Wolf in Tiger's Stripes

by Victoria Gordon

  “Make me.” And it was a blatant challenge that he followed up by reaching one large hand up to draw her face down to meet his own, the words barely past those gleaming white teeth before his lips captured her mouth, teasing, tormenting, absorbing her gasps of objection and turning them to sighs of delight.

  The kiss went on, and on, and on, Bevan’s tongue urging her lips open, teasing her with its touch against her teeth, flirting with her own tongue. His fingers played an erotic tune on her spine, moving from the nape of her neck down to where her buttocks swelled and throbbed to the heat of his body beneath her. He wrapped both his long legs around hers, effectively imprisoning her against him while he plundered her mouth. And when the kiss ended, it was only so that he could run his warm lips along her cheek, down the long, pulsing column of her neck, touching, caressing, arousing.

  One hand moved between them. Strong fingers plucked at a nipple as he shifted subtly to bring her higher along his body so that he could take her breast into his mouth, could let his tongue flicker like lightning against the rigidity of her nipple, sending spasms of delight and desire all through her body.

  Judith was lost now and knew it. If her body had betrayed her even in sleep, it was all the more treacherous when wide awake, alert to every touch from this man, responding to his lips, to the fingers that flicked along her rump, then teased their way between his body and her own, searching and being aided by her instinctive response as she moved to ease his way.

  She lifted a hip, searching his throat with her own lips even as his gentle fingers searched between their bodies, gliding down the flatness of her belly, pausing only for an instant as they reached the softness of her pubic hair, parting that to reach deeper, flicking through the dampness, becoming slippery with her own sexual juices.

  When he first touched the center of her sex, Judith had to stifle a gasp of sensation, having very nearly climaxed just from that first gentle, almost tentative touch. Then Bevan paused his fingers as he chose instead to hold her there – in readiness – while he searched her breasts with his lips and tongue, laving kisses from nipple to throat and back again.

  She was aware of Bevan’s sigh, heard the growl of his passion from lips that swept along her throat. His fingers inside her moved with the skill of an artist, flicking here, touching there, forcing a crescendo of sensation that seemed to spread from her loins right up through her body, turning her legs to mush, her tummy to jelly, her mind to a thoughtless abandonment of any and all logic.

  When he spoke, his words a harsh but gentle whisper in her ear, she didn’t understand him at first, too caught up in the roller-coaster ride of sensation he was creating with lips and hands that played her body like some finely tuned, exotic musical instrument.

  “I didn’t come prepared for this.” He whispered the words into the softness of her belly as his lips strayed downward from her throbbing, aching breasts.

  Judith, body arched like a bow to ease his passage, didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Words were beyond her by this point. She could only gasp and sigh as he took her to the brink of climax, balanced her there with delicate touches of fingers and tongue, then tipped her into a vortex of sensation that whirled away all reality except that experienced by her body.

  Bevan held her while she plunged, and was still holding her when she returned to what should have been reality but seemed, somehow, totally unreal. She opened her eyes to see his gray eyes watching her, a slow grin quirking his lips before he bent to kiss her forehead. It was a tender smile, a lover’s smile, filled with satisfaction. But a sort of shared satisfaction, she thought.

  Shared? It was all for me. He didn’t even give me a chance to—

  “That’ll have to do,” Bevan whispered. “For now, anyway.” He looked round the room, almost as if he suddenly felt himself a stranger, then glanced back at Judith, fondness in his eyes, softness in his voice. “I’d best be away or your sweet cousin will have my guts for garters,” he said, then rolled lithely from the warm bed and into the complex procedure of getting himself dressed.

  “But ... but ...” She floundered, searching for words that stuck in her throat and threatened to gag her.

  Bevan was already out of the bed before her befuddled mind could fully comprehend what he’d said, what he’d done. He hadn’t come prepared, which meant he didn’t carry a wallet stuffed with condoms? Or that he hadn’t expected her to succumb? Or ... ?

  This is not the time to tell him there’s one lone, very geriatric condom in my handbag, there on the dresser. No. Not the time for that. Too late for that, maybe too late for anything even remotely sensible. Damn you, Bevan Keene. Was this all just to prove that you COULD?

  Now totally unsure of herself, of him – especially unsure of him – she retreated into sarcasm, hating every word that emerged from her kiss-swollen lips, hating herself, hating Bevan, hating ...

  “Very well, then. Just leave the money on the dresser,” she snapped, then rolled over and hid her flaming face beneath a pillow that smelled of them, of their sex, of their togetherness, of their apartness. It wasn’t hiding place enough. Bevan’s laugh sliced through it like a razor, and there was no satisfaction that it sounded a genuine laugh, a laugh suggesting that he understood her confusion, perhaps even shared it just a bit.

  “Damn it, woman. I don’t know what you’re being cranky about. Can I do nothing right with you?”

  Then she heard the muted snick of the bedroom door closing behind him, a signal that she could give vent to her feelings by beating up the pillow and staining it with tears as she berated herself for being a fool, and worse than a fool.

  And when she eventually left the bedroom herself, eyes puffy, temperament on the ragged edge between rapture and despair, the smug, knowing glance thrown by cousin Vanessa, infant at breast, was all it took to bring on a fresh spate of angst.

  “Not one word, cousin,” she snarled. “Not even carrying my namesake would be enough to save you.”

  “This one’s not your namesake. It’s his. And I was only wondering why he didn’t stay for breakfast,” Vanessa replied. “Here, take this.” The infant Bevan was thrust unceremoniously into Judith’s startled grasp, then Vanessa flounced off to collect her daughter, her entire attitude suggesting that she, too, thought Judith was a fool.

  Judith looked down into the curious, innocent eyes of her godchild and found an instant reality check. By the time Vanessa returned, she was able to relate the less salacious details of Bevan’s nocturnal visit and share her cousin’s laughter.

  But she didn’t see or hear from Bevan Keene again until it was time for the real tiger hunt to begin.

  26

  Mother Nature seemed to smile on the party as the convoy invaded the Tarkine, moving at a leisurely pace down through the Wedge Plains, across the Arthur River, through the Milkshake Hills, then across Rapid River, moving steadily south by west through the Dempster Plains to the crossing of the Horton River on the track toward Balfour. The sun shone, the tracks were in good shape, and the weather was as perfect as it could be for the season.

  Less might be said for the party itself, Judith thought, constantly amazed by how disparate the members of the group were. Something had changed. She knew it, could recognize that much, but couldn’t figure out just what had changed. Or why. Part of the problem was that the leadership issue had somehow disappeared, and that made little sense.

  Bevan seemed to have withdrawn from any show of actually leading the expedition, although he showed typical enthusiasm for the processes of organization and preparation. Derek, by comparison, had taken over the reins with a veritable vengeance, and it was under his direction that they wended their way farther and farther into the Tarkine Wilderness, going from rough but passable tracks to rougher ones, to even worse ones, always heading south by west, always seeking to do as little environmental damage as possible in the process. The caravan of vehicles moved slowly but steadily up and down ridges, through forests of tall eucalypts, across creeks, throu
gh narrow and wide buttongrass plains, pausing only when Derek said so, and then only long enough for him to consult his global positioning gizmo and the sheaf of maps he guarded like the crown jewels.

  When they finally reached his chosen destination, Judith could see no difference between that site and twenty others they’d passed en route, no obvious, logical reason for Derek to have chosen this particular area as the center of their search for the supposedly extinct tiger. Yes, there was a small, twisty, crystal-clear creek with sandy verges and bars that seemed ideally suited to revealing tiger tracks if such existed. But they’d crossed a dozen such creeks getting to this place. Yes, there was a nearby buttongrass plain, and the surrounding scrub was typically temperate forest, rather than the wetter, heavily canopied rain forest she might have expected. But there was nothing unique, nothing that stood out to make this chosen site significant.

  Bevan appeared contented with Derek’s choice. He made no comment except to nod as he set about directing the offloading of gear and the laying out of their campsite. Old Ted Norton was equally satisfied, it seemed. He looked around, grunted, then stepped in to help with the work ahead. And there was plenty of work to be done, with evening not far off and the always-possible risk of a serious change in the weather in this far western region of the island state.

  In the end, everyone helped, and well before dark, with Roberta’s fresh bread sending out aromas of promised delight, they had a camp in place, everything ready for the days ahead, and there was still time for Ted to take a brief wander up the creek before it became too dark to see anything.

  “Good country,” he said upon his return. “I’ve found a logical route for the first run of gear, and if the terrain is similar downstream, setting out another one in that direction shouldn’t be too hard, either.” The remark was aimed primarily at Bevan and was followed by a scathing glance to the camp’s outskirts, where Derek and his cohorts were huddled over the global positioning device. “Isn’t modern science wonderful?” the aging bushman said with a sneer in his voice. “Just push a button and you know exactly where you are.”

  “It’s a logical piece of equipment for a job like this,” Bevan replied calmly. “And don’t tell me you wouldn’t have liked something similar back when you were a serious prospector.”

  Judith, openly eavesdropping, expected some disparaging reply, and got it.

  “Knowing where you are is one thing,” Ted said. “Knowing how to get from there to where you want to be is something no hi-tech gizmo can provide.”

  Then his voice lowered, becoming inaudible most of the time as he continued, so that what Judith heard was only, “... track over ... east side ...”

  And that one single word that exemplified the mystery of it all – “Fred.”

  Bevan’s reply was more audible, but made no more sense. “It’ll be another week or so, I reckon. Maybe two. Plenty of time.”

  The return of the conservation crowd, chattering like magpies, drowned out whatever reply Ted made to that, and Judith could only spend the evening wondering what crucial information she’d missed.

  The days that followed were no more enlightening, except in providing the expedition with a thorough and detailed exploration of the region around their camp. It was agreed – albeit, with masses of often loud and contradictory discussion – that they would set their cameras and sensors both upstream and down from the camp, but that they’d keep to their own side of the rivulet Ted said was a minor tributary to the Horton.

  They worked from dawn to dusk, every day, regardless of weather, laying and expanding a network of cameras and sensors and baits in a huge semicircle around their camp. There was a good deal more work involved than had been needed for the test run, and by evening each day, everyone was exhausted. The evenings consisted of a brief recap of the day’s efforts while everyone helped Roberta clean up, a quick viewing of what film they’d collected, then off to bed. Dawn came earlier each day, it seemed.

  Judith wasn’t surprised to see teams formed that balanced membership between what she was thinking of as “The Greenies” and “The Others,” but it was less easy to determine which side was actually in charge. Bevan seemed content to let Derek take charge, but in point of fact, everyone was working too hard to have much energy for bickering.

  Or for romance! It wasn’t that Bevan was avoiding her, or so she hoped, but he certainly made no attempt to find opportunities for them to be alone. It was as if there was a mental wall in place, as if he was deliberately trying to keep from compromising her, as if he wanted to keep her alone in a no-man’s land between the two sides of the expedition.

  All quite understandable, or so she kept telling herself. But it hurt. As the days passed, she found herself becoming more and more sensitive to the situation, even to the point where she began to avoid him, as much as that could be done within the confines of the unique situation. Because really, almost nobody was ever much alone. They all shared sleeping quarters, dined communally, and worked from dawn to dusk in teams of two and three. Only Ted Norton and Derek himself ever seemed to find time to wander off. Ted prowled the creek banks every morning in the half-light of dawn, while Derek had adopted a habit of going off somewhere by himself each day about noon.

  Within four days, they had it all down to a well-rehearsed routine. Within a week it had become almost boring, not least because all Jan’s film ever produced was the same types of animals doing exactly what was expected of them in expected ways. There was even a suggestion – not totally in jest – that Jan’s star-struck Tassie devil had managed to find his way all the way across the state to continue his movie career. Either that or he had a double. It was amusing, for a day or so, annoying as hell after that.

  By the end of the second week, it had become a curious game akin to musical chairs, with each dawn bringing a change usually orchestrated by Bevan. He had them alternate partners, alternate collection routes and times, anything to try and reduce the inevitable boredom of walking the same trails, with the same people, listening to the same arguments and ideas.

  Only the weather really changed, and that happened almost daily. One day brilliant sunshine, the next torrential rain that made travel a nightmare. Then would come a day where the moisture-laden air hung in streaming curtains of mist so thick, Judith thought the cameras couldn’t have penetrated them had an elephant triggered the shutter.

  Just their luck, she would later think, that it was on such a day that everything changed!

  27

  The entire crew was in the mess tent watching Roberta prepare breakfast, most of them only half awake and the rest engaged in what seemed – to Judith – to be the hundredth inane discussion about the relative values of eating vegetables as opposed to red meat. Jan Smythe, for some reason crankier than usual about this, her favorite argument, threw her hands in the air and flung herself out of the tent, declaring herself bored and disgusted by the attitudes of the carnivores amongst them.

  But only seconds later, it seemed – Roberta and Ted were still exchanging glances of surprise at Jan’s attitude – and Jan was back, eyes wide, lips moving in a vain attempt to get the words out.

  “Nnnnnobody move,” she finally managed to stammer. “Ddddon’t move, don’t say anything, don’t do anything.”

  She scrambled past them, reached the rear of the tent where her camera bag lay, and her hands shook in her excitement as she fumbled to get out the smallest of the video recorders, discarding the lens cap and letting it fall ignored to the floor of the tent as she scurried back to the exit. Her eyes were wide with mute pleading that was followed by the actual words.

  “Please, oh, please,” she whimpered, waving both hands at them all in a gesture of unmistakable clarity. Then she was sliding through the doorway, her movement sinuous, cautious in the extreme. Behind her, the final word – “tiger” – hung almost visible in the silence.

  Bevan was the first to move, and before anyone else could even think of it, he was there to halt the rush,
his arms outstretched to block the exit of the conservationists as they plunged in a body to follow Jan.

  “Give her a chance, for God’s sake,” Bevan hissed, his voice in a low whisper but firm in its demand.

  He and Derek stood eye to eye, but there was no question in Judith’s mind of who would win the encounter. And she was right. Derek’s eyes flared in anger and frustration, but he backed down almost immediately. The other two greenies never even made a show of challenging Bevan.

  Who held them back by what seemed sheer willpower for what seemed an awfully long time. But finally, as if satisfied with his control, he turned and eased open the tent flap just enough to peer out. An instant later, his free hand beckoned as he whispered to them to seek positions that would allow them to see out without actually going out, and everyone stretched, stooped or knelt to take a vantage point.

  Everyone but Ted and Roberta, Judith noticed in passing, then ignored the fact as she, too, moved to peer through the narrow tent slit, controlled by Bevan’s hands and body.

  If he’d let them explode through the tent flap, as they’d wanted to, Jan Smythe would have been trampled. She was just outside the tent, sprawled flat on the ground, her attention locked on something up along the narrow track which linked their camp to the outside world. One eye was covered by the viewfinder of the video camera and then, even as they watched, she slithered across the ground to crouch behind one of the vehicles, where she glanced quickly down at the camera, then brought it up to her eye again.

  All gazes followed the line of the camera, then the tent was filled with a communal hiss of amazement as they saw, seemingly in unison, what Jan was trying to film.

  Tiger!

  Judith’s reaction was disbelief, but how could she not believe this? Even as she doubted, she was ticking off mental notes: the size, the outline, the reddish-brown color, the dark stripes that ranged from shoulder to flanks like spur marks moving to the curiously rigid tail, the shape of the head – everything! And it all seemed right, even though her common sense cried out that it simply could not be!