Show & Tell

by Rhonda Nelson

  Savannah bit back a wail of frustration, resisted the childish urge to beat her head against the small oval window. She didn’t need to be here with him—she needed to be back in Chicago. Investigating the missing maintenance hole cover Chapman would have undoubtedly assigned her next. Watering her plants. Straightening her stereo wires, her canned goods.

  Anything but being here with Knox.

  Though she’d been making a concerted effort to imagine him away from the seat next to hers, Savannah was still hammeringly aware of him. She could feel the heat from his body, could smell the mixture of fine cologne and his particular essence. The fine hairs on her arms continually prickled, seemed magnetically drawn to him. Savannah surreptitiously studied him, traced the angular curve of his jaw with her gaze, the smooth curve of his lips. A familiar riptide of longing washed through her and sensual fantasies rolled languidly through the private cinema of her mind. She suppressed a sigh. No doubt about it, he was a handsome devil.

  And due to some hideous character flaw on her own part—or just plain ignorance, she couldn’t be sure—she was in lust with him. The panting, salivating, wanna-rip-your-clothes-off-and-do-it-in-the-elevator, trisexual—meaning “try anything”—type. Had been from the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him the day she joined the staff at the Phoenix.

  Of course, he’d screwed it all up by opening his mouth.

  Thanks to Gibson Lyles III, Savannah recognized the cool, modulated tones of those born to wealth. There’d been other signs as well, but initially she’d been so bowled over by her physical reaction to him that she hadn’t properly taken them into consideration. The wardrobe, the posture, the polish. It had all been there once she’d really looked. And one look had been all it had taken for her to delegate him to her hell-no list. Since then she’d looked for flaws, probably exaggerated a few, and had not permitted herself to so much as like him.

  Savannah knew what happened when rich boys took poor orphans home to meet the parents. Her lips twisted into a derisive smile. The rich boy got an all-expenses-paid tour of Europe…and the poor orphan got backhanded by reality.

  Thanks, but no thanks.

  Frustration peaked once more. Why had he demanded that she come? Why her, dammit? There were other female journalists employed at the Phoenix, other women just as qualified. What had been so special about her that none of the others would do?

  When Savannah contemplated what this extended weekend would entail, all the talk of sex, having to share a room with him, for pity’s sake, it all but overwhelmed her. How on earth would she keep her appalling attraction for him secret during a hands-on sex workshop? What, pray tell, would prevent her from becoming a single, pulsing, throbbing nerve of need? How would she resist him?

  She wouldn’t, she knew. If he so much as crooked a little finger in invitation, she’d be hopelessly, utterly and completely lost.

  Savannah knew a few basic truths about the art of tantric sex, knew the male and female roles. Knew that the art of intimate massage, of prolonged foreplay and ritual were particularly stressed themes throughout the process. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. There were other, more intimidating—and intimate—themes prevalent as well.

  Tantrists believed that humans possessed six chakras—or sources of energy—and that during life, these energy sources got blocked due to the traumas humans suffered. But once these chakras were unblocked, and energy was free to move as it should, then when the male and female bodies merged, these energies merged as well, creating a oneness with a partner that transcended the physical and, thus, turned sex into a spiritual experience.

  But how could a person take it seriously? Take some of the lingo for instance. His penis was a “wand of light.” The Sanskrit word for vagina was yoni, which translated to “sacred space.”

  Please.

  Who could say this stuff to their partner with a straight face? Sorry. She just couldn’t see herself looking deeply into the eyes of her lover and saying, Welcome to my sacred space. Illuminate me, baby, with your wand of light!

  Frankly Savannah didn’t know what tact Knox wanted to take with this story, but she thought the whole idea was ludicrous. She liked her sex hot, frantic and sweaty and she didn’t want to learn an ancient language to do the business either. Honestly, whatever happened to the good old-fashioned quickie?

  She supposed she should give the premise the benefit of the doubt—that was her job, after all—but she seriously doubted that a massage and a few chants thrown in amid the usual twenty-minute flesh session would result in a spiritual experience for her. She liked the rub, lick and tickle approach, thank you very much. But to each his own, she supposed.

  Knox elbowed her. “Hey, would you like anything to drink?”

  Savannah started, then turned to see that the stewardess had arrived with the refreshment cart. “Uh…sure. A soda would be nice.”

  “Ditto,” Knox said. He upped the charm voltage with a sexy little smile. “And an extra pack of peanuts, too, if you’ve got any to spare.”

  The flight attendant blushed and obligingly handed over the requested snack. Savannah rolled her eyes. And women were accused of using feminine wiles? What about men? What about masculine wiles? Knox, for example, had just dazzled that woman with nothing more than a little eye contact and a well-turned smile.

  “Want some peanuts?” Knox asked, offering the open pack to her.

  “No, thank you.”

  Knox paused to look at her and sighed. “What have I done now?”

  Savannah inserted the straw into her drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do. The temperature around your seat has dropped to an arctic level, when, just moments ago, I was enjoying the chilly-but-above-freezing climes of your sunny disposition.” He smiled, the wretch. “Clearly, I’ve offended you once again. Don’t be shy. Go ahead. Tell me what odious manthing I’m guilty of now.”

  Savannah felt her lips twitch but managed to suppress a grin. “You’re breathing.”

  Knox chuckled, a low rumbling sound that made his arm brush against hers and sent a shower of sensation fizzing up her arm. Savannah closed her eyes and pulled in a slow breath.

  “I’m afraid I’m not going to attempt to remedy that offense,” he told her. “I like breathing. Breathing is best for my continued good health.”

  “So is leaving me alone.”

  “Come on, Savannah. How long are you going to keep this up?”

  “Dunno.” She pulled a thoughtful face. “Depends on how long I’m going to have to work with you.”

  “Can’t you even admit that this is going to be one helluva story? A coup for both of us?”

  He was right. She’d grown increasingly weary of covering the mundane, was ready for a real assignment. Still…

  “I don’t have a problem with admitting that at all. I just don’t like your methods. It was high-handed and sneaky, and I don’t appreciate being made a pawn in the game of your career.”

  Knox shifted in his seat, then emptied the rest of the peanuts down his throat and finished the last of his drink before he responded. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  Savannah blinked and turned to face him. “Come again?”

  “I said I was sorry,” Knox repeated in a little bit stronger voice.

  Savannah widened her eyes in mock astonishment, cupped her hand around her ear and made an exaggerated show of not hearing him correctly. “Sorry, didn’t catch that? What did you say again?”

  “I said I was sorry!” Knox hissed impatiently. He plowed a hand through his carefully gelled hair, clearly out of his comfort zone when issuing an apology. “I shouldn’t have gone to Chapman. But you didn’t leave me any choice. I have to do this story and I needed you to go with me.”

  “Why me?” Savannah demanded quietly, finally getting to the heart of the matter. “Why not Claire or Whitney? Why did it have to be me?”

  “Because I…” Knox swallowed, strangely reluctant to finish
the thought.

  “Because you what?” Savannah persisted.

  He finally blew out a breath. “Because I couldn’t take anyone with me who might be attracted to me. Or that I might be attracted to.”

  Slack-jawed, for a moment Savannah was too stunned to be insulted. She managed a smirk, even as dismay mushroomed inside her belly. “That irresistible, are you?”

  “No, not to you,” he huffed impatiently. His cheeks reddened. “You don’t have any trouble at all resisting me. Hell, you’ve made a point of ensuring that I know just how resistible to you I am. You were the only logical choice. We have to stay focused, to remain objective. If I had asked any other woman at the Phoenix to make this trip with me, then you know as well as I do that they would have considered it a come-on. An invitation for seduction.” He smiled without humor. “Did that occur to you?”

  Savannah had readied her mouth for a cool put-down, but found herself curiously unable to come up with one. He was right. The idea of him wanting to seduce her had never crossed her mind—she’d been too worried about how hard it would be not to seduce him.

  She’d known that he’d never been romantically interested in her—she’d purposely cultivated a hate-hate relationship with him to avoid that very scenario. Savannah knew she should be pleased with how well her plan had worked, but she found herself perversely unable to work up any enthusiasm for her success. He’d chosen her because she’d led him to believe that she wasn’t attracted to him and because he, by his own admission, wasn’t attracted to her.

  All of that effort for this…this nightmare.

  Irony could be a class-A bitch, Savannah thought wearily.

  “Are we going to be able to get past this and work together?” he asked.

  Savannah heaved a put-upon sigh. “Yeah…so long as you don’t pull a show-and-tell session with your ‘wand of light.’” She inwardly harrumphed. Didn’t look like that would be a problem. And she was happy about it, dammit. This was a good thing. Really. She didn’t want him to be attracted to her, any more than she wanted to be attracted to him.

  Knox grinned, one of those baby-the-things-I-could-do-to-you smiles that made a woman’s brain completely lose reason—including hers. “Let’s make a deal. I won’t show you mine unless you show me yours.”

  Savannah smirked, even as she suppressed a shiver. “Well, that’ll be simple enough—I don’t have a ‘wand of light.’” She nodded succinctly. “Deal.”

  A sexy chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Deal.”

  3

  “ARE YOU READY to discuss our cover?” Knox asked, when he’d finally navigated the rental car out onto the busy freeway.

  He would have liked to cover everything while in the air where she couldn’t have done him any bodily injury, but after his bungled apology, she’d feigned sleep for the rest of the flight. Knox didn’t feel quite as safe in the car and he grimly suspected she wasn’t going to care for the cover story he’d devised for the two of them. He’d made the mistake of filling out the application and accompanying questionnaire while still angry with her. Knox winced as he recalled the uncharitable things he’d had to say about his “wife’s” shortcomings in bed.

  She’d undoubtedly kill him.

  Savannah fished her sunglasses from her purse and slid them into place. She’d dressed for travel in a sleeveless sky-blue linen pantsuit that perfectly matched the startling shade of her eyes and showed her small, curvy form to advantage. She wore simple diamond studs in her ears and her short black locks were delightfully mussed. Her lipstick had worn off hours ago, but refreshingly unlike most females, she didn’t seem to mind.

  Knox was still trying to decide how much to tell her about their cover story when she said, “Sure, go ahead and fill me in.”

  He swallowed and strove for a nonchalant tone. “We’re registered as Mr. and Mrs. Knox Weston. Your first name is Barbie. We’ve been having a little—”

  “Barbie?”

  Knox winced at her shrill exclamation. “That’s right.”

  With a withering smirk, she crossed her arms over her chest and turned to face him. “And why is my first name Barbie?”

  Knox cast about his paralyzed mind for some sort of plausible lie, but couldn’t come up with anything halfway believable and settled for the truth. “Because I was pissed and knew you would hate it.” He threw her a sidelong glance and was pleased that he’d been able to—it meant that he still had his eyes and she hadn’t scratched them out yet. “It was a petty thrill. I regret it now, of course,” he quickly imparted at her venomous look. “But what’s done is done and I can’t very well tell them that I’ve made a mistake, that I didn’t know my own wife’s name.” He forced a chuckle. “That would look pretty odd.”

  Looking thoroughly put out, Savannah studied him until Knox was hard-pressed not to squirm. “A petty thrill, eh?” She humphed. “Is there anything else—besides my name—that you might have falsely reported about me? Anything else I should know about?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Er—”

  “Knox…” Savannah said threateningly.

  Knox considered taking the next exit. If she went ballistic and attacked him, he didn’t want any innocent bystanders to be hurt. “Well, just for the sake of our cover, you understand, they, uh…might think that you’re frigid and unable to reach climax.”

  Knox heard her outraged gasp and tensed, readied himself for a blow.

  “Well, that can be easily explained,” she said frostily, “when I tell them that you’re a semi-impotent premature ejaculator.”

  Knox quailed and resisted the natural urge to adjust himself, to assure himself that everything was in working order. “Well, I—I can hardly see where that will b-be necessary,” he croaked. “One of us had to have a problem or we wouldn’t have needed the workshop in the first place.” A good, rational argument, Knox thought, congratulating himself.

  She laughed. “Oh, I see. And I just had to be the one with the problem? Why couldn’t you have been the one with the problem?”

  “Because I—”

  She chuckled. “Because you’re such a stud that the idea of your equipment not passing muster—even fictitiously—was too much for your poor primitive male mind to comprehend. How pathetically juvenile.” She smiled. “Do continue. We’ll be there soon and I want to make sure that I’m completely in character.”

  Knox frowned at the words “pathetically juvenile,” but under the circumstances, he let it pass. He cleared his throat and did his best to maintain his train of thought. “We’ve been married for two years and have never been completely satisfied with our, er, sex life. We’re looking for something more and long for a closer relationship with one another. Our marriage is on the rocks as a result of our failure to communicate in the bedroom.”

  She snorted. “Because I’m frigid.”

  “Er…right.”

  “And you’re impotent.”

  “Ri—Wrong!” Sheesh. A bead of sweat broke out on his upper lip. “That’s, uh, not what our profile says.”

  “Because you filled it out. Look, Knox, if you think for one minute that I’m taking the total blame for our sorry sex life and our failing marriage during this farce, you’d better think again. You wanted this story, so you’d better damn well be ready to play your part. If I’m frigid, then, by God, you’re going to be impotent.”

  Knox felt his balls shrivel up with dread. He set his jaw so hard he feared it would crack. She had to be the most competitive, argumentative female he’d ever encountered. The bigger picture, he reminded himself. Think of the bigger picture. “If you insist,” he said tightly.

  “I do.”

  “Fine.” He blew out a breath. “There are still a few more things we need to go over. As for our occupations, I’m a veterinarian and you’re my assistant.”

  She quirked a brow. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”

  Smiling, Knox shrugged. “I got carried away.”

  Savannah’s lips curled into
a genuine smile, not the cynical smirk she usually wore, and the difference between the two was simply breathtaking. It was a sweet grin, devoid of any sentiment but real humor. To Knox’s disquiet, he felt a buzz of heat hum along his spine.

  “Be that as it may, I hope we’re not called upon to handle a pet emergency,” she said wryly. “I don’t know the first thing about animals.”

  “What? No Spot or Fluffy in your past?”

  A shadow passed over her face. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Knox waited a beat to see if she would elaborate, and when she didn’t, he filed that information away for future consideration and moved to fill the sudden silence. “Look in the front pocket of my laptop case, would you?”

  Savannah turned and hefted the case from the back floorboard. She unzipped the front pouch. “What am I looking for? Your Viagra?”

  “No.” He smiled. “Just something to authenticate our marriage. Our rings are in there.”

  A line emerged between her brows and she paused to look at him. “Rings?”

  Knox reached over, pilfered through the pocket and withdrew a couple of small velvet boxes. “Yeah, rings. Married people wear them. Fourth finger, left hand, closest to the heart.”

  “Ooh, I’m impressed. How does an impotent bachelor like you know all that sentimental swill?”

  “I’m not impotent,” Knox growled. “And I know because, having been best man at three different weddings in the past year, it’s my business to know.”

  Savannah nodded. “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what?” Knox asked suspiciously, casting her a sidelong glance.

  She lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

  “Surprised that I’ve been a best man?”

  “No, surprised that you had three male friends. I’ve never seen you with anyone but the opposite sex.”

  Knox shivered dramatically. “Oh, that’s cold.”

  “Well, what do you expect? Us frigid unable-to-climax types are like that.”

  Smothering a smile, he tossed the smallest box to her. “Just put on your ring, Barbie.”