Part 34 (2/2)

Conversation abruptly ceased as several priestesses, all dressed in flowing white robes and purple sashes, entered from a side door and took their places at the table on the stage.

Katherine Dane came next and stopped at the podium at the center of the long table. She was wearing an off-white silk pantsuit and no sash, just a purple jeweled pin fastened to her lapel. Two men followed her onto the stage.

The first man, a giant blond with powerful muscles swathed in undulating white pajamas, walked to the far end of the table and sat down. The second man was much shorter, slight, with dark s.h.i.+ny hair that receded from a high forehead. He was dressed incongruously in a pinstriped suit. The overhead lights picked out a sheen of perspiration on his forehead as he sat down.

Ms. Dane signaled for quiet. The rustle of conversation gradually subsided, and the house lights dimmed until only the stage was left in light. She nodded to the audience, welcomed them again, read off a few announcements, and reminded everyone to apprise themselves of the rules of the retreat.

”And now, it is my great pleasure to introduce the founder and guiding spirit of G.o.ddess International, Dr. Fiona Bliss.”

At last, Andy thought, and removed her gla.s.ses to get a better look.

All eyes turned expectantly to the closed door. After a few seconds, the door opened, and Dr. Bliss entered, followed closely by two serious-looking young women in white robes crossed by gold and purple sashes.

The room, as one, sprang to its feet, and deafening applause reverberated through the air. Dr. Bliss walked to the podium, and Katherine Dane stepped into the background. The supreme G.o.ddess lifted her hands, palms upward, and though to Andy it looked like a gesture to continue their accolades, the hall immediately became quiet and everyone returned to their seats.

Except for her two acolytes. They stood at chairs on either side of the doctor. There was a brief standoff as the two women eyed each other, and not at all wors.h.i.+pfully. A slight gesture by Dr. Bliss and they sat simultaneously.

Dr. Bliss was close to six feet tall, strikingly poised with cla.s.sical features and silver hair that was swept back in an elaborate coiffure. She wore a sleek, floor-length caftan decorated in gold braid. She looked magnificent with the row of slaves creating an exotic tableau behind her.

Silence fell over the room, and Dr. Bliss thanked her ”dear Katherine” for the lovely introduction. Andy's gaze drifted back to Dillon. He was staring down at the floor, completely motionless.

She turned her attention back to Dr. Bliss, who began talking about finding your inner G.o.ddess and how the cla.s.ses at the retreat would help your self-fulfillment. How women could empower themselves and find satisfaction by discovering their essential woman-ness. The audience hung on her every word.

”Our detractors dismiss the precepts of the G.o.ddess program as mere s.e.x therapy.” She smiled across the rows of listeners. ”But it isn't just about s.e.x.... It's about power.”

Andy could swear she heard eighty slave gonads shrivel up and play dead.

Dr. Bliss began to introduce the staff, starting with the priestesses at the far end of the table. Each stood and smiled and nodded to the audience when her name was called, then sat down as the next one was named.

The pajama-wearing hulk was Hans somebody, the retreat's ma.s.seur, and more, if the sighs around Andy meant anything more than wishful thinking.

Then the doctor turned and smiled down at the smaller man. ”And this is my husband and help mate, Bernard Bliss, who will be conducting the Eternal o.r.g.a.s.m sessions.”

Bernard Bliss stood up and with a deprecating smile, nodded to his high priestess wife. She began the applause that was quickly taken up enthusiastically throughout the room.

Andy stared. There was the s.e.x guru, surrounded by forty half-naked studs, and the nerd with the sweaty forehead was giving her eternal o.r.g.a.s.ms. h.e.l.l. Life was sometimes stranger than the movies.

When the applause finally died down and Mr. Bliss had taken his seat, Dr. Bliss smiled between the two remaining women. ”And these are my a.s.sistants, Jane Parsons and Carmen Gutierrez.”

The two women stood. Jane was a tall, svelte blonde; Carmen was dark and compact. They smiled at their mentor and glared at each other. Dr. Bliss sang their praises, carefully alternating their names as she spoke, meticulously showing no favoritism. Still, the icy looks they reserved for each other boded no good. No doubt about it, thought Andy. There was trouble in G.o.ddess Land.

Here's a peek at Katherine O'Neal's newest.

THE ART OF SEDUCTION.

Coming next month from Brava...

The mob began to part in a channel that was rapidly moving Mason's way from the direction of her self-portrait. And then she saw Richard Garrett towering above the crowd, coming toward her with a determined gleam in his eyes. In that instant she realized his intention.

Is it possible the man thinks I need to be rescued?

As he drew closer, she could see that he was firmly and resolutely taking the arm of each person who stood in his way and moving him aside to create a path for himself. His movements were decisive, even aggressive, but he kept up a litany of polite salutations, uttering each with a wry twinkle in his eyes. ”Excuse me. Thank you very much. Lovely hat, madam. We'll move you just there, shall we?”

Until at last he'd brushed away the horde that separated them, had scooped Mason up into his arms, and was sweeping her through the mult.i.tude toward the front door and safety. Large, magnetic eyes with a touch of irony in them crinkled in amus.e.m.e.nt as he spoke. ”I don't always get this chummy on a first acquaintance. You'll forgive me, I hope.”

Before she could reply, the gendarmes swarmed inside, whistles blaring, barreling through. As they did, the wall of people surged like an angry sea, teeming in alarm, nearly knocking Garrett off his feet. He swerved her around and as he did, her fragile sleeve caught and pulled, ripping her bodice just above her breast. She scrambled to pull it closed and as she did, was nearly pitched from his hold.

She felt herself tumbling. But then, like an athlete, he righted himself and his arms tightened about her, catching her fall. He heaved her up and into his embrace so powerfully that she had to throw her arms about his neck. And then, like a whirlwind, he swung her around, knocking others out of his way, and swooped her through the melee.

She kept hold of him dizzily, feeling the b.u.mp of bodies strewn in their path, feeling the rigid, corded muscles of his arms anchoring her to his chest. His shoulders were so wide that she felt more besieged by him than by the uprising around her.

She struggled against him, pus.h.i.+ng herself up, trying to free herself, and felt her dress rip again. It was too absurd. He was behaving like some medieval knight scooping her out of harm's way, ripping her to pieces in the process. She wanted down. She didn't want to be swept away from the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. She wanted to savor the triumph, to suck the marrow of the riotous experience like an operatic diva commanding her stage.

”Put me down,” she gasped.

He stilled for a moment. She saw him glance at her, momentarily perplexed. Then his gaze dropped and his eyes grew hooded and dark. She, too, looked and saw what he was staring at: the ripe, swelling mound of her half-exposed breast.

In that moment, everything changed. His gaze rose slowly to her face and she saw the flare of raw desire. It lanced her like a weapon, hot and swift, jolting her with the crackling current of his l.u.s.t.

”Like h.e.l.l I will,” he growled.

He pinned her to his body so she could feel every granite-straining flex of his muscles. And she caught in the blaze of his eyes a stark and ruthless glare. It seared her, scalding her resistance, firing her senses and causing the breath to catch in her throat.

He carried her through the throng, imprisoned in unyielding arms, mowing a corridor through the swarm, scattering the fas.h.i.+onable patrons in his wake. And she realized with a shock that he was no longer the gallant savior. He was claiming her like a buccaneer s.n.a.t.c.hing his prize.

Before she knew it, he'd stormed out the door and up the sunlit street, away from the gallery, from the racket, from the crush of human bodies and greed.

He looked down into her face, peering keenly through the sheltering lace. ”d.a.m.ned nuisance, that.” So saying, he took the lower tip of lace in his teeth and moved it back off her face. ”That's better. I fancy seeing the faces of the damsels I rescue.”

His voice rasped out the words, less an idle comment and more like a command. All the while his eyes bore into her, his mouth, with full lips, looking pagan and wicked, and almost cruel. She could feel his energy engulf her, wholly masculine, unconscionably rife with a s.e.xuality that made no apology and asked no quarter. So determined, so confident that it melted her in a pool of helpless yearning need.

”I don't need to be rescued,” she stated. But he heard the breathy hoa.r.s.eness. Not a denial, but an invitation.

His gaze dropped to the mound of her creamy breast, showcased by the flutter of filmy pink chiffon. They lingered, taking in the sight of quivering flesh, so possessive, so intense, that her nipple throbbed as if it had been touched. Slowly her gaze traveled upward, and he captured her eyes with his own.

”What do you need?”

end.

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