Been there, done that, got the paycheck. Andy scissor-kicked, dipped beneath the surface, and came up to spout water into the air. Reran the scene. They would climb out of the pool, holding hands like Adam and Eve…no, like Tarzan and Jane. Yeah, that was better. She’d never gotten to play Jane.
So-o-o…Without speaking, they stretch out on the hard rock. The warmth of it seeps into her back. Dillon rolls over and presses his body into hers, at first cold and wet, rubbing along her stomach and breasts, until the motion sends a tingle of warmth through her skin and his erection grows heated and hard with the motion.
She’d throw her head back and arch up as he slid that heat inside her. Warming her completely. The warmth would turn to fire in her belly as he filled her and filled her with his thrusts.
They’d mate like wild beasts, crying out and writhing as they pushed themselves to the brink of annihilation. And when they came together, fireworks would explode above them.
Not fireworks, too clichéd. The heavens would sing. No. That didn’t work, either.
They would come together in a conflagration, the forest bursting into flames around them. Dillon would collapse onto her, his heart beating wildly. Then they would begin again.
But later. Right now, her teeth had begun to chatter, and her lips were probably turning blue. They were so stiff with cold she couldn’t have puckered up if Apollo, himself, appeared naked on a golden cloud.
Andy uprighted herself and began to tread water. Besides, what was she thinking? As soon as they climbed out of the water, the director would yell “Cut,” and the actors, spritzed with warm water, would replace them for the hot and heavy love scene, while Andy and Dillon shivered their way back to their trailers and hot showers—solo.
Disgusted, she swam back to where she’d left her clothes and climbed out of the water. She wrung water from her hair and sat down to let the sun dry her skin. The granite was abrasive, and she had to roll to one cheek to brush a pebble off her butt.
So much for love on the rocks.
She pushed damp legs and arms into her sweat suit, laced up her running shoes, and climbed back down the mountain.
The retreat was just showing signs of life as she let herself over the wall. She stole unseen past the other cabins and was feeling smug, when she saw a flash of light blue in the clearing in front of her cabin.
She quickly withdrew into the shelter of the trees.
Damn. It was her attendant. Too late for her fantasy, but too early for breakfast. Now what was she going to do? She eased around to the back of her cabin. The bedroom window was still ajar. She pushed it open and swung herself over the sill.
Dillon leaned against a tree, a Styrofoam cup in one hand and Ariadne’s glasses stuck in the waistband of his gym shorts. He’d been waiting for nearly an hour so he wouldn’t miss her. His coffee had grown cold and so had he. It was almost seven o’clock and still no sign of her.
His eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep. Not from spending the night casing the retreat’s business office, like he should have done, but from thinking about the enigmatic Ms. McAllister. Every time he started to drift off, his pre-REM state morphed into fantasies about her naked and in his bed, and he woke up again.
He had to get over this infatuation. He wasn’t given to flights of fancy. Those kinds of things were sure to get you killed, as he knew all too well. He’d nearly died because of his desire for a unearthly siren, who also happened to be a double agent. But Ariadne was no siren. And she was certainly no agent. She was a long, tall, gawky, near-sighted librarian.
Still, he couldn’t get his body’s response to jibe with his visual take on her. Something posttraumatic, he guessed. He’d been through a lot, physically and mentally, and wasn’t sure he could completely trust his reactions.
That was why he was standing outside her cabin, waiting to accompany her to breakfast. If she came out of her cottage this morning a complete fright, he’d know he was loosing his grip. And if she came out like the advanced goddess he’d been imagining…He’d know he’d already lost it.
But one way or the other, he needed to get a closer look. And besides, he still had her glasses.
At last, he heard the shower running and looked at his watch. Twenty minutes until breakfast. It probably took her twice as long to wrap all that hair into a knot. He started to pace.
She came out twenty minutes later, dressed in baggy khakis and an oversized shirt, buttoned at her wrists and neck. Her hair was pulled so tight that he was surprised her eyes weren’t slanted. And the pale makeup was back.
He had a nearly overwhelming urge to pull the shirttail out of her khakis and wipe the makeup off her face. He had an even more overwhelming urge to lick it off, himself. Or better still, tear off her shirt and—He blew out air and stepped back while he tried to force his brain back up to his head.
Ariadne strode across the porch, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She jogged down the steps, and Dillon automatically rushed to help her. Then he stopped as he realized that she had navigated the steps perfectly fine without her glasses. Contacts?
He stepped in front of her. “I have your glasses.” He reached under his shirt and pulled them out of his waistband.
Her eyes widened for a millisecond; then she squinted in his direction.
She’s faking this whole eyeglasses thing, he thought. But why? What was she up to? He could think of several possibilities, but most of them were results of a paranoid mind.
Not paranoid. You’re just being careful. The way you were trained to be.
Ariadne reached for the glasses. Her fingers brushed his as she plucked them from his hand. A tingle went up his arm. No doubt about it, he was in bad shape.
He peered at her face, trying to understand why she caused this reaction in him. It couldn’t be her, could it? She gave off nothing but insecurity. Not the kind of woman he liked—used to like. Maybe that was it. She was completely nonthreatening. He growled inwardly. You’d think he was the novice and not her.
“Look, about last night. I’m sorry.” he said.
She quickly looked up at him, her eyes magnified by the thick lenses of her glasses. Not brown, not blue, something in between.
She turned away and started down the path. He had to hurry to catch up with her.
Andy stumbled along, cursing Dillon Cross for finding those damn glasses and then for keeping them in his shorts. They were still warm from his skin, and she imagined she could smell his scent on them.
He caught up to her and she lowered her head even more.
“Why do you wear those glasses?”
“So I can see where I’m going,” she mumbled.
“They don’t seem to be helping much.”
No shit. They made her seasick every time she put them on. But she wasn’t about to confess that to him of all people. She wished he would go away and let her get on with her work. Because it was really hard to concentrate on anything but the feel of him striding along beside her, the heat radiating off him like sunshine on water. Or to imagine another night going by without just coming out and propositioning him.
Too bad she hadn’t been assigned the muscle man in front of him, that Demetri character. Him, she could resist. She’d never really cared for pumped-up men. Hollywood was full of them. But this one was sleek and predatory in design.
He must know it.
Except he didn’t put out those vibes. At least not with her. Maybe her disguise was working too well.
Stupid, she thought. It’s supposed to work. So she could find out what happened to Mac, not have unbridled sex with a stranger.
Her toe caught on something and she stumbled against him. He pushed her back