Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? Read Online Free

hidden on the bottom, just in case she could still make Acapulco. But hell, you never knew. She pulled out the drawer of the bedside table and dropped them in.
    She sank down on the bed, and a cloud of white chiffon rose up on each side of her. She stood up and lifted it off the bed. A flowing length of sheer material. She held it up in front of her and turned to the full-length mirror.
    A toga. Not a toga but a…chiton. That’s what wardrobe called the ankle-length garment she’d worn while filming Return of the Barbarians . One flimsy square of fabric, pinned at the shoulders with gold clips and gathered at the waist with a golden cord. It wouldn’t hide a birthmark, much less a bronzed, muscular stuntwoman’s body. Hell. She knew what she looked like in a chiton. She’d trashed fifteen of them in Barbarians, when she’d had to save the hero by leaping from her horse into his runaway chariot. She’d wrestled the rolling-eyed team to a stop with one hand while fighting off the hordes with a scimitar. All the while, the hero’s stunt double had lain at her feet with an arrow in his shoulder.
    She’d dragged him to safety, past thundering hooves and revolving wheels, dust and flying pebbles. As soon as they were out of frame, the director called “Cut,” and the actors who had whiled away those fifteen takes in their air-conditioned trailers appeared—artistically torn and dirty—for the love scene. While they lay artfully arranged in a nest of PVC rubble, Ariadne had limped off to the first aid tent.
    The stars had actually told a morning talk show host that they did their own stunts.
    Ha. If twisting the top off a bottle of spring water was a stunt.
    She wasn’t complaining. The money was good and the thrills were addictive. But something told her that wearing a toga while playing a plain Jane was going to push the parameters of her acting abilities.
    She went back into the living room and picked up the Welcome folder from the coffee table. On top was the day’s schedule. Five o’clock orientation in the Pantheon Auditorium. Followed by dinner and a dessert party. Togas mandatory.
    â€œSo help me, Mac, if you’re sitting at home with a double bourbon and water, while I’m flitting around in a nightgown…”
    She glanced at her watch. Four-twenty. That gave her forty minutes to transform herself into a Greek wallflower and stumble her myopic way downhill to the Pantheon. She headed for the shower, unbuttoning and unzipping and leaving pieces of her suit on the floor behind her.
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    Dillon stood in the employee’s lounge along with forty other men. He, like the others, was wearing his kilt. He was one of six new guys, who stood uncomfortably to one side of the veterans, who laughed and joked as if wearing a skirt and being a slave was a normal line of work. JoJo Carmichael waved from the other side of the room and came toward them, weaving through the other groups of men. He was on the short side, well-proportioned, with large blue eyes and a sweep of blond hair that fell over one eye. Definitely a ladies’ man, thought Dillon. He was also the veteran attendant in charge of training and making sure things didn’t get out of hand.
    He reached the newbies and cast an exasperated look at the man standing next to Dillon. Then he lifted the hem of the man’s kilt to reveal a pair of light blue boxers.
    â€œTsk tsk,” he said, shaking his head. “No boxers. It’s for your own good. As you will soon see. Now, go take them off and contain the jewels.”
    The slave blushed and slumped away. JoJo turned to Dillon.
    â€œJockstrap,” he mumbled before JoJo got any closer.
    JoJo gave him an approving smile. “Hey. You shouldn’t have let Demetri talk you out of your original goddess. He plays fast and loose, and he’ll take advantage of you if you let him. I put him with the plain Jane on purpose so he