Pleasure's Edge by Eve Berlin

it would be to get her to truly submit. She was complicated. The power-play dynamic would be more effective once he had a better idea of how her mind worked. It was as simple and clear as that.
    He shook his head, turned back to his computer screen. And knew deep down that he was lying to himself.

    Dylan got out of the cab in front of Wild Ginger, slamming the door shut behind her. She’d been fuming al day.
    She smoothed her hands over her dark brown slacks, straightened her caramel-colored leather jacket.
    There was no way in hel she would have worn the damn black dress.
    She yanked open the door to the restaurant a little harder than was necessary. Inside it was al spare Asian elegance, the dark red wal s making a dramatic backdrop to the black lacquer tables, the fragile sprays of white orchids in tal vases.
    She spotted him immediately. He was lounging against the bar, a drink in his hand. Huge and handsome—no, handsome was not a powerful enough word for him—in his dark slacks and a dark shirt that fit his muscled body like it was custom-made for him. It probably was. There was no other way a shirt could fal perfectly over those enormously broad shoulders, and lie smooth and close around his narrow waist. But no matter how gorgeous he might be, his looks were not going to make her give up the simmering irritation she’d arrived with.
    He smiled when he saw her. There was something smug about it, making her blood heat with fury. And her body heat with desire.
    She swal owed the desire down, nodded her head and made her way toward him.
    “Hel o, Alec.”
    “So you showed up but had to be sure to let me know you’re not to be pushed around, is that it?”
    She lifted her chin. “Yes. That’s it exactly.” He grinned at her. “You look beautiful, Dylan.” She hadn’t expected that. But she wasn’t going to be a push-over and she wanted to be clear about that.
    “Maybe it’s part of your ritual with the girls you play with at the club, but I’m no slave girl. And my foray into this branch of kink does not mean that has changed. That’s not what I’m interested in.”
    He kept smiling, which she found a little disturbing.
    “That’s what we’re doing here tonight. Getting a better picture of what you are interested in. Shal we get our table?”
    “I . . . yes.”
    She didn’t know what else to say, and felt foolish for what she’d already said. Why couldn’t she calm down?
    Alec gave an imperial nod of his chin and the hostess appeared out of nowhere, a slim, attractive girl with shining black hair. She smiled at Alec, batting her long lashes at him. Dylan wasn’t surprised, nor could she blame the girl. Alec was probably the best-looking man in the place, his smile charming, rakish.
    Good Lord, had the word rakish actual y just passed through her mind?
    She shook her head to herself as she fol owed the hostess to the table, Alec a step behind her. She swore she could feel the heat of his big body.
    He leaned in and whispered to her, “I didn’t actual y expect you to wear the black dress, Dylan. Not you.”
    She turned to stare at him, blinking, but he just smiled as he helped her out of her coat and draped it over the back of her chair before pul ing it out for her, then took the opposite seat.
    “We’l have a pot of jasmine and green tea,” he told the hostess, his gaze steady on Dylan’s. His eyes glowed a deep, dark blue in the dim lighting.
    “You surprise me,” she found herself saying.
    “Do I? In what way?”
    “Al of these nice manners. Holding my chair. Remembering the kind of tea I prefer.”
    “Being a dominant doesn’t mean being an asshole, contrary to popular belief. And I never conform to popular belief.”
    “No, I’m sure you don’t.”
    “Neither do you.”
    “What do you mean?” She fingered the edge of her cream-colored angora sweater.
    He shrugged. “You’re an erotica author. There are those who might have some preconceived notions about what sort of