Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess?

by Gemma Bruce

  They must have crossed some wires when they sutured his skull back together.

  But she was warm, vibrant, full of life. Everything he craved. And he believed her story. Which was a big plus.

  He ran his hand up her side, touched the bare skin where he’d pulled the robe away. Tantalized himself by being so close to her tempting warmth. She shifted her body, arched up to reach his hand. He brushed his fingers lightly over the tip of her nipple. Trailed his fingers down to the gold cord that wrapped around her waist.

  It was tied in a knot, and he began to work it loose, his eyes never leaving her face. When it came free, he flicked the ends away. Pressed his palm to her stomach. Spread his fingers and pushed his hand slowly down her front. Slid between her thighs, released her, and moved back up to undo the other shoulder strap.

  She raised up so that he could pull the gauzy fabric down to her waist, then lay back, watching him. The slope of her shoulders, the curves of her breast, the tight stomach, all tempted him like he’d never been tempted before.

  He ran his tongue over dry lips.

  “Do that to me,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  He leaned over her, ran his tongue over her lips, and an expulsion of breath told him she was laughing.

  “Keep going,” she said.

  His tongue moved to her ear, outlined the shape of it, delved into the opening. Andy sighed. Her hands were everywhere, his back, his chest, his shoulders, his ass. They left heat wherever they touched.

  He licked down her neck, across her collarbone, and down the center between her breasts. Only then did he take them in his hands, let the fullness of them settle into his palm. Rubbed his thumb across the peaks and felt the tips grow tighter. Then took one, then the other in his mouth.

  He shoved more fabric away, sank his tongue into her navel. Her fingers speared his hair, cradled his head, until he couldn’t think. He rose up to his knees, pulled the robe down her hips, her legs, her feet, until it fell in a pool on the carpet.

  “Wait,” she said, her breathing heavy, titillating, so seductive. “What do you have on under that kilt?”

  “My gym shorts.” He shrugged. “I thought I might have to make a quick getaway and didn’t want to have to do it wearing a skirt.”

  “Take them off.”

  He started to unbutton the kilt.

  “No. Just the shorts.” She smiled.

  He lifted one eyebrow, but stood up to push the shorts down his legs. He stepped out of them and stood over her. She was lying completely naked, her arms and legs where he’d left them. He didn’t know what to touch first.

  She pushed up to her elbows, the light caught her face for an instant, and he broke apart inside. She was so beautiful, more beautiful than he realized.

  “Anything else?”

  He felt his cheeks heat, and his cock swell. “Just me.”

  “Good.” She stretched her legs and hooked her feet behind his knees. Pulled him forward as she sat up to meet him.

  “I always wondered what it would be like to make love to a man in a kilt.” She shivered and changed position until she was kneeling between his legs. Her hands roved up his thighs, beneath the hem of the kilt.

  His erection tented the front of the pleated fabric, and she watched it move as she played. Her hands slipped around to his inner thigh.

  “I like this,” she said. “This combination of silk and sex.”

  His knees began to feel weak. It took a monumental effort to stay on his feet. Her hands bypassed his cock and came to rest on each hip bone. He twisted just enough so that her thumbs brushed the heated skin of his cock. She laughed and moved her hands away.

  At last, when he was vibrating with frustration and self-control, her hands found him. He sucked in air, tried to breathe. He felt light-headed as all the blood in his body rushed to be near her fingertips.

  She stroked him, not hard enough to drive him toward oblivion, but lightly, keeping him thrumming within her closed grasp. He wanted to touch her, wanted to get closer, to lie back where he’d been and feel the warmth of her body stretched along his, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

  Then her hand left him. Her fingers tickled down his thighs and withdrew from the kilt. He felt suddenly cold, until she found the hook at the waistband and snapped it open. One side of the kilt fell away, leaving it attached by only one small hook.

  She brushed his erection with the back of her fingers as she reached for the last hook. The anticipation was going to drive him mad.

  He wanted to be inside her. To forget everything else, let her take him in, warm and tight and safe. The kilt fell away, slithered to the floor. She took his hands and pulled him down to the pillows.

  He lay beside her, half-covering her, his leg hooked over her thigh. He felt boneless except for the hard pulsing part of him pressed against her hip. They nestled cocoonlike among the giant pillows. His foot rubbed along her calf, down to her ankle, back up to her knee. Then pressed on her knee until she opened her legs.

  His tongue found hers at the same moment his fingers entered her. Thrust together as she rose to meet him. He pulled out. His tongue moved to her ear as his finger moved up her moistened folds. She shivered when his finger passed over the hard button of her sex.

  She squirmed, murmured his name, and the sound shot fire to his belly and then to his cock. He shifted until he was above her, braced on his elbows, peering down at her face. She looked rosy, dazed, drunk with desire.

  She ran her hands over his chest, pressing into the nipples, grasped his shoulders. Her legs wrapped around his ass and she pulled him down to her.

  One lift of his hips and he was inside her. They both moaned. Her legs released his ass only to wrap around his waist, changing the angle of their bodies so that she took him deeper inside. He plunged into her. She locked her ankles behind his back and pushed against his thrusts. He could feel her very depths with the tip of his cock. A double sensation, the grasp of her muscles against his shaft as he pushed forward, the touch on the tip, like a kiss.

  “Oh, God, Andy.”

  She wrenched to the side, yanked a pillow from under her back, and they fell forward, her ass higher now than her head. And he sank farther into her. And that was the last thing he remembered as they raced toward annihilation.

  She came so hard that she nearly bucked him off. It was like riding a wild animal as her body arched and twisted. Dillon held on, thrusting as deep as she could take him, until he went over the top. Emptying himself again and again, until he had nothing left.

  They lay together, stunned, gasping for breath. Clinging to each other, waiting for the world to upright itself again.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “Mmmm,” answered Dillon, when he could talk again. They were buried under pillows. He began pushing them aside, then slid out of her and lay on his side, looking down at her. She was so lovely that he could stay just like this forever.

  Ariadne. Beautiful and strong. Named after the goddess that showed Theseus the way out of the maze. Could she do the same for Dillon? He squeezed his eyes shut. Not a possibility.

  “What?”

  Dillon shook his head. “Tell me about your aunt.”

  “Oh.” She looked mussed and dazed and completely lovable. He set his features in agent mode and listened.

  ———

  Andy felt more than a little disoriented. Everything seemed to be happening at warp speed. First he’s questioning her as if she were a common criminal, and next making incredible love to her. And no sooner than that’s done, he’s back to questioning. A perfect male specimen, she thought, resigned. Able to compartmentalize to the max.

  She rolled to her elbow and propped her head on her hand. And was gratified to see his eyes flicker from her face to her breast. Then he was back, all business. She told him everything she’d learned from Galena, Liz, and Lucian.

  “Does she do that ever? Go away and not contact you?”

  “Sure, but we usually get a postcard.
When they read the article about Imogene Southwaite, they called here and were told she’d left. But she didn’t go home.”

  “Does your aunt have money?”

  “Some. But nothing like Ms. Southwaite. She’s a stunt-woman for heaven’s sake. She could take care of herself.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “What does ‘hmmm’ mean?”

  “Nothing. Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Do they know you’re her niece?”

  “No. Why should they?”

  “I wonder.” A cold chill spread through Andy. “Did you know that the security team patrols the perimeter of the compound?”

  Compound? An interesting term for the goddess retreat.

  “No,” she began, getting a scary idea of where he was going. “They do, and they’ve been watching your morning treks over the wall.”

  “How do you know?” But she thought she already knew the answer. He sighed. “Because I’ve been watching you, too.”

  “You never believed my reporter story, did you?”

  “Before that.”

  “You’ve been spying on me all along? Why?”

  “Because I knew you weren’t who you said you were.”

  “How—” She stopped. It was suddenly becoming clear.

  “That’s your job, isn’t it? You’re trained to pick out counterfeits. For Goddess International? Does Dr. Bliss suspect—” Dillon cut her off. “No.”

  “A government agency?” He shook his head. He didn’t belong to any agency that could be traced. “But you’re here undercover.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I knew you were a fake because . . . the night I spilled water on you, you left your glasses. I went after you to return them, and I, uh, saw you through the window.”

  “Window?” And then it hit her. “You watched me undress?” Dillon’s eyes shifted away. “Yeah.”

  “Why, of all the—I can’t believe it.” She gave him a look.

  Saw something else. He was getting hard again. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. But as she watched, he hit full erection. In her peripheral vision, she saw him run fingers through his hair. She took advantage of the moment to inflict a little punishment. She scooted closer to him until she was face-to-face, front to front with him. Let her thigh brush across his erection as she settled closer to him.

  “I fooled everyone else.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you have a plan? What do you want me to do?”

  She saw Dillon’s Adam’s apple bobble as he swallowed. “I want you to stay out of it. Go home and leave this to the professionals.”

  “So you are a policeman.”

  “No. I’m not. But this could turn into a volatile situation, and I want you far away from it.”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me?” She brushed his erection with her fingers.

  He grabbed her wrist. “Stop that. I’m serious.”

  Andy sighed. If only a man said that to her about their relationship. But alas. “Well, I’m serious, too. And I’m not leaving until I know that Mac is safe.”

  ———

  Dillon gritted his teeth. She wouldn’t be easy to dissuade. But he’d have to, somehow. He leaned over her, part intimidation, part seduction. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Her eyelids fluttered. He brushed her lips with his. “And I can’t find your aunt if I’m worried about you.” He kissed her lightly.

  “You are police.”

  He kissed her again. “Something like. But the less you know, the better.” He rolled into her. Skimmed her breast with his hand.

  She sighed. “I know what you’re doing.” He licked her nipple, felt it bud beneath his touch. “Trying to distract me.”

  He sucked the nipple into his mouth. Released it. “Is it working?”

  “For now.”

  He moved to her other breast. “So you’ll leave this to me?”

  “Maybe.” He nipped her breast and shifted so that he could slide his hand between her legs. She purred, and he felt himself getting distracted. “Promise.” He slid a finger inside her. She was wet, slippery, ready. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you.” And for the next twenty minutes, he did.

  Chapter 18

  “Andy, wake up.”

  “Okay. I’m on my way. Tell them to chill.” Andy rolled over. Hit the floor. “What the—” She sat up, blinked. She was surrounded by giant pillows. “Oh,” she said and climbed back up.

  She was yanked to her feet. Her face brushed a bare chest on her way up. She nestled into it. His skin radiated heat, and he smelled musky and salty. Like he’d been making love all night. “Mmmm.”

  “Rise and shine, baby.” She opened one eye. “It isn’t morning.”

  “It’s almost five o’clock. Unless you want the entire camp to see you skulking back to your cabin, you’d better shake it.” She pushed away from him. “Oh, shit.” Dillon grinned. “What?”

  “I knew I heard you say shit on that first day up the hill.”

  He gave her a quick, heated kiss, and shoved her chiton into her hands. She slipped it over her head. It slid to the floor. “What?” Dillon leaned over and pulled it up her body. He reclasped the shoulder straps, then dug in between the pillows and brought up the gold cord that tied at her waist. He looped it around her and pulled it tight.

  “It’s just like being in wardrobe,” she said and cracked a huge yawn.

  He turned her around and pushed her toward the door.

  “Just like being in wardrobe,” she groused. “Always in a hurry. We didn’t even eat dinner, and we didn’t come up with a plan.”

  He stepped away from her to open the door, leaving her cold in the places that had just been warm. “We’re not making a plan.”

  “Suit yourself. But I always think you should have a plan.”

  “I have a plan, and you’re not a part of it.”

  Cold seeped into Andy’s gut. Why should that surprise her. She’d never been a part of any guy’s plan. Mustering all her sangfroid, she brushed past him. “Well. Thanks for the lovely time. I’ll call you.”

  “Andy. I didn’t mean—”

  “See ya.” She stepped across the threshold onto the dewy grass. It sent a chill straight through her bones. And for a panicky moment she thought she might cry.

  “I’ll walk you back.”

  “Not necessary. Go make your plan. Whoever you are.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Be reasonable.”

  She struck off across the grass.

  He yanked her back. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re cranky in the morning?”

  “It’s in my résumé. Now, let go.”

  “They probably have us under surveillance, and you’re not acting like a thoroughly fucked goddess this morning.”

  Just a fucked-over one, she thought.

  “Listen. JoJo told me that Dr. Bliss always debriefs the couple, separately, after a night in the Bower. We should have the same story prepared.”

  “Gee, Dillon, that sounds like a plan to me.” She cut him a look. “I’ll just tell her you fucked me silly, then told me to get lost.”

  “The hell you will. We talked, for a long time, got to know each other better.”

  “And left the place looking and smelling like a Roman orgy.”

  “Yeah, well. We made love; you were shy at first, but ready to try. It was wonderful—”

  “Oh, please.”

  He looked a little hurt. “Okay. Leave the wonderful part out. Just say it was very nice; then we fell asleep and didn’t wake up until it was time to leave. I’ll say the same.”

  They were marching along like a couple of Caesar’s foot soldiers. They didn’t speak again until they were standing on her front porch. There was an awkward moment while they just looked at each other. Then Dillon said, “Later,” and sprinted down the steps.

  He was halfway to the path, when Andy called out, “Hey, Dillon.”


  He stopped. Turned around.

  “It was wonderful,” she said and closed the door.

  ———

  Dillon knew he’d made a tactical error. He’d hurt her. But hell, when he said she wasn’t a part of his plan, he’d been talking about the investigation, not the future. Anyway, they didn’t have a future. Why couldn’t they have just met in a bar sometime when he wasn’t on assignment.

  Because, dummy, if you randomly met her in a bar, she’d turn out to be an agent, trying to slip in beneath the radar.

  His radar had blipped off the screen ever since he’d first seen Andy. And how the hell was he going to juggle keeping her from interfering, while he kept her safe, while trying to wrap up this investigation, and find her aunt in the bargain.

  Time was passing. Tonight they’d celebrate the end of the first week with a Bacchanalian Barbecue. There were only two weeks left, and he didn’t feel any closer to the truth than he had a week ago.

  ———

  Andy left her meditation session feeling languid and more than a little depressed. But she couldn’t really blame the latter on meditation. That honor belonged to Dillon Cross. Still, she’d done her share of meditation in her training over the years, and she didn’t remember ever feeling so zonked afterward. Maybe it was a combination of communing with her inner self, not enough sleep, and get-down, knock-your-socks-off sex.

  Katherine Dane stopped her as she was leaving the Spa. “You seem tired today.”

  “A little,” said Andy.

  “Well, you’re doing fine. Just keep listening to your inner self, and keep up the good work.” Katherine gave her the smile that all the priestesses seemed to have perfected. Then she patted Andy on the shoulder and returned to the meditation room.

  Andy went straight back to her cabin. She wasn’t ready to face the third degree over breakfast. She had no intention of “sharing” the details of her night in the Bower of Bliss with anybody, not even Dr. Bliss during her dreaded debriefing. And she definitely wasn’t going to any of the workshops and take the chance of embarrassing herself again.