Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? (23 page)

“Dumb luck.”

“Maybe, but luck counts.” He was silent for a moment. And the two men looked straight ahead, out over the dark lawn, not needing to see each other to feel the camaraderie and trust between them. “Don't let what happened with Isabelle sour your chance of a healthy relationship.”

Dillon snorted. “Great advice. I don't see a wife hanging on your arm.”

A slow grin spread over Talbot's mouth. “Wife, huh?”

“You know what I mean. What did you find out about her?”

“That she's not a librarian.”

“Hardly.”

“That's what it said on her application to Terra Bliss. I don't know why she thought she needed three weeks at this place. If you ask me, if she unleashed any more sexual clout, we'd all be on our knees.”

Dillon cut him a look.

Talbot held up his hands. “Not me. But she's not a reporter, either. You'll never guess what she really is.”

“A stuntwoman.”

Talbot's face fell. “If you already knew that, why have I had four people and computers on it for two days?”

“I just found out. Yesterday. She came here—in disguise.” He couldn't completely keep a reminiscent smile off his face. “Her aunt was here at the last session and has disappeared.” He filled Talbot in on everything Andy had told him.

“Think her disappearance is connected to the Southwaite death?”

“It could be. It could be totally unrelated.”

“But this death is number three anomaly. Too many coincidences.”

“I don't think Demetri died of a heart attack. Somebody killed him to keep him silent. He broke rules right and left. He never got fired. That says to me that he was holding something over someone's head.”

“Fiona Bliss?”

“Bliss, her husband, or Katherine Dane, the business manager. He'd been bragging that he knew stuff, but wouldn't elaborate. I searched his possessions, came up with zip.”

Talbot rocked back on his heels, pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. “I suppose we'll have to stick with this investigation. But try to wrap this up as quickly as possible. The Southwaite family is breathing down our necks.”

“I will. But do me a favor.”

Talbot cocked his head.

“Take Andy—Ariadne—out of here. If they know she's here because of Miranda Houston, they might try to kill her, too.”

“You think there's a danger of them finding out?”

“They already have her under surveillance.”

Talbot whistled softly, but he had a gleam in his eye that Dillon didn't like. He was already shaking his head, when Talbot said, “Bait.”

“No.” Dillon rasped out the word. “I can't protect her and continue to investigate.”

“Of course you can.”

“If I fuck this up…”

“You won't. Give yourself a break, Dil. If you decide to leave after this is over, fine. Until then, get back on the damn horse.” And with that, he sauntered away.

Dillon stood watching until he climbed back into the black car and it drove out the gates of Terra Bliss.

The night air turned frigid, and he crossed his arms under the skimpy cloak and started up the hill. There was a serpent in this pseudo-paradise. He'd be damned if he let Ariadne become the next victim.

Her cabin light was still on, and as Dillon got closer, he could hear people talking. She wasn't alone. He felt inordinately disappointed. He was cold, and he wanted Andy to warm him. He wanted to ask her questions about tonight. He wanted to warn her to be careful, ask her to leave. But most of all, he wanted to make mindless, raging love to her.

To hell with girl talk. He stepped onto the porch and knocked. Andy answered. She'd changed to sweats. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. And she was frowning.

“Evelyn and Loubelle brought Jeannie over. She's really upset.”

I'll bet,
thought Dillon. Because if one of the Terra Bliss scions hadn't killed Demetri, his bet was on Jeannie Jenkins. “Is this girls only?”

“Well,” Andy began.

“No,” said Jeannie, her voice thick from a night of continuous crying. “Come tell us what they said to you.”

Andy shrugged and let him in.

Evelyn and Loubelle were sitting on the couch with Jeannie between them. Louis and Rusty sat on the floor. Dillon was surprised to see them. He hadn't heard their voices. They both nodded at Dillon. Dillon nodded back.

A box of crackers and a bowl of limp grapes were placed on the coffee table. Three bottles of wine were lined up next to them. One was already empty.

Drowning our sorrows,
thought Dillon as Andy wordlessly filled a plastic glass and handed it to him.

She sat in the club chair across from the couch. Dillon sat down on the arm. Just being this close to her made him feel warmer. He longed to touch her, to run his fingers through her hair, to make love to her until the image of Demetri floating in the water was banished from his mind, taking all the other deaths he'd witnessed—had caused—with it.

“Was it really a heart attack?” asked Jeannie.

“That's what they're saying,” said Dillon.

“But you were in there for so long. You must know something more.” Jeannie's expression was so pitiful that Dillon felt bad about having to lie—but not bad enough.

Jeannie sniffed. “They think I was responsible.”

“No, no,” everyone expostulated. Loubelle patted her hand. Louis shook his head. Evelyn pursed her lips at Dillon, then said, “Of course not. You can't give someone a heart attack.”

Not unless you have the right drugs
, thought Dillon and wondered if Jeannie had a heart condition. It wasn't clear that Demetri's death had anything to do with Southwaite's death or Houston's disappearance. But it was damn suspicious. Someone might take advantage of those incidences to do Demetri in and make it look like it was related. It could be anybody. Jeannie. Rusty? Hell. JoJo had been mad enough to commit murder when they refused to fire Demetri. They all had motives.

But Demetri's death hadn't been an act of passion. It was cold, and it was premeditated. He glanced down at Andy. At least he could rule her out. He'd been following her all night. But he could tell from her expression that she wasn't so sure about him.

He dragged his attention from Andy's face and looked sympathetically at Jeannie. “You're not thinking clearly. You should get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”

“We all need some rest,” Evelyn said and pushed to her feet. Rusty and Louis stood. Rusty helped Loubelle up, then turned to Jeannie. “Come on, Jeannie. We'll see you home.”

“You can stay with me tonight,” said Evelyn and led the way outside.

“Smooth,” said Andy. She began to clear off the table. Dillon grabbed the empty bottles and followed her into the kitchen, where she was dropping everything into the garbage can. Dillon tossed the bottles after the grapes.

Andy leaned her back against the counter and watched him.

He smiled at her. She didn't smile back.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Maybe finding a dead body in the whirlpool?”

He stepped toward her. “I know. I'm sorry. What made you look in the Spa?”

“I saw the light and—” She broke off. “And what were you doing there, standing in the dark? And who was that man in the suit you were talking to? Just what and who are you, Dillon Cross?”

So much for questioning her. He couldn't get a word in edgewise. Maybe they should forget about the investigation until later. He slipped his arms around her and pulled her away from the counter.

She gave him a look. “Dillon…”

“Hmmm,” he said, breathing in her hair.

“I know what you're doing.”

“Hmmm.” He found the bottom of her sweatshirt, dipped his fingers beneath it. Pulled her close, while his hands explored her back. She wasn't wearing a bra.

“You're trying to distract me.”

He rubbed against her. “Is it working?”

“Hmmm.” She unfastened the pin that held his cloak together. It fell to the floor. She pressed both palms to his chest, and he felt suddenly warm. Warm. Hell. He was getting hotter by the second.

He pulled off her sweatshirt, found the elastic of her sweatpants, and pushed his hands beneath it. Spread his fingers across her firm butt. Slid lower. She wasn't wearing underwear. His dick swelled against her stomach.

“Hold that thought.” He pulled his hands out of her pants, lifted his kilt, and pulled off his jockstrap, freeing his erection. He sighed and tossed the jockstrap across the room.

A tremor passed through her.

“Laugh. Go ahead.” He thrust his hands back into her sweats.

She rubbed against him. “After we've had our way with each other…” Her hands moved from his chest to his ribs. He flinched as she touched the ticklish part of him. “After the torture and the tease…” Her hands slid between their bodies, over the rough chest hair, tweaked his nipples. “After all that…” Her hands moved to his kilt. Found the buttons and undid them. She tossed his kilt across the room to join the jockstrap. And he was standing butt naked in front of the cabin window.

He tried to shift them out of the light, but she grabbed his butt and pulled him back. “After that…” She started to pull him to the floor.

“Wait,” he said. He grasped her wrists and steered her across the floor.

“Where are we going?”

“Bedroom. Bed. Mattress. White sheets. Pillows.”

“Missionary position?”

“Whatever works.” He kicked the bedroom door open and tossed her onto the bed. She stretched out her arms and he fell into her.

“After that,” said Andy, cupping his butt, “you're going to tell me exactly what happened tonight in the whirlpool.”

W
ell, this was novel, thought Andy as she stretched along Dillon's body between the covers, flesh to flesh, front to front.

She sighed contentedly. They'd just had missionary sex and it was incredible. Who knew that you didn't have to swing from the chandeliers to make sex everything that it should be and more.

She had to admit this was really good. No pebbles sticking in your butt. No slippery shower tiles to balance on. No fighting off smothering pillows to get to the yummy parts of each other. Beds were good.

She snuggled closer and Dillon draped a thigh over hers. She felt his cock begin to stir against her and a thrill shot through her. She knew she had important things to discuss, questions to ask. But her mouth didn't seem to work, except in a very nonverbal way that was displaying itself as she nibbled his shoulder.

You need to get a grip,
echoed a distant voice in her head.
I sure do,
she thought and stretched her hand down to find him with her fingers. And presto. Instant erection. The man had excellent responses and a quick rebound to match her own.

You have work to do,
the little voice reminded her. She knew it, and with another suspicious death…She sighed, pulled her hand away. “We need to—”

“I agree,” Dillon said and covered her mouth with his.

Okay, maybe later,
she thought as she gave in to his kiss. Gave in to him. Just reacted as he began to kiss, lick, and nip his way down her body.

The sheet inched away as he pushed up to his knees and licked between her legs.

“Hmmm,” she sighed and opened her knees for him. He turned his head, kissed the inside of her thigh. A shudder ran through her, and she considered jumping for joy, except that he'd moved to her other thigh and she didn't think she could move.

Her hips tipped up, inviting him in, but he seemed fascinated by the sensitive skin on the inside of her knee. She shifted her butt, he bit her thigh, and her breath whooshed out. He was totally silent. The air was still, except for the escalating panting that she knew was coming from her. “You're…oh…you're…”

“Driving you wild?” he finished and took another nip, this time closer to home. “and to think”—nip—“we have”—nip—“all night.”

“We do?”

“Yeah.” Nip…and bingo.

She cried out as that last kiss hit the mark. She rocked against him. His lips softened as he sucked her in. He released her, blowing air over her before his tongue lapped into her. Licked through her sensitive flesh and started over again.

She reached for his shoulders to pull him up to her. He pushed her hands away, pinned her wrists to the bed. Paused in his rhythmic assault to say, “I'm your slave, remember. Let me pleasure you.”

He released her wrists, stretched his arms up, and took her breasts in his hands. Rubbed his palm across the tightened nipples, so sensitive now that she could barely stand his touch. And all the time his mouth kept playing her, until she writhed against him, called out his name.

She coiled tighter and tighter, until she could wait no longer, and she leapt—through the flames—hovered in space. Dillon pushed himself up her body and thrust into her, and she soared, taking Dillon with her. At last she fell, fell to earth, like so many times, so many shoots before. Only this time she fell into Dillon Cross's arms, and she knew in that instant that she'd also fallen in love.

“No,” she said, every instinct fighting the knowledge.

Dillon lay heavily on top of her. He shifted his weight, pulled back to look at her.

“Andy, what is it? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

“Then what? No, what?”

“Nothing. It's nothing.” She pulled him back to her, let his body cover her like a heavy blanket. Shutting out the world, shutting out reality, but not able to shut out that treacherous last thought. She'd fallen in love with this man. After a few short days. And she couldn't because she couldn't trust him.
He's bad.
She shook her head again, this time as if knocking away a gnat. He wasn't bad. Why had she thought that?

“Okay, you're scaring me now. What's going on?” Dillon sat up. Beat on a pillow and pushed it against the headboard. Then he pulled her up to sit, cradled in his arms. “Open your eyes and tell me what's going on.”

Going on? She didn't know. Her body and heart were saying one thing, and her mind was telling her something else. She didn't know how he fit into these things, but he did, and she didn't think he was on the wrong side. Hell, she'd seen him talking to that suit.
But you can't be sure.
What was with this voice that kept invading her thought processes? It wasn't the one she was used to, and she certainly didn't intend to give it a home. It was annoying as hell.

Dillon stroked her shoulder, pulled the bedspread over them.

She snuggled into him. “Tell me about what happened. Who was that suit you were talking to? Tell me about yourself.”

“Now?” he asked, surprised. “Aren't we supposed to be experiencing postcoital contentment? I know I am.”

She was, too. But something wasn't letting her enjoy it. She'd been waffling like this for the last couple of days. And she didn't think it was a typical love-hate relationship. She knew what those were like. “I don't know. Something is bothering me.”

“About your aunt? We'll find her.”

“You're going to help me?”

“Yes. I told you.”

She shouldn't believe him. But he felt so right, so true. And God knew she'd had enough experience picking out fakes; the ones just using her for fun, for excitement, for getting themselves up another rung of the ladder. She didn't feel that way about Dillon.

He's using you.

She clapped her hands over her ears. She didn't like this naysayer in her head. It was so unlike her. She must be really stressed out over Aunt Mac's disappearance and Demetri's death.
Go find her. Don't trust him.

“I have to find my aunt.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “I know, honey. I told you we will.”

“But who is we? What do you really do? I need you to say it.”

 

Here he was in a beautiful woman's bed, having just had great sex, and she was pumping him for information. And God forgive him, Dillon wanted to tell her. But rules were rules.

And her need to know was making him uncomfortable. Curiosity? Desperation? He'd almost ruled her out as a plant. Talbot seemed to think she was okay. Besides, they couldn't be on to him. The situation had been set up very carefully.

He was overreacting again. Because of that damned last mission. Talbot was right. He needed to start living in the present. This was different. He felt different, and he was sure Andy did, too. She just hadn't realized it yet.

Or maybe she was playing him. He couldn't be sure. Maybe you never could be.

The two of them sat against the headboard, not talking, not looking at each other. Together, but not together at all. And it made him sad. Then he felt Andy grow heavy in his arms. She'd fallen asleep, and suddenly he felt much better. That showed a certain amount of trust, didn't it? To fall asleep? And she could trust him. Maybe he'd tell her so. Tomorrow.

But long before morning, Dillon eased out of bed. He'd slept some, but he couldn't rest. He should have gone to the dorm instead of coming to Andy's cabin. He'd probably missed out on a lot of speculation over Demetri's “heart attack,” and possibly some real tips.

He looked back at Andy, a dark form in a dark room. He should let her know that he was leaving, but she'd seemed so tired when she'd fallen asleep that he hated to disturb her. So he kissed her on the forehead and tiptoed out of the room.

The cabin was cold and he stopped to turn up the heat. She'd wake up to warmth. Even if it wasn't his warmth. That could come later, once this was over. He scooped up his kilt off the kitchen floor and stopped. Who was he kidding? When this was over, she would go back to the movies, and if he were lucky, he would be given a new assignment.

He threw the cloak around his shoulders and stepped outside. His breath formed a cloud in the darkness. Banishing the thought of Andy's warm, inviting body, he stole noiselessly into the night.

 

Andy rolled over and recoiled. Where she'd expected to find Dillon, she touched cold sheets instead. She sat up, looked around with bleary eyes.

“Dillon?”

No answer. She flopped back on the pillows. Great. He'd said they had all night. But obviously not. At this rate, they'd never even make it to a one-night stand. Of course, she wouldn't have to figure out a way to get rid of him in the morning, either. That was always a sticky business. No. It was better for them both not to have to face each other in the harsh light of day.

She pushed the covers away before she turned into Tallulah Bankhead in a depressing thirties movie. She pulled on her robe and went out to the living room. Definitely gone.

She made coffee, and while it dripped, she let questions, theories, fears roll around in her head. She needed to be doing something. Because suddenly it felt as though time was running out. Unfortunately, it was still only five o'clock. Everyone else would still be sleeping. Except maybe Dillon.

She took her coffee into the living room, paced while she wondered what he was up to. If he'd gone back to the dorm to sleep or if he was out looking for clues. Because even though he hadn't admitted it, she was pretty sure he was working for the suit.

Should she go look for him? And do what? Act like the needy creature she was beginning to feel like? She could grill him on his identity and what he was actually doing at Terra Bliss, but she'd been trying to do that for days, with no success. Every time she even got close to pinning him down, they ended up making love instead.

Whoa, girl. Sex. Pure and simple. Don't go making it complicated
. Of course, it was way too late to keep it simple. She had it bad. Like the flu. And she knew for a fact, she wasn't going to be able to shake it without real concentration. Damn, why did he have to be so amazingly desirable.

Enough of this; she'd go for a swim in the lake. Better than a cold shower for what ailed her. Then she remembered what Dillon had said about the guards watching her. Was it true? Or did he just want to keep her from going outside?

Two minutes later, she was dressed and creeping through the woods to the perimeter wall. She felt foolish, until she nearly fell over two guards who had stopped to light cigarettes. She shrunk back into the woods, waited for them to start off again. Then stepped back onto the path.

So it was true. But why? Or were they patrolling more seriously because of last night.

If they caught her, they might think that she was the murderer, trying to escape. She was convinced it was murder. She'd been to a lot of parties with some really drunk and stoned people, and no one had ever drowned in the hot tub.

She crept quietly back to her cabin, feeling totally useless. Questions were running around in her head like gerbils on treadmills. She needed answers and had no idea whom to ask.

A few minutes before six, she realized she was about to miss meditation class. Last night, Katherine had made a point of telling her to come. And even though Andy didn't know how meditation could possibly help her deflated spirits, it might at least help her to see things more clearly.

But as soon as she sat down and crossed her legs, the questions flooded back in more of a jumble than ever. She knew she wouldn't be able to empty her mind, much less embrace the damn universe. But Katherine had just entered the room and it was too late to escape.

Well, this was as good a place as any to search her mind for any details she might have missed, connections she'd failed to make. She'd just assume the position, remember to breathe, and let her mind free associate.

Katherine walked past her, looking pale but serene. She took her place in the front of the class. Andy hoped she wouldn't say anything about the “tragedy” as Demetri's death was being called.

She merely began her routine, instructing the class as she always did. “Close your eyes, let your body and mind relax.” As soon as she began talking, Andy grew sleepy. But as Katherine continued to drone on, thoughts crowded back into her mind. She was supposed to let them go, send them out into space, but they were tenacious, refusing to be ignored. She knew the police had questioned Dillon and Jeannie and probably others as well. Like maybe Rusty. He and Demetri had been fighting over something when Dillon broke it up.

It seemed to Andy that the police were treating Demetri's death much too nonchalantly, but surely they would be back today with more questions. Maybe they would have a verdict on the cause of death. Would the suit in the black sedan come, too?

Katherine's voice came closer. Andy peeked and saw her wending her way among the meditators as she always did.