Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? (13 page)

But no matter how hard he tried to put the various things he knew about her together, he came up with an incomplete picture. That bothered him. And he wanted her more than ever.

“Time to come back now.” Ariadne was regarding him with a patient smile.

“Sorry.” He looked around. “You want to eat here?”

“I want to swim first.” She sat down, took off her shoes.

“Do you have any idea how cold that water is?”

“Freezing.” She pulled off her socks and stuffed them in her shoes. Her feet were high arched, the toes long. Suckable.

He dragged his eyes away.

“Know how to swim?”

“Of course.” Dillon sat down and started untying his shoes.

She pulled the camisole over her head, revealing an aqua bra. His pulse jumped. She stood up and pushed the sweatpants down her legs. A tiny matching bikini bottom barely covered her butt. His dick responded instantly. And she knew it.

Her smile changed. His heart hammered against his breastbone.

She turned away and dove into the water. He jumped awkwardly to his feet and pulled off his T-shirt. He looked out into the water and could see her swimming just below the surface. Then she came up for air, tendrils of hair clinging to her cheeks. She looked back at him, and Dillon dove in after her.

He came up ten seconds later gasping for air, his lungs paralyzed from the cold. His muscles were frozen; his teeth were chattering. He would probably sink right to the bottom.

Ariadne tread water, grinning at him. She scissor-kicked; her body rose out of the water, then curved into a shallow dive, before it disappeared beneath the surface.

The woman was a maniac. Dillon paddled himself in a full circle, looking for her. He didn't see her. This kind of temperature could cause a cramp. She might be in trouble.

Something brushed his leg. He nearly jumped out of the water, then felt two hands on his thighs. She surfaced behind him. He turned in time to have a spray of water hit him in the face.

“Hey,” he said and grabbed for her. She ducked away and was gone. He watched the ripple of water as she skimmed just below the surface. She was fast. He swam after her. Just when he thought he might catch her, she somersaulted in the water and swam beneath him in the opposite direction. She hadn't once come up for air.

Nearly fifty feet away, she shot out of the water like a dolphin.

Dillon swam toward her, keeping his head above water, his eyes on her as his arms and legs propelled him forward. And again she slipped beneath the surface. But this time he was ready for her. As she skimmed past, he grabbed her waist, tucked his legs under her knees, and flipped her into his lap. She laughed as she rolled out of the water. The sound was throaty and delicious. She didn't try to get away, just stretched her legs out in front of them, wiggled her toes, and proceeded to drive him wild.

He pulled her tighter until she was pressed into the bend of his thighs. Wrapped his arms around her waist while his teeth pulled at the bow at her nape.

The bikini top was sleek as skin, and it fell away to float on the water. His palms replaced the pieces, covering each breast with an urgency that even the cold couldn't quell. He stopped kicking just to enjoy the sensation, and they started to sink.

“Blanket,” he said.

She turned in his arms, and their knees touched as they both tread water to stay afloat. “Chicken.” She released the back of her top and hoisted it into the air like a flag. He reached for it. She laughed and pushed his head under the water. When he came up sputtering, she was swimming away.

“You'll pay for that,” he called and swam after her. But long before he caught her, she hoisted herself onto the flat boulder and sat, naked from her bikini bottoms up, her feet arched like a ballerina's, her head thrown back to the sun. He reached up and grabbed her ankle. She squealed and he laughed out loud. It completely surprised him. How long had it been since he'd laughed?

She pulled her knees up, hiding those luscious breasts, and held out her hand. He looked at it, took it, braced one foot on the rock, and let her help him out of the water.

They sat side by side, water pooling beneath them. Ariadne shivered and he put his arm around her. She melted into him. her head settled on his shoulder, and they just sat, not needing to speak. Until he realized that his hand had somehow found her breast and was playing with its pebbled nipple.

“Blanket,” said Ariadne. She stood up and flapped it open. Two foil packets fell onto the boulder. She grinned at him, tossed the packets to him and spread the blanket across the rock. “Lunch is served.”

Dillon pulled her down to the blanket, pushed her onto her back, and began to explore.

His hand cupped her hip bone. His fingers trailed up her ribs, setting off a crop of goose bumps. She pulled him up along her body. He brushed his lips over hers, pushed back on his elbows to look at her. Her hand wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him back. Her mouth parted, inviting him in, and he went.

Her tongue met his, then invaded his mouth. He had a hundred questions he'd meant to, needed to, ask. They flew out of his head. There was an ulterior reason for bringing her here. He forgot what it was. And nothing existed but Ariadne's cool skin and lips under his. Cool skin that was rapidly heating.

Her hands left his neck, ran over his shoulders and down his back. Hesitated when her fingers touched his scar. Dillon froze. But her fingers kept going, tracing a line down his spine.

He rolled to the side so his weight was off her, but their sides were touching. His fingers skimmed over her shoulder, down the soft skin of her breast, over the nipple and beneath the gentle curve of her breast until he could cup the fullness of her. Gently, he chafed warmth into her skin. Then he lifted the breast, rolled her sensitive nipple between two fingers, then leaned over and nipped it between his teeth.

She wiggled beneath him, making throaty sounds of pleasure. Speared her fingers through his wet hair, kneaded his shoulders. He moved hungrily to her other breast. She feather-brushed his sides, and he twitched.

“You're ticklish,” she breathed into his hair.

He shook his head, not giving up her nipple to answer.

“You are.” She poked him in the ribs.

His mouth broke away. “Stop it. I'm busy here.”

But she'd achieved her goal. Her hands plunged into the back of his gym shorts, her fingers splayed across his butt. His gluts tightened in response. She pulled him close until his erection was hard against her thigh.

“Polar bear,” she said.

“What?”

“The cold doesn't affect their ability to get it up.”

He laughed. “Is that true or did you make it up?”

She rubbed against him. “I have no idea. Let's see.” She pushed him onto his back and straddled him in one motion. Before he recovered from his surprise, she rubbed up the length of him.

Her braid slid over her shoulder and brushed his chest. He arched against her, fumbled at the elastic of her bikini bottoms, pushed his hand inside, and cupped her. She sighed, squeezed her thighs against his hand, pressing his knuckles into his own heated flesh.

She leaned forward, her hands resting on his shoulders. Her breasts fell enticingly close to his mouth but just out of reach. He wanted to touch her, take both of her breasts in his hands. Bury his face between them, but one hand was trapped by their bodies.

He eased one finger into the slickness of her. Felt the jolt of her moan in his balls.

“Touch your breasts,” he said between jagged breaths.

She lifted her hands, circled the buds of her nipples with her palms. Closed her fingers around the firm flesh and squeezed them until they pointed right to his mouth.

Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes glazed with desire.

He grasped her hip with one hand as he worked his finger up and down the cleft between her thighs.

The sunlight glinted off her hair. He thrust against her through their clothes, past his own hand. The movement urgent. Her hands moved down her abdomen, clasped his wrist, and she rode his arm.

Fire ignited in his groin.

She lifted away from him, just enough for him to yank down her bikinis, giving his hand more room and exposing a triangle of dark hair. He plunged a finger into her and she shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“No. I want you out of your clothes.” She eased his hand from her swimsuit, pushed back on her knees, and grabbed the waistband of his shorts.

He raised his hips. She lifted the shorts over his erection and tugged them down his thighs. Stopped long enough to close her fingers around his cock, then pulled on his shorts. The fabric was wet and it rolled up around his thighs. She laughed and started working them down his legs, until they were a tight roll at his ankles.

“I hope you won't have to get into those in a hurry.” Her bikini bottoms slid effortlessly down her legs to the blanket.

He pulled her down then and rolled them over so that he was on top. He lifted her knees, pushed them apart, and dove between them, licking and circling and sucking until her body jerked frantically beneath his mouth.

He crawled up the length of her, patted the blanket until he found a condom. A second later he lowered his body onto hers. “Am I too heavy?”

She shook her head and wrapped her legs around his thighs.

He shifted to one elbow, grabbed her thigh, and lifted her leg until it was around his waist. He pressed against her, until just the tip of his erection was embedded inside her. Slowly, he pushed farther in, opening her with his fingers and watching her eyes. He shifted his position so he could get deeper, grazing her pelvis with each thrust.

He began to push rhythmically into her, while her nails scored his back. She screamed when she came. The sound echoed through the hills as her climax pulsed around him.

He followed a second later, pumping into her as if he was giving her his very life. Then he collapsed to the side, holding on to her hip so that they were still connected.

 

Andy peeked at Dillon through half-closed lids. His eyes were closed. He looked asleep, but she knew he wasn't, because he was playing with the end of her braid.

The hills were alive with the sound of her orgasm, but Dillon hadn't made any noise at all. Just cut back each breath as he pumped into her. He'd done that the night in the shower. She'd thought it was because he didn't want them to get caught. But maybe he just didn't want to give too much of himself away. Which was sad. He had so much to give.

She wouldn't think about what that might mean. It was enough to just lie there, sandwiched between the hard rock and Dillon's hard body. It was everything that her fantasy had promised—and more.

He'd set off a desire in her that she didn't think could ever be sated. It was frightening, as well as exhilarating. Who needed an eternal orgasm when she had this.

Which was not a good way to think. It would end and she'd go on to the next movie, and he would go on to the next whatever. No sense in getting attached. Someone would be yelling, “Cut!” soon enough.

T
hey lay stretched out on the blanket, Andy curled into Dillon's side, his thigh draped over her hip. He wound a strand of her hair around his finger, unwound it, curled it up again. She ran the tips of her fingers over his skin, making him shiver.

But when her fingers traveled down his back and touched the rough texture of his scar, she felt him tense.

“Where did you get this?” she asked lazily.

He didn't answer. She played along the ridge of roughened flesh until he finally mumbled into her mouth, “Fell off my bike.” He kissed her, kissed her jaw, then the soft skin beneath her chin.

You didn't get that riding a bike,
she thought, though why she was thinking about bikes when his lips were doing what they were doing was beyond her. “I have one, too.”

He stopped kissing her. “What?”

“A scar.” She took his hand and ran it along the crease in her thigh, where a sliver of glass had slipped beneath her harness as she flew through a plate-glass window. It had barely missed an artery. “Fell out of my Barbie mobile.”

She felt his breath on her chest and wondered if that was a laugh. He didn't laugh much. Well, she didn't either. Not lately.

“This was a good idea,” he said, his words muffled by the breast he was teasing.

“Comparing scars?”

He looked up at her. “Coming to the lake for a picnic.” He sat up. “Shit. You must be starving. I forgot about lunch. I made sandwiches.”

She
was
starving. For him. For love. For walking off into the sunset and living happily ever after. “A sandwich would be nice.”

He reached over her and snagged the handle of the lunch bag. Unzipped it and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap. He dropped it on her stomach. Reached in again and grabbed another for himself.

Next came two apples and a bunch of bananas, then two bottles of beer. He twisted off the top of one and handed it to her.

“Deluxe,” she said and sat up cross-legged on the blanket.

He opened the second beer. “It's okay?”

“Good,” she said around a mouthful of turkey, cheese, and lettuce. “And very thoughtful.”

Dillon shrugged.

Not comfortable with compliments,
she thought.

He took a bite of his own sandwich, followed it with a swig of beer. They ate without speaking for a few minutes.

This would be a good time to tell him the truth, thought Andy. No bad guy could make love like that. And he certainly wouldn't make her sandwiches. She had to take the chance. She wasn't any nearer to finding Mac than she had been the day she arrived at Terra Bliss. Maybe he could help her. “Dillon.”

“Ariadne,” he said at the same time. “Sorry.”

“You go first,” Andy said quickly.

“You're really athletic.”

Not that line of questioning again. Not now
. She sighed. “Like I said—”

“You have to be in your business.”

Preemptive strike time. “So are you.”

He glanced down at the scar on his knee. “Used to be at any rate.”

Andy had to stifle a sigh of relief. She'd sidetracked him.

“Find yourself having to break into many buildings?”

Jesus, the man was tenacious. Overdeveloped curiosity? Or was there another reason? The sandwich was suddenly very hard to swallow.
Please don't let him be pumping me for information. Please don't let him be one of the bad guys.
If there were even bad guys and this wasn't some fabrication by her overimaginative family.

“Not often, but it happens.”

“Hmmm. What did you expect to find?”

“I told you. I want a story.”

“The kind of story you couldn't write by just asking questions.”

“Right.”

“And did you find anything?”

She widened her eyes at him. “I'm a reporter. I'll never tell.” She saw his eyes harden. “Well, if you must know. No, I didn't find anything.”

He took another drink of beer. “What did you expect to find?”

“Jeez, Dillon. I don't know. Dirt. Gossip. Something that would help—” She shut her mouth.
Don't get exasperated.
She'd almost slipped up. She crushed the plastic wrap into a ball and tossed it into the lunch bag. He'd brought her here to pump her for information. She should have guessed.

“We'd better get back.” She started to stand up.

He pulled her back down. “Would help what?”

He hadn't let go of her arm. She tried to pull away, but his fingers were like a vise, not tight, just immovable. Her adrenaline kicked in, because she was suddenly afraid.

He was strong. If she told him the truth, he might inform on her. Hell, he might inform on her anyway. If he was one of them, he might even do something terrible to her. Like make her disappear like Mac.

She studied his face while he studied her. Two immovable forces. Which was the stronger? Could she take him if he tried to kill her?

Kill her? She was getting as bad as her whacky family. He was her slave. A paid boy toy.

Yeah and look what happened to O. J. when the pool boy testified.
But O.J. got off. She could end up at the bottom of this beautiful lake. Maybe she should call a halt to this fling now. Before it went any farther.

 

Dillon watched Ariadne's face shut down. Did she know that her expressions changed with every feeling? It must be difficult being an investigative reporter if she couldn't mask what she was thinking. And he knew what she was thinking. She wanted him, but she didn't want to talk about her work.

He needed to know if she was being straight with him. If she was basing her story on the Southwaite woman, she might stumble onto the murder conspiracy—and he was pretty sure there was one—and she could be in danger.

And her questions about the Houston woman. Was she trying to make some connection between them or was she just poking around to see if anything came to light?

“Ariadne.”

She jumped. “What?”

She looked so apprehensive that Dillon could almost believe she was afraid of him. How could she change so quickly from lover to this wary stranger. Did she have something to hide?

And it hit Dillon that he was sick of mistrusting people. Maybe that was why he'd succumbed to Isabelle's seduction. He wanted to believe that somebody loved him, for himself. And that had gotten him into a lot of trouble. His brother's sporting goods store was looking better and better.

But first he had to finish this assignment, even if he had to hurt Ariadne to do it.

“I guess we'd better be getting back,” she said, so sadly that he looked up.

The apples he'd packed were lying on the blanket in front of her. She was holding a banana in her hand, her fingers curled lightly around it.

He felt the immediate response in his groin. “We haven't finished lunch.”

She smiled, but there was hurt in her eyes. Then she saw him looking at the banana, and the smile changed. “Do you know what the retreat uses these for?”

“I've heard. Don't worry. These are virgin bananas.”

Her smile was genuine now, and Dillon couldn't believe the way it made him feel.

“Shall we initiate it into the ways of the world?”

He watched, mesmerized, as she slid her hand down the curving fruit. Turned it in her palm and slowly pulled back the peel. She put it to her lips, and Dillon saw a pink flash of tongue before she sucked in the tip.

There was no hiding his reaction to that deliberately seductive movement. They were both still naked, and his erection lengthened and hardened as she pulled the banana out of her mouth.

She was playing with him. Whether to distract him or because she couldn't get enough of him, he wasn't sure. And at the moment he didn't care.

He moved toward her. She tossed the banana away and they tumbled back onto the blanket. He gazed down at her. Her eyes were smoky with desire, and for the moment nothing mattered in the world but her. Long tresses of dark auburn hair spilled across the blanket, creating a flaming aureole around her face. She was a sea creature, a mermaid, a silkie, mysterious and seductive. And he wanted her.

He slid down her body leaving a wet trail with his tongue. He wanted to taste her, now, before he had to return to rational thought. She might be a reporter; she might be something else altogether. But whatever she was, he wanted her.

He lifted her knees, pushed her ankles apart, opening her thighs. He looked his fill before he touched, before he tasted, before he satisfied them both.

He lowered his head, licked at the crease between her legs, parting the folds of her already wet body with his tongue. Her hips lifted into his exploration. She was ready, swollen and musky. He sucked her and she gasped, speared her fingers through his hair. He circled his tongue around her, sucked again, felt her whole body grow tense.

“Too soon,” she rasped. She pushed his head away.

He rolled to his back. There was something hard under his shoulder. He shifted to the side and one of the apples rolled away.

She laughed. A throaty sound that drew him inexorably to her. She traced her fingers lightly down his chest. He broke out in gooseflesh.

“Cold?” she whispered, as her fingers tickled his chest, his nipples, his abdomen.

He shook his head. It was all he could manage. She leaned over and kissed his navel, followed the kiss with a thrust of her tongue.

He lifted his pelvis, needing the touch of her on his dick, but she curved away with a smile. “Not yet.” Her fingers tickled his sides, his butt, his thighs. Her hair spread across his stomach, so the flick of her tongue along the slit of his cock came without warning. He nearly bucked her off.

“Hmmm,” she murmured and swiped at him again.

If she kept that up, he'd come before she got her mouth fully around him. She brushed a length of hair out of her face and glanced up at him. She licked her lips, slowly like a cat. Her lips parted, and she sucked the head of his penis into her mouth. He lay mesmerized by the movements of her head as her tongue caressed him and her lips created an almost unbearable suction around him. He let his knees rotate outward, giving her more space.

She pulled off him. He barely had time to feel disappointment, before her tongue rasped over his balls. He reared up, the sensitivity there almost painful. She pushed his knees farther apart until he was spread-eagle below her. She nibbled his scrotum, then lapped up the ridge of his erection, while her fingers played with his balls.

He bit his bottom lip and let her have her way until he knew he would come if she didn't stop. He pushed her away. She sat back on her knees.

“Come here,” he said hoarsely. “I need to be inside you now. I can't wait.” He stretched out his hand.

She shook her head. “We need to slow down. Make it last.” She cupped her hand over her crotch and squeezed her thighs together as if she could curb her excitement.

He gritted his teeth and looked out to the trees, trying to slow his own reaction.

“Okay, time's up.” She crawled toward him. Lay down between his legs. The blanket was warm beneath him, heated by the sun. Ariadne lay warm on top of him, heated by their desire.

She lifted her butt, while he opened the second condom and fitted himself to her. He surged upward, and she sank down onto him. They both groaned, but neither moved, held for the moment as if in eternity. Then he began to thrust inside her.

It wasn't slow. It was fast, almost brutal. He tried to slow the pace, but she squeezed her thighs together, tightening her hold on his dick.

“Oh, God,” he moaned and raced to the finish, holding on to her sweet ass as she matched his thrusts with her own. She shattered first, and he stilled inside her, reveling in the constriction of her muscles around him. When they began to subside, he thrust again and kept thrusting until she clenched again. This time when she came, he followed her over.

They lay there for a long time, Ariadne asleep, her head lying on his shoulder. His cheek resting on her hair. He thought he could stay there forever, but the sun was setting behind the mountains, and Ariadne shivered against him.

He yanked at the corner of the blanket and wrapped it over her as far as it would reach. He glanced at his watch, which he still seemed to be wearing.

It was almost time to get back, and there was still something he needed to do. He gently eased Ariadne aside, covered her more completely with the blanket, and pulled on his damp shorts. Then he reached into the thermal bag, unzipped an inner compartment, and pulled out his cell phone.

They were supposed to have set up a relay by now. Hopefully he'd be able to get a message through. Keeping the phone hidden in his palm, he glanced over at Ariadne, then walked into the trees.