Show & Tell Read Online Free Page B

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. Knewthat 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