"This application looks acceptable, but explain to me why you would like to transfer from the café to the Playground. You don't have any other experiences that would be applicable here," Ms. Eilidh said.

I was distracted for a few moments. I'd heard rumors about a demi-goddess working at the resort, but I'd never met one. Eilidh's golden hair was elaborately braided in a quasi-crown, with a large fishbone braid draped over her shoulder. It made me want to undo it and put it back together just to count how many twists were in her hair.

"Ms. Morgan?"

Crap, not good. "Yes, sorry. I was thinking." I stopped just short of lying because I was thinking, but not about what other experiences might be applicable to the situation. I could name several things that I've read over the years, but claiming they were mine would also be a lie. I wasn't sure how to proceed.

"I do understand the nature of the club." I chose my words carefully, hoping that I could convince Ms. Eilidh that I could be helpful while I gained more first-hand knowledge. "I've read several works on the subject, both fiction and non-fiction, detailing the nature of how and what things might occur in such a setting."

Ms. Eilidh smiled. "So you're a tourist."

"A what?"

"You're interested in the topic, but you have no actual interest. For you, it would be research, observation, maybe even titillation, but you don't have a passion or desire that motivates you."

Learning. Interesting comparison. Based on Ms. Eilidh's response, I took a different tactic. "I enjoy languages. I know ten. I have heard that BDSM is a language unto itself. One of the body and mind. Therefore, I'm interested in learning more about it."

"Learning more, but not living it." She tapped her painted ink-black nails on her desk. My application and resume were on the surface display. While she pondered her next question, my imagination conjured up what it might feel like to have her light tan skin under my hands, and those manicured nails scratch down my skin. I followed my line of imagination to her face, which seemed to glow in the light, but her dark brown eyes were assessing me. She caught me staring. "Did you see something you like?"

The flush of embarrassment crept up my neck and into my cheeks as I looked at my shoes, my favorite pair of hightops, scuffed but serviceable. I didn't look up, but I could see every detail in my mind. Eilidh's blouse was sheer, and she wore a corset vest that framed her large breasts, accentuating them. I wanted nothing more than to caress and lick. Wait, no. What was happening here?

"Did you do something to me?" I looked up then, my embarrassment replaced with annoyance. My voice was thin with it. I didn't like whatever she did to make me feel like this. Not one bit.

"Ms. Morgan, I'm not sure what you mean? You were staring. I only asked a question."

"But you did something to me to make me stare."

Ms. Eilidh took a breath that visibly expanded her chest and let it out. I was staring again. She shook her head slowly. "Whatever's happening to you, at this moment, I am not actively doing anything to cause it. I've never had a physical effect on a dragon, in bipedal form, or otherwise."

That smelled like the truth, so why did I feel attracted to her? Why, when really no one else ever seemed the least bit interesting to me. Uncle Greg withstanding, but that was more because he smelled familiar. I blamed that on Uncle Xavior.

Why was this different? Why now? I took a deep breath and smelled honey, wine, almonds, aloe, and vanilla. I took another, and there was a very distinct floral smell, something that tugged at my memories about something I read. Fertility. "You're a fertility goddess."

"Yes, partially, though my father was not."

"Do you know if he was human or not? Could he possibly have been a shifter of some kind?" The scent grew more potent, and my nose was parsing it out. If it was a shifter, it wasn't one I was familiar with by smell.

"No, I… I'm sorry, I don't feel comfortable answering any more of your questions. I think this interview is concluded. Good day, Ms. Morgan."

I'd upset her, and that hurt me, not just emotionally, but almost physically. I didn't want to hurt her, which was an odd response. So why did I even care?

I backed away from her desk, but I kept my eyes on her as I reached for the door. When I was on the other side, I closed it, then ran down the back hall that would carry me to a side exit, then outside. I needed fresh air and to spread my wings.