Chapter One

 

Lana Sand's nickname, "Dragon Lady", suited her perfectly.

As Project Manager of Aaron/Dressler Building & Construction, Ltd., based in Orlando, Florida, Lana had earned a solid reputation for being a ball-buster, and took no survivors when someone threatened her project or did something to cause her department embarrassment.

Aaron/Dressler's corporate offices were based out of Washington, D.C. The twenty-five-year-old firm specialized in multi-million-dollar super structures spread out in half a dozen states. The Orlando/Lake Mary area had been one of A/D's most profitable during the last twenty years.

Like most attractive women climbing to the top of the heap in a large corporation, Lana had used her beauty, gut instinct and superior IQ. In a profession dominated by men, her instinct and intelligence were forced to take a back seat to her looks. But since Lana had been introduced at a very young age to the harsh rules of life by her father and older brothers, she considered herself well-prepared in her quest for success.

Lana was a tall, long-legged beauty with long black hair, large almond eyes, high cheekbones and the sort of pouty lips a woman can get nowadays after a series of collagen injections. According to Lana, her lips--as well as the rest of her--were natural. Her firm breasts pushed out proudly. Her tanned legs, strong and shapely from tennis, golf, and weekly Bally workouts, drew admiring stares from everyone who saw her. Like most successful businesswomen in today's world, Lana used her looks as a mere tool to give her the edge she so often needed. Three times divorced in her thirty years, she lived by herself in a two-bedroom Winter Park condominium. She valued her privacy as much as her free time. It was commonly known that when Lana was at home, she wanted to be contacted only during a dire emergency.

I'd been working for her since I started with the company nearly six months ago. I was responsible for overseeing the foremen working the construction site, taking care of all worker-related problems and disputes, and reporting any and all details to Lana.

Our present project was Magnolia Way, a thirty-two story megaplex sitting on nearly ten acres of prime downtown real estate. The groundbreaking had taken place three years ago. The project itself employed nearly a thousand workers. Originally a five-year contract, it was nowhere near half-finished and at its present pace would not reach completion within the next three. Due to employee difficulties and a recent walk-off as the result of a contract dispute, its construction schedule had bogged down considerably. Each production delay amounted to tens of thousands of dollars in additional expenses as well as legal and contractual difficulties and headaches.

Which, of course, trickled right down to Lana's department. Strong, independent and determined, Lana handled the blows with the best of them but was only human, and subject to the same frustrations and periods of depression as anyone else.

This week alone, three riggers had shown up drunk at the site and were promptly sent home. Production that day had practically stopped. The next day, a surveyor had shown up drunk and got into a fight with two carpenters, slowing down production once again.

On Friday afternoon, about two hours after lunch, I was summoned to Lana's office. I knew what she wanted to talk about. I'd gotten to know her pretty well since I'd started working for her. Lana made her thoughts clear and didn't pull any punches when something was bothering her. She was strictly no-nonsense.

Which was good, in a way.

But very bad if you got on her wrong side.

Lana stood at the tinted window, staring out at the clear blue sky beyond the tall buildings surrounding Orlando. Her hands were behind her back. Whenever she stood like that, I wanted to walk right up to her and ravage her. Working closely beside her was difficult enough. Keeping my hands from wandering--especially when we worked closely together--turned into a major undertaking.

"I want you to fire everyone who got drunk this past week," she said flatly.

Surely she realized what she'd just said. Lana knew how this business was run. Firing someone from the construction crew could become a real headache. Firing more than one at one time would bring in a batch of investigators and union reps and shut down the operation in a heartbeat.

Hopefully, she was just blowing off steam.

"No can do."

She turned. "Why the hell not?"

I grinned. "There wouldn't be anyone left to finish the project."

Lana walked right over and stopped about two feet from me, her chest pushed out, and her hands on her hips. The anger in her eyes glistened. I'd been working for her long enough to realize that I'd just pressed one of her buttons.

"Are you trying to be funny, Ross?"

"Just practical."

"Explain practical."

I shrugged. "All those guys drink, Lana."

"I'm well aware of that, thank you. But there's a world of difference separating the drunks from those who drink. The Magnolia project runs pretty close to ten figures, Ross. Its Grand Opening is scheduled for less than two years from now. I've already been told by our project engineers that we're at least ten months behind. You can't tell me it isn't because of drunkenness and other totally avoidable disruptions."

"No. I can't tell you that."

Still glaring, she said, "We really need to fire someone today."

"Why?"

"To send a message. Let them know we're serious. I for one won't tolerate drunks."

When Lana was out for blood, there was little I could do. I hated being put in the middle of something like this. I'd been through this a couple of times before. When she started out on one of her "hunts," she usually wanted a witness.

When you dealt with construction workers, you were getting into a different culture. These guys lived rough, talked rough and worked rough. They were grown men and women, knew what they were doing and were determined to make their own way. Many of them didn't care if they worked or not. They just collected their checks until they had enough money for booze and food, then took off for their camp near the lake. They sat in their boat for the next couple of months, sucking down beer while occasionally catching a fish.

It was stupid for me to stick my neck out for anyone, especially when most of these guys didn't care one way or the other, but I just didn't want to be held responsible. I'd have trouble sleeping if I knew I'd said or done something that caused a man to lose his job.

"Any suggestions?" she asked.

"About what?"

Her thin black brows bumped together. "What are we talking about, Ross?"

"You mentioned firing someone."

"Good. You're paying attention."

I said nothing. Her lavender scent was particularly potent this afternoon. I could tell she'd splashed on a little extra before coming back from lunch.

She shrugged. "Nothing to say?"

"Not really..."

"Ross, you drive out to the site two, sometimes three times a day. You know everyone out there. They trust you. Are you telling me you have no idea who's our present major liability?"

"How do you know they trust me?"

"You're a man."

"I'm glad you've noticed. But how does that..."

"Don't try and con me, Ross. We both know what's what. You've all got that stupid Male Club thing going on that makes my flesh crawl every time I think about it."

"Male Club thing?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You can go to any bar on earth and take a seat beside a perfect stranger. All he has to do is mention that he's having problems with his wife or girlfriend, and suddenly the two of you are best buds, buying each other drinks and planning to get together later on for bowling or a football game. Don't tell me you've never done that."

"I've never given a guy my phone number."

"You know what I mean, Ross. Don't act stupid."

"I'm not acting."

She didn't reply. Her dark brown eyes blazed.

I tried a gamble. "Are you telling me you've never gone to a bar, sat down beside another woman, then started on men?"

"It's not the same."

"Sure it is."

"The point is, Ross, they'll open up to you. They won't do that to me because I'm a woman."

"That's not why they won't do it."

"Regardless. They just won't."

I decided not to tell her how guys felt about dominant, successful woman who were also beautiful and sexy. She probably already knew. If she didn't, she probably wouldn't believe it coming from me.

She went back to her window. This time her arms were crossed in front of her. I couldn't prevent my eyes from wandering down to that perfect ass, those long, elegant legs . . . those gorgeous diamond-shaped calves. . .

"I'm under a lot of pressure, Ross."

"I know."

She spun around again. "How long have we known one another?"

"A few months--"

"Six, to be exact."

I knew she'd remember something like that. She'd brought it up before.

She approached me again. "You impressed me back then, Ross. That's why I hired you in the first place."

"How'd I do that?"

She shrugged. "How do you think? Look at you."

I looked down at myself. I knew what she was getting at. We'd been through this before, as well. But I liked hearing it--especially from her. Lana wasn't one to spill out empty compliments. There wasn't a guy living on this planet who didn't want to be appreciated by a beautiful woman.

"You look good, Ross. Real good. Buffed to the teeth." She frowned. "Too bad you can't find a suit that fits. I guess that's the problem with having an enormous chest and small waist."

"Too many bench presses, I imagine. . ." I just didn't know what this had to do with firing someone.

"You also have balls--something else I've always admired. So tell me. Where have you been hiding them?"

"Hiding them?"

"Ross, everyone knows Magnolia is doomed to fail. You mean to say you can't figure out what's going wrong?"

"Those guys like to drink." I hoped I could get by with such a vague statement. "You've been working with construction guys for how long now?"

"Too damned long. I also know they can be real assholes when they get in a large group. Like a pack of wild dogs."

"I wouldn't go that far. . ."

"Who's the instigator, Ross?"

"You mean, who's the one who drinks the most?"

"I mean, I'd like to know the one who started that fight two days ago. The one who drove in when he should've stayed home."

I was surprised she didn't already know.

"You don't know?" I asked.

Lana sat down. She put her hands behind her neck. I caught another tingling scent of lavender. She looked vulnerable at that moment, although I couldn't imagine why. Maybe it was her exposed chest. Or the two unfastened buttons that showed off her tan and a portion of her black laced bra. Or the way her hair encircled her neck, with some of it falling down to cover part of her breasts.

Whatever it was, I had difficulty concentrating.

"I have a rough idea. That's why I called you in here." She lowered her arms and smoothed out her skirt--for my benefit, I assumed, since there was nothing wrong with the skirt to begin with-except, maybe, for that tiny wrinkle near her right hip. "To make sure."

"I'm not sure, either," I said.

Lana watched me cautiously. When finished her examination, she lit a cigarette and blew the smoke toward me. "This job gets to be too much sometimes," she said. She sat back, raised her legs and rested her ankles on the desk blotter. "Too much stress. Too much hassle. Know what I mean, Ross?"

I glanced at those spike heels and briefly wondered how many poor souls she'd stomped on with them.

She blew more smoke toward me. "This is why I play golf. And tennis. And pulverize all my built-up frustrations at Bally. Know what I mean, Ross?"

I'd been to Bally a number of times to work out in the weight room. I'd seen her doing butt thrusts and floor stretches in one of the mirrored rooms with a dozen or so other hot babes on the mats. The images immediately made my dick tighten. "Yeah."

"Like I said, too much stress. This week was the pits. One of my worst. I wanted to claw someone's eyes out. Good thing you weren't around when I had the urge, huh, Ross?"

"That wouldn't have been good for me. I need my eyes. To see as well as admire the lush Florida scenery as I drive in to work five days a week."

"That's why I called you in here. To help me out. If I can get some worthless idiot off that construction site, I'll feel much better. Understand?"

"Yeah."

"But you're not gonna help me out, are you?"

"I don't think I can."

"In other words, you're telling me I'm gonna have to get rid of all this stress some other way, aren't you?"

I knew what she was getting at. It sounded like she wanted me to personally help her alleviate her stress. I'd done it before but knew to be extremely careful about any move I made. If anyone in the office suspected something was going on, they'd fire both of us.

"Right, Ross?"

I nodded.

"Any suggestions?"

"Suggestions?"

"About kicking some stress?"

I decided to torment her a little. "A few quiet drinks, maybe a swim at the complex pool. . ."

"You have any idea how difficult it is for me to have a couple of quiet drinks at a bar?"

I knew what she was getting at but wanted her to tell me anyway. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, some idiot in a cheap suit plopping down beside me and trying to put the make on me. Stupid shit like that."

"Hold out for an idiot in a better suit?"

"I'm serious, Ross."

"I can see how enjoying a quiet drink by yourself could be a problem."

"So like I just said, any suggestions?"

I wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her half to death, right there on the carpet. But that would definitely not be a positive career move. Nor would it be good for me to continue thinking that. Especially since the folks out on the main floor had the nasty habit of sticking their noses where they didn't belong. Two of the walls in Lana's officer were clear glass. The copy machine was right outside one wall, the coffee station along the opposite wall. At any given time, someone was walking by, making copies, or fixing coffee.

"Not really," I said.

"You don't have any suggestions?"

"Sorry."

She blew more smoke at me, squashed her cigarette in the glass ashtray and looked me right in the eye. "You're an asshole, Ross. I was counting on you."

"Err, sorry."

"Being sorry just doesn't cut it. If you're not gonna help me out, I'm gonna have to work this out my own way."

Again I made no comment.

"Understand me, Ross?"

"I think so."

"What do you understand?"

"You'd like some form of relief for all this stress you've been going through."

"Go on."

"Plus forgiveness."

"For what?"

I lowered my voice. "For being nasty. And cruel. For wanting to fire someone, put someone out of work."

She didn't reply at first. She sat there, her eyes closed. Probably thinking of the last time we'd gone through this. Then she sighed deeply, making the valley between her breasts deepen. "Yes, Ross. I've been very nasty."

"I know. You wanted me to tell you who to fire."

"Yes."

"That was awful, wasn't it?"

"It makes me a bad person, doesn't it, Ross?"

"Very bad."

"What kind of person wants someone to lose his job?"

"A nasty, bad, evil person."

"And if this nasty, bad, evil person is a female?"

"A nasty, bad, evil female who needs to be punished."

She sat in silence, her eyes closed again. She was probably remembering the last time I'd punished her.

"I'll be here probably till around six or shortly after," she said, sighing. "Then I guess I'll head back to the apartment. Maybe have a swim. Or nine holes of golf in the morning. It's been a horrible week, Ross. Is it any wonder that I've had to be a ball-buster when I have to deal with so many incompetent assholes?"

"No. No wonder at all."

"Which is why I've been particularly bad-tempered and foul."

"I understand."

She put her elbows on the blotter and watched me curiously. "I know, Ross. Do you realize you're the only one in this company who actually does?"

I couldn't stop thinking of my recent rape fantasy on the carpet. "I didn't know that."

"It's true."

"I believe you."

"Not many folks can actually stand up to me like you can, Ross."

"I know."

"I'm hoping you'll have something exciting planned this time around."

The way her eyes had lowered, this time to my half-erect dick, convinced me I needed to end this session before I gave myself away. I couldn't leave her office carrying around a rock-hard dick. My dress slacks wouldn't conceal it very well.

"Very exciting," I said.

"Care to share?"

"Not right now."

She licked her lips suggestively and my dick hardened even more. "No one'll hear. Not if you whisper it."

"We still have two hours to go before quitting time."

"Go ahead. I think I can take it."

I lowered my voice. "I'm thinking of strapping you down naked."

She sighed. "And?"

"Playing with you."

"How?"

"With this." I held up my left hand and casually touched my lower lip with my middle finger.

She sighed again, this time deeper. "Go on. . ."

"And these." I pressed my thumb and index finger together, rubbing them.

She sat back and flung her hair over one shoulder. "What else, Ross?"

"That's about it. For now."

"That's it?"

"I'd rather do it than talk about it."

"You don't like talking about it? Getting me all worked up?"

"I can do that, too."

"Go ahead."

"Later."

"When?"

"When I've got you naked and all fixed up."

"Is this how you usually treat bad girls, Ross?"

"Usually."

"Have these girls . . . have they been as bad as I've been?"

I leaned over her desk and brought my face within two feet of hers. Her heavy lavender scent rubbed my cheeks and lips. "No one's been as bad as you, Lana."

She closed her eyes, sat back and sighed. Then she straightened and looked me square in the eye. Her voice was a whisper. "You make it sound like I'm in for some punishment, Ross."

"You have no idea."

"Sounds challenging."

"It'll be more than that."

"Really?"

"Count on it."

She closed her eyes again and sat there, thinking about it. Then snapped out of it. "I'll probably be home a little after six-thirty. Seven o'clock, then?"

I nodded.

"Don't be late."

"If I am . . . ?"

"Just don't."

"No, Ms. Sands. I won't."

She straightened in her seat and instantly put on her harsh, no-nonsense business expression. "To repeat," she said, her voice strong and clear, "you're an asshole, Ross. If you don't want to tell me who to fire, get out of here. I'm finished with you."

I went to the door. I could feel her steady gaze on me. I opened the door and turned quickly. She was being subtle, but still watched me.

My dick grew even harder.

We both knew exactly what we'd be doing for the weekend.