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
