the tie that was suddenly too tight, clawed off his jacket and flung it on the couch, pacing more like the panther he'd been compared to, than the financial bigwig he'd become. What was he going to do about this? He had his meeting with Stephanie in—he glanced at his watch—three hours. A flight to catch a mere three hours after that. The clock was ticking and he felt perilously close to losing control. "What to do, what to do," he murmured, pacing to the bar and pouring himself a stiff two fingers of Scotch, then ignoring it to pace back to the thick sheet of glass that made up most of one wall.

He should let it go, he told himself, not seeing any of the lighted monuments below. Get on with what he did well and stop trying to become something he wasn't. Let Callie get on with the new life she was building, finish healing the wounds that bastard had inflicted on her. He'd be a bastard to try to forge some kind of relationship with her as he'd likely only be the next in line to hurt her when he royally screwed up. Which he would. Bloody hell. Since he knew not the first thing about pleasing a woman, not the way this demanded of him anyway. Keeping her satisfied required some kind of commitment on his part, and not just of time or money. Of himself. His heart, his head, his thoughts, even his dreams. He'd never shared that part of himself with anyone. In fact, what little he'd told Callie in the elevator was more than he'd told Isabella during their entire relationship.

And that had come easily enough, hadn't it? a little voice nudged. He wanted to ignore it, because the fledgling little thread of hope attached to it was too risky to even contemplate. He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Risk. Since when had he run from that?

Since this morning, when he'd watched that taxi pull away from the curb. When he'd tried to tell himself he was doing her a favor by letting her go. That the pain in his chest had nothing to do with his heart, was merely a signal he'd gone too long without a meal.

Which merely triggered another round of images from their encounter in that elevator. When the only thing he'd wanted to consume had been her. Would he ever stop thinking about it, stop imagining what it would be like to spend endless hours with her, days, months. Years.

"Sod it," he growled, his control finally snapping. He stalked over to his private elevator, stabbing at the button. He stepped in, punched the button for the garage level, then squeezed his eyes shut as the doors silently closed, and the images assaulted him again. He needed to see her. Talk to her. That was all. One last time. So they'd both be able to walk away for good, get on with their lives, settle things between them. Because, bottom line, nothing felt settled right now. He was beginning to wonder if anything ever would again.

* * *

Callie sat at her small breakfast counter and stared at the phone in her hand. "You're overreacting." Saying it out loud didn't help. She still wanted to call Stephanie and tell her she wasn't coming in today. Or maybe any day. Not that it mattered. Stephanie would fire her for sure.

And it wasn't that she didn't want to risk seeing Dominic. She didn't, not yet, anyway. But if she had to face him, she would. No, this was bigger than that. Deeper than that. This went all the way to the core of what she really wanted. Who did she want to be? Where did she want to end up? Did she really want to end up like Stephanie, or even Dominic for that matter? Driven, focused, taking pleasure only in successes earned on the corporate playing field? Was she so willing and ready to give up her dreams of home and family?

The sad truth was yes, she had. Not because they weren't worthy goals, but because she honestly didn't want to risk reaching for them again, and losing. Because it meant too much to her. Climbing the corporate ladder was easier. She only had herself to deal with, only had her own limitations to overcome. Only had professional failure to risk.

She laid the phone down, but continued to stare at it. "What do you want?" She'd been so excited—had it only been last night? When Stephanie had offered her everything she thought she wanted. It was the answer to her dreams. Or was it? Certainly it was the answer to financial security. Was that enough? Was that really all she wanted?

All. It had seemed like so much when she'd taken the temporary job. So huge, so all-encompassing. But had it really just been a refuge?

"And if you don't figure this out in the next fifteen minutes, you're going to be late for work," she muttered.

Work. That was what had started this whole train of thought. Okay, so that was a lie. Dominic, and what they'd shared in that elevator last night was where the whole thing had really begun to unravel. But it wasn't until she was pulling on yet another "tidy little business dress," sliding her feet into her sensible pumps, brushing her hair into a corporate-acceptable style, that her unrest had truly begun to surface.

She'd wanted nothing more than to pull on her oldest jeans and get in her car—which she didn't even have as it was still in the underground parking lot at work—and drive west toward the Blue Ridge mountains, head to her pal Sally's farm and beg her for a mount for the afternoon. And when she realized that not only was she not going to go riding today, but not tomorrow, or the next day, or the next week, or probably the next six months, she began to wonder why she'd so quickly traded her entire life for corporate success.

"Because it was the only kind of success I could actually measure," she said quietly. And this time, saying it out loud did help. She did enjoy her job, but not at the expense of her entire life. Yes, a paycheck brought stability, security, confidence, along with the gratitude and sense of worthiness she'd been in search of. And she'd proven she could have all of those things. Did have them.

And now that she did? "I want my life back," she said on a laugh. "Christ, you're a basket case." Or worse. Because she wanted more than her life back. She wanted Dominic Colbourne in it.

She stared at the phone. Did she really dare? Was she fighting for her life, or making the biggest idiotic decision of her life? Stephanie's offer gave her the validation she'd thought she needed. So, why was it that validation no longer seemed all that important? Maybe the fact that she'd earned it was enough. She could go back to temping, moving around to different companies, helping them out when they needed it, making some friends along the way, then moving on. She'd truly enjoyed that, but had never considered the benefits. It wouldn't make her rich, but it paid the bills. And, more important, she had the personal time to spend with those friends. At least, she would know that she realized she needed them more than she needed a new title or a fancy retirement plan.

And it had only taken six hours in an elevator with one man to figure all that out. Okay, that, a half a box of Hostess cupcakes and a great deal of soul-searching.

She picked up the phone and stared at it. Maybe the true meaning of success was knowing what made you happy, and going after it. Being willing to work hard at it, being confident enough not to be swayed by anyone else's definition of happiness or success, and being determined enough to fight for it. And, her little voice nudged, if that's good enough for your professional goals … shouldn't the same apply to your personal ones?

Dominic's image punched through her thoughts, and her newfound confidence flagged momentarily. She did want him. Wanted to know him better, spend more time with him, find out what he wanted and what would make him happy. From what he'd said last night, she suspected it wasn't absorbing yet another corporation, or moving up another notch on the Forbes list.

But could it be something as elemental as being with her?

She laughed. Okay, so she wasn't that sure of herself yet. And, even if she was, how would she go about letting the man know she wanted him? Maybe you could start by telling him.

Her heart began to pound. Could she really do that? "Will you ever forgive yourself if you don't?" The worst he could do was blow her off. Sure, her heart would shatter into a million pieces, but hell, she'd recovered from some major body blows in the past, right? She blew out a shaky breath. "Yeah. Right."

She tapped her fingers against the number buttons, her pulse continuing to accelerate as she allowed herself to truly consider going after everything she wanted. Everything.

Risk.

What the hell. It was only her whole life, right?

"I am nuts," she said, feeling a distinct craving for cream-filled chocolate coming on. "Certi-freaking-fiable." And yet, when she glanced up at the tiny mirror hanging over the counter, she saw she was grinning. Realized that, if she did this, for the first time in what felt like forever, and maybe it was, she would truly be the one driving the train.

She stabbed the speed dial for Stephanie's private line before she lost her nerve. When her boss answered, she took a deep breath … and turned down the job offer.

She hung up minutes later, feeling slightly nauseous, but that was more because of the phone call she'd yet to make. She punched in information and asked for the number of Dominic's hotel. Then decided this was something better done in person and dialed a taxi service and ordered a cab instead. A quick run to the bedroom to change back into jeans and a T-shirt—after all, if things were going to go anywhere with Dominic, he might as well see her as she really was, right off the bat. She was all thumbs, shaky with nerves and anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. "Think positive, think positive," she murmured, digging under her bed for her other sneaker.

She dragged a brush through her hair, not daring to actually look in the mirror, for fear of chickening out entirely. But she'd just turned down a probable six-figure job, what the hell else did she have to lose?

Everything, her heart answered. But if she didn't try, then she'd already lost, hadn't she?

Her doorbell buzzed just as she dashed back into her living room to find her purse. "Wow, a gallant cabbie. I didn't think they even got out of the cab anymore."

"I'll be right there," she called out.

She grabbed her purse and glanced out the window on her way to the door … just in time to see the cab drive off.

"What the—?" She yanked open the front door, not that she could have run the guy down, but still—and froze.

"Hi."

She tried not to swallow her tongue. "Uh … hi."

"I hope you don't mind. I sent your cab away."

"Yeah. I mean no. I mean, I was just coming to—" She stopped and shook her head, then reached out to touch his arm. Just to make sure she wasn't on some sort of sugar-induced fantasy trip. She laughed a bit nervously. It was that or just yank him full body into her arms. "Just want to make sure I'm not hallucinating."

Dominic grinned. And it was so far beyond what she'd imagined in the dark, she felt her whole body grow damp. "Good hallucinating or bad hallucinating?"

She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heart to settle into a speed her body could accommodate without exploding. She didn't think that was going to happen anytime soon. "Good," she said, then let out a whooshing breath as she laughed again. "I can't believe you're here."

"I'm afraid I took another liberty."

"I believe you've pretty much taken as much liberty with me as humanly possible," she said dryly.

He grinned again, but there was still something almost twitchy about his demeanor. If she didn't know better, she'd say he seemed almost nervous. Dominic?

"What liberty did you take?" she asked, curiosity vying with an aching need to just blurt out everything she'd been thinking since she'd left him this morning.

"I called Stephanie and told her you wouldn't be in today. At the same time I cancelled our meeting, and my—"

"Tell me you didn't let what happened between us screw up your business de—"

He shook his head. "In fact, I told her to draw up the papers, that I'd sign anything she wanted."

Callie's mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. "She's a total shark, Dominic, and elevator stall or not, she'll take full advantage—"

"I know," he said, obviously unconcerned. "In her position, I'd do the same thing."

"Then why—" She stopped, realizing they were still standing in her doorway. She stepped back. "Do you want to come in?"

"Actually, I'd love to, but I sort of had other plans."

For the first time since she'd flung open the door, Callie's heart clenched painfully. "Oh," she said, not urbane enough to hide her crushing disappointment. "Then why did you send my cab—"

He stepped back and waved toward her driveway. She leaned past him, and gasped. "Is that a real—"

"Aston Martin. Yeah, it is."

Then she looked at him. Really looked at him. And for the first time, realized he was wearing a full dress tuxedo. "Why are you dressed like that?"

He nodded toward her. "I might ask the same thing. Something tells me you weren't planning on heading to the office in that taxi."

"No, I wasn't. It's a long story."

"I'd like to hear it."

"But you have plans. And you still haven't told me what you're doing in that tux."

He smiled a bit sheepishly, something she wouldn't have thought possible for Dominic Colbourne. And absolutely endeared himself to her for life because he could. "I guess I don't do a very good James Bond impression."

"James Bo—" She stopped, covered her mouth.

"Go ahead, laugh," he said. "It was probably a loony idea in the first place. But my ability to reason has been a bit dodgy since you climbed in that cab this morning and left with without so much as a farewell."

"I really didn't have much of an option. Stephanie was there and—" She broke off. "You didn't exactly make an effort either."

"I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your boss. And I wasn't sure you wanted me to."

She propped her hands on her hips. "Since when do you care what others think about what you do? I thought you went for what you wanted and damn the consequences."

"I did." He stepped closer to her. "Until I met you. Now I find myself questioning every last thing and second-guessing the rest."

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

He pulled a box out from behind his back. She hadn't even been aware enough to notice he'd had his arm tucked back there. "I'm guessing this will go over about as well as the Bond idea. It's not exactly what you wanted, but it was the best I could do on short notice."

She looked at the box he was holding out to her, then up at him. She couldn't tell what was going on behind those enigmatic dark eyes of his, other than to note that he looked even less sure of himself than he did five minutes ago. Interesting. And incredibly appealing.

She took the box. "What's in it?"

He sighed.

She smiled. "What?"

"I might be a complete cad when it comes to relationships, but I have given my share of tokens in the past. It's been my experience that women generally enjoy getting gifts. You're looking at me like—"

"Like what?"

He shrugged then, and it was as endearing as the sheepish grin.

She shook the box, which was the size of a sweater box. Something rustled within. She looked back at him. "So this is just another one of your tokens? Because, frankly, I'd rather have that lunch in Paris."

His mouth dropped open at her deadpan tone.

"I was kidding." She touched his arm. "You're really worried I won't like this, aren't you?"

"Terrified. In fact, give it back to me. It was a stupid idea. I was just trying to think of something that had meaning, just between you and me, and—"

"And I'm sure I'll love it. For exactly those reasons." He was so flustered she wanted to do anything to reassure him. But she couldn't seem to stop smiling. She, Callie Montgomery, had flustered Dominic Colbourne. Apparently there was no limit to her powers. She wanted to laugh herself silly at the mere thought, but the box and Dominic, beckoned.

And then she put it together. Tuxedo. James Bond. "Wait a minute, this isn't—" She laughed as she tore open the box. "Are you here because you want to have costume sex?" Then she gasped as a familiar looking blue, red, and gold cape and body suit fell out into her arms. A pair of stretchy, blue boots lay beneath.

"I had to guess your size."

She shook out the Wonder Woman cape. "They come in sizes?"

He sort of shrugged. "Catwoman was sold out. And I couldn't find a seamstress on short notice to do justice to a Barbarella outfit."

She clutched the box and its contents to her chest. "So, did you really did come here for—"

He shook his head. "No, no. I'm really making a royal muck of this, aren't I?" He motioned past her. "Maybe it's better if I come in after all. I'd thought to take you for a drive. Out to the country. Maybe take a look at a horse or something."

"Horse?"

He actually shifted from one foot to another, looking entirely nervous. "You said you rode. For pleasure. I thought maybe that was something I could stand learning a bit more about. I thought, I guess, that maybe you would be the one to show me."

Now her heart started up again, back in its rightful place. And the grin came quite naturally to her face. "After we have the costume sex, you mean, " she deadpanned. "Or were we supposed to go all gussied up like this?" She gestured at his suit. When he looked almost desperate, she dropped her hand. "I'm kidding, Dominic."

He let out his own whooshing breath. "I really should have—"

"You did, and I love it. As for the horse lessons … well, I suppose it's only fair, seeing as you gave me a lesson in what you excel in."

He actually blushed. Blushed!

"Callie, listen, I didn't mean any disrespect with the costumes. I was simply trying to do something, I don't know, original. It was meant in fun. I don't care if we ever have sex, in or out of costume—wait, that didn't come out right. I do want to have sex with you. A lot of it. It's just not what I was thinking about when I—what I mean to say is—oh bloody, buggering hell."

Callie tossed the box to floor and simply yanked him inside. "So just tell me," she said, quite seriously. "Why did you come here?"

He looked down at her, then let out a deep, somewhat shaky sigh. "Because I can't stop thinking about you. And I don't want to stop thinking about you. Because I don't need another corporation. But I do need you. I need your laughter. I need your frank responses. I need your smiles, your pithy little comments, your directness, and most of all, I need you to be willing to share them all with me."

"Oh," she said on a sigh, totally unprepared for the emotions his words unleashed inside her. "Oh, Dominic. I shouldn't have teased you. I want the same—"

"Wait, let me finish. I know I've admitted I don't have a clue about handling relationships, and I'm sure I'm a bad bet in just about every area but bed." A hint of his grin surfaced. "Though, if you're willing to start there and let me work my way up—"

Somehow she managed the comeback, despite the fact that her heart had started up its staccato beat once again. "And here I thought you were more interested in working your way down."

His smile flickered to a grin, then faded again. "I want you, Callie Montgomery. However you'll have me."

Now it was her turn to tremble. "I want you, too, Dominic Colbourne. In fact, I—"

"If you're worried about this deal with Stephanie, I—"

"No. No, that's not a problem. I quit about an hour ago."

"You—you what? Because of what happened between us?"

"Yes, but not for the reason you think. I just realized that a high-powered career didn't equal success. Not the kind I want. I realized that having a life, forging my own path, deciding for myself what success means, and what it doesn't—for me—is what's important." She fingered the lapel of his tux. "So I decided to stick with my temping job. At least for now. I enjoy the variety of it, now that I've let myself sit back and realize it. And I enjoy the time it gives me to explore all those … possibilities I guess I was letting pass me by." She stopped then, knowing what was left to say, but finding this part a bit harder, despite all he'd said. "And … and—" He tugged her arms. "Callie—"

"No, now you have to let me finish." She took a breath and leaped. "I also decided I wasn't ready to walk away from you. That I thought there was something there, something more than, than—"

"Screaming orgasms?" he said, his lips twitching.

"Yeah. Something like that."

"And so, where were you headed when I got here, if not to work?"

"I was coming to find you." She looked down at her clothes and laughed. "I know we took the opposite approach in terms of apparel, but I figured that if we were going to take any step beyond the ones that had us walking away from each other this morning, then I wanted to take mine as the real me." She swept one hand downward. "This is pretty much who I am. I'm not glamorous, I'm not sophisticated. And I wouldn't know an escargot fork from a butter knife."

"The fork is the one with the prongs," he said, the amusement and the excitement, twinkling in his eyes now.

"Ah."

Dominic reached out, touched her chin, turned her face to his. His finger was quivering. Or maybe it was just her.

"I know who you are," he said quietly. "At least all I needed to know to want to learn about the rest of it. I want you. All of you." He glanced down. "But, unfortunately, this is who I am. Or who I've been. I know all about silverware placement and how to make reservations anywhere in the world. But I'll tell you, glamour and power isn't all it's cracked up to be. And none of it is any real fun if you don't have anyone to share it with, to make it real. To give it value." He looked back into her eyes. "I don't know where I want to go, or how good I'm going to be about getting there. But I do know I want you with me while I bumble my way along."

"You? Bumble?" She was grinning, but her eyes were swimming with tears.

"Yeah," he murmured. "And I'm afraid I'll do a fair lot of it. Will you help me, Callie?"

She wiped at her eyes, laughing, feeling so giddy she was faint with it. "Do I have to wear the Wonder Woman suit?"

He shook his head, tugging her closer, so his body, so perfectly lean and hard and, well, perfect, was up against hers. Then nuzzled her ears and said, "Maybe just the boots?"

She laughed.

And his control finally snapped. "Can I kiss you now? I'm dying here."

"Yeah," she said, weaving her arms around his neck. "I was wondering what was taking you so long."

He groaned and yanked her tight up against him, surprising a little squeal of delight out of her. What little part of her heart she still controlled, was lost the moment his mouth joined with hers.

She groaned, or maybe it was him, when he expertly shifted them around, so he could push her up against the wall.

"Something about this position works for you, doesn't it?" she murmured against his lips.

"It did have its merits," he said, running the tip of his tongue down the side of her neck. "But I'll admit to being more partial to a nice down mattress."

She leaned over and bit the lobe of his ear.

He sucked in a breath and reflexively pushed his hips into hers. "Of course, any—any flat surface will do."

"There's a bed about twenty yards behind you, through that door."

He didn't take his mouth off of her, even as he bent to scoop her into his arms. "Dominic!"

"Just call me Bond," he said, with a sly wink. Then rolled his eyes even as his cheeks flushed, which made the whole thing too perfect.

"Okay, James," she said, looping her arms around his neck. "Stir me." She grinned. "But first, why don't you let me get those boots."

"But of course." He let her feet drop and bent for the box. She beat him to it and snagged the latex boots, and the cape while she was at it. "I'm thinking I might need this."

He snatched the cape and the boots from her hand and tossed them over his head. "You don't need anything."

"Just you."

He tugged her close. "Yes, thank God. Just me." He scooped her up again and carried her to bed.

"And maybe one other thing," she murmured into his ear. "Seeing as you have all that power and all…"

"What were you thinking," he said, nibbling at her chin, the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, nothing fancy, just a small, tasteful—"

"Diamond?"

She just gave him a look.

"What?"

"Elevator. For when we get nostalgic."

"Our own little lift," he said, then tossed her on the bed, just before dropping onto it himself. "Hmm."

"Hmm, yourself." She traced a hand along his body. "Ah, going up?" she teased, as he grew beneath her touch.

He nipped her earlobe. "Cheeky." Then he began to trail kisses down her body, leaving damp marks all the way down her T-shirt.

"Oh," she said, on a groan, as he unzipped her jeans and tugged them down over her hips. "Much better."

"This way you get both," he said, grinning up at her.

"Uh-uh," she gasped, letting her neck arch, her eyes might have rolled back in her head a little. "With you I get it all."