Read Online Who's on Top? by Karen Kendall - Free Book Online Page B

shot a look of amusement at Jane O’Toole, who was unresplendent in beige today but still somehow sexy. “Is that part of your psychological profile or just vulgar curiosity?”
    Jane’s lips tightened. “What gives you the idea that I’d be curious about you?”
    â€œYour choice of major in college and your chosen profession, Jane. You’re all about curiosity. You like to analyze what makes people tick. Oh—and the fact that you’re not wearing your glasses again today.”
    Jane pointedly ignored his last comment. “What makes you tick?”
    â€œNow why would I make things so easy for you as to tell you?”
    â€œBecause you’d have a better chance of showing me your side of the situation here at Zantyne.”
    â€œNo.” He folded his arms across his chest and stared at her without blinking. “You don’t take anything at face value. I told you exactly what was going on at our first meeting, but you chose not to believe me.”
    Jane threw up her hands. “I have been told two very different versions of what is going on. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle. Do you expect me not to analyze the situation? How can I evaluate it—or your personality—if I don’t gather the facts?”
    â€œWell, as long as it’s just the facts, ma’am,” he said. He allowed his gaze to roam over her—the neat beige pantsuit buttoned over a small waist and wonderfully womanly hips. He suspected that Jane O’Toole had a figure like a young Marilyn Monroe. But this gentleman didn’t prefer blondes. No, he liked Jane’s dusky, messy curls. And he especially liked her lush, properly pale pink mouth. He wondered what shade that delicious bottom lip would turn if he…bit it. Sucked on it, long and hard and possessively.
    Uh-oh. Jane had been talking—words had issued from between those lips he’d been fantasizing about. Words in his own language, that he should have heard and understood. “Excuse me? I didn’t catch what you said.”
    â€œI repeat, then. I’d like to do some role-playing with you now.”
    â€œRole-playing?” It sounded highly suspicious, not to mention silly.
    â€œYes. I have with me a series of scripts. I’ll tell you who I am in each scenario and read my lines. You respond as you would if the vignette were a real business situation. Okay?”
    Dom sighed and nodded. Just how much of his time was she going to waste today?
    â€œBy the way, I don’t actually watch any of those shows I mentioned. What I do watch includes network news, a couple of true-crime shows and the odd sitcom.”
    She nodded, made a couple of notes, then looked up and smiled. “I really couldn’t picture you being a WWE fan.”
    â€œThank you,” he said. “Okay. Let’s get on with the role-playing.” Actually, the more he thought about it, interesting possibilities popped into his head. For example, Jane could play the part of a skimpily clad French maid, imaginative and clever with a feather duster.
    He’d be her demanding employer, the guy who forced her to bend over a lot. Hmm. Yep, he envisioned her in a very short, flouncy black skirt, tiny blouse and starched frilly apron. It tied provocatively in a bow above her bottom. And what better to clean house in than skyscraper heels and black fishnets?
    On the other hand, Jane would make a most excellent schoolteacher, and when he was bad—quite often—could take down his pants to, uh, discipline him, the errant student. For that particular role, he saw her in glasses, hair piled on her head, clad in a doll-size sweater and a straight but still only barely decent skirt. Long enough to cover her cheeks, but short enough that they were immediately accessible. Oh, and this skirt should roll up like a window shade at a moment’s notice.
    This incarnation of Jane really called for sensible