"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 do
n'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."
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