Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess?

by Gemma Bruce

  “I said you’re in my way,” said Rusty.

  Demetri moved an inch to the side. “Is this better?”

  “You’re pathetic.” Rusty tried to ease past him.

  “My goddess doesn’t think so.” Demetri held his hand in front of Rusty’s face. A sapphire ring glinted from his little finger.

  Rusty quickly looked around. “I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you. You know the rules, no seducing, no bragging—”

  “Not me, man. I just did what she told me to do.” His thick eyebrows lifted in mock astonishment. “And, man, can that woman talk.”

  “And no accepting gifts,” Rusty continued. “It’s in our contract, and you could get the rest of us in trouble.”

  Demetri shrugged. “Relax. It’s just a trinket. No big deal.”

  “You’d better not let JoJo see it.”

  “Oooh, think he’ll spank me?” Demetri smiled. “I’m telling you, there’s nothing like a wealthy widow to set my blood on fi—er.” He did a little shimmy; his chest moved in one solid piece. “She’s old and saggy, I don’t care how many lifts she’s had. But hey, you gotta pay to play. I mean to play.” He wiggled his pinkie at them and walked away.

  “I hate that guy,” said Rusty. “This is a great job and he’s going to ruin it for everybody.”

  Dillon nodded and followed him to their table. He’d never been the chivalrous type, but there was something about Demetri’s attitude toward the women here that made Dillon see red.

  Ariadne was already seated, and he realized he’d forgotten about her. Someone else must have helped her. Thank God for small favors.

  Rusty put down his tray and stopped to talk to his goddess, a lady with a blue perm. Dillon moved to the far side of the table and began pouring coffee, concentrating on not spilling it on the goddesses or on the daily schedules they had spread across the table.

  “I’m thinking about starting with Elements of Flirtation.”

  Dillon carefully filled the cup and moved to Ariadne’s place.

  “Not me,” said the redhead. “I’m going straight to Pussy Empowerment.”

  Dillon fumbled his carafe. There was an intake of breath from the goddesses. He held on until the carafe settled back into his hand. Christ. It was hard enough pouring coffee while getting goosed, stroked, and fondled without having to listen to their plans for flirtation and God knew what else.

  The redhead grinned at him. “Did I embarrass you, sugah?” She turned to Ariadne. “What about you, honey? What workshop are you goin’ to?”

  “Uh,” said his goddess.

  Well, that was a relief. He couldn’t imagine Ariadne empowering her—he couldn’t even say the word. Maybe he should take a look at the course list and give her some advice. She wasn’t really cut out for this kind of thing.

  Actually, neither was he.

  ———

  “What do you suggest?” asked Ariadne, lowering her glasses to watch Dillon walk away. God, he was gorgeous. She wondered what he usually did for a living. Surely he didn’t work the circuit of sex therapy workshops. It gave her the creeps to think of him waiting on woman after woman. Servicing woman after woman.

  He didn’t even seem that comfortable around women. Maybe he was a cowboy; that scar on his back could have been caused by a bull. But his knee. She shuddered just thinking about it.

  “Honey, are you all right?” asked Loubelle. “You’re not still upset about that little accident with the water pitcher last night, are you?”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be,” said Jeannie.

  “No, you shouldn’t,” agreed Evelyn, giving Jeannie a pointed look.

  Jeannie looked innocent. “He was probably nervous. It’s obvious the poor man isn’t comfortable being around so many desirable women. Though with his looks, I don’t know why not. I could eat him with a spoon.”

  Desirable wasn’t exactly the word she would have chosen to describe her fellow goddesses. There was something desperate about their need to control.

  Okay, so maybe she was just jealous. She’d never had control of anything, except her stunt work. And half the time that went to hell, too. She had the scars to prove it.

  Maybe she did need a little goddess training.

  She picked up her schedule and began to peruse it. In the end, she opted for a workshop called Knowing What You Want. Which seemed like a good place to start, since she didn’t have a clue.

  Chapter 4

  Three hours later, Andy still didn’t know what she wanted or how to get it. Not that Carmen, the spitfire acolyte, didn’t do her best. She was a dynamo, all four-foot-eleven of her. Her hair was a riot of tight curls. Stretch capris molded themselves to muscular legs, and a knit top draped off her shoulders—a twenty-first century happening kind of goddess. Her tight little body thrummed with energy as she quickly settled everyone onto couches and chairs and began to pass out questionnaires.

  She collected them before Andy had answered half the questions. Then she paced through the group, gesticulating, confronting and cajoling her “sisters” to spill their guts about their failures in life and love—which everyone except Andy was more than willing to do. It was amazing the things women were willing to share . . . and share . . . and share.

  As soon as someone admitted their failure, Carmen turned it around and badgered them into “changing the scenario” to one of success.

  Andy kept her mouth shut during the first half and avoided Carmen’s intent eyes whenever she passed by her chair. And then with only minutes to go, Carmen stopped in front of her.

  “And you, Ariadne,” she said in her spicy Latino-accented voice. “Do you know what you want?” Andy shrunk back in her chair. She didn’t have to pretend to be the shy Ms. McAllister. She was horrified to see everyone turn toward her, their expressions expectant and encouraging. She couldn’t give details about her life. What would she say? That she was a stuntwoman, here under false pretenses? That she wasn’t really shy and inexperienced? And she certainly wasn’t going to confess to her active, but going nowhere, love life.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Cleared her throat and finally just shrugged and stared at her hands.

  Carmen gave her a disappointed look and said, “We are all here to succeed, but in order to do that, we must first share.” Then she turned her attention to someone who was more than happy to oblige.

  As soon as the class was over and Carmen was surrounded by enthusiastic women, Andy grabbed her backpack and slinked out of the room.

  She had wasted the entire morning without asking one question about Mac’s disappearance. Which she needed to do soon. She couldn’t take much more of this touchy-feely “we are all sisters and we deserve the job and the man of our dreams” bit. She had the job she wanted. She was successful, had a loving family. And if she was a little behind in finding the man of her dreams, it wasn’t through lack of trying.

  Making films was a grueling, time-devouring profession. And exhausting. Which didn’t leave much time or energy for building a relationship. Men came on to her all the time, but they didn’t stay. And she never really wanted them to. They assumed that a stuntwoman would be fun for a night of gymnastic sex, but they invariably ended up feeling threatened by a woman who was stronger, more athletic, and able to take care of herself as well as him. Then it was, “That was great. I’ll call you.” Of course, they rarely did, and if they did manage to leave a message, she was usually working.

  Well, a girl couldn’t have everything.

  She stalked across the grass toward the pool where she’d agreed to meet Evelyn, Jeannie, and Loubelle for lunch. There were plenty of young, good-looking women at the retreat. Too bad her family hadn’t done their research. Then she wouldn’t be stuck in this annoying old-maid costume.

  What she needed was a makeover, like Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady or Anne Hathaway in The Princess Diaries. Then Dillon could see her as she really was.

  Wait a minute. Forget Dillon. She was on a mission. And as
soon as she found out what happened to Mac, she was out of here. No wonder Mac left. Andy couldn’t figure out why she’d come in the first place. Mac was successful, gorgeous, independent, and still had plenty of men around . . . but never kept any of them.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe Mac was looking for “the one.”

  Andy shuddered. She really didn’t need to go there.

  She heard her name being warbled. “Over here.” Jeannie waved at her from where she and Loubelle and Evelyn were lying on white plastic chaise lounges by the pool.

  Andy waved back, shoved her glasses on, and began shuffling past blurs of chairs and people toward the three women. She felt along the empty chaise between Evelyn and Jeannie, dumped her backpack alongside it, and sat down.

  “We ordered iced tea,” Jeannie drawled. “Here’s the lunch menu.” A rectangle of cardboard appeared before Andy.

  “What’s everyone having?” she asked, hoping to get a clue without actually having to read it.

  “I’m having the crab salad,” said Evelyn. “It’s always delicious here. They have it flown in from the coast.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Andy dropped the menu and stretched her legs along the chaise. The sun was glaring through her Coke-bottle lenses. She felt as though her irises might burst into flame any minute. She tried closing her eyes, but it didn’t help. She picked up her backpack, rummaged inside, and took out her Ray-Bans. She pulled off her prop glasses and replaced them with the sunglasses. The world snapped into focus, a little dark, but clear. Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner.

  Her gaze fell immediately on a huge kidney-shaped pool with three stone dolphins spewing water from its center. Across the pool was a food cabana and a colonnaded stone amphitheater. Goddesses of all sizes and shapes, wearing a variety of swimwear from string bikinis to knee-length cover-ups, swam, sat at tables playing cards or eating, or lay in chaises while their attendants straddled their recumbent bodies and applied sunscreen in long, easy strokes.

  Andy wondered where her attendant was. Too bad her string bikini was hidden away in her suitcase. She wouldn’t mind having Dillon’s hands slathering oil all over her.

  “You know, hon, you should try to relax. Have some fun. Like me.” Jeannie was wearing a two-piece suit, which accentuated her too-thin, too-tanned body. Her skin wrinkled each time she changed positions.

  On the other side of Jeannie, Loubelle stood up and began to slather sunblock over the parts of her not covered by her Bermuda shorts and peasant blouse.

  “Loubelle, sugah, pull up your sleeves or you’re gonna get a farmer’s tan,” said Jeannie, turning lazily toward her. “And where’s that Rusty? He should be doing that.”

  Loubelle shook her head. “I’m a great-grandmother,” she said in her soft accent. “Some things are better left to the imagination.”

  “But not many,” Jeannie said and winked at the others.

  Andy began to search for Dillon among the men carrying trays to and from the food cabana. She finally spotted him on the other side of the pool, talking with several of the younger, hotter women.

  Andy crossed her arms. Back off, bitches, she thought. He’s mine.

  Just when she was considering a triple flip across the pool and several well-aimed karate chops, Dillon moved away from them. Andy watched them watch him, until she realized how stupid that was and began watching him, too.

  He moved unhurriedly, efficiently, walking with a slight hitch that she’d noticed yesterday. Surely she wasn’t responsible for that limp. She hadn’t fallen on him that hard. The silk of his nylon shirt rippled over his muscles as he headed toward the cabana.

  “Which workshop did you attend this morning, Ariadne?”

  “This morning?” Andy forced her gaze away from Dillon and looked at Evelyn.

  “Oh. Knowing What You Want and How To Get It.”

  “That was a good choice,” said Loubelle. “I took it two sessions ago and it really works.”

  “Always good to know what you want before you get it,” said Jeannie, then shook her head. “Somebody oughta light a fire under your slave, hon. He’s moving slow. Uh-huh. But lookin’ good.”

  He sure was, thought Andy. Dillon was walking toward them, the drinks’ tray balanced on his palm. The frontal view was even better than the side view. And for the first time, Andy could look to her heart’s content. Really, the sunglasses were a brilliant move. A breeze kicked up, plastering his T-shirt to his chest, while the sun glared down on Andy’s shirt and khakis. She seemed to get hotter with every step Dillon took.

  “Do you ever let your hair down?” asked Jeannie, sitting up on the edge of her chaise and looking at Andy.

  Evelyn shook her head. “Jeannie. You are too much.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that, but your real hair. It’s so nice and thick and such a lovely color.” She scooted her chaise closer to Andy’s. “Let’s see. Sit up. Evey, hand me that brush out of my purse.”

  Oh, shit, thought Andy. The makeover. It was so tempting. Wouldn’t she just love to see Dillon’s face when the real her appeared. But that would be a disaster. She couldn’t change until she’d found Aunt Mac.

  Jeannie was already pulling out the pins from her bun. Andy grabbed her hand. “Maybe later.”

  Jeannie pursed her lips. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for. Here’s your chance to be a new you. Life is short. I know you’re too young to think about that. But I’m telling ya. There aren’t that many good men out there, and you better make sure you get yourself one.”

  “I don’t . . .” But she did want to have a meaningful relationship. It wouldn’t have to last forever, but long enough to get to know each other, not jump into bed the minute they met. They could read, talk, play dominos.. . .

  “Mr. Jenkins was a real sweetie,” Jeannie continued. “He had his head screwed on right and he took care of me. But I never had any eternal orgasms. I was lucky if I got one at all. Then one day, he up and died, just like that, and I was richer than I had any right to be. I’d been watching Dr. Bliss’s show on the TV every day, read all her books.

  “I thought, what the heck, I’m young . . . enough. So I signed up for Terra Bliss. Liked it so much, I came back for a second round. Now I’m on my third. I’m still waiting for that eternal orgasm, but I aim to get it before I die. Do you have a bathing suit?”

  “What?” said Andy. “Me?” Dillon had almost reached them, and Andy was having a hard time thinking. Only my string bikini. “No. I . . .”

  “No matter, you can borrow one of mine. I brought a few extras.”

  Dillon set the tray on the table and handed the others tall, frosty glasses of tea. Then he leaned over Andy and placed a glass of iced tea on the table by her chaise.

  She turned her head to watch him, which put her eyes right at crotch level. She took a second to enjoy the way the silk clung and shimmered over a landscape she’d like to explore. She leaned on the arm of her chaise; her elbow slipped off.

  The top of her head brushed against his thigh. She got a jolt of pure “take me now.” She lifted her head. Dillon was still leaning over the table. He seemed oblivious, but Andy was sure that something was happening inside those little shorts. Was it possible that he was getting aroused?

  Yeah. He was definitely growing. You rock, girl. Even with old-lady clothes and bad hair and makeup, she still had it, and she was more than ready to use it. She was tempted to reach for her iced tea and accidentally brush the front of his shorts to see if he was as hard as she thought. After all, she was half-blind. He’d never guess she’d done it on purpose.

  Then he moved away and she felt oddly deserted.

  Jeannie sipped her iced tea and watched Dillon as he carried the empty tray away. Then she leaned over the space between the chairs. “He’s definitely got the hots for you.”

  Andy shook her head, biting her lip not to laugh out loud.

  Yes. Thank you, God.

  “No, really. He does. His Mr. Peter was practically d
ancin’ in his pants.”

  Andy buried her face in her hands to hide her grin.

  “Jeannie,” admonished Loubelle, pursing her lips and flushing pink. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Jeannie rolled her eyes. “And it’s a mighty fine one, too. I know, ’cause my hand did a little introducing itself to him last night at dinner. Sorry ’bout the water. Who knew he was so ticklish.”

  “Honestly, Jeannie,” said Evelyn. “I knew something had surprised him. But I never.”

  “Well, I never did either. But I figured, what was I waiting for?”

  “You . . . you . . . goosed him?” asked Andy, nearly choking to hold back her laughter.

  “Yeah, but don’t mind me. I’m perfectly happy with my Demetri. But you better go on and act before one of these other women starts poaching.”

  Andy shook her head and reached for her iced tea. She pulled at the straw and sucked in a burning breath. Her eyes teared up. No one had said it was Long Island iced tea.

  “No need to be embarrassed. You’re a diamond in the rough. He’s smart enough to see it. Now, if you’d just let me do something about your hair.”

  A few minutes later, they moved to the luncheon table. Demetri and another attendant, whom Evelyn introduced as Louis, wandered over. Louis was a clean-cut, well-scrubbed, all-American kind of guy. He nodded politely and began chatting with Evelyn.

  Demetri stopped at Jeannie’s chair, did some rubby, purry things, then left again. A minute later, Louis followed him.

  “Was that your sapphire ring Demetri was wearing on his pinkie?” asked Loubelle, smoothing her linen napkin across her lap.

  “Uh-huh. Doesn’t he look sweet wearing it?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “You should be a little careful with your gifts.”

  “Oh, pooh. I’ve got more little trinkets than I’ll ever be able to wear.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t advertise it if I were you. Oh, there you are, Rusty.” Loubelle smiled past Andy. Andy turned around to see a freckle-faced redhead bouncing toward them.

  “Just came by to say a quick hello. Everybody having a good time?”