Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? (7 page)

“Did this Miranda want you to…make love to her?”

“Never came up. She was a very cool lady. Very desirable, though she was a good fifty or so. I think she must have been here for a refresher course, 'cause she had the moves.” He headed for the door.

“And no one's ever heard from her?”

Rusty stopped and turned on Dillon. “No. What's it to you, man?”

“Just curious. I don't want my goddess disappearing on me.”

“You sure as hell don't. So be careful, because she looks about as skittish as they come.”

Yeah,
thought Dillon as he followed Rusty outside. There probably wouldn't be any requests for any serious lovemaking from that quarter. Too bad. Because he thought that Ariadne McAllister might have a few moves of her own.

“Just one more thing.”

“What are you, the FBI?”

Not on a cold day in hell,
thought Dillon. “Nah, just curious. What did the honchos say about why she left?”

“Just that she'd gone. And they didn't hear from her again. At least not while the session lasted, because me and several others kept asking. Everybody really liked her.”

“These wealthy types, they never think about shit like that. Once she was away, she probably forgot all about you.”

They'd reached the steps of the main building, and Rusty paused. “Not Miranda. She had bread, but she didn't flaunt it or even seem to give too much of a shit about it. You coming in?”

Dillon shook his head. “No. I'm not scheduled for another fifteen minutes.”

“Then see ya later.” Rusty ran up the steps, leaving Dillon outside in the growing dusk.

 

Andy stood on the steps of the Pantheon, feeling rather pleased with herself. She was one of the few that had managed not to tell their life story or burst into tears during Jane's class. Jane wasn't the most patient group leader in the world and a few “um” s and “ah” s went a long way.

She saw Loubelle's slave, Rusty, hurrying across the lawn. Good. He'd been Mac's slave the last session. He might know something about her disappearance.

She put on her Ray-Bans and hurried down to intercept him. Then she saw who was with him. Mr. tall, dark, and wearing a kilt.

She couldn't question Rusty with Dillon looking on. She wasn't sure she trusted him. All that loitering around during lunch. She'd been flattered, but the more she thought about it, the more he seemed like one of those James Bond villains. All finesse on the outside, lethal monster on the inside.

She quickly ducked inside the closest copse of trees and watched them walk toward the Pantheon. They parted at the steps. Rusty went inside, but Dillon turned around and gazed out over the lawn. Andy slunk farther into the trees. Was he looking for someone?

He began walking toward the edge of the woods, so nonchalantly that he looked suspicious. She crept to the other side of the copse in time to see him saunter around to the back of the Pantheon. She suddenly had an urge to see what was back there.

Throwing caution to the wind, she stepped out of the shelter of the trees and sprinted across the lawn. Once she reached the path, she doubled back through the woods and got a good look at Dillon, staring fixedly at the second-floor windows.

What was he doing? Contemplating Windex and a squeegee? Or planning a little breaking and entering? There was more to her slave than a pretty face and a dynamite body. He was up to no good. But what the hell, she'd dated bigger crooks than a two-bit second-story man. And besides, he'd just given her a brilliant idea.

She slipped back to her cabin, showered, and changed into her white shirt and goddess robe. On a whim, she braided her hair and let it fall down her back. It felt wonderful after two days of bobby pin torture. She still looked prim. And with the new hairdo, everyone would think she was really getting something out of this goddess business.

She was only slightly disappointed when Dillon didn't come to escort her to dinner. Probably too busy casing the joint or practicing carrying a water pitcher without dropping it. They should probably put him on napkin duty. You couldn't hurt anybody with a napkin.

Evelyn, Loubelle, and Jeannie showed up at her door instead, and the four of them walked down to the dining room.

“Where's Dillon tonight?” Jeannie asked Demetri as he filled her water glass.

“He's setting up the orientation room for the film tonight.”

Good, thought Ariadne. At least he wouldn't be carrying those heavy dinner trays. She shuddered. The possibilities were daunting.

Rusty set down a tray of salad plates. Demetri scowled at him. The man sure seemed to scowl a lot. Except at Jeannie. For her, he had wide, knowing smiles. He was forever brushing her arm when he served her. Lingered at the back of her chair. Whispered in her ear.

He gave Andy the creeps, but Jeannie seemed to revel in his attentions. Rusty and Louis, on the other hand, were perfect gentlemen, which also seemed to agree with Loubelle and Evelyn.

Which was good, because Andy really didn't want to have to readjust her first impressions to include sweet Loubelle and the sophisticated Evelyn having torrid sex with men young enough to be their grandsons.

“What kind of film?” asked Andy, imagining
Bad Girls of Carthage.

They're showing
Roman Holiday
tonight. Followed by more dessert and coffee,” said Evelyn.

“They feed us so much, you'd think we were training for chubby cherubim instead of goddess.” Andy clapped a hand over her mouth. That was stupid. Never try to join in the fun; it will catch you out every time.

The other three stared at her for a second, then smiled simultaneously.

“I just love Gregory Peck,” said Loubelle. “Such a gentleman.”

“Yes,” said Evelyn. “Even when playing a scamp. They don't make them like that anymore.”

Loubelle sighed. “They sure don't. The way he looks at Audrey Hepburn just makes you know he loves her.”

Yoo-hoo. He's an actor,
thought Andy.
Not real. A big phony.
And was shocked by her reaction. She always dated actors. And they were all big phonies. She really did need to get a life. Not with an actor and not with a stuntman like her family wanted. Stuntmen were macho, unreliable, easily threatened by stuntwomen, and there was always the possibility they'd get a head injury and end up a vegetable. Not a rosy future.

And even worse, she was lusting after a man who made a living dressed as a Greek slave and catering to lonely women. Where were the good, stable, bread-earning men, who did dishes and gave eternal orgasms?

“Well, you can have your gentlemen. I'll take the scamps.” Jeannie leaned down by her chair and brought up two bottles of wine from her carryall. “Do you indulge? We do. Every night.”

“Yes,” Andy said, then remembered her pitiful self. “A little.”

“Good.” Jeannie lifted her chin and Demetri sauntered over. He uncorked the wine and made a big to-do over handing the cork to Jeannie. She smelled it, then tasted the wine and nodded. He filled the other glasses and left the bottle on the table.

“Well,” said Jeannie, when he'd gone away. “I don't know what you're supposed to tell from smelling a cork, but since I bought it, I figure it's gotta be good.” And she held up her glass for a toast.

Dinner got a lot better with a 1964 Greysac Medoc. Andy regretfully limited herself to one glass.

“Do the slaves and staff watch the movies, too?”

“Not usually—they really do work like slaves. They can either join us or have free time,” said Evelyn. “The staff always has a debriefing session at night.”

Hmmm, thought Andy. The stairs would save a lot of wear and tear on her toga. She'd give it another shot. “I think I will have some more,” she said and pushed her wineglass toward Jeannie.

The movie began shortly after dinner. As soon as the lights went down and the theme music began, Andy leaned over to Loubelle, who was sitting next to her.

“Bathroom. Back in a bit.”

Loubelle nodded, her eyes on the screen. She was already lost in celluloid idol land. Andy crawled over the two goddesses at the end of the aisle and slipped out the door—right into Carmen and Jane.

They were arguing so heatedly that they didn't even see her.

“…stealing my trainee,” Carmen snarled Jane rolled her eyes. “Dr. Bliss brought her.” She smiled and Carmen turned redder. Andy froze in the doorway until they had climbed the stairs and their hissed conversation died away.

Then she followed them. She stopped at the top of the stairs in time to see the two acolytes go into a classroom. The door closed behind them. The staff meeting. Andy looked quickly around, saw no one else. Listened. Nothing but the din of clearing away from the dining room below.

She scuttled past the door of the staff meeting and started down the hall. When she reached the
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL
sign, she hesitated, then looked around the corner. The corridor was dark except for a lone auxiliary light at the far end which illuminated a second staircase. The business section had closed for the night.

She walked slowly toward the light, trying to keep her footsteps from sounding. Paused to read the sign on the first door.

ETERNAL ORGASM
,
APPOINTMENTS ONLY
. She had to stifle a laugh. Next came the Staff Room, and on the left Dr. Bliss's personal office. At last she came to the Business Office. She tried the knob. It didn't budge.

Andy sighed. It looked as if she'd be using that grappling hook after all.

A sudden noise made her snatch her hand away. She cocked her head, listening. Someone was coming up the back stairs, more than one person. She could hear them laughing.

She whirled around, but there was no place to hide. She began running back down the hallway, though she knew she'd never make it before they saw her.

She was two-thirds of the way down when she ran into something hard. She registered skin and chest hair. She grimaced and pushed away.

Of course. Her life was under a cloud. Dillon Cross folded his arms over his scrumptious chest and looked down at her. Then he grabbed her and pushed her against the wall.

She only had time to think,
trapped
, before his body crushed hers and his arms pinned her to the wall. She tried to release her knee, though a kick to the groin wouldn't get her very far; she didn't have the leverage. She could hear footsteps echoing down the linoleum, approaching rapidly.

“Relax,” he ordered.

Andy blinked. “The hell I will.”

She saw the flash of his grin before his lips came down on hers.

S
he groaned, not exactly pleasure, not exactly pain. More like surprise. But it must have been good enough, because Dillon said, “Good,” into her mouth and kept kissing her. And the man could kiss. Why else would her knees feel like Jell–O and her heart be pounding with fight or flight adrenaline.

Her next groan sounded more like a purr. Her hands slipped to his sides, and when she touched his firm, warm skin, the sensation shot right to where she liked it best. There were definitely perks to this investigation business.

His hand was just finding its way to her breast, when someone cleared his throat.

Dillon jerked away, looking shocked and embarrassed. Not the best actor in the world, but she'd seen worse. Hell, she'd dated worse.

He stepped partially in front of Andy. Trying to protect her reputation? Would he throw his kilt over a mud puddle for her to walk over? Now, that had some interesting possibilities.

“You know this is an unauthorized area,” said a man's voice.

Andy peered over Dillon's shoulder and saw Bernard Bliss frowning slightly. And standing behind him—Andy sighed with relief—was not his wife, but Katherine Dane. She looked from Dillon to Andy, one eyebrow lifted speculatively.

Great. Caught on the second floor twice in one day. She had no doubt that the high priestess would hear about this. These people seemed to share everything. Andy just hoped the doctor wouldn't leap to any correct conclusions.

“Sorry, sir,” said Dillon. “We, uh, were just looking for some, uh, privacy.” Dillon was looking pale, kind of poleaxed. Either his acting had made a rapid improvement or he was going to faint.

“Yes, well,” said Bliss. He took Dillon's elbow and turned him around. He was considerably shorter than Dillon, and he looked rather ridiculous, but Dillon moved meekly down the hall, dragging Andy with him.

When they reached the stairs, Bliss released Dillon's elbow. “I suggest one of the reflection temples. Perhaps the Temple of Venus.”

“Yes, sir. Good night.”

Andy couldn't believe the subservience in his manner. He was probably afraid they were going to fire him. “It isn't Dillon's fault. It's mine,” she said, casting a desperate look to Katherine Dane—a bit over the top—and she felt Dillon's head snap toward her.

Katherine said nothing for the longest moment, then, “It's quite all right.” The briefest smile passed over her lips. “And good for you, Ariadne. Just the kind of progress we like to see at Terra Bliss. But Bernard is right, the Temple of Venus would be much more appropriate for exploration and experimentation.”

Exploration and experimentation? Did they think she was conducting a scientific investigation? Andy had to force herself not to shudder with disgust.

Andy barely managed a quick thank-you, before Dillon lifted her off her feet and practically carried her down the stairs.

He didn't stop until they were outside.

“I'm sorry if I got you in trouble. I'll explain to Dr. Bliss tomorrow.”

Dillon just frowned at her.

“I'm sorry. What more can I say?”

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?”

“What?”

“Put on your glasses.”

Oh, the damn glasses. No wonder she was so aware of Katherine's expression. Her glasses were still stuck in the gold cord at her waist, where she'd put them when she decided to search the second floor. She fumbled at her belt. Crammed the glasses onto her nose. Dillon went out of focus.

“Come on.” He propelled her across the lawn and toward the path to the cabins.

Not toward the Temple of Venus,
thought Andy, disappointed.

 

Dillon was aware that Ariadne was stumbling along behind him. He knew he was gripping her wrist too tightly. At the moment, he didn't care. He was too busy castigating himself for his ineptness. He'd just jeopardized his mission because curiosity had overridden his good sense.

He'd seen Ariadne slip out of the movie and go upstairs. He couldn't figure out what she wanted up there. There were only classrooms and the business wing. So, like an idiot, he'd followed.

And been caught.

And to make matters worse, he'd had to pull that old kiss trick.

So far his time here had been fraught with disaster. And to think he'd chosen her because she wouldn't be a problem. She was proving to be more of a distraction than he could have imagined—or wanted. And he wanted her.

He drove the thought out of his mind.

She hadn't said a word since they left the Pantheon. She was probably mortified at being caught kissing him. But what a kiss. The woman was a miracle waiting to happen. And to him, hopefully.

He drove
that
thought out of his mind. She'd probably hated his kiss. Just responded out of surprise. But where the hell had she learned to do that with her tongue?

He didn't stop until they were on the porch of Ariadne's cabin. Then he settled her in front of him and said, “Look, I'm sorry. About what happened…back there…in the corridor.” God, he sounded like an adolescent. And all he wanted to do was apologize. No, he didn't. He wanted to kiss her again.

“It's okay.”

Okay? Just okay? He'd thought it had been pretty damn good. “Okay? How okay?”

“What?”

Maybe she thought he was crazy. He must be, to be attracted to someone like her. Even with her hair falling out of her braid. The wisps that furled around her face. She looked softer. More kissable.

“Okay okay.”

“Okay enough to…?”

She nodded. Stepped toward him.

This was a mistake. But she looked so damn desirable. He'd worry about the ramifications later. He slipped his arms around her waist, slowly, gently. Not too aggressive. He pulled her closer and let his hand drift up her back, even though he really wanted to cup her ass, pull her gown up, and find out what was under all that drapery.
You'll scare her, you fool.
So he cupped the back of her neck instead.

Her eyes closed, her lips parted.

He bent his head, brushed his lips lightly across hers. A kiss, just a thank-you for telling Dane it had been her fault and not his. It had been a sweet, but needless, reaction.

“Um, Dillon?”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

Like a Pavlovian dog, he obeyed. His mouth latched onto hers. His fingers slid into her hair, and he pressed her into the kiss. Her lips moved with his. They were soft, open—an invitation. His tongue pushed past her teeth.

She sighed. Like a breeze. He licked the roof of her mouth. The breeze became a wind. Her tongue flicked his, and the wind became a sirocco of heat. And it was too late to stop.

Her fingers pressed against his chest, and Dillon's world caught fire. She moved her hands up to his shoulders, her palms creating friction as skin rubbed against skin.

Down,
he thought.
Move them down.

As if she'd heard, her palms slid down, slowing as they covered his nipples.

Heat flared in his groin.
Down
, he thought,
down, girl, down.

And down they went, pressing into his abdomen, his stomach. His hands moved on her back, mimicking the downward motion of her hands, his fingers spread, following the contours of a thin and muscular body.

Something was not computing in his brain, but his brain was barely functioning, except where it had taken up residency for the last half hour.
There,
it was working overtime.

Her finger slipped into his navel and he groaned into her mouth.

A shudder passed over her and he felt her smile beneath his lips.

Her fingertips dipped into the waistband of his kilt. He sucked in his stomach and her fingers slipped another inch.

He pulled one hand from her ass and dragged it to her breast, lightly brushing the curve of it through the layers of her shirt and gown. Then she touched the tip of his erection through his jockstrap. His fingers closed over the lush roundness of her. She arched back, pushing her breast into his hand. Now, if he could just lose the shirt and the jockstrap without breaking the mood, everything would be perfect.

And if neither of them thought about what they were doing, they might actually—

Through the fog of his lust, he heard voices. Distant but coming closer. The movie must be over. Damn.

He crowded Ariadne until she took a step backward. Then another while he kept assaulting her mouth with his tongue. He fumbled behind her and found the door handle. Pulled it open. It hit her in the back, and she fell into him with an expulsion of breath. Not of surprise, he realized, but laughter.

Ms. Mouse was full of surprises. He pushed her inside, letting the screen door slam. Then released her long enough to shut the wooden door. When he turned back to her, she was standing where he'd left her. Her hair had fallen from the braid. Her cheeks were flushed pink against her pale skin. Her eyes were heavy and she looked good enough to ravish.

She reached past him and turned off the lights. And in the sudden darkness, the fragrance of jasmine surrounded them.

“Are you sure about this?” He wasn't sure she knew what she was getting into. But she couldn't be a virgin. It was the twenty-first century. There were no virgins.

“Yes.” Her voice was husky, not at all like the prim Ms. Mouse he'd escorted to this room barely twenty-four hours ago.

She came willingly. Really willingly. She rubbed against him and he was instantly on fire again. She was snuggled into him and he was having a hard time thinking. He just knew that he wanted her.

He pulled the straps of her gown over her shoulders. Started on the buttons of her tailored shirt. Smiling as he thought how ridiculous she was to try to conceal what was obviously a dynamite body.

The voices were closer now, but he was barely paying attention to them. Thank God Ariadne had turned out the light. Her attempt at modesty might just save them from being interrupted.

He undid another button, felt warm flesh against his fingers, and couldn't resist sliding his hand through the opening to feel her breast without the layers of clothes.

The voices stopped. Then he heard footsteps coming across the porch.

He froze.

“What?”

He pulled Ariadne into him and held her immobile, while he tugged up the front of the gown, fumbling with the straps until they were back over her shoulders. He brushed her hair out of her eyes, no easy feat in the dark. Just in case. With any luck, whoever it was would go away, and he and Ariadne could take up where they'd left off.

There was a knock on the door.

Ariadne jumped. “What was that?” She twisted around, but Dillon held on.

“Shh. Someone's knocking on your door.”

She moved closer to him.

“Ariadne?”

“Maybe she's not in.”

“Of course she's here. We just saw the lights go out.” A louder knock. “Ariadne, hon. We just saw your lights go out, so we know you aren't asleep. Come out and party.”

“Maybe she's tired. Come on, Jeannie. Don't be a nuisance.”

“Me? It's time that girl had some fun, and she's not gonna have it sitting by herself in her cabin all night. And just where is her slave, I'd like to know?”

The screen door squeaked. The doorknob rattled.

Ariadne pushed away from Dillon and got to the door, just as it opened.

Dillon couldn't see who it was, but he recognized the voice and cast his eyes upward.

“Lordy. You scared the bejeezus outta me. Get dressed. We're having a party and we won't take no for an answer.” A hand reached out and flipped on the light. And Dillon was staring into the shocked face of Jeannie Jenkins.

Slowly, she looked from him to Ariadne and back again. “Oops.” She flicked off the light and backed out the door.

Andy closed the door behind her, just as Dillon heard, “Let's go, girls. Ariadne is busy. Ooo-ee, is she ever.”

 

Andy tried hard not to laugh when she turned back to Dillon and saw him frozen in place like a Greek statue. A stunned Greek statue. She sighed and leaned against the door. Just in case he decided to bolt and run. She wasn't finished with him yet.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I know you probably think this is the worst thing that could happen.”

No
, thought Andy.
The worst thing would be that you leave now instead of getting on with it.

“Really. I should never have put you in the position…”

Just show me a few more and you're absolved.