Make Me Over_ Getting Real - Leslie Kelly [23]
Drew frowned. “I’m sure your dance instructor will be happy to review your skills before he begins teaching you…uh…” Something other than a bump and grind. “Ballroom dancing.”
“Watch,” she said, obviously not taking no for an answer. Since she stood between Drew and the only exit, he didn’t have much choice.
Teresa began to hum a low, thrumming tune, and started to gyrate like a she-wolf in heat. He supposed the expression on her face—eyes half-closed, lips pursed—was meant to represent orgasmic ecstasy. Instead she merely looked like she’d eaten something unpleasant.
“Teresa, I really have to go. And so do you. You’re late for something, I’m sure.”
“Wait, it hasn’t even started getting good!”
She reached for a floor lamp.
Okay, that’s it. Time to make his exit.
“Ooh, baby, yeah,” she moaned, licking her lips.
Men actually paid money to see this? He began to feel sorry for the owners of this house, who’d rented their place to Mueller for the month. They were going to have to pay someone to come in and disinfect all of their lamps. At least the ones in the rooms Teresa had inhabited.
“Oooh, you know you love it,” she was saying through heavy breaths as she did mildly obscene things to the poor brass light-fixture.
“Nice,” he muttered.
She obviously didn’t hear his sarcasm. “I’m just gettin’ started.” Still holding the lamp with one hand, she lifted her other to unzip her dress.
“Whoa,” Drew said, wondering if Burt Mueller was spiking the women’s food with some kind of aphrodisiac. “Sorry, but I’m not interested in…uh…any more of your dancing.”
While her hands were occupied, he moved smoothly around her and out the door.
“Hey, Professor, wait,” she called. “It’s just getting good.”
Hearing a crash, he cringed over the loss of the lamp. The poor thing had probably thrown itself to its death to get out from between Teresa’s well-used thighs.
Ducking down a hallway, which would put him out of sight-range of Teresa when she exited the sunroom, he paused to get his bearings. The house was huge. But it wasn’t big enough to give him any privacy whatsoever. The only time he’d been alone since yesterday morning was when he was firmly ensconced in his room. And considering the way four of the women had felt free to stroll right in, he’d had to start locking the door!
“This is crazy,” he muttered aloud.
Very crazy. The whole thing. He was supposed to be overseeing some lessons. Not having to hide from a bunch of amorous women who wanted to get a little extracurricular with the teacher.
His frustration was made worse because he’d been unable to see the only person in this asylum whom he really wanted to see. Tori.
Glancing at his watch, he noted it was nearly four. He’d checked the posted schedule this morning and knew Tori’s group was, at this time, supposed to be in the kitchen getting lessons in food appreciation and table manners.
Hopefully that would prevent any more food fights, like the one this afternoon at lunch. Drew had been dining with Group B, and had made the mistake of complimenting one of the women—a very tall redhead named Robin—on her knowledge of cutlery.
Robin had ended up with a face full of cold soup, courtesy of Ginny. Then it’d turned into a free-for-all. Even after grabbing a quick, midday shower, Drew still smelled the lingering, cloying sweetness of key-lime pie in his hair.
Pie. The kitchen. Tori.
He didn’t hesitate and began striding down the hallway, determined to see her and find out why she’d been avoiding him.
Another of the contestants, however, had other ideas.
“Hey there, Professor,” a tawny-skinned woman said as she stepped out from an inset doorway. It almost felt as if she’d been lying in wait for him.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in your speech class?” Drew asked absently, trying not to slow down.
She planted herself right in front of him. “I’m already very good at speaking,” she said, licking her lips. “Come here and I’ll whisper something special in your ear.” She smiled, her sharp teeth white and glistening.
He’d sooner put his ear next to