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  Trinity wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten to the main accounts receivable and payable screens. She wasn’t about to admit it, though. “Why are there so many past-due payables? I thought you were lead and taking care of all that.” Trinity emphasized her retort with her own commandant smile.

  Inga growled low in her throat like an angry feline. “Every single one of my accounts is in order. I might be lead, but I’m not a babysitter.” Then she fluttered her eyelashes. “I’ve been here the longest, have the most knowledge, and everyone comes to me”— she tapped her chest—“with all their questions.”

  Well, whoop-de-doo. Trinity thought perhaps Inga had a habit of calling attention to her breasts, reminding all the men in their sphere that they were there.

  “Inga?” The cry flew through the divider right by the computer monitor. Trinity couldn’t put the name and the voice with the right AP clerk face.

  “Yes?” Inga ever so sweetly answered.

  “I can’t figure out this metals consignment thingie for Handle and Harbin. Will you help me?”

  “Of course, sweetie, I’ll be right there.”

  Sweetie?

  Inga stood, dwarfing Trinity in her chair. “That’s enough to get you started.” She smirked. “I’ve got other”—much more important—“things to do.” She waltzed out of Trinity’s cube.

  Men liked a woman that sashayed, but one had to have nice hips with which to do it. Trinity realized she didn’t have hips anymore than she had breasts. Ooh, would you stop?

  She sat in the vacated chair in front of her computer. Her fingers itched to check her e-mail, not the company stuff but her special Scott address. He was beginning to become an addiction, as in, when she was feeling out of sorts, she needed a Scott fix. She decided caffeine was healthier and retrieved a fresh cup from the break room. It was funny how the sounds, voices, computer keys, an air-conditioning hum, the chunk-chunk of the copy machine, a printer whir as it spat out pages, all seemed to fade into background noise. She passed hard-at-work Boyd in his cube, then Christina Lee, who was once again speaking a foreign language— foreign customers, hopefully, whittling down that past-due receivable amount.

  In her own cubicle once again, she tingled all over to check for a Scott mail. Too much stress. But she was working. After a deep breath, she sipped her coffee. All right. She had a system to learn. She surfed the Web all the time, making her way through a maze of screens to buy what she needed. Maybe if she applied the same logic to a Web-based enterprise system . . . it couldn’t hurt, and she might avoid having to ask Inga for help.

  She logged off so that she could write down all the steps to get back in. By following the Internet history, she was able to see the process Inga had used to get to the system sign-on. Typing her user ID, she followed that with faith. Reject. She snorted out a breath. Okay, so maybe she’d typed too fast and messed up a key. She tried two more times, then got a message that the system had locked her out for ten minutes due to a password violation. Shoving the keyboard aside, she laid her head on the desk and did a little more deep breathing. At this rate, she’d get light-headed.

  She narrowed her eyes. Her nemesis had done it on purpose. Another deep breath, then Trinity stared at the divider as if she could see right through it, and sucked it up. “Inga?”

  “Yes,” said through the cloth partition with a note of glee.

  Oh yeah, Inga had messed with her password on purpose. Trinity was used to encountering a backstabber. You didn’t survive in her social set without knowing how to deal with it.

  What she didn’t have a lot of experience with was how to keep the backstabber on your side once you slammed them down. It was a fine line to walk. She needed Inga to show her the ropes, to back her up, be a team. Inga could make or break her.

  “When you have a moment,” Trinity said, sweet as apple pie à la mode, “if you could help me sign on to the enterprise system again, I’d appreciate the help.” Barf-barf. Yet she would not let Inga get her down.

  A long-suffering sigh, then, “Fine, let me finish over here,” followed by whispers and tittering. Trinity had been whispered about before, she would be again.

  She keyed into her e-mail, she couldn’t help it. Yes, yes, yes! An unopened message in her inbox. Her finger poised over her mouse, she was one click away from . . .

  Stomp-stomp. High-heeled shoes around the cubicle perimeter announced Inga’s route. Trinity wondered how she could possibly have missed the woman’s imminent arrival with the binders.

  Dammit. Emailus interruptus. She shut down immediately. No way was she giving Inga anymore ammunition.

  Jamming her hands on her hips, Inga hung over Trinity’s shoulder. “What did you do?”

  “I typed in the password I told you and it didn’t work.”

  “You typed it wrong three times, and now you’re locked out.”

  “I typed in faith, which was not wrong.”

  “That’s five letters. The password has to be six, so there’s a number one on the end.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “You saw me type it in.”

  Between checking e-mail and arguing, the ten-minute lockout period ended. Trinity typed, the system worked, and the opening screen flowed across her monitor. “Thank you so much for your help. I’ll play around with the menus you showed me earlier.”

  She wanted to scream, “Get out.” Which made her think of Harper on his knees in her perfect little courtyard last night.

  Inga backed away. “Don’t mess anything up.”

  “I’m only going to look.” With the binder open. Following its instructions carefully. Maybe there was a class she could go to instead of dealing with Inga. She was a good student. She’d graduated from college. She’d raised over a million dollars for charity. She could do this.

  Maybe she should have swatted Inga down for insubordination, but that would put them at war before she’d even started.

  The rest of the day went downhill from there.

  SCOTT held up a hand as he picked up the receiver. “I need to take this call.”

  Elton, his lead general accountant, stopped, his mouth still open, his words trapped.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do.” Her voice, low, musical yet dominant over the phone, stroked Scott’s cock. She loved the dominant role, but he played it better.

  In his gut, he’d known it was her, and he couldn’t chance letting her go to voice mail. “Can you hold a moment?”

  “I’ll hold, but I’m not happy about it.” Her snarky replies never failed to amuse him.

  He dispatched Elton, assuring him they’d take up the discussion on the returns analysis as soon as his call was complete. “Close the door on your way out.”

  Elton pushed his wire rims back up his nose and gazed at Scott a full two seconds before doing just that.

  Scott had to admit his behavior was atypical. He didn’t interrupt conversations for phone calls. He didn’t close his door several times a day. He didn’t do phone sex in his office.

  She made him do a lot of things out of the norm.

  “Now what can I do for you? Another train ride?” A few minutes after five, she couldn’t have gotten home yet.

  “Seven thirty. Same hotel as before. I’ll call you with the room number.” Then the connection went dead.

  He held the phone out and stared at it. She couldn’t mean that. It was too damn easy. And she wasn’t easy. Why now? Without even a hint of coaxing?

  Something was wrong. Or something was very, very right. And Scott would sure as hell be there to find out what she had planned for him.

  TRINITY knew she was crazy, but she needed a sexual boost. And wasn’t that the craziest thing of all? She of the perfect sexual tryst, makeup just so, not a hair out of place, nor a trace of perspiration, was planning a down and dirty session in an anonymous hotel room with a virtual stranger. Again.

  The second time she called Scott, she’d gotten his voice mail. Citing the room n
umber, she gave specific instructions on what he was to do when he arrived. Then she ran a bath in the oversized tub, dumping the contents of the little shampoo bottle in the water to foam.

  It had been an awful day. Why was she letting Inga get to her? She knew perfectly well how to slam someone down when they needed it. But Inga Rice seemed to . . .

  Trinity unbuttoned and folded her sweater on the counter. Steam began to cloud the mirror. She unsnapped her bra.

  Though mortifying to admit, Inga made her feel inadequate. She had Catherine Zeta-Jones breasts, Angelina Jolie lips, and Marilyn Monroe hips. And she knew the job better than Trinity.

  Still, Trinity wouldn’t have called Scott and gotten a hotel room if Harper’s car wasn’t parked opposite the condo when she turned onto her street. As pathetic as it might be, she hadn’t wanted another confrontation. Instead, she’d flipped a U-ie, pulled over, and punched in Scott’s number.

  Slipping out of her skirt, she stood for a moment. Steam misted the top half of the mirror. Black lace thong, stockinged legs, and high heels were all that was visible. She had good legs. Damn good.

  “You are hot,” she whispered. It had nothing to do with the steamy bathroom and everything to do with the look in Scott’s eyes that first night. “You deserve this. You will have it.”

  She’d be bold and unabashed. She’d step out of her comfort zone and demand what she wanted. The affirmation made her feel powerful, in control. Just what she needed after an arduous day. Trinity stripped down and climbed into the tub to lounge.

  An hour later, she was ready for him. At precisely seven thirty, there was a rap on the door. Peeping out the hole, she smiled, unlatched the door, leaving it slightly ajar.

  As she’d instructed him, he didn’t come in right away. Counting to ten, the length of time he was to wait, she skipped to the bed. Flopping down on her stomach, she propped her face on her crossed arms.

  Like a bowl of chocolate ice cream, she wanted to savor the look in his eye the moment he saw her.

  HOLY Hell. The room was a duplicate of that other night, white down comforter, soft lighting, the scent of soap and steam lingering in the air. But the woman laying belly down across the bed wasn’t at all the same. His Jezebel exuded raw sexuality, definitely the naughty incarnation tonight. Mile-high heels, long legs in black stockings, the squeezable globes of her ass framed by a lace thong, and a gorgeous expanse of naked back.

  Scott wanted to eat her up.

  “Strip,” she said, her take-charge attitude a new facet.

  He tugged off his suit jacket and yanked on his tie, throwing both across a chair, twin to the one he’d sat in watching as she made herself come. In his haste to undo his shirt, he tore a button loose.

  She propped herself on an elbow to watch him, her other arm tucked against her, a delicious breast playing peekaboo.

  Naked from the waist up, he stopped with his hand on his belt. “Everything?”

  She gave him a sexy, seductive half smile. “Nervous about exposing yourself?”

  “Not in the least.” He got that she was turning the tables. Last time she’d been the one exposed. He hadn’t been able to get the picture out of his mind, her legs open, inviting, her skin flushed with orgasm. Now, though she was virtually naked, she still hid all the essential parts from him.

  “I was more worried about your delicate sensibilities,” he finished, allowing himself a slight smile.

  Jezebel laughed, a sound as sexy as the name he’d given her. “Delicate sensibilities? What are you? Mr. Darcy?”

  Scott tipped his head.

  “From the movie? Pride and Prejudice.” She laughed again. “Or maybe it was Clueless.” Then she shook her head. “You don’t get it anyway, so forget it. Take off your pants.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He toed off his dress shoes, then shucked his slacks, only his underwear left.

  “Ooh,” she cooed, “I figured you for a briefs kind of guy.”

  Under the white cotton, his cock was already hard. “What is a briefs kind of guy?”

  She bent both legs at the knee, waving her feet in the air, twining her ankles. “Someone who is controlled,” she said while his gaze was riveted on her gorgeous ass, “but waiting to burst free.”

  His cock wanted to burst free, all right.

  She nodded with her chin. “Take them off,” she whispered. It was the hottest damn sound he’d ever heard.

  When he was naked before her, next to the bed, she took in every line of his body from chest to thigh. His erection grew under her scrutiny.

  “Very nice.” She licked her lips. “Stroke it.”

  He wondered if it was payback. Whacking off for a woman wasn’t part of his normal routine. He’d stroked while a lady sucked, but he’d never stood in front of her and performed. He had an inkling of how she’d felt that first night, but for him it was so damn good to have her watch that he risked coming with one pass of his hand.

  “Whatever you want.” Wrapping his fist around himself, he slowly pumped, his eyes never leaving her. He drank in the flush riding up her skin, the sexual sheen in her blue irises, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She might be one-upping him, but she was into watching as much as he’d been.

  A drop of pre-come dribbled from his crown. Coating his palm, he used it for lubrication. He wanted to go down on his knees for her. Needed her to touch him, suck him, more. For now, all he had was her avid gaze.

  She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and inhaled deeply. “How long does it take you to come?”

  He snorted out a breath. “With you watching, two seconds.”

  Glancing up to his face, she said, “Then you better slow down. We don’t want this to be over too soon.” Then she dropped her gaze once more to his cock. “I like watching,” she murmured.

  He loved that she did. He felt his orgasm build in his balls and backed off, slowing his stroke and easing his grip. “That better?”

  She wriggled across the bed, closer, somehow miraculously keeping her breasts from his hungry eyes. Propped on her elbows, her arms folded in front of her, she settled in for a bird’s-eye view. He wanted her touch, but he’d take what he could get right now, even if it was only her total fascination.

  “Much better,” she murmured. “I’ve always wondered how a man did it when he was on his own. You kind of twist your hand, not just straight up and down. And you don’t do it as fast as I’d thought you’d have to.”

  He laughed, a deep sound straight from the gut. “And I’ve never had a woman analyze the technique.”

  Trinity had never analyzed anything about sex before. But he was beautiful, thick, big, hard. He was perfect, with strong thighs she wanted to hold onto as she watched every single moment of his rise to orgasm. She’d always been remote, never doing a man with her hand. It wasn’t dignified, and what did you do with . . . the mess? Nor had she taken anyone all the way with her mouth. What if she hated the man’s taste? What bothered her was all the cleanup, the aftermath, fixing her lipstick, making herself presentable again. How could you make a man think you were perfect when you had to take care of the unpleasant details?

  Yet she’d missed so many delicious sensations.

  Watching Scott was . . . earthy. Like Tarzan and Jane doing it deep in the jungle with fresh rain falling and the scent of green growing things all around them. As he slowly stroked, another bead of juice seeped from the tip. The emotions rolling through her mind and body weren’t remotely like her, certainly not the person she’d been for thirty years. But a little over a week ago, her world, everything she’d thought she believed, wanted, and trusted in had turned upside down. Now, more than anything, Trinity needed to know how Scott would taste on her tongue.