by Gemma Bruce
Okay? Just okay? He’d thought it had been pretty damn good. “Okay? How okay?”
“What?”
Maybe she thought he was crazy. He must be, to be attracted to someone like her. Even with her hair falling out of her braid. The wisps that furled around her face. She looked softer. More kissable.
“Okay okay.”
“Okay enough to . . . ?”
She nodded. Stepped toward him.
This was a mistake. But she looked so damn desirable. He’d worry about the ramifications later. He slipped his arms around her waist, slowly, gently. Not too aggressive. He pulled her closer and let his hand drift up her back, even though he really wanted to cup her ass, pull her gown up, and find out what was under all that drapery. You’ll scare her, you fool. So he cupped the back of her neck instead.
Her eyes closed, her lips parted.
He bent his head, brushed his lips lightly across hers. A kiss, just a thank-you for telling Dane it had been her fault and not his. It had been a sweet, but needless, reaction.
“Um, Dillon?”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me.”
Like a Pavlovian dog, he obeyed. His mouth latched onto hers. His fingers slid into her hair, and he pressed her into the kiss. Her lips moved with his. They were soft, open—an invitation. His tongue pushed past her teeth.
She sighed. Like a breeze. He licked the roof of her mouth. The breeze became a wind. Her tongue flicked his, and the wind became a sirocco of heat. And it was too late to stop.
Her fingers pressed against his chest, and Dillon’s world caught fire. She moved her hands up to his shoulders, her palms creating friction as skin rubbed against skin.
Down, he thought. Move them down.
As if she’d heard, her palms slid down, slowing as they covered his nipples.
Heat flared in his groin. Down, he thought, down, girl, down.
And down they went, pressing into his abdomen, his stomach. His hands moved on her back, mimicking the downward motion of her hands, his fingers spread, following the contours of a thin and muscular body.
Something was not computing in his brain, but his brain was barely functioning, except where it had taken up residency for the last half hour. There, it was working overtime.
Her finger slipped into his navel and he groaned into her mouth.
A shudder passed over her and he felt her smile beneath his lips.
Her fingertips dipped into the waistband of his kilt. He sucked in his stomach and her fingers slipped another inch.
He pulled one hand from her ass and dragged it to her breast, lightly brushing the curve of it through the layers of her shirt and gown. Then she touched the tip of his erection through his jockstrap. His fingers closed over the lush roundness of her. She arched back, pushing her breast into his hand. Now, if he could just lose the shirt and the jockstrap without breaking the mood, everything would be perfect.
And if neither of them thought about what they were doing, they might actually—
Through the fog of his lust, he heard voices. Distant but coming closer. The movie must be over. Damn.
He crowded Ariadne until she took a step backward. Then another while he kept assaulting her mouth with his tongue. He fumbled behind her and found the door handle. Pulled it open. It hit her in the back, and she fell into him with an expulsion of breath. Not of surprise, he realized, but laughter.
Ms. Mouse was full of surprises. He pushed her inside, letting the screen door slam. Then released her long enough to shut the wooden door. When he turned back to her, she was standing where he’d left her. Her hair had fallen from the braid. Her cheeks were flushed pink against her pale skin. Her eyes were heavy and she looked good enough to ravish.
She reached past him and turned off the lights. And in the sudden darkness, the fragrance of jasmine surrounded them.
“Are you sure about this?” He wasn’t sure she knew what she was getting into. But she couldn’t be a virgin. It was the twenty-first century. There were no virgins.
“Yes.” Her voice was husky, not at all like the prim Ms. Mouse he’d escorted to this room barely twenty-four hours ago.
She came willingly. Really willingly. She rubbed against him and he was instantly on fire again. She was snuggled into him and he was having a hard time thinking. He just knew that he wanted her.
He pulled the straps of her gown over her shoulders. Started on the buttons of her tailored shirt. Smiling as he thought how ridiculous she was to try to conceal what was obviously a dynamite body.
The voices were closer now, but he was barely paying attention to them. Thank God Ariadne had turned out the light. Her attempt at modesty might just save them from being interrupted.
He undid another button, felt warm flesh against his fingers, and couldn’t resist sliding his hand through the opening to feel her breast without the layers of clothes.
The voices stopped. Then he heard footsteps coming across the porch.
He froze.
“What?”
He pulled Ariadne into him and held her immobile, while he tugged up the front of the gown, fumbling with the straps until they were back over her shoulders. He brushed her hair out of her eyes, no easy feat in the dark. Just in case. With any luck, whoever it was would go away, and he and Ariadne could take up where they’d left off.
There was a knock on the door.
Ariadne jumped. “What was that?” She twisted around, but Dillon held on.
“Shh. Someone’s knocking on your door.”
She moved closer to him.
“Ariadne?”
“Maybe she’s not in.”
“Of course she’s here. We just saw the lights go out.” A louder knock. “Ariadne, hon. We just saw your lights go out, so we know you aren’t asleep. Come out and party.”
“Maybe she’s tired. Come on, Jeannie. Don’t be a nuisance.”
“Me? It’s time that girl had some fun, and she’s not gonna have it sitting by herself in her cabin all night. And just where is her slave, I’d like to know?”
The screen door squeaked. The doorknob rattled.
Ariadne pushed away from Dillon and got to the door, just as it opened.
Dillon couldn’t see who it was, but he recognized the voice and cast his eyes upward.
“Lordy. You scared the bejeezus outta me. Get dressed. We’re having a party and we won’t take no for an answer.” A hand reached out and flipped on the light. And Dillon was staring into the shocked face of Jeannie Jenkins.
Slowly, she looked from him to Ariadne and back again. “Oops.” She flicked off the light and backed out the door.
Andy closed the door behind her, just as Dillon heard, “Let’s go, girls. Ariadne is busy. Ooo-ee, is she ever.”
———
Andy tried hard not to laugh when she turned back to Dillon and saw him frozen in place like a Greek statue. A stunned Greek statue. She sighed and leaned against the door. Just in case he decided to bolt and run. She wasn’t finished with him yet.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you probably think this is the worst thing that could happen.”
No, thought Andy. The worst thing would be that you leave now instead of getting on with it.
“Really. I should never have put you in the position . . .”
Just show me a few more and you’re absolved.
“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 glasse
s.”
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.
Chapter 7
The 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.”
