Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? by Gemma Bruce Page B

Nothing he could name, not yet anyway.
    He spent the next twenty minutes forcing his body down one path and up another.
    He had just made it up one of the nastier climbs, when a flash of color caught his eye. He slowed down, then stopped and stared as he realized what it was.
    Someone was walking across the top of the perimeter wall. He slipped behind a tree and peered at them. The figure stopped, looked down, then with arms stretched out to the side, began walking down a trunk of a fallen tree that was wedged against the stones.
    Dillon stared in disbelief. Tall, slim, dressed in a girly running suit. It couldn’t be. But it was. His mouth fell open as she took off at a fast jog, arms and legs pumping like a pro. She passed him so close that he could have reached out and grabbed her, if he’d been able to move.
    His eyes narrowed. Pro. Of course. Nobody could be as mousy as she was pretending to be. Not in this day of television, movies, and makeovers. And no one as naïve as she pretended to be could kiss the way the woman had kissed him. And hers had definitely been experienced fingers. Now he knew he wasn’t hallucinating as he watched that tight little ass rippling beneath her tight spandex pants.
    His plain Jane was a fraud.
    He stepped out behind her. Watched when she slowed down as she neared her cabin. She didn’t go inside, but scanned the trees. In just the place he’d been waiting for her yesterday morning. She’d done this before and had seen him watching for her.
    And sure enough, she slipped around to the side of the cabin and climbed in through the window.
    So Ms. Mouse wasn’t a mouse after all. But what was she? Besides an incredibly built woman. Another agent? Had they sent someone to back him up, because they didn’t trust him to handle this simple job? Or had a different agency sent her? Just like them, so territorial and uncommunicative that they both had agents working on the same case.
    Well, he wasn’t going to be caught out again. It was time to find out just what Ms. McAllister was up to.
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    Andy turned on the shower. She was going to be late for breakfast if she didn’t hurry. Instead of swimming, she’d looked for signs of Aunt Mac: footprints, broken twigs, discarded toilet paper. And found nothing but a narrow, dirt road curving along a ridge near the falls.
    She stepped into the tub and let the hot water sluice over her. She was doing a lot of speculation, getting hung up in fantasies of Mac escaping across the mountains, of being kidnapped, of being held hostage.
    Not the movies, she reminded herself as she lathered up. What she needed was real information, and she bet she’d find some in the records that they kept on all the participants.
    She rinsed off and got out of the tub. But the business office was kept locked, and besides, she didn’t dare risk being caught again. She quickly dried off and braided her hair, dressed in baggy capris and another big shirt. She applied only a light layer of makeup. She’d had lunch in the sun yesterday. It stood to reason that she would be getting a tan.
    It was time for her transformation to begin. She hated deceiving Evelyn, Loubelle, and Jeannie after they’d been so nice to her. And she admitted, she wanted Dillon to see her as she really was before she had to leave.
    For once in her life she wished things had been different. That she and Dillon could have gotten to know each other. In all ways. That one little taste last night had made her crave the whole pie.
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    Dillon stood outside the cottage, fuming while he waited for Ariadne. He heard the shower running. He had to force himself not to just break in and catch her en flagrante. Which made him wonder what she would look like naked and rosy from a hot shower.
    He closed and opened his fists. He needed to get his damn mind on the job and on finding out about the enigmatic Ms. McAllister. She could be his undoing, in more ways than