Show & Tell (5 page)

Irritation rose. Savannah ground her teeth and resisted the urge to beat her head against the door. This was precisely why she didn't want to be here, she inwardly fumed. Savannah knew her limits, knew her shortcomings and knew what sort of effect Knox Webber had on her libido. Attending a sex workshop with him was like waving a joint in front of a pot-head.

Knox would be addictive to her and the addiction could only lead to heartache—hers.

She simply wouldn't allow it.

Chapman had forced her hand by making her attend. Despite her misgivings, Savannah would do her job and write a great story—and she'd do all that the task entailed, including being an objective participant in this godforsaken workshop—she was a professional, after all. But she would not let it become personal.

She wouldn't.

Seeing as sex was about as personal as it got, Savannah wasn't exactly sure what her heartfelt affirmation meant, but it made her feel better and she'd use any means available to shore up her waning confidence.

A tentative knock sounded at the door, startling her.

“Savannah…you all right in there?”

“Y-yes, of course.” Savannah flushed the commode for appearance's sake, drew in a deep bolstering breath and smoothed her hair behind her ears.

“I, uh, wouldn't bother you, but I need to change and, frankly, I've gotta go.”

Frowning, Savannah opened the door. “Change?” she asked. “Change for what?”

Knox had tossed a long white garment over his shoulder. It looked suspiciously like the same sort of costume the Sheas wore.

“For class,” he told her. “We have to wear a
kurta.
I'm going to feel like a complete moron,” he confided with an endearing, self-conscious smile, “but they're mandatory. I laid yours on the bed.”

Good grief, Savannah thought, wondering what other little surprises would be in store for this weekend. She sighed heavily and massaged the bridge of her nose. “A
what?
”

“A
kurta.
It's an Indian gown.”

Savannah eyed the getup warily. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You've got to be kidding.”

“Nope…and it gets worse.”

The hesitation in Knox's voice alerted her more than the actual words he'd said. “Worse?”

He winced regretfully. “Yeah—no undergarments. And no shoes.”

Savannah blinked, flabbergasted. She was supposed to walk around naked under a toga? “No undergarments?” she repeated blankly, certain that she'd misunderstood him.

He tunneled his fingers through his hair, mussing up the wavy brown locks. “Yeah, I'm afraid so. It's to promote chakra healing, and, of course, the symbolic message of no boundaries.”

And easy access, Savannah thought, for those graphic hands-on demonstrations. Her mouth parched and dread ballooned in her chest.

“Uh, if you're finished in there…” Knox reminded her.

Belatedly Savannah realized she still stood in the threshold of the bathroom. “Oh, sure. Sorry,” she mumbled, hastily moving out of his way.

“I've had a quick look through the itinerary for the weekend,” Knox called through the door. “After you get dressed, you might want to flip through it.”

“I plan to,” Savannah murmured absently as she picked up the long, white gown. The cool, soft cotton material smelled of fresh air. It had probably been line-dried, Savannah decided, not tossed into an industrial-sized appliance. Still, knowing that she'd be walking around buck naked underneath the almost
see-through fabric quickly dispelled any pleasant musings.

Oh, hell. Knox would be out of the bathroom soon, so unless she wanted to do a little striptease for him, she'd best change before he came out. Savannah hurriedly removed her shoes, pantsuit, bra and undies, then picked up the gown and pulled it over her head. The fabric settled on her shoulders lightly, whispered over her body and came to rest just above her ankles. It felt surprisingly…good. Wicked even, if she were honest. Something about the way the garment caressed her body made her feel beautiful, free and sexy. She particularly liked the way the material felt against her bare breasts and rump.

“Are you dressed yet?” Knox called.

Savannah scrambled up onto the bed, put her back against the headboard and settled a pillow over her lap. She grabbed the handbook and made herself look studious and calm. It took a tremendous amount of effort.

“Uh…yeah,” she finally managed.

Knox exited the bathroom. He'd obviously brushed his hair, as the brown waves were once more smoothed back into place. His lips were curled into an almost bashful, self-deprecating grin and those incredibly lean cheeks were washed in an uncharacteristic pink. He'd folded his clothes and had tucked them up under his arm. A curious emotion swelled in Savannah's chest.

Knox gestured to the
kurta.
“I don't think that I've
ever felt more emasculated in my life. If I'd known that wearing a damned dress with no drawers on underneath would be a mandatory part of this workshop, I simply would have said to hell with the story and found something else to write about.”

Well, Savannah thought, as every drop of moisture evaporated from her mouth, he might feel emasculated, but he definitely didn't
look
emasculated.

In fact, if he looked any less emasculated, he'd be X-rated. She could clearly see through the fabric, and the impressive bulge beneath indicated that Knox Webber was, without question, the most unemasculated man she'd ever seen—and he wasn't even hard. Fascinated, she swallowed. That was just…him. Just…there. All him.

Sweet heaven.

Every cell in her body was hammeringly aware that less than five feet from where she sat stood the most incredibly sexy, most generously endowed man she'd ever seen in her life. She instantly imagined him out of the
kurta
and sprawled on the bed next to her. Her blood thickened and desire sparked other fantasies, so she took her wicked illusion to the next level and imagined herself sinking slowly onto the hot, hard length of him. Sweet mother of heaven…

Savannah bit her lip, fully engrossed in the picture her wayward imagination had conjured. Up until now she'd always been preoccupied with his ass—he had an amazing ass, after all—but Savannah grimly suspected that fixation had just been replaced with another. Honestly, how did he make all of that fit in—

“What about you? Do you feel ridiculous?” Knox asked.

Savannah blinked drunkenly and then, feeling stupid and ashamed, recovered the next instant. “Er, yes. Yes, I do.”

Knox paused to look at her. A line emerged between his brows. “You're acting weird. Are you sure you're all right?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” She manufactured a smile and thumped the booklet that lay in her lap. “Just thinking about some of the names for these classes.”

Seemingly satisfied, Knox smiled knowingly. “You mean like
Love His Lingam, Rejuvenate His Root?
”

Savannah laughed. “Yeah. And
Sacred Goddess Stimulation.
”

Thank God those classes would come later, Savannah thought. They got to learn all about their chakras first with
Beginning Tantra, Energetic Healing.

“So, what do you say?” Knox asked. “Ready to go get your chakras aligned?”

Savannah heaved a put-upon sigh. “Honestly, Knox. This isn't like the front end of your car. You're not getting anything aligned. Haven't you done your homework? You're getting unblocked.” Savannah slid from the bed and gathered her things.

“Getting what unblocked?”

A sly smile curled her lips. “Well, for starters, your ass.”

F
OLLOWING
S
AVANNAH
out the door, Knox involuntarily tightened the orifice in question.
“What?”

“For someone who was so determined to do this story—
had
to do this particular story,” she emphasized sarcastically, “it would seem that you would have put a little more research into the project.”

“I did my research,” Knox insisted with a sardonic smile. “But I didn't come across anything that suggested tantra partners began foreplay with an enema.”

Savannah chuckled darkly. “Who said anything about an enema?”

“Well, how else—” Knox drew up short as realization dawned. His ass instantly clenched in horror.

Oh, hell.

Catching his appalled expression, Savannah's pale blue eyes sparkled with amusement. That sinfully beautiful mouth of hers curved ever so slightly with mockery. “Aha. Light dawns on marble head.”

Knox swallowed and continued to follow her down the hall. He'd rather be eviscerated with a rusty blade than even think about anal sex, much less dis
cuss the loathsome subject with Savannah. He didn't need to get unblocked, thank you very much, and after a moment told her so. Forcibly.

She winced, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Don't worry, Knox, I was kidding about the visit to the back door. But I have to say, you have one glaring characteristic of a man who needs to have his root chakra unblocked.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. Knox knew better than to ask, but found himself forming the question anyway. “Really? And what characteristic would that be?”

“You're a tight-ass. I think I've pointed that out to you before.”

Knox smirked. “Cute.”

He held open the heavy front door and allowed her to pass. Their first class was on the south lawn in the outdoor classroom. Butterflies and bumblebees flitted from flower to flower through the Sheas' eclectic garden, Knox noticed as he and Savannah made their way across the lush lawn. Grass pushed between his toes, bringing a reluctant grin to his lips. It had been a long time since he'd been barefoot in the grass.

A peek at Savannah confirmed that she was enjoying the sensation as well. A small smiled tilted her lips and she'd turned her face toward the kiss of the sun. A light breeze ruffled her black bed-head locks and that same breeze molded the white, all-but-see-through
kurta
to her small, womanly form.

It was at this point that Knox became hopelessly distracted.

Naturally, over the course of Savannah's career at the
Phoenix,
Knox had observed her body and noted its perfection. He was a man, after all, and men—being men—tended to notice such details.

But noticing and really appreciating were two completely different things.

Knox's gaze roamed leisurely over her body and, much to his helpless chagrin, his visual perusal ignited a spark of heat in his loins.

The delicate fabric lay plastered against the unbound globes of her breasts, and the rosy hue of her nipples shadowed through the clinging material. Knox could easily discern the flat belly, the sweetly curving swell of her hips and the black triangle of curls nestled at the apex of her thighs.

She was beautiful. Utterly and completely beautiful and…

And feeling his dick begin to swell for sport, Knox mentally swore and made a determined effort to direct his lust-ridden brain toward a more productive line of thought—like his story. With that idea in mind, he studied his surroundings.

Picnic tables, some already occupied with couples, were arranged in a large circle beneath a huge whitewashed octagon canopy. Crystals of various sizes and shapes dripped like icicles from the perimeter of the canopy, sending rainbows of colorful reflected light dancing through the air. The tinkling tones of wind
chimes sounded, adding another element to the mystical environment. A white silk chaise sat upon a raised dais in the center of the outdoor room. Who knew what sort of depraved acts had been committed upon that little bench, Knox thought with a grim smile.

“Where should we sit?” Savannah asked as she surveyed the circle of tables.

“Somewhere in the middle,” Knox told her. “If we sit in front, we'll look eager and too easy to snag for demonstrations. If we sit in the back, they'll think we're bashful and will want to draw us in and make us participate.” He guided her toward an appropriate table.

Savannah grinned. “Why do I feel like this is the voice of experience and not a fabricated load of BS?”

“Because it is. I honed the skill in grade school.”

With a roll of her eyes, Savannah sat down. “Sounds like you were trying to figure out a way to do the least amount of work possible.”

Knox returned her grin and attempted to sit down next to her. He wasn't used to navigating in a dress and almost toppled chin first into the picnic table when the hem of the
kurta
caught the seat. He scowled, smoothing the damned gown back into place. “That was one of the perks,” he finally said. “Be sure and take good notes. I always copied someone else's.”

She gave him a droll glare. “I'm sure you did.”

Actually, he hadn't. He'd only been trying to needle her. What did she think? That he'd been able to sail through an Ivy League school on nothing but his parents' money and his charming personality? And she had the nerve to think him a snob?

She'd never said it, of course. Just like none of his other co-workers had ever said it. But Knox knew they were laboring under the mistaken assumption that his wealthy background had afforded him his present career and, moreover, that his being talented could have nothing to do with it.

Knox smothered a bitter laugh. Let them think what they would. Screw 'em. He didn't care. In fact, he purposely invested a great deal of time making sure that no one—least of all any of those co-workers at the paper—knew just how much he longed to be respected for his work, rather than simply tolerated with virulent envy.

Between his condescending co-workers and equally condescending parents, Knox was doubly determined to succeed.

For reasons that escaped him, Savannah's opinion, in particular, annoyed the hell out of him. But what did he expect? That after spending one day with him, she'd see him any differently than she always had? That his character would have suddenly jumped up a notch in her esteemed estimation? Not likely. And he didn't care, dammit. He
did not
care. When he made it, when he proved himself, she'd be just like everyone else—eating crow.

Curiously, the thought didn't inspire the smug satisfaction Knox anticipated and, instead left him feeling small and petty. He shrugged the sensation aside and focused instead on the Sheas as they finally moved onto the dais.

“Welcome to your first class,” Edgar began. “The title of this lesson is
Beginning Tantra/Energetic Healing.
We have much ground to cover over the course of this weekend and everything we teach you will be built upon these basic tantric principles, so please have your pad and pencil poised and be ready to learn.”

“Before we begin,” Rupali said to the class at large, “there are a few things we must cover.” She steepled her fingers beneath her chin, the picture of glowing serenity. “I'm sure you are all wondering why you've been asked to wear the
kurta
and remove your shoes. Let me address the
kurta
first. The
kurta
denotes purity, helps promote chakra healing and enables us all to remove psychological boundaries. At times, our clothes can be our armor against our sensual selves.” Her keen gaze landed pointedly on a few people. Savannah, too, Knox noticed with mild surprise. “We'll have no armor here. Only truth and healing.” She paused. “As for not wearing shoes, we need to be grounded to Mother Earth, to let her energy flow up through our feet and connect us once more with the force of all that's natural, that's pure. Curl your toes in the grass—let it massage your feet,” she instructed. “Isn't it nice? Can you feel
Mother Earth's power?” she asked, smiling. “If not, you will by the end of this clinic, I promise you. All of you will leave here with a new sense of energy, of purpose, of happiness.”

“That's a mighty big promise,” Savannah whispered from the side of her mouth.

Knox nodded. “Yeah, but it's what she didn't promise that's wise. She didn't promise impotent men erections, and she didn't promise you frigid-unable-to-climax types an orgasm.”

“You're right,” she quietly agreed. “It's inferred, but not stated. Smart move. Very crafty.”

“Are there any questions so far?” Rupali wanted to know. “If not, then we'll move on to the next item on the agenda before we officially begin class. In order to insure that you fully understand and appreciate what sort of sexual gratification tantra can add to your sex lives, you need to understand what was lacking in the first place, and you need to be able to instantly discern the vast difference between the lovers you officially are today and the new lovers you will become. What I'm about to ask of you will be exceedingly difficult, but it's simply crucial to the success of your experience—you must abstain from physical intercourse until the end of the workshop.”

A chorus of shocked gasps and giggles echoed under the pavilion.

“It's crucial,” she repeated firmly. “Men, through tantra we're going to teach you the most effective way to bring your lover pleasure. We're going to
teach you to worship your goddess. The techniques you will learn will enable you to prolong your own inner release as well as hers.”

“Likewise ladies,” she continued, “we will teach you the most effective way to worship your man, to massage and heal, and bring pleasure beyond anything he's ever experienced before. We want you to make love, want to encourage you to grow spiritually as well as sexually with your partners. But there are lessons to be learned first.” She laughed. “Lessons that will have you writhing with pleasure and begging for the most carnal form of release. But you can't have it…yet. Consummation will occur on Sunday night and not a moment before. Does everyone agree to this rule?”

After a few reluctant nods and one gentle but firm admonishment to Chuck, who'd been busy throughout her speech, Rupali finally concluded, and Edgar stood once more.

He clapped his hands together. “Okay, let's begin,” he said.

While Edgar began a brief summary of each of the chakras, Knox's thoughts still lingered over Rupali's revelation—no consummation until Sunday. He couldn't begin to imagine why this was relevant to him as he and Savannah weren't going to be consummating anything. Still…

Just knowing that they were going to have to participate in everything—learn all of the supposed pleasure-enhancing techniques—up until that point
and then miss the grand finale was heartily depressing. Unreasonable, he knew. The whole point of bringing Savannah along was to remain asexual about the entire concept, to remain focused on the story. The nudge was still there, powerful as ever.

Jeez. He was pathetic. Obviously, he was so preoccupied with his pecker that being denied even mythological sex irritated him. Knox cast a sidelong glance at his companion and felt his lips twitch with wry humor. If she had any inkling of the direction of his thoughts right now, she'd undoubtedly pull a Lorena Bobbitt and permanently extinguish his “wand of light” like she'd so lethally threatened before.

So, he could either keep this one-sided attraction to himself—which unquestionably would be the sanest and most healthy thing he could do—or he could work on her until it was no longer one-sided.

With luck, the weekend would be over before he came to a clear decision.

 

“D
OES ANYONE KNOW
what the word
tantra
means?” Edgar asked. “It means to weave, or extend.”

Right, Savannah thought. She'd known the answer, but couldn't make her sluggish brain form the required definition—she was too busy mourning the loss of the great spiritual sex she'd never intended to have in the first place.

And not just any sex.

Sex with Knox.

Savannah knew she shouldn't feel like wailing with frustration. Shouldn't feel like whimpering with regret. But she did. He'd been sitting beside her for the past hour, and her palm had literally itched to reach over to shape her hand to the oh-so-clearly defined length of him. She wanted to stroke him, to feel him grow in her hand, grow inside her. Which was ludicrous. Knox had admitted that the sole reason he'd asked her to attend this sex workshop was because she happened to be the only woman he could bring along that he
wouldn't
want to sleep with. He'd admitted that he didn't find her the least bit attractive.

And that was a good thing, dammit. She didn't want him to be attracted to her. It would be nothing short of ruinous. She'd already dated a pretty prep-school playboy and he'd given her the old heave-ho the minute his parents had squawked their disapproval. As far as the Lyleses had been concerned, Savannah had been foster-care trash, not worthy of their precious pedigreed son.

There were a gazillion reasons why she shouldn't have hot, sweaty phenomenal sex with Knox. Savannah's insides grew warm and muddled at the mere implication of the act. Still, he was like Gib, he had a love-'em-and-leave-'em reputation, he was a co-worker…The list went on and on.

Yet none of them—or the combined total—could hold a candle to the ferocity of the attraction.

Every part of him that was male drew every part
her that was female. She yearned for him. Longed to have those big beautiful hands of his shaped around her breasts. That talented mouth tasting every mole, every freckle, everywhere that was white and everywhere that was pink.

And she wanted to touch him as well, wanted to slide her fingers over each and every perfectly formed sinew. Wanted to feel that powerful body unleashed with passion and, ultimately, sated with release. She sighed.