Show & Tell. Rhonda Nelson
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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