Boxed Set: Books & Billionaires

by Nikki Steele

  I flicked through another book without really looking, then threw it down despondently. What was the use? Unless Booker stapled an encyclopedia to his body, words could never stop a bullet. The pen could not be mightier than the-

  Wait.

  Amidst the despair, the spark that I’d been chasing reared its head once more. What had I just been thinking about? Cave paintings, yes… but what else.

  My eyes drifted to a shelf that had only one book left. A thick, dusty old tome of International Law. The same size as an encyclopedia. I hadn’t even bothered to pull it down before—Booker’s wife was clearly breaking the law hunting animals here, and Booker himself had proven that local authorities could be bought for the right price. But maybe… yes. That spark had flared again. Maybe there was something else within its pages that might be of use.

  I leapt for the volume, finger flying down the index.

  International Legal Framework? No.

  Repatriation of Movable Cultural Heritage? No

  World-

  “Yes!” I snapped the book shut, leaping to my feet with a prayer that I wouldn’t be too late. “Booker! Wait!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Leena was already in the speedboat when I reached the outer deck, panting. “Wait!”

  “Clara!” Booker said, surprised, pausing on the ladder. “I thought you were asleep, I didn’t want to wake you.

  “Booker, you have to wait.”

  He climbed back up. “I’m so glad I get to say good-”

  “Stop,” I cut him off. “That’s not why I’m here. You don’t have to say goodbye.”

  His face clouded. “I love you baby. And that’s why I won’t let you come. We’ve already spoken about this-”

  “No,” I cut him off again. “Just listen to me.”

  In the boat, Leena hissed with impatience. “We don’t have time for this—we need to go now, or we lose the dark.”

  Booker’s hand went to the railing once more. “Clara. This is something I have to do. I’ll be home in time for breakfast, I promise.”

  “Booker, please. If you love me. Stop and listen.”

  Booker’s hands froze.

  “Booker,” Leena hissed again. “We need to leave, now!”

  Booker looked to the boat. Then he looked to me.

  And then he climbed back up the ladder.

  * * *

  Leena and Booker were both standing before me now. Leena with her dark tattoos and face paint, Booker in dark clothes himself, his face smeared with grease but eyes resolute. Leena opened her mouth to speak, but Booker held up a hand.

  “Clara knows how important this is to me. And she knows our timeframes,” he said firmly. “I know it’s something important that she’s got to say. What is it Sheets? What did you discover?”

  I held the book in front of me. “I’ve been in the library doing research. And I’ve found something. Something that might mean you don’t have to go through with this.”

  I thrust the book toward him, thumb still in the page I wanted him to read. “Sections three and five.”

  Booker scanned the page briefly, and then began to read out loud. “Section three. To exhibit an important interchange of human values, over a span of time or within a cultural area of the world, on developments in architecture or technology, monumental arts, town-planning or landscape design.”

  He scratched his head, frowning. “Section five. To be an outstanding example of a traditional human settlement, land-use, or sea-use which is representative of a culture, or human interaction with the environment especially when it has become vulnerable under the impact of irreversible change.” He looked at me. “Clara, what is this?”

  I looked between Booker and Leena. “They’re criteria for selection.”

  “For?”

  I drew a deep breath. “World Heritage Listing.”

  Booker frowned again. “This island is beautiful, but I don’t think it qualifies. Interchange of human values? Examples of human settlement? There are villagers here… what are you getting at?”

  “Booker. I didn’t tell you earlier because you were occupied.” I shrugged. “And to be quite honest, I hadn’t quite processed what I’d seen myself. But the villagers here, they showed me something.”

  Leena looked up, frowning. “The cave?”

  “You’ve seen it?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve heard of it. All I know is it’s where they do initiations, or something.”

  I grasped Booker’s hands. “It’s so much more than that. Booker, the walls are painted.”

  He cocked his head. “Like… cave paintings?”

  “Yes! But not just a couple. Thousands and thousands, stretching all the way into the mountain.”

  “And… you think this qualifies for World Heritage Listing?”

  I nodded. “Booker, the elder of this village told me today that people have lived on this island since it was a part of the mainland. I’ve checked, and that’s almost 15,000 years ago. And those caves are an unbroken line of art from then until present day—the people of the past speaking to the future in language written on the walls. It’s got to be the most important discovery of the century!”

  “Definitely World Heritage quality,” Booker mused, understanding finally dawning in his eyes.

  “But how does this help us?” Leena asked, perplexed.

  It was Booker that answered. “The World Heritage Organization is a body beyond local politics. They can’t be bribed, and their whole purpose is to protect. If we tell them about this, teams will have to investigate. They’ll list the island as a heritage area, and they’ll have the manpower to enforce it. My wife won’t be able to hunt here—ever again.”

  “Even better,” I added, “is that people are going to want to study this—with the village’s permission. And people on the island with cameras and links to the outside world will mean that even if your wife does want to hunt illegally, she’ll be too afraid to. The media attention would ruin her! You saw what happened to that dentist after he shot Cecil the Lion!”

  Booker’s arms slipped around my waist. “I think you’ve done it, Clara. We’d have to talk to the village, ask their permission, but I think you might just have saved the island. How on earth did you discover this?”

  I grinned. “I’m a librarian, remember? Research is my forte—and protecting information is my job.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The water lapped gently on the shores as we walked hand in hand in the starlight along the beach. It had only been one week since the discovery that had changed this island, but so much had already happened.

  The villagers had been hesitant at first. But they had trusted me—enough to listen to the reasons behind what we wanted to do. Enough to sit down and debate between themselves the best course of action. In the end, they had agreed, the elder who had first shown me the caves wrapping me in a warm hug, tears of thanks streaming down his cheeks. Ford hadn’t needed to translate his words then—I’d understood.

  World Heritage Listing meant more than just protecting endangered species. It meant protecting a way of life for the villagers too—big development would never be able to touch this island.

  The village would even benefit! I’d found a book on ecotourism which the elder was very interested in getting translated; as soon as he could pry Ford away from Booker that is—the little boy followed him everywhere.

  Booker had flown UNESCO out the day after the village made their decision. They’d been welcomed with a local ceremony, had asked the elders for permission to see the sacred site and since then had been busy with a whirlwind of investigations and communications—the find had set the scientific community abuzz with interest. The village wasn’t yet taking media, but that would come with time—when they found their own balance between the old and new.

  The best part for me had been Booker’s wife. She was furious! And there was nothing she could do. World heritage listing couldn’t take the property away from her, but it c
ould prevent ‘any activity that was likely to have a significant impact on matters of national environmental significance.’ Poor spoilt little baby…

  “Tomorrow’s our last day,” I said softly as we walked barefoot along the sand, waves lapping at our feet. The stars were bright overhead, bathing the entire beach in a soft white glow.

  Booker sighed. “Back to reality—my wife texted me earlier. She’s sick of waiting, she wants those divorce papers signed.”

  I snuggled into his side. “Maybe there’s some way we can beat her at this, too?”

  He shook his head. “All the research in the world won’t make that contract null and void. If I want to stay with you, I give it all up. That’s the deal.”

  “Maybe we could keep this a secret?”

  Booker shook his head. “You already know how I feel about that. It won’t work.” He stopped, feet in the water, and turned to me. “Clara, money is just that—money. If I didn’t already believe it, you proved it on these holidays. All the money in the world couldn’t have saved these people. But you did; you won over the villagers. You read the books. Our little paradise by the sea would be nothing without you.”

  He leaned in, closer. “I would be nothing without you.”

  This close, I could feel the heat of Booker’s body, I could smell the manly scent of his cologne. I reached up, tentatively, to run my fingers through his hair. I couldn’t understand how someone could feel this way about little old me. But I was beginning to learn that some things, you just didn’t question. I kissed him.

  Our lips locked, and we stood, delighting in the feel of each other’s lips on a beach that was all ours, for so long that I was breathless when we parted. “I feel faint,” I giggled. “I haven’t had a kiss like that in a long time!”

  Booker reached down, and then his arms were around my back and he was scooping me into the air. “In that case, maybe we’d better find you somewhere to lie down!”

  I squealed, before clapping my hands over my mouth. “Booker!” I whispered. “What are you doing!” I knew exactly what he intended. And there was no way I was having any of it on a beach out in the open.

  He grinned, like he had read my mind, walking me up the beach to put me down at the sands edge. My back pressed into a palm tree as he kissed me again. One hand went to my hips, caressing my curves. The other to his own shirt, unbuttoning slowly.

  “Booker! What if someone sees?”

  “That again?” he asked, shirt slipping off his shoulders. They were bronzed from the tropical sun, rippling smoothly as they worked. The shirt fell to the ground.

  He was a masterpiece—if I saw him like this every day, I would never grow tired. “What if I get dirty?” The protests were getting less and less convincing, even to me.

  He grinned, then looked to the shirt. “That’s what that’s for. Not that we’re going to need it yet.”

  I raised an eyebrow, hands running over his bulging chest. A masterpiece indeed. “And why not?”

  He reached down to pluck a long strand of grass from the tufts that grew between sand and forest. He ran it up my arm, goosebumps trailing quickly behind it. I was in a simple strapless summer dress over a bikini. I would never have been brave enough to wear it back home, but here…

  He grasped the dress with one hand and pulled it gently down, exposing the bikini. “Because I want to tease you first, that’s why.” The grass drifted down over my bosom, tickling the skin wherever it touched with a caress that was almost maddening. It hit my bikini top and glided over that too, pausing where it covered my nipples to circle gently. They hardened instantly; firm nubs under fabric that expressed so much better than words what this man was doing to me.

  “Book-”

  He cut me off with a kiss, and then his mouth drifted lower, down my neck and over my bikini. His mouth kissed the raised material in its center, then wet it and pulled back, blowing gently. Shivers ran through my whole body and I groaned. I could feel the heat starting to pool between my hips, my body responding to his touch in the only way it knew how.

  I couldn’t take it. I had to have him. I reached desperately for his belt, but his hands slapped me away playfully. “Not yet, my love. All in due time. I haven’t thanked you yet.”

  “For what-”

  I cut off again as Booker’s other hand moved between my legs, pushing my bikini bottom to one side. A long finger entered me in that most intimate of places, and I groaned.

  “You believed in me. You saved this island.”

  I could feel his finger sliding inside, my body already wet from his touch.

  His hard body pushed against mine, chest flattening my breasts against me. “But enough words.” His finger began to move slowly in and out and my legs almost buckled. My head leaned back against the palm tree as I sucked in a deep breath.

  What was he doing to me? How could he command my every thought with just one little finger? Another slid inside to join the first and I moaned, enjoying the stretching sensation—the curl of his fingers as they caressed my wall, the titillation of each knuckle as they glided in and out. Those little sparks that he’d first introduced me to were back, running up my spine and down my legs—the waves lapping at the shore, and the bright stars overhead serving only to intensify the experience. There was something about being outdoors—about the chance of being discovered—that electrified.

  I felt Booker kiss my neck once more, and then his mouth was sucking warmly on a nipple, lavishing it with attention as his fingers moved in constant rhythm below. The mouth changed to the other breast, and suddenly one nipple was warm and the other cold; wet in the cool night air. The sensation was delightful, and now the sparks were shivers inside me that matched those that had sprung across my breasts.

  “Booker. Make love to me.”

  His mouth lifted from my body. “I intend to. But not quite yet.” He kissed my nipple again, and then started to slide lower. I could feel his descent traced in shivers that moved with his mouth; down the underside of my breasts, across my hips and then to that place between my legs where his fingers still worked. He pushed my legs apart, and I complied, feeling the electricity building and leaning back against the smooth trunk of the palm to give his mouth access.

  Then I felt his warm breath on that most private of places. And his lips began to suckle me just as they had my nipples.

  His warm mouth upon my body. His fingers possessing me just below. The shivers inside were building faster than I’d ever thought possible.

  I could feel his tongue. His fingers. And they were both picking up pace. The shivers were in every part of my body. I couldn’t hold on anymore—not like this. His mouth had barely touched me, but I was going to… I was going to…

  “Son of a Biscuit!”

  I threw my head back and vocalized my pleasure to the night sky, not caring how far the scream travelled as my body began to convulse around Booker’s fingers and mouth. When I was done, he came up grinning. I seized him, eyes wild. “What have you done to me? How did that happen so fast?”

  He reached for his belt, stepping out of his clothing to stand naked in the sand. “Don’t worry, the next one will be slower.”

  He pulled me toward the water, and we lay down just above it, the fabric of his spread shirt a makeshift blanket on the dry sand beneath us. If I stretched my toes I might touch the water, but I wasn’t thinking about that. Not now. Not with this gorgeous man above me. Every bit of him was perfect—from tanned shoulders, to the ripple of muscles that ran down his stomach, and the hair just below. My hand reached down and grasped him, enjoying his size within my palm. Perfect indeed.

  We lay there, like a scene from Casablanca, kissing on the beach side by side. My hand slid up and down, admiring how hard he was. Yes. This was what I wanted. I rolled onto my back and he moved above me.

  He slid in with a smooth motion that was all pleasure, reminding me of how easily he had delighted my body but moments ago. Our mouths locked. And then he began to move g
ently; in time to the sound of the waves. I could feel him all the way inside, deeper than his fingers, and different—better perhaps, in the way that I knew him more intimately now, in the way that this brought us both pleasure.

  We moved together with no rush, enjoying the night and each other, letting sensation build slowly. But soon the waves weren’t moving fast enough, and our bodies began to quicken. Now they were moving in time with our breathing, and the waves were inside me—washing electric pleasure through my body in ripples that spread in circles from between my legs.

  Elbows in the sand, all I could do was move my hips, kissing him as he kissed me, encouraging him with looks in my eyes as he moved faster on my body. He was in control now, though we both rocked in time, the night air on my skin cooling the heat our actions were generating.

  The pleasure was starting to spike—the waves inside me now rising higher and higher with each thrust of his hips, as if his motions were whipping up a storm, or perhaps the earth was moving along lines of pleasure that were throwing the oceans into turmoil.

  Suddenly my fists clenched. Not again, surely? Not so soon. And suddenly it wasn’t a matter of if I would make it; it was a matter of holding off as long as possible. His long, hard member thrilled with every thrust.

  I tried to think of something, anything to dull the waves washing through me, but my mind was blank. I was a rowboat in a hurricane, and the storm in my body must soon capsize all logical thought. I began to groan.

  Booker, the traitor, simply grinned and began to move faster.

  Then I noticed the look in his eyes—a wild look that said he understood my pleasure. That his own mirrored it. And I knew that if I was going to sink beneath the waves, it would be taking him down with me.

  I began thrusting back onto him, doubling his movements; his breathing growing ragged in response. One hand lifted from the sand to grasp his neck, supporting myself on him, riding him hard and fast until both our eyes were glazed. I felt his final swell within me just as the foaming waves of pleasure finally crashed upon the shore of my own soul. We both threw back our heads and cried our delight, our bodies continuing to move until that sweet ache of release had coursed through me. Time seemed to skip a beat, and we were suddenly panting, lying back in the sand, replete.