Show & Tell (2 page)

“Come on, Vannah,” Knox cajoled, using the nickname that never failed to set her teeth on edge. He was the only person at the
Phoenix
who dared call her that and the implied intimacy of the nickname drove her mad. “This is going to be a helluva story.”

She didn't doubt that for one minute. Knox Webber didn't waste his time on anything that didn't promise a front page. And he had to be desperate to ask her for help, because she knew he'd rather slide buck naked down a razor blade into a pool of alcohol than ask her for a favor.

Still, there was no way in hell she wanted any part of a story with him, phenomenal byline or no. She didn't have to possess any psychic ability to know that the outcome could be nothing short of disastrous. An extended weekend at a sex workshop with Knox? The one and only man she didn't have a prayer of resisting? The one she continually fantasized about? A vision of her and Knox naked and sweaty loomed
instantly in her mind's eye, making her tummy quiver with perpetually repressed longing.

No way.

Savannah firmed her chin and repeated her last thought for his benefit. “Forget it, Knox. Ask someone else.” She gave him her back once more and slid into the chair behind her desk.

“I don't want to ask anyone else. I've asked you.” Knox frowned at her and the expression was so uncharacteristic that it momentarily startled her. Savannah blinked, then gathered her wits about her.

“I can't believe you won't even consider it,” the object of her irritation repeated stubbornly. “I thought you'd jump at the chance to have a go at this story.”

Savannah tsked. “I warned you about that. Thinking upsets the delicate balance of your constitution. Best to avoid the process at all costs, Webber.”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “smart-ass,” but Savannah couldn't be sure.

Still he was right. Had any other male co-worker asked her, she wouldn't have hesitated. In fact, it was almost frightening how much their minds thought alike. She'd been toying with the idea of a tantric sex article for a couple of weeks now and had been waiting for the concept to gel. She'd simply let him get the jump on her this time—a rare feat, because she'd made a game out of thwarting him.

“You don't know what it is, do you?” Wearing an infuriating little grin Savannah itched to slap off
his face, Knox leaned his incredible ass against her desk.

“Know what
what
is?” Her eyes rounded.
“Sex?”
With an indelicate snort, Savannah booted up her laptop and did her best to appear unaware of him. “Granted, I might not have as much experience as you—I'm sure you'd give the hookers in the red-light district a run for their money in the experience department—but I'm not completely ignorant, for pity's sake,” Savannah huffed. She cast him an annoyed glance. “I know what sex is.”

Though it had been so long since she'd had any, her memory was getting a little fuzzy about the particulars. If she didn't get laid soon, she'd undoubtedly be declared a virgin again simply by default. Or out of pity. Twelve-to fourteen-hour workdays didn't leave much time for romance. Besides, after Gibson Lyles III, Savannah didn't put much stock in romance, or in men, for that matter. She sighed. Men were too much work, for too little reward.

“Not just sex,” Knox said. “
Tantric sex.
Do you know what it is?”

Savannah loaded her web browser, busying herself with the task at hand. “Sure. It's a complex marriage of yoga, ritual, meditation and intercourse.”

Alternately, he looked surprised then impressed. “Very good. See? You're perfect.”

“Be that as it may, I'm not going. I have work to do. Go away.” Savannah smoothed her hair behind her ears and continued to pretend he wasn't there.
No small feat when every single part of her tingled as a result of his nearness. Which sucked, particularly since, for the most part, she couldn't stand him.
“Go away,”
she repeated.

Knox continued to study her and another maddening twinkle lit his gaze. “I see. You're scared.”

Savannah resisted the urge to grind her teeth. “Scared of what?”

“Of me, obviously.” Knox picked an imaginary fleck of lint from the cuff of his expensive shirt. “Why else would you refuse such a great opportunity when it's painfully obvious that you've been considering the topic as well?” Something shifted in his gaze. “That…or you're into it.”

“Ooh, you've found me out. Good job, Columbo. And don't flatter yourself. I am
not
afraid of you.” Savannah chuckled. “I've got your number, Slick. Nothing about you frightens me.” Savannah figured providence would promptly issue a bolt of lightning and turn her into a Roman candle for that whopper, but thankfully she remained spark free.

The silence lengthened until Knox finally blew out an impatient breath. “Won't you even consider it?”

“No.”

His typically amiable expression vanished. “This is a great opportunity. Don't make me play hardball.”

Exasperated, Savannah leveled a hard look at him. “Play whatever kind of ball you want, Knox. But you won't make me play with you. I'm not one of
your newsroom groupies. Now get out of my cubby—you're crowding me.”

Wearing a look of supreme frustration, Knox finally stalked off, presumably to ask another female to do his bidding. Good riddance, Savannah thought, though she did hate the missed opportunity.

But even had she been inclined to accept the offer, she really wouldn't have had the time to pursue the assignment—groveling to Chapman, her diabolical boss, and covering all of the demeaning little stories he gleefully threw her way were taking up entirely too much of her time.

Savannah and Chapman were presently embroiled in the proverbial Mexican standoff, neither of them willing to budge. The problem revolved around a libel suit that had been filed against the
Chicago Phoenix
as a result of one of her stories. To Chapman's extreme irritation and despite various threats, Savannah stood by her story and refused to compromise her journalistic integrity by revealing her source. Chapman had bullied and blustered, wailed and threatened everything from being demoted to being fired, but Savannah simply would not relent. Her credibility would be ruined. To give up this source would ultimately wreck her career.

Besides, it was just wrong. She'd given her word and she wouldn't compromise her integrity simply for the sake of the paper. That's why they employed high-powered attorneys. Let them sort it out. She'd only been doing her job, and she'd done it to the
absolute best of her ability. She refused to admit any wrongdoing, and she'd be damned before she'd claim any responsibility.

Savannah had been educated in the school of hard knocks, had been on her own since she'd turned eighteen and was no longer a ward of the state. She'd put herself through college by working three grueling jobs. Sure, covering the opening of a new strip mall was degrading, but if Hugh Chapman thought he could get the better of her by giving her crappy assignments, then he had another think coming. She stiffened her spine. Savannah was certain she was tough enough to take anything her mean-spirited boss could dish out.

Don't make me play hardball.

A premonition of dread surfaced as Knox's parting comment tripped unexpectedly through her mind.

She was wrong, Savannah decided. She was tough enough to take anything
but
a weekend sex workshop with Knox Webber.

“…
SO YOU SEE
,
this story has incredible potential. I have it on good authority that the
Tribune
is considering the angle as well.”

Predictably, Hugh Chapman, editor in chief of the
Chicago Phoenix
bristled when taunted with the prospect of their rival paper possibly getting a scoop.

“You don't say,” the older man grunted thought fully. As tall as he was wide, with large fishlike eyes, thick lips, a bulbous nose and pasty complexion, Chapman bore an unfortunate resemblance to an obese albino guppy. But Hugh Chapman was no harmless fish. He'd been in the publishing business for years and Knox didn't think he'd ever met a man more shrewd or calculating. Vindictive even, if the rumors were true.

Playing him was risky, but Knox desperately needed to do this story and he'd already tried the ethical route. It hadn't worked, so he'd been forced to employ a different tactic. His conscience twinged, but Knox ignored it. He'd given Savannah a chance to make the trip to California of her own accord.
She'd refused. If Knox played his cards right, in just a few minutes she'd wish she hadn't.

Knox heaved a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, I'm afraid so. I'd really like to get the jump on them. Pity Savannah didn't go for the idea,” Knox said regretfully. “And I can't do it without her. Oh, well. You win some, you lose some. I'm sure we'll beat them to the punch on something else.” Knox smacked his hands on his thighs, seemingly resigned, and started to stand.

“Call her in here,” Chapman said abruptly.

With an innocent look, Knox paused. “Sorry?”

“I said call her in here. You need her to go—I'll make her go.” His beefy brow folded in consternation. “Presently, Ms. Reeves is in no position to refuse me. She's skating on thin ice as it is.”

“Oh, sir, I don't know,” Knox protested. “I didn't—”

“Webber, do what I told you to do,” Chapman barked.

“Right, sir.” Knox's step was considerably lighter as he crossed the room and pulled the glass door open. “Savannah Reeves, Mr. Chapman would like to see you.”

Savannah's head appeared from behind her cubby. Knox's triumphant expression combined with the boss's summons seemed to register portents of doom because, within seconds, her pale blue eyes narrowed to angry slits and her lips flattened into a tense line.
She stood and made her way across the room. Tension vibrated off her slight form.

“I told you not to make me play hardball,” Knox murmured silkily as she drew near.

“If you've done what I think you've done,” she returned with a brittle smile, obviously for the benefit of onlookers, since she clearly longed to strangle him, “you will be
so
very sorry. I will permanently extinguish your ‘wand of light.'”

Knox choked on a laugh as she swept past into the inner sanctum of Chapman's office. In traditional tantra, the Sanskrit word for penis was
lingam,
which translated into “wand of light.” She certainly knew her stuff, Knox thought, surprised and impressed once more with her knowledge of the subject. He'd been right in forcing her hand. Annoying though she may be—the bane of his professional existence—Savannah Reeves was a crackerjack journalist. Very thorough.

“You wanted to see me, sir,” Savannah said.

Knox moved to stand beside Savannah, who seemed determined to pretend he didn't exist. She kept her gaze focused on Chapman and refused to acknowledge Knox at all. His conscience issued another screech for having her called on the carpet, but he determinedly ignored the howl. If she had simply used her head and agreed, this could have all been avoided. It was her own fault.

Chapman gave her a long, unyielding stare, so hard that Knox himself was hard-pressed not to
flinch. His scalp suddenly prickled with unease. What was it Chapman had said? She was on thin ice? Why? Knox wondered instantly. Why was she on thin ice?

“I understand Knox has asked you to accompany him on an extended weekend assignment and you have refused,” Chapman said.

She nodded. “Yes, sir. That's correct.”

Chapman steepled his fingers so that they looked like little pork sausages. “I'm not going to ask you why you refused, because that would imply that I care and I don't—that you have a choice, and you don't. You will go. Understood?”

She stiffened. “But, sir—”

Chapman's forehead formed a unibrowed scowl. “No buts.” He looked meaningfully at Knox. “Surely it's not going to be necessary for me to remind you of why it would behoove you not to argue with me about this.”

Though she clearly longed to do just that, Savannah's shoulders rounded with uncharacteristic defeat. She sighed. “No, sir. Of course not.”

Knox frowned. What in hell was going on? How had she managed to land her name on the top of Chapman's shit-list? What had she done? he wondered again.

“That's what I thought. Knox,” Chapman said, “see Rowena and have her tend to the necessary arrangements.” He nodded at Savannah. “The two of you should get together and make your plans.”

Knox smiled. “Right, sir. Thank you.”

Savannah didn't say a word, just turned and marched rigidly out of the office. Knox had to double-time it to catch up with her. “What was that all ab—”

“That,”
Savannah said meaningfully, “is none of your business, but that's probably never stopped you before. Honestly, I can't believe that you did that—that you went to Chapman.” She shook her head. “I knew you were a spoiled little tight-ass and a first-rate jerk, but it honestly never occurred to me that you'd sink so damned low.”

Knox scowled at the tight-ass remark but refused to let her goad him, and followed her into her cubicle once more. “In case you haven't noticed,” Knox pointed out sarcastically, “it's our job to make
everything
our business. That's what journalists do. Besides, I gave you the opportunity to do the right thing.”

She blasted him with a frosty glare. “Wrong. You gave me the opportunity to do what
you
wanted me to do.” Savannah shoved a hand through her hair impatiently, mussing it up even more. She took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm herself but failing miserably. She opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. Finally she said, “Did it ever occur to you that I might have plans for this weekend? That it might not be convenient for me to jaunt off to California with you?”

Prepared to argue with whatever insult she hurled
next, that question caught him completely off guard and Knox felt his expression blank.

“I thought so.” She collapsed into her chair. “You pampered prep-school boys are all the same. Contrary to popular belief, Mr. Webber, the world does not revolve around you and your every whim.” She laughed, but the sound lacked humor. “We peasants have lives to.”

Peasants? Knox scrubbed a hand over his face and felt a flush creep up his neck. She was right. He hadn't considered that she'd have any plans. He'd just assumed that, like him, work didn't leave time for anything else. “Look, I'm sorry for wrecking your plans. That was never my intention. I just—”

“You didn't wreck my plans, because I didn't have any,” she said tartly. She turned back to her computer, doing her best to ignore him out of existence.

Knox blinked. Felt his fingers curl into his palms. “If you didn't have any plans, then what the hell is the problem?” he asked tightly.

“I
could
have had plans. It's just a lucky coincidence that I don't.”

Knox blew out a breath. “Whatever. When would you like to get together and see to the details of this trip?”

She snorted. “Never.”

“Vannah…” Knox warned, feeling his patience wear thin.

“Savannah,”
she corrected, and he could have
sworn he heard one of her teeth crack. “You can brief me on the plane. Until then, get away from me and leave me alone.”

“But—”

She glanced up from her computer. “You might have won the battle, but you certainly haven't won the war. You've forced my hand, but that's all I'm going to allow. Do not speak to me again until we're on our way to California or, Chapman's edict or no, you'll be making the journey solo.”

A hot oath sizzled on Knox's tongue, but he bit back the urge. He'd never met a woman who infuriated him more, and the desire to call her bluff was almost overpowering.

But he didn't.

He couldn't afford the risk. This story meant too much. He knew it and he needed to keep the bigger picture in focus.

Instead, though it galled him to no end, Knox nodded succinctly and wordlessly left her cubicle.

 

S
AVANNAH HAD SILENTLY PRAYED
that Knox would screw up and talk to her so that she could make good on her threat, but he didn't. Per her instruction, he hadn't said a single word to her until they boarded the plane. Since then he'd seemed determined to treat this assignment like any other, and even more determined to ignore the fact that she'd been an unwilling participant.

A typical man, Savannah thought. If he couldn't
buy it off, knock it down or bully it aside, then he ignored it.

They'd flown out of O'Hare at the ungodly hour of five in the morning and would arrive in sunny Sacramento, California, by nine-thirty. At the airport, they would rent a car to finish the journey. The Shea compound was located in the small community of Riverdale, about fifty miles northwest of Sacramento. Barring any unforeseen complications, they should arrive in plenty of time to get settled and attend the Welcome Brunch. Classes officially started at two.

A volcano of dread erupted in her belly at the thought, but rather than allow it to consume her, Savannah channeled her misgivings into a more productive emotion—anger.

She still saw red every time she thought about Chapman's hand in her humiliation. Quite honestly, she'd been surprised that he hadn't taken every opportunity to belittle her in front of her co-workers—to make an example of her—and could only assume he acted on the advice of the paper's attorneys. Chapman seemed the type to feed off others' misfortune, and, frankly, she'd never liked him. She wasn't the least bit surprised that Chapman had sided with Knox. Knox was the golden boy, after all.

But the
Phoenix
had an unparalleled reputation, and she would have been insane not to accept employment at one of the most prestigious papers in the States. She had her career plan, after all, and wouldn't let a little thing like despising her boss get
in the way. Though she assumed he'd never give her a glowing recommendation, her writing would speak for itself.

As for Knox's role in this…she was still extremely perturbed at him for not taking no for an answer. Without a family or mentor to speak of, Savannah relied solely on gut instinct. She had to. She didn't have a choice. In the absence of one perception, others became heightened, supersensitized. Just as the blind had a keener sense of smell, she'd developed a keener sense of perception, of self-preservation. When Knox had walked up and asked her to share this story with him, her knee-jerk gut reaction had been swift and telling—she'd almost tossed her cookies.

Going on this trip with him was the height of stupidity. Savannah could be brutally honest with herself when the need arose and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this attraction to Knox was a battle she could not win. If Knox so much as touched her, she'd melt, and then he'd know her mortifying secret—that she'd been lusting after him for over a year.

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 considera
tion. 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.