by Gemma Bruce
“Fine,” he told her.
“She’s led a very sheltered life.”
He nodded, noncommittally, waiting for her to get to the point.
She picked up a gold pen off the coffee table and rolled it between long, graceful fingers. “I don’t want her taken advantage of.”
“I—”
“I know you haven’t. At least I don’t believe you have. We screen our attendants very carefully. Sometimes an unsuitable choice passes under the radar, but not often. And when it does happen, Katherine deals with it quickly and efficiently.”
So that was it. She’d decided he was unsuitable and was about to fire him. His ass was grass.
She paused and looked at him thoughtfully; put the pen down and leaned forward.
“Goddess International began as a program to help women fulfill their needs. Most of the first attendees were businesswomen who needed an extra edge to compete with men. But what I really wanted to do was help all women to fully realize themselves.”
Dillon watched her speculatively. She seemed sincere, but then it was easy to have good intentions when those intentions were bringing in millions of dollars.
“Women who come to the retreat are in all stages of development. We don’t often have someone as shy and well, as homely, as Ariadne. It takes courage for a woman of Ariadne’s nature to take that first step toward self-realization.”
And which of the several Ariadnes are you talking about? The mouse, the second-story sneak thief, or the demon lover.
“They must be nurtured, handled with great delicacy. I usually suggest taking several smaller sessions before signing up for the full summer course. It can be very stressful, being away from home, not being able to communicate with the outside world. But her family was very concerned about her and very persuasive. She doesn’t make friends easily.”
“She spends time with several women here.”
“Yes. So I’ve been told. But they are old enough to be her grandmothers. Which brings me to the point.”
Dillon waited.
“Jojo is in charge of matching serfs with trainees. He tries to match experienced attendants with new arrivals. Sometimes there’s a mix-up. Perhaps being new to Terra Bliss, you would be more comfortable with someone a little more outgoing?”
He shook his head. There was no way in hell he was giving up Ariadne. She was perfect. For his cover. He meant. If she really was a reporter, he could keep an eye on her. Prevent her from botching his investigation. If she was lying, he’d deal with her when the time came.
“No,” he said, trying not to sound impulsive. “It would be a bad idea to change her now.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s getting used to me. She might think it was something she did, that she was a failure. It might worsen her self-image.” And mine, he thought . . . If Ariadne had really been the person they were talking about instead of the voluptuous she-cat who’d seduced him the night before, it would be the truth. And he ached for that woman who didn’t exist. Because he knew just how she would feel. It was the way he felt when he woke up in the hospital to the knowledge that he’d fallen for the oldest con in the book, that he’d jeopardized other agents, had nearly died and blown the operation because of his bad judgment.
He became aware of Bliss regarding him intently, the blue of her eyes clear and penetrating. As if she could see into his soul.
“Just my uneducated opinion, of course.”
The doctor’s mouth curved in a gentle smile. “You surprise me, Dillon Cross.”
He lifted his eyebrows, inviting her to explain.
“In your audition, you came across as a very arrogant man. Katherine and Bernard had reservations about hiring you. Actually, so did I, but, I think, for reasons different than theirs.”
“No self-respecting man likes to be paraded around in his underwear.”
Her mouth quirked up. It was so fleeting he was unsure how to read it.
“I’m glad I decided to accept you. I think you’ll be an asset to the organization. And you might even derive some benefit as well.”
“Me?” It came out before he could stop it. The only benefit he could possibly get from this was keeping himself employed. If he botched this job, he could kiss his livelihood goodbye.
The doctor broke into a full smile. It was captivating, and Dillon caught a glimpse of why people flocked to her workshops, sought her out everywhere she went. Which didn’t mean, he reminded himself, that she wouldn’t use that charisma to gain a person’s loyalty and then murder them for their money.
“Which brings us to why I asked you to come in today.”
This should be interesting. He settled back to listen.
“Katherine told me that she and Bernard interrupted the two of you, shall we say, getting to know each other more intimately.”
Dillon shifted in his chair, feeling a little guilty, but not too much.
“I hope you can assure me that the display of affection was mutual. That Ariadne wasn’t pushed into anything that she wasn’t ready for.”
Dillon cleared his throat. “It was, uh, unexpected, but mutual.” And if that little kiss in the hall was all they knew about, he could relax.
“I have great hopes for Ariadne McAllister. She’s just the kind of woman that can benefit most from my program. I mean to bring her out of her shell. Transform her. Give her the ability to empower herself. But first she needs to learn how to give and receive pleasure.”
Any more empowerment and Ariadne could blow them all into the next state. And as for pleasure . . .
“I’m depending on you, Dillon, to be a part of that empowerment process.”
He nodded slightly. What else could he do? The doctor actually believed her own dogma.
“But . . . You must use great sensitivity. Can you do that?”
He nodded. Did he have a choice? He started to stand up.
“Good. I was sure I could count on you. I’ll schedule the two of you for the Bower of Bliss.”
Dillon sat back down. The Bower of Bliss? She had to be kidding. He’d heard plenty from the other men about the night-long sex sessions that went on there. He didn’t have time for this. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to subject himself to Ariadne McAllister and a whole night of mind-bending sex. If last night had been any indication of how things would be between them if they ever tried that again, he’d be a blithering idiot by the time morning rolled around.
“I really don’t think . . . she’s ready for that.”
Dr. Bliss raised one finely shaped eyebrow. Then she smiled. “I believe you may have been misled about what goes on there.”
Not likely, he thought. He’d have to talk her out of this somehow.
“The Bower is not just for orgiastic behavior, though I’m sure that goes on also. Its purpose is to give two people extended private time. A chance to get to know each other without the distractions of others. It also gives the goddess an opportunity to practice some of the techniques that she’s learned here.”
“She’s only been here a few days,” he argued.
“But she has blossomed in that short time. I hope that she will become a Terra Bliss success story.”
Ariadne, a poster girl for Goddess International, he thought wryly. God, lady, if you only knew. Though he thanked the stars that she didn’t and hoped she never found out.
“You can use the time together however you like. But it must be mutual.” She smiled slightly. “That is to say, she must be not only willing, but proactive. And you must be responsive.”
Dillon began to feel cold sweat beneath his T-shirt. This was a really bad idea. “What if she isn’t ready? What will that do to her self-esteem?”
“She talks to you, doesn’t she? That’s all that needs to happen, if that’s what she wants.”
Dillon had to physically prevent a tremor from coursing through his body. He doubted if Ariadne would stop at talking. He had to talk the doctor out of this. “She might be fright
ened, pushed more into her shell.”
“I’m glad to see you so concerned about her feelings. That’s a special quality that you seldom find in an untrained man.”
Dillon’s balls began sneaking up his scrotum. He was trained, but not to be some woman’s lap dog. Oh, yeah, said an inner voice. And just what were you to the lovely Isabelle Foubert? Her patsy, thought Dillon. But Isabelle was a pro. One of the best. Now she was dead. Which was fine by him.
“I don’t think she’ll be afraid, Dillon. You have a certain something that is very appealing.” She gave him a look that was blatantly sensual. “And you will, of course, receive a bonus.”
He wanted to ask what kind of bonus. Because it looked like she might be offering herself.
“I’m sure the two of you will get along splendidly.” She stood up and walked him to the door. “I have every confidence in you.” And with a smile, she shut the door.
Well, he thought philosophically. It looked as though he and Ariadne McAllister were headed for a night of—he shud-dered—eternal bliss.
———
Andy almost jumped out of her skin when the chanting started.
Then as the sound gradually died down, Katherine said, “Now, go out into the world and know that you can achieve your dreams. There is no power to stop you but your own unwillingness.”
Andy stifled a yawn. It was over? She must have fallen asleep.
Women began to put their mats away; soft conversation drifted through the room.
Andy fought the urge to lie down. It must be the lack of sleep or her emotional turmoil. Her body was more lethargic, her mind more sluggish, than when she’d started the session. She didn’t feel ready to face the world, just cranky.
Jeannie poked her with her toe. “Get a move on,” she said in a whisper that made several people turn around.
Andy dragged herself off her mat, piled it on top of the others, and followed Jeannie back to the dressing room.
“Now what?” asked Andy, finally allowing herself a yawn.
“Put this on,” said Jeannie. She held up a blue, pink, and red Hawaiian print swimsuit with a plunging neckline and high French-cut legs. “Bought it on a whim. Never wore it. I bet it’ll look great on you.”
Too enervated to argue, Andy took it into one of the changing cubicles. There was no mirror, but she knew immediately that there would no longer be a question about what was under those oversized clothes. She knew she shouldn’t wear it. But she was sick of subterfuge and deluding these three women who had taken her under their collective wings. They seemed to actually care about the poor woman Andy was impersonating.
She put on the suit and stepped out of the cubicle.
Evelyn, Loubelle, and Jeannie were standing in a row, eager expressions on their faces.
Jeannie threw up her hands. “Ten!” she exclaimed.
Evelyn and Loubelle just stared.
“Sugah, you’re a knockout. I can’t believe you’ve been hiding that body under those baggy clothes. We need to go shop-pin’.”
Andy hung her head. “Do you think so?”
“You just listen to Jeannie. I’m not the best-dressed lady in west Texas by accident. We’ll have to see what they have at the Goddess Boutique.”
“But first the Jacuzzi,” said Evelyn, and smiling indulgently, she ushered them out.
Andy practiced saying, “I’m a fake and I don’t deserve your kindness,” all the way to the solarium where the Jacuzzi, sauna, and indoor pool were located.
“Don’t look so worried,” said Loubelle. “You have a real cute little figure.”
Andy smiled halfheartedly. Why had she let her family talk her into this.
Jeannie grabbed four huge white, fluffy towels off a pile near the door, and then she and Loubelle helped Evelyn climb down the steps into the bubbling water.
Andy sat down on the side, slid her legs into the heated froth, and sighed. Then realized the three women were looking up at her.
“Ah, to be young again,” said Loubelle wistfully.
“We are young,” Jeannie said and raised her hand.
A waiter appeared by her head.
“Four mimosas, Paolo.”
“Sure thing, Jeannie.”
Andy slid into the water. “You know everybody.”
“Been here often enough.” Jeannie leaned forward and said over the bubbles, “But I only remember the names of the cute ones.”
“Well, I think they’re all just as handsome as they can be,” said Loubelle.
Evelyn nodded and closed her eyes.
Paolo came back with four tall glasses, all garnished with a sprig of mint. He placed one on the floor beside each of them.
They all grew silent, and Andy succumbed to the churning massage of the water. No one asked embarrassing questions. No one challenged her on her reasons for covering herself up. It was nice to be accepted without having to prove yourself. And if she didn’t have so many things to worry about, she would feel great.
One by one, they left the Jacuzzi for their scheduled massages. Andy demurred. There was no way she was going to let Hans see her naked. She might be able to snow these ladies. They were trusting, loving souls. But Hans would know how fit she was at the first touch, and by the evening’s debriefing session, the whole staff would know she was a fraud. If they didn’t already.
Andy dressed and went back to her cabin. She was too zonked to do anything else. She didn’t even feel surprised that there was no one waiting outside the Spa to arrest her. She dragged herself wearily up the hill, walked straight into her bedroom, stripped out of her clothes, and flopped down on the bed. In two minutes she was asleep.
Chapter 11
Andy was dragged from a dreamless sleep by a pounding on the door. She sat up disoriented; the pounding continued. She yawned and padded out to the front door. The door stood wide open and she yawned again. The Jacuzzi must have really taken it out of her, because she wasn’t one of those trusting souls that never locked themselves in. There didn’t seem to be anyone on the other side of the screen door, so she opened it and looked outside.
Dillon was standing on the small porch, holding a thermal bag and blanket. He heard the door open and turned around. “You missed lunch, so I—” His words were cut off in a strangle. His eyes widened, and Andy realized she was standing in the door frame in only her bra and bikini underwear.
“Uh,” she said. That was brilliant. She had to remember to stay away from the Jacuzzi from now on.
Dillon ran his tongue over his bottom lip.
Andy began to wake up. “What do you—”
Dillon held out the bag and blanket. “I thought we might go on a picnic.”
Picnic? Picnic. Was this an apology? He didn’t look contrite. But he did look hot. And since she was still here and not in the local jail, she wouldn’t mind a little lunch. “Okay. Just let me get dressed.” Or you could just lie down, and I could eat lunch right off those washboard abs.
“Sure. I’ll wait here.”
Vaguely disappointed, she went inside. So he really did want to go on a picnic. No wonder she was the one who parachuted out of smoking twin engines and wrestled poisonous snakes, while some beautiful airhead got to kiss the hero. Always a bridesmaid. She shook herself. What had made her think about bridesmaids? She’d never even been one. Never thought about being one. Certainly never thought about being a bride. Not often anyway.
She reached for her khakis and the oversized shirt. To hell with it. She dumped them on the floor and rummaged in the bureau drawer. Found the aqua bikini rolled up in the back corner. She put it on and covered it with a pair of light sweatpants that she rolled below her navel.
They could go someplace private, someplace where no one would see them. Then they’d see if he could resist her goddess charms. She pulled on a stretchy camisole that had been missed by Galena and Betty. She smoothed it over her rib cage. It stopped just above her waist. There was a nice strip of tanned skin between tops and bottoms.
Take that, Dillon Cross.
She carried her sandals out to the porch.
Dillon nearly fell off the porch rail. He had to grab for the lunch bag as it fell from his shoulder.
“Shall we go?”
Dillon stood up. “I thought—I thought, maybe you’d take me to this lake you were talking about.”
“The lake?” A zing of anticipation skittered through her. This could be good. This could be her fantasy. She glanced at his leg where the long scar reached up his thigh; another, newer scar slashed across his knee. Some serious surgery had gone on in that knee. And within the last few months.
“Maybe—”
“I can make it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
A little bitter, are we? She could hardly blame him. She knew how she’d feel if she were in his place.
“Good for you, macho man, let me get my sneaks.”
———
Dillon closed his eyes as soon as Ariadne was out of sight. She didn’t think he could handle hiking to the lake. And maybe he couldn’t. Why didn’t he just tell her that he’d had surgery and wasn’t up to his usual activity level. Hell. He might never be back to his usual activity level. He was lucky to be walking, much less jogging five miles a day.
At least she hadn’t given him that look of sympathy that he hated. Skeptical, but not pitying.
She came back wearing green and pink Nikes, grabbed the thermal lunch bag, and took off up the path. Dillon stared after her. She was going to drive him nuts—and blow her cover—wearing those clinging, low-riding sweats.
He grabbed the blanket and hurried after her.
———
Ariadne took the path at a brisk walk, not even slowing down when she heard Dillon following behind her. What the hell was she trying to prove? That she was tougher than him? No wonder she didn’t have a man in her life.