Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? (26 page)

Dillon shrugged. “Talbot said you'd implicated me.”

“Implicated? You're kidding. I only said…” What had she said? Had it sounded like an accusation? It had. She suddenly felt light-headed, and she had to fight not to sway on her feet. “I just…I told him where everyone was when the lights came on. And when did you talk to Talbot?”

Dillon's arm tightened around her. “My interview was after yours.”

“Oh.” She'd thought she'd caught him out, but he was fast.

“Come on. I'll walk you to your cabin.”

“No. I'll be fine. I just need to go to bed.”

“I'm walking you.” He took her elbow and she didn't resist. She wanted to be with him. But the more she thought of him, the stronger Katherine's warning became. And she was getting a little fed up. And besides, knowing it would probably be their last night together, she might cry and make a fool of herself.

They walked in silence up the hill through the woods. When they arrived at Andy's cabin, she stopped at the bottom of the steps. “Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow.”

Dillon walked past her, opened the door, and stepped inside ahead of her.

“Hey,” she said, hurrying after him.

By the time she got inside, he'd turned on the light and was waiting for her, feet spread, arms crossed over his chest. “Would you like to tell me what's going on?”

“Jeez, Dillon. Someone was murdered.”

“What happened to heart attack?”

“Don't give me that crap. You and Grayson Talbot are awfully schmoozy. I know you work for him. And that you're here undercover.”

Dillon shook his head and laughed. “You've been playing in too many espionage movies.”

I know,
thought Andy.
And I also know you've had that answer prepared for a while. Just in case I caught on.

Maybe Katherine had caught on, too, and was merely warning her that Dillon wasn't who he seemed to be. That was one explanation she hadn't thought of. Maybe she was making something sinister out of simple concern.

“Well, thanks,” she said, standing in the middle of the room, waiting for him to get the idea.

“I'm staying.”

“Look, I need some time.”

“Fine. Take it. I'll sleep on the couch.”

 

This wasn't going to work, thought Andy as she sat slumped on the side of her bed, dressed in her oversized
Stuntwomen Can Make You Fly
T-shirt that she slept in when she was alone. Which seemed to be the case tonight. Dillon had appropriated a pillow and blanket and was probably already asleep on the couch. If she'd planned to do any thinking tonight, she was doomed. Just knowing he was in the living room set her blood racing.

But if she went out there, she would end up telling him what she was planning.

This ambivalence was so unlike her. Of course, this was the first time she'd be working solo. She was good at what she did, very good, but she worked with a team. The director, the fx people, the stunt coordinator, wardrobe.

Maybe they should come up with a plan together. That made a lot more sense. Then Dillon and Talbot and whoever else was working on this could be her backup. But the little she knew of them said they'd yank her out of here instead.

Maybe she'd tell them in the morning. And since there was nothing any of them could do tonight, she might as well have some fun while she could. She jumped off the bed, but when she touched the knob, it came again.
Don't trust him.

“Oh, shut up,” she said and opened the door.

The light from the moon filtered through the window and cast the living room into shadows tinged with silver. Dillon's clothes lay in a pile on the floor by the couch. He was breathing deeply and evenly.

Not kept awake by unrequited lust,
she thought, perturbed at herself for not having such sangfroid. She tiptoed over to the couch. He lay on his back, his shoulders and arms outside the blanket. The planes of his face were softened in the moonlight. He looked peaceful. He looked hot. And in a second, he was going to look awake.

She leaned over and skimmed a finger lightly over his collarbone. “Dillon? Are you—”

Dillon heaved out of bed. She felt fire in her wrist as he bent it into her arm. Before she could even take a breath to cry out, she was on the floor on her stomach, Dillon's body pressing her into the floor, his fingers crushing her neck.

“Dillon,” she rasped as she fought to pull his fingers away. “It's me.”

The fingers were gone. She gasped for breath, only dimly aware that Dillon was no longer smothering her. She blinked tears away and saw him straddling her, his face, so peaceful just a few seconds ago, a mask of horror. His chest heaved with hard, adrenaline-pumped breathing.

He ran his hands through his hair. “Jesus. You shouldn't sneak up on people.” His voice shook with something. Rage? Fear? “I could have killed you.”

“Well,” she said, her voice shaking only a little bit. “I guess we know what your relationship to Talbot is, don't we?”

He hauled her off the floor, sat down on the couch, and pulled her into his lap. His whole body vibrated as he hugged her close, rubbed his cheek in her hair, and rocked her like a child, soothing them both.

She gave in to the rhythm of his caress, content to be held and rocked, to feel her bare crotch against his thighs—to just be.

“That was too close for comfort,” he murmured.

“Hmmm, is this better?” She nestled into him and felt him stir against her butt. “Or this?” She wiggled against him. He groaned, shifted her so that his growing erection pushed against her thigh.

He pulled the bottom of her T-shirt away, and his hand slid up her thigh, rested there as he stopped rocking her. He pressed his thigh against her. She was ready for him, and all that lovely wetness was being wasted on his leg.

She took his hand and moved it between her legs. Gasped as he pushed her legs open and closed his fingers around her heat. She rubbed the outside of her thigh against his erection. His finger was teasing her. It felt great, but she really wanted him inside her, every long, thick, pulsing inch of him.

And she wanted to see. She lifted away and leaned over to turn on the end table lamp. Then came back, pushed her hair out of her face, and threw one leg over his. She straddled him with her knees, moved close enough so that she could rub her slickness against his cock.

His head fell back, and he grabbed her hips, lifting her upward as he slid down her, up again, over and over, the tip of his cock catching on her entrance with each pass. Her hands gripped his shoulders, and she watched their bodies sliding against each other. The sight threatened to send her off, but she eased back, wanting to make it last.

Dillon looked at her then, and what she saw on his face scared her almost as much as his hand around her throat a few minutes ago. Naked desire—and surrender.

A sense of power welled up inside her, along with a sweeping tenderness that made her want to take care of him in every possible way.

They were both in big trouble here. Did Dillon know what he was showing her? God, please don't let her be as easily readable.

His hands wrapped around her butt, separated the cheeks so his fingers could explore her from behind, while they pushed each other to the outer edge. She used her palm to press his penis more tightly to her stomach. The rhythm increased, became disjointed, frenzied.

When she thought neither of them could last much longer, she took his penis in her hand and guided it to where it belonged. Then slowly she settled down on him, drawing out the sensation until Dillon shook beneath her. She released her weight, and he rammed into her. The base of his penis appeared and disappeared like a piston, the action making waves of liquid sound.

“I want to suck you and fuck you at the same time,” he said.

“If you can figure out a way, I'll play,” she answered breathlessly. She slipped her hand off his shoulder, reached between them until her finger was wet with them. Then she brought it to his mouth, and he sucked her finger in, swirled his tongue around it. His hips ground into her, circling and thrusting, while he sucked her one finger and she rubbed his cheek with the others.

The pads rasped against the late-night stubble on his chin. She wanted to watch him shave, to cook breakfast for him, to have his—Then suddenly she was flying, without a harness, without a net, only air and moon and stars and Dillon.

She gradually floated back to earth, her heart pounding. And she thought lazily that she had to give up these movie analogies. Her finger was still in Dillon's mouth. She was still on her knees, which were beginning to feel the strain.

“Honey, what do you say to finishing the rest of the night in your bed?”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” But she couldn't figure out how to change positions without losing Dillon. So she didn't move.

He shifted forward to the edge of the couch, then stopped. “Normally, I could do this, but I don't think my knee is up to your weight. Sorry.”

She slid off him. “Come on, baby, I'll make it better.”

She saw his knee give when he stood up. He recovered quickly and she pretended not to notice. She kept forgetting about his injuries. Now they came back to her. She was in top form. He wasn't. Any thoughts she'd had about letting him in on her plan evaporated.

She would have to go it alone.

T
his time Andy heard him leave. She waited until the door shut then sat up in bed. Four
A.M
., like clockwork. She'd have to do something about fixing Dillon's tendency to disappear before daybreak. It was depressing.
No,
she warned herself,
don't think that word or that other phrase, no positive reinforcement for the”d” word. Just get to meditation and try to tip Katherine's hand, while Talbot and the police are still on site.

She punched her pillow, then rolled into the warm spot left by Dillon's body. How would it be to wake up together one morning? She'd never know. This excursion into goddess-dom was about to come to a screeching halt one way or the other. She closed her eyes and slept dreamlessly until five-thirty. Then fortified with coffee, she marched down the path to the Spa and her final session with Katherine Dane.

She was one of the first ones to arrive. She pulled out her mat, did some stretching exercises and was sitting cross-legged when Katherine arrived. She didn't acknowledge Andy but went straight to the front of the class and began the session.

“Take a cleansing breath. Hold it. And exhale slowly. Let your tension, your anxiety float away until your body is relaxed and your mind is empty and receptive.”

Andy heard the slow intakes of breath around her. She took a breath, held it, and began singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb” in her head, blocking out Katherine's voice. She kept at it, until she grew bored, then replayed some of the juicier moments of her night with Dillon. There was nothing boring about that, but it was turning her on, which went a long way to drowning Katherine's constant monotone, but did nothing for her own alertness of mind.

She started on her multiplication tables as Katherine's voice continued to drone on and on. Braced herself as Katherine rose from her mat and came toward her. Closed her eyes and waited until she felt Katherine stop beside her.

“Very good,” Katherine said soothingly. “You're very relaxed. Very receptive, aren't you, Ariadne?”

Jeez, this was the first time Katherine had asked her a question. Was she supposed to answer?
Please don't let me screw this up now,
she thought, then took a chance and slowly nodded her head once.

“Good.”

Andy had to consciously break her attention away from that beguiling voice. It was crucial to stay alert, to prevent herself from being influenced by what she was hearing. She moved on to “Born in the U.S.A.” Katherine moved away and Andy felt a stab of disappointment. That was it? What about being depres—she caught herself.
Don't even think that word.

She held still, trying to watch Katherine out of one eye, while keeping herself poised for action, or reaction.

Then Katherine was back. This time she knelt down. “I'm so sorry,” she said. And it was everything Andy could do not to jerk away from her. Her voice was a mere whisper, but horrible, like something out of
Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte.
Andy had to strain to catch the words, while trying not to succumb to them. “He's waiting for you at the falls.”

Born in the U.S.A.

“Go to the top of the falls. Free yourself. Do not delay. The very edge. And you will find peace.”

And while Andy was still reeling from her instructions, Katherine moved away.

So they knew about the lake. Knew Dillon had gone there with her. Was he in danger? Why did Katherine want to get rid of her? She had no money to speak of. Because they knew she was here looking for Mac?

A shudder of pure terror ran through her. Had they killed Mac?

Andy wanted to run from the room, find Grayson Talbot, and tell him that Katherine was giving suicidal posthypnotic suggestions in meditation class. But it was too late for that now, and besides, what would she tell him? That Katherine had told her to go to the falls? That alone wouldn't get the woman twenty to life.

It looked as if Andy would be going to the falls.

It seemed forever until Katherine returned to her mat, waited for the prescribed minute and a half, then said, “Use today to reach your peak. Go now and don't be afraid to embrace your destiny.”

She wanted Andy to go to the falls now. Andy blinked the thought away.
You are not following her instructions. You're going in your right mind to see what she has planned and why.

Women began returning their mats. Andy took her time coming round, getting up. Might as well play it for all she could. She just hoped Katherine hadn't managed to slip any orders past her without her realizing it.

She could feel Katherine watching her as she slowly returned her mat, then walked out the door.

She was taking a chance, but she thought that the “go now” Katherine had said was meant for her. So instead of joining the other women headed for the dining hall and breakfast, Andy veered off toward the cabins and the path to the wall.

 

Dillon kept one eye on the window as he carried plates and silverware from the kitchen to the buffet line. He'd been doing it for the last few days, just to catch his first glimpse of Andy coming out of the Spa after her meditation session. Which was why he was watching when the Spa door opened, and he recognized Andy's auburn ponytail at the back of the group.

His heart jacked up a notch just knowing she was coming closer. And just as quickly it stopped, when he saw that instead of coming to the Pantheon, she struck off toward her cabin.

Had she forgotten something? Was she meeting the three Graces?

He swept a look around the dining room. Loubelle, Evelyn, and Jeannie were already in the buffet line. So where was Andy going?

Ordinarily, he would just be patient and wait for her to show up. But too much shit was going down. Grayson pushing for an arrest. Katherine Dane warning him about Andy's so-called depression.

Andy
was
acting strange. Or was she? Had he noticed something that wasn't there, because of Dane's suggestion? He was trained to cull truth from lies. But he was ambivalent about this.

He cared too much about Andy to let something happen to her. He didn't really think she suffered from depression or instability of any kind, but maybe Dane had picked up on something. Or—Maybe she was putting the idea in Andy's mind. And if that were true, Andy might be headed for the same fate as Imogene Southwaite.

He turned quickly to Rusty, who was carrying a basket of toast to the buffet table.

“Cover for me,” he said and strode quickly across the room to the kitchen and the back door.

He ran outside just in time to see a flash of auburn hair moving through the trees. He looked around to see if Talbot and the police had arrived, but the driveway was empty except for the yard crew's two trucks. He walked briskly to the edge of the woods, then broke into a run.

He stopped at Andy's cabin, knocked, called her name, then went inside. It was empty. Her backpack was gone, but she hadn't been carrying it when she came out of the Spa that morning. He opened the closet door. Her clothes were gone.

Fear gripped him. He made a quick search. Found her packed suitcase and backpack under the bed. So she was planning to leave. Or someone was coming later to remove the evidence of her existence.

He rushed back outside. Looked in all directions, then started uphill toward the perimeter wall. It was the only place that he could think of that she might go. But why now?

 

Andy knew she was being watched, but though she searched the trees, she couldn't see a soul. She felt a little unsteady on her feet, so she crawled, rather than walked, up the fallen tree. She swung down on the other side, but the sense of being watched didn't go away.

And yet she felt utterly alone. Too bad she hadn't seen Dillon or Talbot on her way here, not that she could have figured out how to alert them without giving herself away.

She kept to the path. Katherine had said the falls, so she didn't stop at the lake or the boulder where she and Dillon had made outrageous love. She kept going. No longer looking left or right, just climbed and listened.

It was cooler near the top of the falls. The air was filled with mist, and within a few minutes she was shivering with the damp cold. She climbed up the last few boulders and stepped out onto the flat ledge of the falls. The rock was slick, and water rushed over the edge in a churning cloud of mist and foam.

So now what? Was she supposed to wait? For whom or what? Or was she supposed to jump. She peered over the edge and saw the water cascade into the lake fifty feet below.

Without warning she felt someone come up behind her. Now she knew. They were going to push her in. Or try at any rate. Katherine? She fought the urge to turn around and see who it was.

Come on, bitch. Just a little closer.
Then she could take her down without risking one of them going over the falls. She breathed out, planted her feet, relaxed her knees, waiting.

“Andy! Watch out!” The warning echoed through the crash of the water, bounced off the hills. She looked down and saw Dillon far below her, across the lake, madly waving his arms. Her concentration wavered for a mere second. But long enough for her assailant to shift position, move somewhere behind her. Damn Dillon. He'd scared her away, and this might be their only chance. She whirled around—straight into the hands that were reaching for her throat.

Reflexively, she stepped back. Her foot slid on the wet rock. Her balance shifted, and for a moment she seemed to hover in the air. Had just enough wits to use her other foot to push away from the rock. Then her body fell backward into space.

 

Dillon stood frozen, his hands still cupped to his mouth from his warning, refusing to believe what he was seeing. Andy falling backward off the falls. A surreal slow motion that was at once beautiful and horrifying. She seemed to arc in the air; then she flipped over and fell headfirst toward the lake.

“No!” he cried.

He vaulted to the edge of the boulder. Searched the far reaches of the lake where the falls fell in an opaque curtain of mist, hoping against hope that he wouldn't find her body broken on the jagged outcroppings of rock that lay at the base of the falls.

“Andy,” he called. “Andy!”

Then he saw a flash of white rising out of the water, only to disappear again. It had to be her shirt. He kicked off his shoes and dove in.

He came up for air in the middle of the lake, his lungs in spasm, his muscles numb. Mind over body. He'd done it before; he would do it now. He swam like he'd never swum before, toward the place where he'd seen her go under. He kept his face above the water, searching for any sign of her. Found nothing. He stopped, tread water while he looked frantically around. Called her name again, not caring if it drew her attacker's attention. Heard no responding call. Saw no sign of Andy. Dove down, searching underwater until his burning lungs forced him back to the surface. He panted, blew out air while he scanned the lake. Still nothing. Gulped in air and dove again.

 

Andy dragged herself out of the water and collapsed on the boulder, embracing its hard surface with the same gratitude that she'd felt making love to Dillon on it just a couple of days ago. It had been her only thought when she hit the water and realized she was still alive. Get to Dillon. But where was he? She was sure he'd been standing here when he yelled to her. But he wasn't here now.

She pushed herself up to one elbow, every muscle screaming at the movement. Her shirtsleeve had ripped open and the skin beneath was abraded and raw. Her face burned, and her body felt like it had been pummeled with a hammer.

“Dillon?” It came out in a whisper. She cleared her throat as her whole body began to shiver uncontrollably. “Dillon?”

She tried to stand, only to fall back hard on her butt. Pain shot up her tailbone. She shifted to one hip and saw two big sneakers a foot away. And slowly the meaning of those empty shoes penetrated her brain. He was in the water, looking for her.

She crawled up to her hands and knees. Looked out across the lake. Thought she saw someone near the middle. She opened her mouth to call to him, but he dove down just as a shot split the air, and a spray of water erupted where he'd been a moment before.

They were shooting at him. And he'd be a sitting target when he came up for air again.

She struggled to her feet, pressed herself back against the fallen rocks behind the boulder. The shot could have come from any direction. Her only chance was to get to Dillon before they killed him.

And the only way to do that was to go back in the water. She didn't want to, but she didn't have a choice. She pulled off her wet socks; she'd already kicked off her shoes when she first came up for air. Then she eased herself off the side of the rock. Nearly cried out when the cold shot through her body. Forced herself to take a breath, then slipped beneath the surface.

She swam in an arc, staying close to the edges of the lake, so she had a chance of taking in air without being seen. Twice, she went down, twice she came up for air. She'd reached the opposite side of the lake without finding him. She dove again and almost lost it, when she came face-to-face with another pair of eyes. Dillon's.