Show & Tell (3 page)

Frustration peaked once more. Why had he demanded that she come? Why her, dammit? There were other female journalists employed at the
Phoenix,
other women just as qualified. What had been so special about her that none of the others would do?

When Savannah contemplated what this extended weekend would entail, all the talk of sex, having to share a room with him, for pity's sake, it all but overwhelmed her. How on earth would she keep her appalling attraction for him secret during a hands-on sex workshop? What, pray tell, would prevent her from becoming a single, pulsing, throbbing nerve of need? How would she resist him?

She wouldn't, she knew. If he so much as crooked a little finger in invitation, she'd be hopelessly, utterly and completely lost.

Savannah knew a few basic truths about the art of tantric sex, knew the male and female roles. Knew
that the art of intimate massage, of prolonged foreplay and ritual were particularly stressed themes throughout the process. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. There were other, more intimidating—and intimate—themes prevalent as well.

Tantrists believed that humans possessed six chakras—or sources of energy—and that during life, these energy sources got blocked due to the traumas humans suffered. But once these chakras were unblocked, and energy was free to move as it should, then when the male and female bodies merged, these energies merged as well, creating a oneness with a partner that transcended the physical and, thus, turned sex into a spiritual experience.

But how could a person take it seriously? Take some of the lingo for instance. His penis was a “wand of light.” The Sanskrit word for vagina was
yoni,
which translated to “sacred space.”

Please.

Who could say this stuff to their partner with a straight face? Sorry. She just couldn't see herself looking deeply into the eyes of her lover and saying,
Welcome to my sacred space. Illuminate me, baby, with your wand of light!

Frankly Savannah didn't know what tact Knox wanted to take with this story, but she thought the whole idea was ludicrous. She liked her sex hot, frantic and sweaty and she didn't want to learn an ancient language to do the business either. Honestly, whatever happened to the good old-fashioned quickie?

She supposed she should give the premise the benefit of the doubt—that was her job, after all—but she seriously doubted that a massage and a few chants thrown in amid the usual twenty-minute flesh session would result in a spiritual experience for her. She liked the rub, lick and tickle approach, thank you very much. But to each his own, she supposed.

Knox elbowed her. “Hey, would you like anything to drink?”

Savannah started, then turned to see that the stewardess had arrived with the refreshment cart. “Uh…sure. A soda would be nice.”

“Ditto,” Knox said. He upped the charm voltage with a sexy little smile. “And an extra pack of peanuts, too, if you've got any to spare.”

The flight attendant blushed and obligingly handed over the requested snack. Savannah rolled her eyes. And women were accused of using feminine wiles? What about men? What about masculine wiles? Knox, for example, had just dazzled that woman with nothing more than a little eye contact and a well-turned smile.

“Want some peanuts?” Knox asked, offering the open pack to her.

“No, thank you.”

Knox paused to look at her and sighed. “What have I done now?”

Savannah inserted the straw into her drink. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure you do. The temperature around your seat
has dropped to an arctic level, when, just moments ago, I was enjoying the chilly-but-above-freezing climes of your sunny disposition.” He smiled, the wretch. “Clearly, I've offended you once again. Don't be shy. Go ahead. Tell me what odious manthing I'm guilty of now.”

Savannah felt her lips twitch but managed to suppress a grin. “You're breathing.”

Knox chuckled, a low rumbling sound that made his arm brush against hers and sent a shower of sensation fizzing up her arm. Savannah closed her eyes and pulled in a slow breath.

“I'm afraid I'm not going to attempt to remedy that offense,” he told her. “I like breathing. Breathing is best for my continued good health.”

“So is leaving me alone.”

“Come on, Savannah. How long are you going to keep this up?”

“Dunno.” She pulled a thoughtful face. “Depends on how long I'm going to have to work with you.”

“Can't you even admit that this is going to be one helluva story? A coup for both of us?”

He was right. She'd grown increasingly weary of covering the mundane, was ready for a real assignment. Still…

“I don't have a problem with admitting that at all. I just don't like your methods. It was high-handed and sneaky, and I don't appreciate being made a pawn in the game of your career.”

Knox shifted in his seat, then emptied the rest of
the peanuts down his throat and finished the last of his drink before he responded. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Savannah blinked and turned to face him. “Come again?”

“I said I was sorry,” Knox repeated in a little bit stronger voice.

Savannah widened her eyes in mock astonishment, cupped her hand around her ear and made an exaggerated show of not hearing him correctly. “Sorry, didn't catch that? What did you say again?”

“I said I was sorry!” Knox hissed impatiently. He plowed a hand through his carefully gelled hair, clearly out of his comfort zone when issuing an apology. “I shouldn't have gone to Chapman. But you didn't leave me any choice. I have to do
this
story and I needed
you
to go with me.”

“Why me?” Savannah demanded quietly, finally getting to the heart of the matter. “Why not Claire or Whitney? Why did it have to be me?”

“Because I…” Knox swallowed, strangely reluctant to finish the thought.

“Because you what?” Savannah persisted.

He finally blew out a breath. “Because I couldn't take anyone with me who might be attracted to me. Or that I might be attracted to.”

Slack-jawed, for a moment Savannah was too stunned to be insulted. She managed a smirk, even as dismay mushroomed inside her belly. “That irresistible, are you?”

“No, not to you,” he huffed impatiently. His cheeks reddened. “You don't have any trouble at all resisting me. Hell, you've made a point of ensuring that I know just how resistible to you I am.
You
were the only logical choice. We have to stay focused, to remain objective. If I had asked any other woman at the
Phoenix
to make this trip with me, then you know as well as I do that they would have considered it a come-on. An invitation for seduction.” He smiled without humor. “Did that occur to
you?
”

Savannah had readied her mouth for a cool put-down, but found herself curiously unable to come up with one. He was right. The idea of him wanting to seduce her had never crossed her mind—she'd been too worried about how hard it would be not to seduce him.

She'd known that he'd never been romantically interested in her—she'd purposely cultivated a hate-hate relationship with him to avoid that very scenario. Savannah knew she should be pleased with how well her plan had worked, but she found herself perversely unable to work up any enthusiasm for her success. He'd chosen her because she'd led him to believe that she wasn't attracted to him and because he, by his own admission, wasn't attracted to her.

All of that effort for this…this nightmare.

Irony could be a class-A bitch, Savannah thought wearily.

“Are we going to be able to get past this and work together?” he asked.

Savannah heaved a put-upon sigh. “Yeah…so long as you don't pull a show-and-tell session with your ‘wand of light.'” She inwardly harrumphed. Didn't look like that would be a problem. And she was happy about it, dammit. This was a good thing. Really. She didn't want him to be attracted to her, any more than she wanted to be attracted to him.

Knox grinned, one of those baby-the-things-I-could-do-to-you smiles that made a woman's brain completely lose reason—including hers. “Let's make a deal. I won't show you mine unless you show me yours.”

Savannah smirked, even as she suppressed a shiver. “Well, that'll be simple enough—
I
don't have a ‘wand of light.'” She nodded succinctly. “Deal.”

A sexy chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Deal.”

“A
RE YOU READY
to discuss our cover?” Knox asked, when he'd finally navigated the rental car out onto the busy freeway.

He would have liked to cover everything while in the air where she couldn't have done him any bodily injury, but after his bungled apology, she'd feigned sleep for the rest of the flight. Knox didn't feel quite as safe in the car and he grimly suspected she wasn't going to care for the cover story he'd devised for the two of them. He'd made the mistake of filling out the application and accompanying questionnaire while still angry with her. Knox winced as he recalled the uncharitable things he'd had to say about his “wife's” shortcomings in bed.

She'd undoubtedly kill him.

Savannah fished her sunglasses from her purse and slid them into place. She'd dressed for travel in a sleeveless sky-blue linen pantsuit that perfectly matched the startling shade of her eyes and showed her small, curvy form to advantage. She wore simple diamond studs in her ears and her short black locks were delightfully mussed. Her lipstick had worn off
hours ago, but refreshingly unlike most females, she didn't seem to mind.

Knox was still trying to decide how much to tell her about their cover story when she said, “Sure, go ahead and fill me in.”

He swallowed and strove for a nonchalant tone. “We're registered as Mr. and Mrs. Knox Weston. Your first name is Barbie. We've been having a little—”

“Barbie?”

Knox winced at her shrill exclamation. “That's right.”

With a withering smirk, she crossed her arms over her chest and turned to face him. “And why is my first name Barbie?”

Knox cast about his paralyzed mind for some sort of plausible lie, but couldn't come up with anything halfway believable and settled for the truth. “Because I was pissed and knew you would hate it.” He threw her a sidelong glance and was pleased that he'd been able to—it meant that he still had his eyes and she hadn't scratched them out yet. “It was a petty thrill. I regret it now, of course,” he quickly imparted at her venomous look. “But what's done is done and I can't very well tell them that I've made a mistake, that I didn't know my own wife's name.” He forced a chuckle. “That would look pretty odd.”

Looking thoroughly put out, Savannah studied him until Knox was hard-pressed not to squirm. “A petty thrill, eh?” She humphed. “Is there anything else—
besides my name—that you might have falsely reported about me? Anything else I should know about?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Er—”

“Knox…” Savannah said threateningly.

Knox considered taking the next exit. If she went ballistic and attacked him, he didn't want any innocent bystanders to be hurt. “Well, just for the sake of our cover, you understand, they, uh…might think that you're frigid and unable to reach climax.”

Knox heard her outraged gasp and tensed, readied himself for a blow.

“Well, that can be easily explained,” she said frostily, “when I tell them that you're a semi-impotent premature ejaculator.”

Knox quailed and resisted the natural urge to adjust himself, to assure himself that everything was in working order. “Well, I—I can hardly see where that will b-be necessary,” he croaked. “One of us had to have a problem or we wouldn't have needed the workshop in the first place.” A good, rational argument, Knox thought, congratulating himself.

She laughed. “Oh, I see. And
I
just had to be the one with the problem? Why couldn't
you
have been the one with the problem?”

“Because I—”

She chuckled. “Because you're such a stud that the idea of your equipment not passing muster—even fictitiously—was too much for your poor primitive male mind to comprehend. How pathetically juve
nile.” She smiled. “Do continue. We'll be there soon and I want to make sure that I'm completely in character.”

Knox frowned at the words “pathetically juvenile,” but under the circumstances, he let it pass. He cleared his throat and did his best to maintain his train of thought. “We've been married for two years and have never been completely satisfied with our, er, sex life. We're looking for something more and long for a closer relationship with one another. Our marriage is on the rocks as a result of our failure to communicate in the bedroom.”

She snorted. “Because I'm frigid.”

“Er…right.”

“And you're impotent.”

“Ri—Wrong!” Sheesh. A bead of sweat broke out on his upper lip. “That's, uh, not what our profile says.”

“Because you filled it out. Look, Knox, if you think for one minute that I'm taking the total blame for our sorry sex life and our failing marriage during this farce, you'd better think again. You wanted this story, so you'd better damn well be ready to play your part. If I'm frigid, then, by God, you're going to be impotent.”

Knox felt his balls shrivel up with dread. He set his jaw so hard he feared it would crack. She had to be the most competitive, argumentative female he'd ever encountered. The bigger picture, he reminded
himself. Think of the bigger picture. “If you insist,” he said tightly.

“I do.”

“Fine.” He blew out a breath. “There are still a few more things we need to go over. As for our occupations, I'm a veterinarian and you're my assistant.”

She quirked a brow. “That's a bit of a stretch.”

Smiling, Knox shrugged. “I got carried away.”

Savannah's lips curled into a genuine smile, not the cynical smirk she usually wore, and the difference between the two was simply breathtaking. It was a sweet grin, devoid of any sentiment but real humor. To Knox's disquiet, he felt a buzz of heat hum along his spine.

“Be that as it may, I hope we're not called upon to handle a pet emergency,” she said wryly. “I don't know the first thing about animals.”

“What? No Spot or Fluffy in your past?”

A shadow passed over her face. “No, I'm afraid not.”

Knox waited a beat to see if she would elaborate, and when she didn't, he filed that information away for future consideration and moved to fill the sudden silence. “Look in the front pocket of my laptop case, would you?”

Savannah turned and hefted the case from the back floorboard. She unzipped the front pouch. “What am I looking for? Your Viagra?”

“No.” He smiled. “Just something to authenticate our marriage. Our rings are in there.”

A line emerged between her brows and she paused to look at him. “Rings?”

Knox reached over, pilfered through the pocket and withdrew a couple of small velvet boxes. “Yeah, rings. Married people wear them. Fourth finger, left hand, closest to the heart.”

“Ooh, I'm impressed. How does an impotent bachelor like you know all that sentimental swill?”

“I'm not impotent,” Knox growled. “And I know because, having been best man at three different weddings in the past year, it's my business to know.”

Savannah nodded. “Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?” Knox asked suspiciously, casting her a sidelong glance.

She lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I'm surprised, that's all.”

“Surprised that I've been a best man?”

“No, surprised that you had three male friends. I've never seen you with anyone but the opposite sex.”

Knox shivered dramatically. “Oh, that's cold.”

“Well, what do you expect? Us frigid unable-to-climax types are like that.”

Smothering a smile, he tossed the smallest box to her. “Just put on your ring, Barbie.”

Savannah lifted the lid and calmly withdrew the plain gold band. Anxiety knotted his gut. Though it
had been completely unreasonable, Knox had found himself poring over tray after tray, trying to find the perfect band for her finger. He'd finally gotten disgusted with himself—they weren't really getting married, for Pete's sake—and had selected the simple unadorned band. Savannah didn't seem the type for flash and sparkle.

She seemed curiously reluctant to put it on, but finally slipped the ring over her knuckle and fitted it into place. She turned her hand this way and that. “It's lovely. And it fits perfectly. Good job, Knox. It had never occurred to me that we'd need rings. Where did you get these?”

With an inaudible sigh, Knox opened his own box, snagged his equally simple band and easily pushed it into place. “My jeweler, of course.”

She winced. “Would have been cheaper to have gone to the pawnshop.”

“Call me superstitious, but I didn't want to jinx this marriage—even a fake one—with unlucky bands.”

“Unlucky bands?” she repeated dubiously.

“Yes. Unlucky. Think about it—if they'd been lucky they'd still be on their owners' fingers, not in a cheap fake-velvet tray in a pawnshop.” He tsked. “Bad karma.”

She chuckled, gazing at him with a curious expression not easily read. “You're right. You are superstitious.”

“We're here,” Knox announced needlessly. He
whistled low as he wheeled the rented sedan into a parking space in front of the impressive compound—
compound
meaning
mansion.
The nudge behind his navel gave another powerful jab as Knox gazed at the cool, elegant facade of the Shea's so-called compound. When Knox thought of a compound, rows of cheap low-slung utilitarian buildings came to mind. This was easily a million-dollar spread and there was nothing low-slung or utilitarian about the impressive residence before him.

The house, a bright, almost blindingly white stucco, was a two-story Spanish dream, with a red tiled roof and a cool, inviting porch that ran the length of the house. The front doors were a work of art in and of themselves, arched double mahogany wonders with an inlaid sunburst design in heavy leaded glass. Huge urns filled with bright flowering plants were scattered about the porch, along with several plush chaise longues and comfortable chairs.

Knox would have expected a place like this to have been professionally landscaped, but there was a whimsical, unplanned feel to the various shrubs and flora, as though the gardener had simply planted at will with no particular interest in traditional landscaping. There were no borders, no pavers, and no mulch to speak of, just clumps of flowers, greenery and the occasional odd shrub and ornamental tree. Julio, his parents' gardener, who was prone to a symmetrical design, would undoubtedly have an apo
plectic fit if he saw this charmingly chaotic approach to landscaping.

“Quite a layout, huh?” Savannah murmured.

Knox nodded grimly. “Quite.”

Savannah unbuckled her seat belt. “Before we go in, just what exactly is your opinion of tantric sex?”

Knox surveyed his surroundings once more. “In this case, I think it's a lucrative load of crap.”

“For once we're in agreement.”

A miracle, Knox thought, wondering how long the phenomenon would last. “Get your purse, Barbie. It's show time.”

 

S
AVANNAH ABSENTLY FIDGETED
with the ring on her finger. It wasn't uncomfortable, just unfamiliar, and it fit perfectly. She covertly peeked at it again and a peculiar ache swelled in her chest. The smooth, cool band was beautiful in its simplicity and made her wonder if she'd ever meet anyone who would long to truly place a ring on her finger and be all to her that the gesture implied.

She doubted it.

Knox had unwittingly tapped her one weakness with the ring he'd bought her as a prop—her desire to be wanted.

Other than those few woefully short years with her parents, Savannah had never been truly wanted. While she'd certainly stayed with a few good families during her stint in the foster-care system, most families had taken her in either for the compensation
or to add an indentured servant to their household. Sometimes both. A live-in maid, a built-in baby-sitter. But no one had ever truly wanted her.

Savannah had made the mistake of letting that weakness impair her judgment once with Gib, but she'd never do it again. Rejection simply hurt too much and wasn't worth the risk. She'd learned to become self-reliant, to trust her instincts, and never to depend on another person for her happiness.

“Wow,” Knox murmured as they were led down a wide hall and finally shown into their room.

Wow, indeed, Savannah thought as she gazed at the plush surroundings. The natural hardwood floors and thick white plaster walls were a continued theme throughout the house, creating a light and airy atmosphere. Heavy wooden beams decorated the high white ceilings, tying the wood and white decor together seamlessly.

A huge canopied bed draped with yards and yards of rich brocade hangings occupied a place of honor in the middle of one long wall. Coordinating pieces—a chest of drawers, dresser and a couple of nightstands—balanced the room perfectly. A dinette sat in one corner and a small arched fireplace accented with rich Mexican tile added another splash of color and warmth. Multicolored braided rugs were scattered about the room, adding more depth to the large space. Light streamed in through two enormous arched windows. It was a great room, very conducive to romance, Savannah thought.

A ribbon of unease threaded through her belly as she once again considered why she was here—and what she'd have to resist. Savannah glanced at the bed and, to her consternation, imagined Knox and her vibrating the impressive four-poster across the room, her hands shaped to Knox's perfectly formed ass as he plunged in and out of her. She imagined candlelight and rose petals and hot, frantic bodies tangled amid the scented sheets. Savannah drew in a shuddering breath as dread and need coalesced into a fireball in her belly.

Knox cased the room, checked out the closet and adjoining bath. He whistled. “Hey, come check out the tub.”

Given her wayward imagination, Savannah didn't think that would be wise. Visions of Knox wet and naked and needy weren't particularly helpful to her cause.