Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? (12 page)

“Which brings us to why I asked you to come in today.”

This should be interesting.
He settled back to listen.

“Katherine told me that she and Bernard interrupted the two of you, shall we say, getting to know each other more intimately.”

Dillon shifted in his chair, feeling a little guilty, but not too much.

“I hope you can assure me that the display of affection was mutual. That Ariadne wasn't pushed into anything that she wasn't ready for.”

Dillon cleared his throat. “It was, uh, unexpected, but mutual.” And if that little kiss in the hall was all they knew about, he could relax.

“I have great hopes for Ariadne McAllister. She's just the kind of woman that can benefit most from my program. I mean to bring her out of her shell. Transform her. Give her the ability to empower herself. But first she needs to learn how to give and receive pleasure.”

Any more empowerment and Ariadne could blow them all into the next state. And as for pleasure…

“I'm depending on you, Dillon, to be a part of that empowerment process.”

He nodded slightly. What else could he do? The doctor actually believed her own dogma.

“But…You must use great sensitivity. Can you do that?”

He nodded. Did he have a choice? He started to stand up.

“Good. I was sure I could count on you. I'll schedule the two of you for the Bower of Bliss.”

Dillon sat back down. The Bower of Bliss? She had to be kidding. He'd heard plenty from the other men about the nightlong sex sessions that went on there. He didn't have time for this. And he sure as hell wasn't going to subject himself to Ariadne McAllister and a whole night of mind-bending sex. If last night had been any indication of how things would be between them if they ever tried that again, he'd be a blithering idiot by the time morning rolled around.

“I really don't think…she's ready for that.”

Dr. Bliss raised one finely shaped eyebrow. Then she smiled. “I believe you may have been misled about what goes on there.”

Not likely,
he thought. He'd have to talk her out of this somehow.

“The Bower is not just for orgiastic behavior, though I'm sure that goes on also. Its purpose is to give two people extended private time. A chance to get to know each other without the distractions of others. It also gives the goddess an opportunity to practice some of the techniques that she's learned here.”

“She's only been here a few days,” he argued.

“But she has blossomed in that short time. I hope that she will become a Terra Bliss success story.”

Ariadne, a poster girl for Goddess International,
he thought wryly.
God, lady, if you only knew.
Though he thanked the stars that she didn't and hoped she never found out.

“You can use the time together however you like. But it must be mutual.” She smiled slightly. “That is to say, she must be not only willing, but proactive. And you must be responsive.”

Dillon began to feel cold sweat beneath his T-shirt. This was a really bad idea. “What if she isn't ready? What will that do to her self-esteem?”

“She talks to you, doesn't she? That's all that needs to happen, if that's what she wants.”

Dillon had to physically prevent a tremor from coursing through his body. He doubted if Ariadne would stop at talking. He had to talk the doctor out of this. “She might be frightened, pushed more into her shell.”

“I'm glad to see you so concerned about her feelings. That's a special quality that you seldom find in an untrained man.”

Dillon's balls began sneaking up his scrotum. He was trained, but not to be some woman's lap dog.
Oh, yeah,
said an inner voice.
And just what were you to the lovely Isabelle Foubert?
Her patsy, thought Dillon. But Isabelle was a pro. One of the best. Now she was dead. Which was fine by him.

“I don't think she'll be afraid, Dillon. You have a certain something that is very appealing.” She gave him a look that was blatantly sensual. “And you will, of course, receive a bonus.”

He wanted to ask what kind of bonus. Because it looked like she might be offering herself.

“I'm sure the two of you will get along splendidly.” She stood up and walked him to the door. “I have every confidence in you.” And with a smile, she shut the door.

Well,
he thought philosophically. It looked as though he and Ariadne McAllister were headed for a night of—he shuddered—eternal bliss.

 

Andy almost jumped out of her skin when the chanting started.

Then as the sound gradually died down, Katherine said, “Now, go out into the world and know that you can achieve your dreams. There is no power to stop you but your own unwillingness.”

Andy stifled a yawn. It was over? She must have fallen asleep.

Women began to put their mats away; soft conversation drifted through the room.

Andy fought the urge to lie down. It must be the lack of sleep or her emotional turmoil. Her body was more lethargic, her mind more sluggish, than when she'd started the session. She didn't feel ready to face the world, just cranky.

Jeannie poked her with her toe. “Get a move on,” she said in a whisper that made several people turn around.

Andy dragged herself off her mat, piled it on top of the others, and followed Jeannie back to the dressing room.

“Now what?” asked Andy, finally allowing herself a yawn.

“Put this on,” said Jeannie. She held up a blue, pink, and red Hawaiian print swimsuit with a plunging neckline and high French-cut legs. “Bought it on a whim. Never wore it. I bet it'll look great on you.”

Too enervated to argue, Andy took it into one of the changing cubicles. There was no mirror, but she knew immediately that there would no longer be a question about what was under those oversized clothes. She knew she shouldn't wear it. But she was sick of subterfuge and deluding these three women who had taken her under their collective wings. They seemed to actually care about the poor woman Andy was impersonating.

She put on the suit and stepped out of the cubicle.

Evelyn, Loubelle, and Jeannie were standing in a row, eager expressions on their faces.

Jeannie threw up her hands. “Ten!” she exclaimed.

Evelyn and Loubelle just stared.

“Sugah, you're a knockout. I can't believe you've been hiding that body under those baggy clothes. We need to go shop-pin'.”

Andy hung her head. “Do you think so?”

“You just listen to Jeannie. I'm not the best-dressed lady in west Texas by accident. We'll have to see what they have at the Goddess Boutique.”

“But first the Jacuzzi,” said Evelyn, and smiling indulgently, she ushered them out.

Andy practiced saying, “I'm a fake and I don't deserve your kindness,” all the way to the solarium where the Jacuzzi, sauna, and indoor pool were located.

“Don't look so worried,” said Loubelle. “You have a real cute little figure.”

Andy smiled halfheartedly. Why had she let her family talk her into this.

Jeannie grabbed four huge white, fluffy towels off a pile near the door, and then she and Loubelle helped Evelyn climb down the steps into the bubbling water.

Andy sat down on the side, slid her legs into the heated froth, and sighed. Then realized the three women were looking up at her.

“Ah, to be young again,” said Loubelle wistfully.

“We are young,” Jeannie said and raised her hand.

A waiter appeared by her head.

“Four mimosas, Paolo.”

“Sure thing, Jeannie.”

Andy slid into the water. “You know everybody.”

“Been here often enough.” Jeannie leaned forward and said over the bubbles, “But I only remember the names of the cute ones.”

“Well, I think they're all just as handsome as they can be,” said Loubelle.

Evelyn nodded and closed her eyes.

Paolo came back with four tall glasses, all garnished with a sprig of mint. He placed one on the floor beside each of them.

They all grew silent, and Andy succumbed to the churning massage of the water. No one asked embarrassing questions. No one challenged her on her reasons for covering herself up. It was nice to be accepted without having to prove yourself. And if she didn't have so many things to worry about, she would feel great.

One by one, they left the Jacuzzi for their scheduled massages. Andy demurred. There was no way she was going to let Hans see her naked. She might be able to snow these ladies. They were trusting, loving souls. But Hans would know how fit she was at the first touch, and by the evening's debriefing session, the whole staff would know she was a fraud. If they didn't already.

Andy dressed and went back to her cabin. She was too zonked to do anything else. She didn't even feel surprised that there was no one waiting outside the Spa to arrest her. She dragged herself wearily up the hill, walked straight into her bedroom, stripped out of her clothes, and flopped down on the bed. In two minutes she was asleep.

A
ndy was dragged from a dreamless sleep by a pounding on the door. She sat up disoriented; the pounding continued. She yawned and padded out to the front door.

The door stood wide open and she yawned again. The Jacuzzi must have really taken it out of her, because she wasn't one of those trusting souls that never locked themselves in. There didn't seem to be anyone on the other side of the screen door, so she opened it and looked outside.

Dillon was standing on the small porch, holding a thermal bag and blanket. He heard the door open and turned around. “You missed lunch, so I—” His words were cut off in a strangle. His eyes widened, and Andy realized she was standing in the door frame in only her bra and bikini underwear.

“Uh,” she said. That was brilliant. She had to remember to stay away from the Jacuzzi from now on.

Dillon ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

Andy began to wake up. “What do you—”

Dillon held out the bag and blanket. “I thought we might go on a picnic.”

Picnic? Picnic. Was this an apology? He didn't look contrite. But he did look hot. And since she was still here and not in the local jail, she wouldn't mind a little lunch. “Okay. Just let me get dressed.”
Or you could just lie down, and I could eat lunch right off those washboard abs.

“Sure. I'll wait here.”

Vaguely disappointed, she went inside. So he really did want to go on a picnic. No wonder she was the one who parachuted out of smoking twin engines and wrestled poisonous snakes, while some beautiful airhead got to kiss the hero.
Always a bridesmaid.
She shook herself. What had made her think about bridesmaids? She'd never even been one. Never thought about being one. Certainly never thought about being a bride. Not often anyway.

She reached for her khakis and the oversized shirt. To hell with it. She dumped them on the floor and rummaged in the bureau drawer. Found the aqua bikini rolled up in the back corner. She put it on and covered it with a pair of light sweatpants that she rolled below her navel.

They could go someplace private, someplace where no one would see them. Then they'd see if he could resist her goddess charms. She pulled on a stretchy camisole that had been missed by Galena and Betty. She smoothed it over her rib cage. It stopped just above her waist. There was a nice strip of tanned skin between tops and bottoms.

Take that, Dillon Cross.

She carried her sandals out to the porch.

Dillon nearly fell off the porch rail. He had to grab for the lunch bag as it fell from his shoulder.

“Shall we go?”

Dillon stood up. “I thought—I thought, maybe you'd take me to this lake you were talking about.”

“The lake?” A zing of anticipation skittered through her. This could be good. This could be her fantasy. She glanced at his leg where the long scar reached up his thigh; another, newer scar slashed across his knee. Some serious surgery had gone on in that knee. And within the last few months.

“Maybe—”

“I can make it, if that's what you're thinking.”

A little bitter, are we?
She could hardly blame him. She knew how she'd feel if she were in his place.

“Good for you, macho man, let me get my sneaks.”

 

Dillon closed his eyes as soon as Ariadne was out of sight. She didn't think he could handle hiking to the lake. And maybe he couldn't. Why didn't he just tell her that he'd had surgery and wasn't up to his usual activity level. Hell. He might never be back to his usual activity level. He was lucky to be walking, much less jogging five miles a day.

At least she hadn't given him that look of sympathy that he hated. Skeptical, but not pitying.

She came back wearing green and pink Nikes, grabbed the thermal lunch bag, and took off up the path. Dillon stared after her. She was going to drive him nuts—and blow her cover—wearing those clinging, low-riding sweats.

He grabbed the blanket and hurried after her.

 

Ariadne took the path at a brisk walk, not even slowing down when she heard Dillon following behind her. What the hell was she trying to prove? That she was tougher than him? No wonder she didn't have a man in her life.

But she knew better than to compensate for him. She knew about injuries, and she knew the last thing you needed when you were on the long road to recovery was pity, or mollycoddling. Look at Betty. She never gave in to her disability, at least not that anyone saw. Everyone in the family loved her to pieces. They wouldn't belittle her by cutting her a break because she was slow and there were things she'd never be able to do again.

She guessed that Dillon was the same way. Jogging every morning. Making himself walk, slow and even, masking the weakness in his leg. Maybe that's why he was so skittish about having sex with her. Any halfway testosterone-driven man who saw her standing touching-distance in her underwear would have pushed her inside, and they would be having hot, get-down, toe-curling sex right now instead of hiking through the woods for a picnic.

It hadn't stopped him last night, she thought, reliving those few minutes with a rush of pleasure. There was probably some psychological weirdness going on with him, vacillations, feelings of inadequacy. Men always got them.

Maybe he just needed some encouragement. But she'd be damned if she'd act all simpering and helpless like some ditz from a fifties movie.

She slowed down and let him catch up. Yeah. She'd been right. He wasn't even breathing hard. He took the picnic bag from her, and she let him.

But when they came to the end of the path and Andy looked at the tree leaning diagonally against the pine, she started to have second thoughts. What if the trunk didn't hold his weight and he fell? What if he just fell? What if he got to the top of the wall and couldn't get down?

And what if you just give the guy a break and let him try?

“You're okay with the log? And you have to climb down a tree on the other side.”

His jaw tightened. “I'm okay.”

“Look. I know you've just had surgery. And I know what it's like to have an injury and how impatient you get, so don't do something stupid.”

“I said I can make it.” He paused and added, “I might be a little slow, but I'll get there.”

“Suit yourself. At least give me the picnic bag.” She reached for the strap, lifted it away from him. He held on. There was a moment of wrestling. She gave him a look. The wrestling continued in their gazes. Then finally Dillon let go.

Ariadne chuckled. “Left me holding the bag, huh?”

Dillon automatically reached for it.

She swung it out of his reach. “Sorry, sorry. It was just too good to resist. Come on.”

She ran lightly up the tree trunk, counterbalancing the weight of the bag by holding her free arm out to the side. When she reached the top of the wall, she looked back to give Dillon an encouraging look.

He was looking up at her with a slight frown on his face. Their eyes held. Then he broke contact and he stepped onto the fallen trunk. His foot slipped and a shower of dead bark drifted to the ground. Andy snatched back the hand that had automatically reached out to him.

He stepped again. This time the tree held, and he began a slow and deliberate ascent to the wall.

Andy held her breath, watching. This was a stupid idea, but it had been his idea, and she wasn't about to try to talk him out of it. He probably wouldn't talk to her for the rest of the session. The fragile male ego.

It seemed to take forever until he finally stepped onto the wall. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, but a remnant of a smile on those usually taciturn lips.

She turned away so that he wouldn't see her pleasure in his accomplishment. It wasn't something you could share with a stranger.

We're not strangers,
she reminded herself.
We've slept together.
Well, not exactly. They'd fucked in a shower. And pretended like it hadn't happened ever since.

She shifted the lunch bag to her shoulder, then swung to the tree limb nearest the wall. She hung there for a moment making sure Dillon had seen where she landed, hoping he'd catch on without her having to say, use that branch, watch out for—

Hell, she didn't know why she was making such a big deal about it. How many mid-level executives could scale a wall and climb down a tree on the other side. Most didn't even want to. But something told her that Dillon took these kinds of activities for granted. Or had once. From the look on his face, he was determined to do them again.

She dropped to a lower branch and then to the ground. Moved aside to give Dillon space to land. He looked down. His eyes hard, determined. He tossed the blanket to her, and while she was catching it, he jumped to the branch. It groaned beneath his weight; for a sickening moment she thought it would break and he would plummet to the ground.

Okay, it was only six feet from his feet, but it still could do serious damage. His feet pedaled in the air, then found the next limb. Andy had to force herself not to go over and spot him. There wouldn't be anything she could do if he did fall. He would knock them both down.

He let go, hovered in the air, before grabbing the lower limb and releasing his feet. He hung there for a few seconds, then let go of the branch. He landed silently, crouched on all fours.

Panther,
Andy thought.
He does move like a panther.

He stood up, safe and sound, if a little off balance. He brushed off his hands and, not looking at her, picked up the blanket and the bag. “Which way?”

She pointed to his right.

Dillon shifted his load and struck off through the trees.

Andy, grinning, followed him.

 

It was all uphill. Dillon was feeling the strain from his tree acrobatics, but he gritted his teeth, wiped away the sweat, and kept climbing. Ariadne sometimes walked by his side, sometimes let him lead the way, and several times had to blaze the way when the path disappeared into a stand of fallen scree. He could hear water, occasionally glimpsed a stream, but every time he asked if it was a good place to stop, she merely said, “Not yet,” and motioned him onward.

He was beginning to suspect her of trying to tire him out, when she left the path. He followed her and stopped short when he came out of the woods onto a granite boulder that curved down into a clear blue lake. At the far end, a waterfall coursed down a rock palisade.

Andy stood with her hands on her hips, gazing across the water. She looked like a goddess, dressed in sweats and camisole, her braid like a coil of rope down her back. He longed to pull off the band, loosen the plaits, and bury his face in the rich strands. He came to stand beside her.

Light reflected off the glassy surface of the water. The air was warm where the sun broke through the trees, the falls rumbled faintly in the distance, and the woman who stood beside him was making him randy as hell.

Time passed as they stood silently taking in the majesty of the place. Finally, she turned and smiled at him.

He dropped the bag and the blanket, caught her up, and wrapped her in his arms. He'd meant to play it cool, ask more questions and see if her investigative reporting was going to interfere with his own investigation. But the second he touched her, he was lost.

She was strong, firm and warm. Especially warm. And he missed that. Warmth. And more than just physical warmth. Isabelle's body had been warm, but everything else about her was cold as stone.

Don't think about Isabelle,
lover, betrayer, the perpetrator of his attempted murder.

Ariadne slanted him a glance, a question in her eyes. He shook his head, driving out the memories. She reached up, ran her lips gently over his, releasing the tension he didn't know he was holding.

She pulled away, smiled, then brushed his lips again. He shivered and held her tighter, while telling himself not to lose control.

She had been in his mind ever since he'd left her early that morning. Hell, ever since he'd walked past her in the doorway of her bedroom that first day, when she was wearing her hair in a bun and those ridiculous glasses. His rational mind had kept the thoughts at bay, was fighting his desire now.

Everything about her intrigued him. Her sensuality, her ability to scale walls. Her sexual enthusiasm. But it hadn't been just sex, at least not for him. And that scared him. Made him mistrust his instincts.

Nobody, not even Talbot, knew the depth of the spell that Isabelle had woven around him. He'd been sent in to charm her into making a mistake, and she had done the charming. And his was the mistake. It was sheer dumb luck that she was dead and he was alive.

But he had promised himself never to take that chance again. He didn't trust himself to have sex with Ariadne, because she wove her own kind of spell. Only hers was giving and loving as well as possessing.