Karen Kendall - Who's on Top?

Displayed her. Intimately. Right down to the hot-pink hoochie-mama sandals on her feet.

Dazed, Dom focused on her hot-pink toenails, and then ran his gaze up every luscious curve to her hot-pink siren’s lips. Say something. The message flashed to his muddled brain. “You’re late.”

Her chin rose. “Yes. You have a problem with that?”

He slowly shook his head. His eyes moved from her lips to her breasts: gifts from the gods, cruelly covered.

He lurched helplessly on his bar stool and forced his curiously rubbery legs to the ground. Dom peeled his dry lips apart. “You’re dressed to kill.”

Her mouth curved. “It’s appropriate for the occasion.”

Oh man, oh man. She’s here to lose on purpose! As soon as he’d shown her who was boss and tossed her out of his life, she’d come back apologizing and now she wanted him badly enough to lose at a game of pool.

Dom grinned, displaying every tooth he owned, feeling in control again. “Well, then. Let’s get this game over with.”

Dear Reader,

Have you ever found yourself thinking, “That guy would be perfect if only…”? Maybe it’s his attitude. Maybe it’s his clothes or his posture. Maybe it’s his table manners. Something stops him from being that man of your dreams.

Well, I sure have! And in this world of being able to upgrade a flight to first class, a room to ocean view, or your wardrobe to fabulous—I wondered, wouldn’t it be great if we could also upgrade our men?

That’s how I came up with the concept behind my new miniseries, THE MAN-HANDLERS—women who make over their men. Who’s on Top? is the story of lovable control freak Jane O’Toole and alpha male Dominic Sayers, two incredibly strong-willed people who are each determined to best the other. Watch as the sexual sparks between them blaze a trail from the office to the bedroom! And place your bets on the winner. You’ll be the final judge of who’s on top! I hope you enjoy getting to know Jane and Dom as much as I enjoyed creating them.

And I love to hear from readers! Visit me at my Web site at www.KarenKendall.com, where you can enter my monthly contest and find information about upcoming releases. Or you can write to me in care of Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

Happy reading!

Karen Kendall

P.S.—Look for the next book in the series, Unzipped?, Blaze #201, coming in September 2005!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my husband, Don, who has resisted most of my attempts to upgrade him—because, of course, he is perfect! And to my wonderful editor, Wanda Ottewell. Thanks for everything.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

IF ONLY MONDAY WERE A HOT, half-naked man, I wouldn’t mind starting every week with it. Jane O’Toole yawned.

Whether you’re a sanitation worker or a CEO—or in my case, both—Mondays just…suck.

She emptied the last wastebasket into the trash bag, tied a knot into the top of the bag and set it outside the office door, breathing deeply of the crisp October air.

Farmington, Connecticut, was at its most beautiful in autumn, nestling among the fall foliage under royal-blue skies. A town of twenty-one thousand, Farmington personified New England, abundant with neat Cape Cods punctuated with maple, oak and elm trees. Window boxes hadn’t yet lost their colorful blooms to the winter, and the wind sang through leaves of spectacular gold, rich tawny cinnamon, eggplant and even burgundy.

Such a gorgeous day to be stuck in the office. She left the door open to let the sunshine in, bathing the room and its antique-reproduction furniture in gold. Wryly Jane noted that the light also illuminated every dust mote stuck to the dark wood. And the once-pristine arrangement of dried roses on the coffee table looked…hairy.

Is it possible to dust dried flowers? she wondered. If she blew on them, she’d sneeze. If she vacuumed them, she’d be left with headless stems. And surely the duster in the closet would only add blue feathers to the unappetizing hair.

Jane dreamed of a cleaning service one day, but the business was too fragile, too new, to justify the expense right now. She’d conceived Finesse a year ago, while working at her miserable job in corporate employee assistance. Her M.A. in psychology had qualified her to be a glorified babysitter and paper pusher, and after eight years she’d had enough. So had her friends Shannon Shane, a would-be actress, and Lilia London, who’d been a receptionist for a law firm.

Jane had envisioned a business of their own: a training center for personal and career enhancement. Open now for nine months, Finesse did consulting on employee management issues and some general counseling (Jane’s specialty), image/communication (Shannon’s) and business etiquette (Lilia’s).

Thanks to hard work and tireless marketing, they’d enjoyed great success so far—though like any business in its fledgling stage, they had loans to pay off. And salaries? Actual salaries for each of them were still a dream on the horizon.

Jane put off donning those snappy pink rubber gloves and heading for the bathroom. Ugh. She’d do it after she had a doughnut.

She listened with half an ear to Shannon and Lilia discuss the pros and cons of…thong underwear? Yes, she had heard right.

“I don’t see how you can stand it,” Lilia said to Shannon with a shudder. Lilia’s dark hair was demure, as usual, clamped at her neck with a conservative clip. In her well-cut gray silk suit, she looked every inch the etiquette consultant.

Shannon marched to an altogether different drummer. In fact, Jane was pretty sure she had an alternate orchestra. She didn’t look anything like an image consultant—unless it was for rock stars in L.A.

“A thong eliminates the pantie-line problem.” Shannon shrugged, winding her long, curly blond hair into a knot on her head. Her motorcycle jacket hid most of a screaming-orange tank top—just not enough of it for Jane’s taste.

“I haven’t tried them,” Lilia said, “but I’ve heard those new boy shorts hide pantie lines, too.”

“Nope—they crawl.” Shannon was indisputably the authority on undies.

“Better a little ‘crawl’ than…than…rope burn in a private place!” Lilia stood her ground.

“Thongs are really not uncomfortable,” said Shannon. “The only problem I have with them is that I’m forever putting them on sideways, since they’re your basic isosceles triangle.”