Читать книгу Show & Tell - Rhonda Nelson - Страница 8

“…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.”