She had to kiss Knox? In front of all these people?

“Quit looking like the instructor just issued a death sentence,” he whispered through a brittle smile. “We’re supposed to be married, remember?”

“Right,” she said breathlessly.

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

With anticipation and anxiety, Savannah’s eyes fluttered shut as Knox’s warm lips descended to hers. How many times had she dreamed of this? With a groan of pure delight she pressed herself against him. Their tongues played a game of hide-and-seek, and with every movement, Savannah grew more agitated, more needy. Knox tightened his hold on her, and she felt his hand slide from the small of her back to cup her bottom. She groaned in delight.

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 saw the instructor grinning broadly at them.

“It looks like Knox and his wife have passed our little test with flying colors,” the woman announced, her eyes twinkling knowingly. “No further instruction on this subject seems to be necessary.”

Dear Reader,

While cruising the Internet looking at sex toys-—research for my first Blaze novel, Just Toying Around…I swear!—the same word kept popping up. Tantra, or Tantric. Intrigued, I decided to do a little investigating and discovered that Tantric sex, though I’d never heard of it, had been around since 3000 B.C. and despite its dusty spiritual heritage, was swiftly gaining new popularity. It didn’t take long to imagine a hero and heroine getting caught up in the mystical world of Tantra, and thus Knox and Savannah’s story was born.

Journalist Knox Webber needs a weekend lover with one special requirement—he can’t be attracted to her. Knox is on the scent of a great story, but in order to prove the touted Tantric way, which promises heightened awareness, spiritual gratification and hourlong full-body orgasms, is nothing but a farce, Knox needs to attend one of the popular Tantric Sex Clinics on the West Coast…and he needs a partner who won’t distract him from his main goal—getting the story.

Savannah Reeves-—his archenemy-—fits the bill perfectly. But as the weekend progresses, sexual tension between them explodes and the resulting heat soon burns up all preconceived notions about the ancient art of lovemaking. Chemistry or Tantra, they wonder…and will it last once the weekend is over?

I hope you enjoy Knox and Savannah’s sexy romantic romp.

Enjoy!

Rhonda Nelson

Show & Tell
Rhonda Nelson

Once upon a time there was a towheaded, chubby-cheeked, demonic little prankster who grew into one of the best-looking, most hardworking, kindhearted and admirable men I have ever known—my brother, Greg Moore.

Being smarter than 98 percent of the population

called for a great dedication, eh, Bubba?

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

1

KNOX WEBBER ABSENTLY SWIRLED the liquor around his glass as he watched the naked couple displayed on his television screen gyrate in sexual ecstasy. They sat in a pool of fuzzy golden light, face to face, palm to palm, the woman’s hips anchored around the man’s waist. Her long blond hair shimmered over her bare shoulders. She threw her head back and her mouth formed a perfect O of orgasmic wonder. The video’s hypnotic narrator droned from the hi-fi speakers placed strategically around Knox’s plush glass-and-chrome apartment.

“Let the tantric energy flow. You’ll feel the power wash over you, through you and around you as your male and female energies merge. This wave of utter bliss will transport you and your partner to a new plane in sexual rapture, a new plane of enlightenment and awareness, where you’ll flow in harmony with your lover and the rest of the world. Synchronized, controlled breathing is essential…”

Sheesh.

Knox snorted and hit the stop button on his remote control. He’d seen enough. He’d watched the how-to video on one of the best home-theater systems money could buy—a fifty-five-inch digitally mastered screen with superior resolution, picture in picture, and quality sound—and he still thought the entire concept of tantric sex was a load of crap.

Regrettably, it was becoming an increasingly popular load of crap and it just might be the one story he’d been looking for, the one pivotal article that would give him an edge over his competitors. Knox currently enjoyed a top spot in the Chicago scene of investigative journalism, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted a Pulitzer. A wry smile twisted his lips. Granted, this story most likely wouldn’t win him the coveted award, but it could put him that much closer to his goal. The thought sent a shot of adrenaline coursing through his blood.

Call it journalistic intuition, all he knew was each time Knox caught the scent of a good story, he’d get a curious feeling in his gut, an insistent nudge behind his naval that, so far, had never steered him wrong. This sixth sense had propelled him into his current comfortable position with the Chicago Phoenix, had earned him a reputation for staying on the cutting edge of journalism and keeping his finger on the fickle pulse of American society.

The nudge was there now, more insistent than ever, prodding him into action. But for the first time in his life, for reasons that escaped him, he found himself resisting the urge to pick up the scent and track down the story.

Knox chalked up his misgivings to inconvenience. Naturally, in the course of his work, he’d been mightily inconvenienced and had never minded the hassle. It was all part and parcel of his chosen career path, the one he’d taken despite howling protests from his more professionally minded parents. His mother and father considered Knox’s career choice beneath him and were still clinging to the hope that he’d eventually come to his senses and use his Ivy League education for a more distinguished career.

They’d have a long wait.

Knox was determined to make his mark in the competitive world of investigative journalism, no matter the inconveniences. This wasn’t just a career; it was his identity, who he was. He was a show-and-tell journalist—he unearthed facts, then he showed them to the American public, told them in his own outspoken way and encouraged them to draw their own conclusions.

He’d hidden in small dark places and he’d assumed countless disguises, some of which were completely emasculating, Knox thought, shuddering as he recalled the transvestite debacle. He’d made it a point to befriend a scope of unwitting informants, from assistants to top city officials to the occasional pimp and small-time thug, and all species in between, creating a network of eyes much like the Argus of Greek mythology.

The idea of being inconvenienced didn’t disturb Knox—it was the form of inconvenience he was concerned about. Knox preferred to work solo, but for this particular story, that simply wasn’t an option.

He’d have to have a partner, and a female partner at that. A wry smile turned his lips. After all, he couldn’t very well attend a tantric sex workshop with a man.

Knox studied the glossy tantric sex pamphlet once more. This clinic—Total Tantra Edification—in particular was his target. While some workshops were probably on the up-and-up, something about this one didn’t feel quite right. Hadn’t from the beginning when this idea had first taken hold. The little brochure was chock-full of glowing testimonials from happy couples who had sworn that the workshop had saved their marriages, had brought their flat-lined sex lives from the brink of death via the energized, intimate therapy. Women, in particular, seemed to be thrilled with the results, citing multiple orgasms and even female ejaculation.

And why not? Knox wondered with a crooked grin. The whole technique seemed geared toward female gratification—a new twist in and of itself. According to his research, men avoided physical ejaculation completely, thereby prolonging their erections, and instead strove for full-body inner orgasms. The blast without the shower, so to speak, Knox thought.

Expensive tantric weekend workshops were becoming almost as common on the West Coast as surfers at the beach. While they hadn’t gained as much popularity on the East Coast, interest in the subject was nonetheless increasing. A popular cable music program recently polled eighteen-to twenty-four-year-olds, and when asked what sexual subject they’d most like to learn about, tantric sex topped the list.

No doubt about it, it was a timely story. The nudge tingled behind his navel once more.

In this case, it was also a load of New Age baloney taught by aging hippies in unbleached hemp togas bent on feathering their retirement nests. Knox was sure of it. He glanced at the so-called instructors featured on the inside page. Drs. Edgar and Rupali Shea smiled back at him, the picture of glowing serenity and marital bliss.

Knox didn’t buy it for a moment.

Honestly? What self-respecting man would purposely deprive himself of an orgasm during sex and claim inner enlightenment was better? Knox snorted, knocked back the dregs of his Scotch. Not a real man. Not a man’s man, anyway. Sex with no orgasm? It was like a hot-fudge sundae minus the hot fudge. Hell, what would be the point?

Certainly, without ejaculation a man could keep an erection longer. But as long as one didn’t detonate upon entry, what difference did it make? As long as you didn’t leave your partner in the lurch—unforgivably lazy in his opinion—what was the problem with racing toward release? With grabbing the brass ring?

Absolutely nothing. While the concept of tantric sex had originated in India around 3000 B.C. and might have been genuinely used with a noble goal in mind, in today’s time the technique had simply become a new twist on an old game designed to milk desperate couples out of their hard-earned money. Greedy, marketing-savvy businessmen had taken the concept and bastardized it into a hedonistic, spiritual fix-all.

Knox firmly intended to prove it and he couldn’t do it alone. He’d have to have a partner.

Several possible candidates came to mind, but he systematically ruled them out. He didn’t have a single female acquaintance who wouldn’t expect his undivided attention, and this would be a business trip, not a weekend tryst celebrated with fine food and recreational sex. Complete focus would be mandatory in order to preserve the integrity of the story.

Knox liked sex as much as the next guy—he was a man, after all. It was his nature. And while the entire workshop would be centered around the technique of tantric sex, Knox knew better than to think he’d be able to do his job with any objectivity and be testing the theories at the same time. He’d have to have complete focus. So he’d have to take along a female who could appreciate the job he’d come there to do, and he could not—absolutely could not—be attracted to her.

Three beats passed before he knew the perfect woman for the job, and when the name surfaced, he involuntarily winced with dread—Savannah Reeves, his archenemy at the Phoenix.

The idea of having to share his byline with the infuriating know-it-all—honestly, the woman could strip bark off a tree with that tongue of hers—was almost enough to make Knox abandon the whole scenario, but he knew he couldn’t.

He had to do this story.

This story would change his life. He could feel it. Couldn’t explain it, but intuitively knew it all the same.

And if that meant spending a weekend with a woman whose seemingly sole goal in life was to annoy him, then so be it. Knox could handle it. All modesty aside, he could handle just about any woman. A quick smile, a clever compliment and—voilà!—she was his.

But not Savannah. Never Savannah.

She seemed charm-proof. Knox frowned, studied the empty cut-glass tumbler he held loosely in his hand. The one and only time he’d attempted the old routine on Savannah, she’d given him a blast of sleet with those icy blue eyes of hers and laughed in his face. His cheeks burned with remembered humiliation. He’d never repeated the mistake. It had been a lesson well learned and, while he didn’t outright avoid her—he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction—he’d made a conscious effort to steer clear of her path. She…unnerved him.

Nevertheless, he seriously doubted that she’d let her personal dislike of him keep her from jumping at the chance of a great story. Since she’d joined the staff a little over a year ago, she’d made it a point to usurp prime articles from him, to try to keep one step ahead of him. He’d never had any real competition at the Phoenix until her arrival. Though she irritated the hell out of him with her knowing little smiles and acid comments, the rivalry nonetheless kept him sharp, kept him on his toes.

Knox thoughtfully tapped the brochure against his thigh and once more reflected on his options…and realized he really only had one—Savannah. She was the only woman who fit the bill. Though he thoroughly dreaded it, he’d have to ask her to accompany him on the trip to California, to play the part of his devoted sex partner. A bark of dry laughter erupted from his throat. Oh, she’d love that, he thought with a grim smile.

Generally speaking, Knox was attracted to just about every woman of the right age with a halfway decent rack. Shallow, yes, but, again, his nature. He couldn’t help himself. He didn’t always act on the attraction—in fact, he was quite selective with his lovers—but it was always there, hovering just beneath the surface.

Regardless of his hyperlibido, Knox didn’t doubt for one minute that one icy look, one chilly smile from the admittedly gorgeous Savannah Reeves would wilt even his staunchest erection. Savannah was petite and curvy with short jet-black hair that always looked delightfully rumpled. Like she’d just rolled out of bed. She wore little makeup, but with a smooth, creamy complexion and that pair of ice-blue eyes heavily fringed with long curling lashes, she hardly needed the artifice. No doubt about it, she was definitely gorgeous, Knox admitted as he forced away her distracting image.

But looks weren’t everything.

Regrettably, Savannah Reeves had the personality of a constipated toad and never missed her daily ration of Bitch Flakes. Knox suppressed a shudder.

He definitely wouldn’t have to worry about being attracted to her. He simply wouldn’t allow it. And she certainly wasn’t attracted to him—she’d gone out of her way to make that abundantly clear. Also she’d likely appreciate being in on the job.

In short, she’d be his perfect partner for this assignment. And she was too glory hungry to let a little thing like personal dislike get in the way of a fantastic byline. If he really wanted to, Knox thought consideringly, he could make her wriggle like a worm on a hook.

The idea held immense appeal.

“NOT NO, BUT HELL NO,” Savannah Reeves said flatly as she wound her way through the busy newsroom to her little cubicle.

Knox, damn him, dogged her every step.

“But why not? It’s a plum assignment, a great story and a wonderful opportunity. What possible reason could you have for saying no?”

Because I don’t like you, Savannah thought uncharitably. She drew up short beside her desk and paused to look at him. She fought the immediate impulse to categorize his finer physical features, but, as usual, failed miserably.

Knox Webber had wavy rich brown hair cut in a negligent style that implied little maintenance but undoubtedly took several time-consuming steps to achieve. His eyes were a dark, verdant green, heavy-lidded, and twinkled with mischief and the promise of wicked pleasures. His lips, which seemed perpetually curled into an inviting come-hither grin, were surprisingly full for a man, but masculine enough to make a woman fantasize about their talent.

Even her, dammit, though she should know better.

If that weren’t enough, he had the absolute best ass she’d ever seen—tight and curved just so and…Savannah resisted the urge to shiver. In addition to that amazing ass, he was tall, athletically built and carried himself with a mesmerizing long-limbed, loose-hipped gait that drew the eye and screamed confidence. He’d been born into a family of wealth and privilege and the very essence of that breeding hovered like an aura about him.

Though she knew it was unreasonable, Savannah immediately felt her defenses go up. She’d been orphaned at six when her parents had been killed in a car accident. With no other family, she’d spent her childhood in the foster-care system, passed from family to family like a yard-sale castoff. Did Knox know how lucky he’d been? Did he have any idea at all? She didn’t think so. From what she’d observed, he seemed content to play the black sheep of the family—to play at being a journalist—until his father turned the screws and capped his sizable trust fund. And the hell of it was, Knox made it all look so damned easy. He was a talented bastard, she’d give him that. It was enough to make her retch.

“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.

2

“…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.

SAVANNAH 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 consideration. 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.

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.”

3

“ARE 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 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.

Sure they might get distracted by a creamy breast and pouty nipple, might even linger around a delightful belly button for a few seconds, but settling oneself firmly between a woman’s thighs was always, without question, the ultimate goal.

While kissing Savannah a few moments ago—though the kiss couldn’t have lasted more than thirty seconds—Knox’s thoughts had immediately leaped ahead to the grand finale. He’d already imagined plunging dick first into the tight, wet heat of her body. Had been anticipating her own phenomenally cataclysmic release as well as his.

While she’d been critiquing his kiss.

Knox had never anticipated being attracted to her and had known that she wasn’t attracted to him, had chosen her for that particular reason. But having the knowledge confirmed in such a humiliating fashion wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. Particularly since he’d all but devoured her and had made such a horny ass out of himself. Jesus. After that lusty display, there couldn’t be one shred of doubt in her mind about how he’d reacted to her. How hot he’d been for her.

All due to a simple kiss she hadn’t even enjoyed.

Simmering with indignation once more, Knox cast a sidelong glance at the object of his present irritation. Savannah’s cheeks were a little pink—obviously embarrassed by his zealous response to their “test”—but aside from that, she appeared completely composed. She absently nibbled a cracker, her perceptive gaze roaming around the room people-watching, presumably looking for fodder for their story.

Which was exactly what he should be doing, Knox realized with an angry start. He mentally snorted. Undoubtedly she was already forming an angle, had already thought of an intro to their piece. Well, he’d have the most input, thank you very much. This story had been his brainchild, and if there had been any way he could have done it without her, he would have. And he wished he could have. They’d scarcely begun this damned workshop and already he’d become too distracted by the supposedly undistracting female he’d brought with him.

How screwed up was that?

“I hope you don’t plan to pout the entire afternoon,” Savannah said with a sardonic smile. “Honestly, Knox, it was only a small criticism. Surely that enormous ego of yours can take one minor unflattering assessment.”

Ignoring a surge of irritation, Knox mentally counted to three, then arranged his face into its typically amiable expression. “Pout?”

Her eyes narrowed, clearly seeing through his innocent look. “Yes, pout. You’ve been glowering at the room at large for the past five minutes. Jeez, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She neatly bit the end off a stalk of celery. Her lips twitched. “Frankly, I wasn’t aware that you had any.”

Ah…back to familiar ground. Knox forced a smile, affected a negligent shrug, though he longed to wrap his hands around her throat and throttle her. He’d learned to appreciate her acidic sarcasm, but right now he wasn’t in the proper humor to applaud her clever witticisms. He ignored her last comment and decided a change of subject was in order.

“So, what’s your initial impression of the Sheas?” Knox asked.

Savannah winced, wiped a bit of salad dressing from the corner of her luscious lips. “They’re what I expected…but then again they’re not.” She paused consideringly. “I don’t know. It’ll take more than a welcome speech for me to make an accurate assessment.”

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