Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? (8 page)

“I can't apologize enough…I'm really, really sorry. For everything.”

He was sorry. She got the point. Sorry. The last word any woman wanted to hear when she was aroused.

What was wrong with the man? One minute they'd been going at it hot and heavy, and the next minute he's making excuses. Okay, so maybe things had gotten a little out of hand, but not nearly far enough for Andy.

“I'll go explain.” He moved her aside and opened the door.

He was really leaving. When was she going to get a break here? “Explain what?” she asked as he ran down the steps.

“That I was just fixing your glasses.”

He took off at a run. Andy watched him go. Her slave needed finessing, no doubt about it. Too bad they didn't have a parallel Getting In Touch With Your Inner Slave retreat nearby. He could use it.

She watched him lope up the darkened path. Then she closed the door, wondering when it would occur to him that you couldn't fix glasses in the dark.

T
he sun was just appearing over the mountaintops when Dillon paused in his morning run to take a drink from his water bottle. He'd made an ass of himself last night, first with Ariadne and then with her friends. He still felt like an ass seven hours and four miles later.

He wiped sweat away, tucked the water bottle back into its case. He'd started running the first day he arrived at Terra Bliss for training. At first he could barely limp around the drive of the compound. After three days, he'd left the cleared area and stuck close to the perimeter wall, forcing himself up and down the wooded paths, testing his physical limits while he committed the details of the compound to memory. Now he knew where each surveillance camera was located. Each padlocked gate. Even knew where the security guards took their breaks on their morning rounds.

He'd selected several possible escape routes in case this mission went sour. Not that he expected it to. It should be a simple case of staying put, acting the part while he looked for evidence that they hadn't been able to access from the outside.

And then along came Ariadne McAllister.

He bent his knees, stretched out his calves, and started running again. Slower now because he was going uphill. He pushed along the path, past quiet cabins. Everyone was still sleeping. He could take the uneven ground at a pace he could control. And if he fell on his face, there wouldn't be anyone to see. He ran faster, leaning forward as his thighs screamed against the incline. He gritted his teeth. Let his nostrils flare as he forced himself to breathe evenly. He had to get in shape, and he had to stop thinking about Ariadne, whatever it took.

There was something not right about her. Nothing he could name, not yet anyway.

He spent the next twenty minutes forcing his body down one path and up another.

He had just made it up one of the nastier climbs, when a flash of color caught his eye. He slowed down, then stopped and stared as he realized what it was.

Someone was walking across the top of the perimeter wall. He slipped behind a tree and peered at them. The figure stopped, looked down, then with arms stretched out to the side, began walking down a trunk of a fallen tree that was wedged against the stones.

Dillon stared in disbelief. Tall, slim, dressed in a girly running suit. It couldn't be. But it was. His mouth fell open as she took off at a fast jog, arms and legs pumping like a pro. She passed him so close that he could have reached out and grabbed her, if he'd been able to move.

His eyes narrowed. Pro. Of course. Nobody could be as mousy as she was pretending to be. Not in this day of television, movies, and makeovers. And no one as naïve as she pretended to be could kiss the way the woman had kissed him. And hers had definitely been experienced fingers. Now he knew he wasn't hallucinating as he watched that tight little ass rippling beneath her tight spandex pants.

His plain Jane was a fraud.

He stepped out behind her. Watched when she slowed down as she neared her cabin. She didn't go inside, but scanned the trees. In just the place he'd been waiting for her yesterday morning. She'd done this before and had seen him watching for her.

And sure enough, she slipped around to the side of the cabin and climbed in through the window.

So Ms. Mouse wasn't a mouse after all. But what was she? Besides an incredibly built woman. Another agent? Had they sent someone to back him up, because they didn't trust him to handle this simple job? Or had a different agency sent her? Just like them, so territorial and uncommunicative that they both had agents working on the same case.

Well, he wasn't going to be caught out again. It was time to find out just what Ms. McAllister was up to.

 

Andy turned on the shower. She was going to be late for breakfast if she didn't hurry. Instead of swimming, she'd looked for signs of Aunt Mac: footprints, broken twigs, discarded toilet paper. And found nothing but a narrow, dirt road curving along a ridge near the falls.

She stepped into the tub and let the hot water sluice over her. She was doing a lot of speculation, getting hung up in fantasies of Mac escaping across the mountains, of being kidnapped, of being held hostage.

Not the movies,
she reminded herself as she lathered up. What she needed was real information, and she bet she'd find some in the records that they kept on all the participants.

She rinsed off and got out of the tub. But the business office was kept locked, and besides, she didn't dare risk being caught again. She quickly dried off and braided her hair, dressed in baggy capris and another big shirt. She applied only a light layer of makeup. She'd had lunch in the sun yesterday. It stood to reason that she would be getting a tan.

It was time for her transformation to begin. She hated deceiving Evelyn, Loubelle, and Jeannie after they'd been so nice to her. And she admitted, she wanted Dillon to see her as she really was before she had to leave.

For once in her life she wished things had been different. That she and Dillon could have gotten to know each other. In all ways. That one little taste last night had made her crave the whole pie.

 

Dillon stood outside the cottage, fuming while he waited for Ariadne. He heard the shower running. He had to force himself not to just break in and catch her en flagrante. Which made him wonder what she would look like naked and rosy from a hot shower.

He closed and opened his fists. He needed to get his damn mind on the job and on finding out about the enigmatic Ms. McAllister. She could be his undoing, in more ways than one. A hell of a time to finally want to have sex.

When he heard the shower being turned off, he crept up to the porch, pressed himself against the wall next to the door, and prayed none of the women in the other cabins would come by and catch him skulking outside his goddess's door.

When the door finally opened, Ariadne didn't jump out like she had the morning before. She eased the door open and stepped cautiously onto the porch, her glasses in place. Dillon stepped in front of her and grabbed her arm.

Her reaction nearly knocked him off his feet—literally.

She spun around. The glasses went flying. Her arm flew up and a fist barely missed his nose. She saw him and she froze, her face a mixture of shock and consternation. Then slowly, she glanced down at the glasses lying on the porch floor.

He bent down to retrieve them just as her foot came down on top of them.

She let out a little squeal and jumped back, her hands pressed to her cheeks.

He picked up what was left of them—a twisted frame and two crushed lenses. Dangling them from one finger, he presented them to her.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, never mind. Clumsy me.” She rummaged in her backpack. Seconds later she came out with her sunglasses and slipped them on.

He took her arm. “We need to talk.”

“Yoo-hoo, Ariadne.”

Dillon groaned and dropped her arm. He turned to see Jeannie waving fingers at them. The other two friends came up beside her, warbled, “Good morning,” and hurried her away.

Ariadne started after them, but he stopped her by grabbing hold of her braid. “Lucky you had those sunglasses handy,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“It sure was,” she said innocently.

He could slap her silly. Well, let her think she was playing him for a fool. Did she know who he was? What he was doing here? She might not be an agent but part of the whole sordid conspiracy. No. She wasn't a killer. He was making too much of this, surely. If he weren't careful, he'd be seeing conspiracy everywhere.

 

Andy walked down the hill, Dillon taciturn beside her. She didn't know what he was so pissed about. And what was with him, sneaking up on her like that? She could have broken his nose, or worse. Of course, he didn't know that.

She shot a sideways glance at him. They could be strangers at a bus station the way he was acting. She'd expected a little tenderness. After all, they had almost had sex the night before.
Almost
being the operative word. Maybe he'd gotten cold feet. Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe he'd just changed his mind and didn't know what to say. Hell. It could be just about anything. The man was deep. Still waters and all that—and she wouldn't mind creating some waves.

At least one good thing had come about this morning. A good stuntwoman could think on her feet, and destroying the glasses had been a stroke of genius. Now, at least she could see where she was going. Physically, anyway.

Dillon dropped her off at the buffet table with a surly “Later” and began his breakfast duties.

A lot later,
thought Andy. He sounded like a man who was about to break up with her. And they hadn't even gotten together yet. Well, he'd just have to wait.

She considered grabbing an apple and eating it outside, but before she could leave, Jeannie saw her and waved her over.

Reluctantly, Andy joined them for breakfast.

“Now sit right down and tell us everything,” said Jeannie.

“Jeannie, let the poor girl eat her breakfast,” said Evelyn with a sympathetic smile.

“Oh, don't be a spoilsport. Is he as good as he looks?”

“Jeannie, hush.” Loubelle tipped her chin and gave her a warning look, just as Dillon reached over to put the coffee carafe on the table.

Jeannie giggled into her napkin until he was gone. Then she gave Andy an arch look. “You're not tellin' me that you didn't get him to dance the bedsheet tango?”

“Jeannie, really,” said Evelyn. “It's none of our business.”

“Don't be such a stick in the mud. Half the fun is sharing.” Jeannie leaned on her elbows and waited.

“Nothing happened,” Andy said finally.

“Oh.” The look on Jeannie's face would have been comical if Andy didn't feel so terrible.

“Well, never you mind, dear,” said Loubelle and patted her hand. “That just means he's a gentleman.”

“Well, I'll just have to have a little talk with him about that, uh-huh.”

“No,” said Andy.

“Absolutely not,” said Loubelle.

“You should be ashamed,” said Evelyn. “Don't pay any attention to her. Regardless of what some people think, the goddess program is not just about sex.”

Jeannie made a face. “But it's the best part.”

“I wouldn't know,” said Loubelle. “And I'm having a delightful time.”

Jeannie sighed. “You sure you don't want me to light a fire under that delicious tush of his?”

“I'm sure,” said Andy. “But thanks.”

Evelyn deftly changed the subject and it didn't come up again. They left the dining room together.

“Well now, that's my idea of a goddess class,” said Jeannie.

“Knowing What You Want—?” Andy swallowed the rest of her sentence. The
KNOWING WHAT YOU WANT
sign had been replaced by
FELLATIO
101. Intriguing, she thought, then immediately changed her mind when a slave carrying a tray of unripe bananas knocked on the door and was let inside.

“Well, I know what I'm studying this morning,” said Jeannie. She toodled her fingers at them and followed him inside.

Loubelle pursed her lips. “I'm taking the morning off to get my hair done. See you at lunch.”

Andy was about to follow her out. Dillon would be finished with cleanup any minute, and she wanted to prolong the inevitable. “Well, I guess I'd better—”

Evelyn stopped her. “Don't let the things Jeannie says put you off. She's a kind soul. A heart of gold really. She does like her fun and can be a little too nosy. But you shouldn't feel obligated to say anything you don't want to. Relations between a man and a woman are meant to be private. I'm glad you respect that.”

Andy smiled, touched that Evelyn was actually concerned about her. And she felt a stab of remorse for her deception. “There's really nothing to tell.” At least that was true. “Jeannie makes the whole situation sound more interesting than it was. Dillon was just fixing my glasses.”

“Ah,” said Evelyn, a twinkle in her eye. “Well, I better run or I'll be late. See you at lunch?”

“Sure,” said Andy, though she had no intention of having lunch at the pool while Jeannie grilled her about Dillon, while Dillon served lunch and Andy tried to ignore them both. She'd never pull it off. Then he was bound to snag her and they'd have to have
the
talk. She'd had it before. She knew it by heart. Her throat tightened.

She would never be a goddess, just a hell-bent-for-leather stuntwoman good for a weekend fling.

She watched Evelyn walk down the hall, her posture erect, poised, every bit a lady even in capri pants and canvas tennis shoes. And she wondered what it would be like to be raised in a family where manners and good breeding were taken for granted. Where caviar was served under candelabras instead of frozen dinners in front of the television. Where the forks and knives were silver, not plastic. Charity balls and card parties…