Show & Tell

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 juvenile.” 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 apoplectic 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.”

SAVANNAH 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.

“So,” Knox said as he returned from admiring the bath. “Which side of the bed do you want?”

Savannah blinked, forced a wry smile. “I think the question is which part of the floor do you want?”

Knox glanced at the gleaming hardwood and absently scratched his temple. He wore an endearing smile. “Do I have a prayer of winning this argument?”

“No.” Savannah hated to be such a prude, but having to sleep next to him would be sheer and utter torture. Simply being in the same room with him would be agonizing enough. Savannah grimly suspected that were they to share that bed, she’d inexplicably gravitate toward him. Toward his marvelous ass. Considering he didn’t reciprocate this unholy attraction, she wasn’t about to risk embarrassing herself and him.

He sighed. “As the lady wishes. I suppose we should head to the common room for the Welcome Brunch.”

Savannah nodded. Without further comment, the two of them exited the room and, with Knox’s hand at her elbow, they made their way down a long wide hall back to the foyer and then into what had been dubbed the common room. A long table piled with food sat off to the side of the enormous room and little sofas and armchairs were grouped together to encourage idle chitchat. Savannah’s stomach issued a hungry growl, propelling her toward the food.

“Hungry, are you?” Knox queried.

“Ravenous.”

“I offered to share my peanuts with you,” he reminded teasingly.

Savannah grunted. “I wasn’t about to partake of your ill-gotten gains.”

Knox chuckled, a deep silky baritone that made her very insides quiver. Jeez, the man had cornered the market when it came to sex appeal. It was the same sort of intimate laugh she assumed he’d share with a lover. Something warm and quivery snaked through her at the thought.

“I simply flirted a little, Savannah. It’s not like I raped and pillaged. Honestly, have you not ever batted your lashes and tried to get out of a speeding ticket?”

“No,” she lied as she selected a wedge of cheese and a few crackers.

He chuckled again. “Liar.”

“That’s different,” she said simply for the sake of disagreeing with him, which she did a lot. “And it’s Barbie, you idiot. Do you want to blow our cover from the get-go?”

“Whatever.” He paused. “Oh, look, our host and hostess have arrived.”

Savannah turned and her gaze landed on an older couple—early to middle fifties, she guessed. Bare feet peeked from beneath the hems of their long white robes. The woman wore her completely silver hair in a long flowing style that slithered over her shoulders and stopped at the small of her back. Silver charms glittered from her wrists and a large, smooth lavender stone lay suspended between her breasts via a worn leather cord. This woman seemed to embody everything their glossy pamphlet proclaimed. Serenity, harmony and all those other adverbs that had been touted in the trendy brochure.

As for the man, a calm strength seemed to hover about him as well. He appeared relaxed yet confident, as though he was the only stud for his mare. A niggle of doubt surfaced as Savannah studied the two. Could the art of tantric sex really be all this couple claimed it was? Quite honestly, it seemed impossible to Savannah, but for the first time since she’d accepted that she’d be working on this story with Knox, Savannah wondered if she’d been too hasty in forming her opinions.

The man smiled. “Welcome. I’m Dr. Edgar Shea and this is my lovely wife and life partner, Dr. Rupali Shea. We’re so glad that you’re here.” He paused. “Some of you are here as a result of frustration, some of you are here as a result of your partner’s prodding, and some of you are here because you’re simply curious.” His grin made an encore appearance. “Regardless of why you are here, we’re exceedingly glad and are looking forward to teaching you everything we’ve learned about the art of tantric lovemaking. What we will teach you, what we’ll freely share and will graphically demonstrate for your benefit, will change your lives…if you are open to the possibilities.”

“At the beginning of each session,” Rupali began, “we like to do a little preliminary test, to see for ourselves just how much ground we need to cover, to see which couples will require one-on-one instruction.” She paused and smiled to the room at large. “Now don’t look frightened. It’s a simple test. But first we’ll introduce ourselves and share our inadequacies. No embarrassment, no boundaries,” she said. “Only truth healing.”

Savannah and Knox shared a look of dread. She almost felt sorry for him, but quickly squelched the sentiment. This was a hell of his own making. He could burn with humiliation for all she cared. The couples around them looked as miserable as she and Knox and that made Savannah feel marginally better. As she listened, one man admitted chronic masturbation as his problem. There were a couple of other women delegated to the frigid-and-couldn’t-reach-climax list, and even more men who embarrassingly mumbled impotency as their major handicap.

Rupali beamed at them when they were finished. “Now, for the test.” She paused again, garnering everyone’s attention with the heavy silence. She steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “Do any of you know what the most intimate act between lovers is?” she asked. “I’m sure that all of you are thinking about intercourse, or possibly oral sex…but you’d be wrong. It’s kissing. Kissing requires more intimacy than any other facet of lovemaking. And that will be your test. You will embrace your partner and kiss, and Edgar and I will observe.” She beamed at them. “See, that’s easy enough.”

Savannah heard several audible sighs resonate around the room, but hers and Knox’s weren’t among them. Kissing? Kiss Knox? In front of all these people? Right now? Knox seemed to be equally astounded, as he wore a frozen smile on his face. Panic ping-ponged through her abdomen, the blood rushed to her ears and every bit of moisture evaporated from Savannah’s mouth.

Knox drew her to him, anchored his powerful arms about her back and waist. Longing ignited a fire of need in her belly. “Quit looking like she’s just issued a death sentence,” he hissed through a brittle smile. “We’re supposed to be married, remember?”

Savannah made the mistake of looking up into his dark green eyes and felt need balloon below her belly button. An involuntary shiver danced up her spine and camped at her nape. Oh, hell. She was doomed. “Right,” she said breathlessly.

“It’s just a kiss,” he said unsteadily. “We can handle it.”

“On my count,” Rupali trilled. “Three, two, one…kiss!”

With equal parts anticipation and anxiety, Savannah’s eyes fluttered shut as Knox’s warm lips descended to hers. The exquisite feel of his lips slanting over hers instantly overwhelmed her and she swallowed a deep sigh of satisfaction as his taste exploded on her tongue. He tasted like soda and peanuts and the faint flavor of salt clung to his lips. And oh, mercy, could he kiss. Savannah whimpered.

His kiss was firm yet soft and he suckled and fed at her mouth until Savannah’s legs would scarcely support her. Oh, how many times had she dreamed of this? How many times had she imagined his mouth hungrily feeding at hers, his built-like-a-brick-wall body wrapped around hers? With a groan of pure delight, she pressed herself even more firmly against him and felt her nipples tingle and pearl. A similar experience commenced between her thighs as her feminine muscles dewed and tightened. Their tongues played a game of seek and retreat, and for every parlay, Savannah grew even more agitated, more needy. Knox tightened his hold around her, and she felt his hand slide from the small of her back and cup her bottom. Another blast of desire detonated, sending a bright flash of warmth zinging through her blood.

From the dimmest recesses of her mind, Savannah realized that the room had grown ominously quiet. She reluctantly dragged her lips away from Knox’s and laid her head against his rapidly rising chest.

Edgar and Rupali Shea grinned broadly at them. Their eyes twinkled knowingly. “Clearly Knox and Barbie have passed our little test with glowing marks and no one-on-one instruction will be required.”

A titter of amusement resonated around the room.

Savannah’s cheeked blazed and it took every ounce of willpower not to melt out of Knox’s embrace. She extricated herself with as much dignity as she could muster, considering she’d all but lashed her legs about his waist and begged him to pump her amid a room of confessed sexually challenged spectators.

She was pathetic. Utterly and completely pathetic. How on earth would she keep her attraction for him secret now? How? she mentally wailed.

Deciding the best defense was a better offense, Savannah leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “How about a little less tongue next time, Slick? I don’t know what you were looking for back there, but I had my tonsils removed years ago.” She patted his arm and calmly moved to pick up her plate.

Knox’s dumbfounded expression was unequivocally priceless, igniting a glow of another sort.

4

A LITTLE LESS TONGUE? Knox wondered angrily. To his near slack-jawed astonishment, he’d never enjoyed kissing another woman more. He’d been so caught up in the melding of their mouths that all he could think about was how amazingly great she tasted, how wonderful her lips felt against his, and how much he longed to have her naked and flat on her back…

It was too much to contemplate. This was Savannah.

Savannah.

Admittedly, he’d always thought her gorgeous. The first time he’d met her, he’d felt the familiar tug of attraction. But then she’d blasted him with a frigid blue stare and she’d opened her sarcastic mouth, and he’d never entertained another amorous thought about her. That’s why he’d chosen her for this trip, dammit, and yet the moment his lips had met hers he’d gone into a molecular meltdown. He’d wanted to show her how hot she made him, tell her how much he wanted her and…

And seconds after that mind-blowing kiss, Savannah had calmly offered criticism and then just as calmly returned to her lunch.

Knox was unequivocally stunned.

He’d been too bowled over by the impact of that kiss to even regulate his breathing, much less pretend that he hadn’t been affected…and she’d not only been unaffected, but apparently had been so unmoved by the experience that she’d been able to remain detached and offer advice.

Heat spreading up his neck, Knox loaded his own plate from the buffet and inwardly fumed. He’d always considered himself an attentive lover, had always prided himself on learning what techniques turned a woman on, what would give her pleasure. He liked a vocal partner, one who didn’t expect him to be a mind reader. He liked hearing what made a woman hot and enjoyed doing it for her even more. Throughout his career in the bedroom, he’d heard countless breathy pleas—harder, faster, there and there, and almost and oh, God, there! Touch, suck, lick and nibble, even spank, he’d heard it all.

But never—never—had he ever had a woman criticize his kiss.

His kiss had always been above reproach, with no room for improvement. Though most men considered kissing as a simple means to an end—Knox included, most of the time—he’d nonetheless made it a point to excel at that particular form of foreplay.

Ask any man and he’d tell you that, given the choice of having his tongue in a woman’s mouth, or his hand in her panties, the panties would win hands down every time. That was the ultimate goal, after all, and men were linear thinkers. Point A to point B in the most economical fashion.