by Liz Fielding
‘Yes. Please.’
Jago made it to his feet. Last night he’d thought he’d never make it out of here, but now, with even the small amount of light filtering through the broken walls, seeping down the shaft, anything seemed possible.
He looked around. He’d hoped for a way out through the original entrance but, even if it hadn’t been completely blocked by falling masonry, it was on the far side of the gaping chasm where the great eagle below had broken away. But above them was the promise of a small patch of sky and he stood up to take a better look.
‘Careful,’ he said, reaching back to offer a steadying hand as Miranda rose beside him. ‘I don’t want to lose you now.’ And then, as she took it, he turned back.
With the narrow beam of sunlight behind her, her face in shadow, all he’d seen of her had been the halo effect as it had lit up hair that was no longer sleek but suffering from the effects of twenty-four hours without the benefit of a comb.
Thick, dark, tousled.
He’d guessed that she was tall, but not quite how tall. No more than half a head shorter than himself. Tall, slender but with a steel core of strength about her. Well, he knew that. He’d experienced that. As a girl she might have broken down under the twin assaults of rejection and guilt, but this woman had come through a living nightmare with courage, humour, compassion.
Now, the light from above shimmered through the haze of dust motes and he could see that her black halo of hair was veiled with stone dust. There were streaks of dirt, like warpaint, decorating her cheek, her neck.
She did not have the instant, softer sensual attraction of a woman like Fliss. She had a different kind of beauty-taut, tempered in the fire-and she’d still be beautiful even when she was ninety.
She was beautiful now.
‘What?’ she asked, catching him staring, lifting her hand to her cheek, suddenly self-conscious of how she must look and that was when he saw her hands.
They were small, the fingers long, slender, elegant, well cared for-the remains of polish still clung to what was left of her nails-were a mess. The skin torn, knuckles bruised and broken.
She saw where he was looking and, mistaking his reaction, she spread her hand, regarding it with distaste. ‘My manicurist is going to have a fit when she sees this,’ she said, taking a step back to that woman who’d roused him with her scream, God alone knew how many hours ago.
Putting the mask back in place before she returned to the outside world.
‘Don’t!’ he said. He was not a man given to fanciful gestures, but he would not let her slide back into that dark place any more than he would have left her to fall and he reached for her hand, holding it across his palm. ‘Don’t do that, Miranda. You don’t have to pretend. Not with me. We have no secrets. We know one another.’ And then he bent and kissed her fingers, saluting her wounds as a badge of the courage she’d shown last night. ‘We will always know one another.’ ‘I…’
He saw her throat move as she swallowed, for once lost for words.
He waited.
‘I…Yes.’ And it was not the sophisticated woman of the world but an echo of the shy young woman she must have been. ‘Thank you.’
In danger of saying-doing-something that was totally out of place, he turned and looked up the shaft to the outside world. It seemed a very long way and, having seen the state of her hands, he wondered if she was up to this second climb.
If he was.
But he knew there was no point in suggesting she wait while he went for help.
‘Are you ready?’
She nodded. Then said, ‘No! Wait!’
And she took her tiny cellphone from her pocket, opened it and quickly entered a brief message. Then, when she saw him watching her, she started to shrug, stopped and said, ‘It’s not that I doubt we’ll do this, Nick. But I could get knocked down crossing the road. Or the plane could-’
‘Optimistic soul, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘My parents were killed when the yacht they were on sank. They were just gone. Nothing.’ She paused, looking up at him as if asking him to understand. ‘Suddenly life seems very precious, Nick. I want the people I love to know how I’m feeling now. That I’m…happy.’ And then she reached up, pressed her cheek to his. ‘Thank you for last night. For listening. For knowing me…’
For a moment she was in his arms and they clung to one another. Any two people would do the same, he told himself. Except he knew it was more than that. They had connected in the darkness. Bonded. Exposed themselves in ways neither of them had ever done before.
What had happened had forced them to look at their lives, confront the dark spaces, consider a different future.
‘Okay. I’m ready now,’ she said, taking a step back.
He grabbed her wrist as she disturbed loose stones that, endless seconds later, clattered to the floor below, then, without a word, he took the phone from her and keyed in a message of his own before handing it back.
‘I don’t have a cell number for my father, so I’ve sent it via your brother…’
She smiled. ‘You won’t be sorry.’
He didn’t answer, just said, ‘I’ll go first. Stick close. Whatever happens behind you, just keep going.’
Manda knew how to concentrate.
She concentrated her world into Nick’s voice, giving her a running commentary of his moves. She concentrated on his feet, his boots, one step ahead of her. And, one move at a time, she finally found herself not so much climbing out of the shaft as falling, tumbling, rolling sideways down a steep slope until his body brought her to a halt.
He said nothing, just took her hand, and she lay still while she regained her breath. Only then did a giggle explode from her. They’d survived, overcome all the odds, made it back from the dead.
Somewhere above them in the canopy a bird, or maybe it was some small mammal, joined in, setting up a cacophony of raucous laughter that echoed around the forest.
It just made her laugh all the more.
‘What?’ Nick said, turning to look at her.
She just shook her head, unable to answer him, unable to do or say anything. Laughing so much that tears were pouring down her cheeks.
And after a moment his beautiful, strong, sensuous mouth-the one that looked as if it hadn’t smiled in centuries-twitched in sympathetic response. Then widened into a smile and then he too was laughing.
Jago wasn’t sure when Miranda’s laughter tipped over into tears. It didn’t surprise him. There were always two sides of any emotional roller-coaster and hers had been a dark ride. He just held her hand so that she knew he was there and, after a while, hiccupping, sniffling a little, she rubbed a sleeve over her cheek. Then looked at the once white linen, the smears where sweat and tears had mingled with dust, a little blood where a loose stone had caught her cheek.
‘I’m filthy,’ she said.
‘You’re gorgeous.’
She turned to look at him. ‘So are you.’
‘Filthy?’
‘Filthy. Gorgeous. Gorgeously filthy. What we could both do with is a shower. You run a very slack establishment if you don’t mind my saying so. I was lured to Cordillera with the promise of beautiful beaches, thrilling scenery and every comfort known to man.’
‘Put your complaint in writing. I’ll give you the name of the Minister of Tourism.’ Then, because he didn’t want to think about that, because he was alive and he didn’t want to feel bad about anyone-not Fliss, not even Felipe Dominez-he said, ‘In the meantime, if you can stagger a hundred yards or so, I can offer you the basic facilities, always assuming that nature hasn’t messed with the plumbing.’
‘Plumbing?’
‘There’s a stream at the bottom of this hill. Cold and cold running water.’
‘Water! What on earth are we waiting for?’ She didn’t exactly leap up, but made a very good stab at it. She barely winced as her knee buckled. ‘Which way?’
He forced himself to his feet. ‘This way,’ he said, leadi
ng her down through the mess of dead leaves and shattered branches that littered the forest floor, towards the sound of running water.
She was limping, he noticed and taking her hand to give her support, he asked, ‘How’s your knee?’
‘Thirsty.’
The walk down the steep path to the bottom of a small side valley nearly finished them both, but the sight of water pouring over a small waterfall and into a pool brought him to a halt.
‘What is it?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ He’d expected change, devastation. ‘Apart from a few leaves floating on the water, it seems untouched…’
‘Well, that’s great,’ she said, urging him on and as one, they flung themselves down beside the pool, scooping up water in their hands to slake their thirst.
Manda drank, splashed water over her face, then lay still, her sore fingers trailing in the cool water.
‘Better?’ Nick asked.
‘I didn’t believe water could taste that good. Is it safe?’ she asked.
‘I’ve been drinking it for five years without any ill effects. It comes from a spring just below the main building of the temple and I ran a standpipe to the site.’
‘Maybe someone should bottle it.’
‘Maybe they should.’ He rolled on to his back. ‘It was considered sacred by the people who lived here and the original temple building was built over it to protect it. Then, as the power of the tribe grew, new buildings were added and the water was channelled through them for cleansing rituals.’
‘So why wasn’t there any down in the basement, where we needed it?’
‘Over centuries of neglect, the original spring gradually silted up. But water, being water, it found another way.’ Then, ‘Maybe we should make a move. There will be people looking for us.’
‘We’ll hear them,’ she stalled, not wanting to move.
The pool was unbelievably beautiful. There were ferns growing where the water splashed on to the rocks. Tiny blue flowers, epiphytes growing in the misted air and huge ivory lilies that filled the air with their scent. Trees bearing berries that looked good enough to eat…
It felt untouched, new.
‘You know those people, centuries ago, wasting all that time and energy building huge stone temples had it quite wrong.’
‘They did?’
‘You don’t need stone to make a temple. This is the real deal. The sky, the earth. Fruit and flowers…’ She stopped, her eye caught by a flash of shimmering colour as a dragonfly skimmed the pool. ‘Water.’
She scooped up another mouthful and then, realising that it wasn’t enough, she sat up and reached for her shirt buttons.
‘Miranda? What are you doing?’
‘I’m going to immerse myself. Soak in the water through my skin. And then I’m going to indulge in a little cleansing ritual of my own.’
Her fingers were stiff and awkward and she doubted they’d be up to the task of refastening them, but she’d worry about that later. For now, her only goal was to totally rehydrate herself. Be clean.
Her bra proved more difficult and she turned her back to Jago.
‘Are you going to just lie there and watch a woman struggle?’ she demanded. Before he could make any kind of move, the hook gave way and she peeled it off, tossed it aside. She’d revealed the darkest secrets of her soul to this man, her body was nothing…
Jago could not take his eyes off her as she stripped off her clothes, transforming herself without a hint of self-consciousness into Eve, before she stepped carefully down into the clear water of the pool. Standing for a moment, as if soaking it up, before kicking off to swim across to the waterfall.
The water streamed from her shoulders as she stood up, turning her pale skin to ivory satin against the jet of her hair. And then she turned and looked over her shoulder at him and said, ‘This is an equal opportunities cleansing ritual, Nick. There’s plenty of room for two.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘C OLD ?’
Manda turned as Jago’s broad shoulders emerged from the water to stand beside her beneath the waterfall.
He was lean, sinewy. There was nothing pampered or soft about him. No spare flesh. Lean, hard, with something gaunt, hollow-cheeked about the face that reminded her of an El Greco saint.
‘Not now,’ she said, and it was true. He did not have to smile to warm her, but when he did it was as if he’d switched on some internal central heating.
‘Liar,’ he said, ducking his head beneath the shower, dragging his fingers through his hair to shift the dust. And as he bent she saw the mass of purple bruising darkening his left shoulder, his shoulder blade, under his arm.
Without thinking, she reached out and touched him.
‘Miranda,’ he warned, straightening.
She took no notice but flattened her palms against the bruises as if trying to possess them, take them back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry-’
‘No!’ He turned to face her, grabbing her, shaking her a little. ‘You didn’t do this, do you hear me? It just happened. If I had dislocated it, broken it, if I had died attempting to save you it would not be your fault.’
‘I know,’ she said. And she did. ‘I just wish I had something to make to better.’
They were close.
The water was cold, but Jago was not. ‘There is something,’ he said, lifting her from her feet and moving her closer so that there was nothing between them but a film of water that was rapidly heating up. ‘Your warmth, Miranda Grenville. And, now that I can see it, your smile.’
She was smiling?
Actually, washed clean, with his body this close to hers, why wouldn’t she be smiling?
‘You want another kiss-it-better kiss, Nick Alexander Jago Jackson? Is that it?’ She didn’t wait for his answer. Her mouth was level with his shoulder, inches from his poor bruised skin, but, as she leaned into it, he backed off.
Startled, she looked up. ‘Not this time,’ He said. ‘This is an equal opportunity healing ritual. I’ve been keeping count and it’s my turn.’ And, with his gaze fixed firmly on her mouth, he lowered his lips to hers.
She watched it happen in slow motion. Seeing everything. The sunlight filtering through the canopy sparkling on the drops of water clinging to his hair. A petal drifting from somewhere above them as the air stirred. Heard the beat of wings. And then she slammed her eyes shut. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. All her senses channelled into one.
Feeling.
His lips barely touched hers-no more than a promise-before moving on to the delicate skin behind her ears, her neck. His tongue traced the hollows of her collar-bone while his fingers eased across her shoulders, the nape of her neck and she discovered an unexpected erogenous zone. That bones truly could melt.
This was not a kissing-it-better kiss. Manda might not know much, but she knew that. This was a make-the-world-go-away kiss that drew from her soft purring sighs that didn’t sound like any sound she’d ever made in her entire life.
He kissed every part of her, bringing life flooding to her breasts, blowing softly into her navel as he laid her back in the water to expose more of her body to his lips. Keeping her safe with one powerful arm as he took the concept of kissing-it-better and lifted it to an entirely different plane.
Then, with her shoulders nestled into the soft moss of the bank, she drew him to her, telling him with every touch, every murmur that she wanted more and he gave her himself so completely, so selflessly, waiting and waiting for her, that afterwards she lay in his arms, tears of gratitude in her eyes. Reborn. Renewed.
‘Are you hungry?’ He asked as they lay on the grass, recovering.
‘Starving. Shall we be greedy and eat all the mints?’
‘I can do better than that.’ He got up and swam across the pool to the waterfall and then began to climb up the rocks to pick the berries that grew there.
‘Be careful,’ she called out, more nervous now than in the bowels of the temple. But she hadn’t bee
n able to see the danger there. Hadn’t been able to see him. Or that hideous bruise.
He just smiled and turned, but she couldn’t bear to watch and she decided to get dressed.
She recoiled from her underwear and instead slipped into her trousers, then pulled her shirt over her naked skin. Unfortunately, her fingers and the buttons didn’t want to co-operate and she was still struggling with them when Nick returned.
‘Give me your hands.’
‘I just need to-’
‘I’ll see to it when we’ve eaten. Here, take them.’ He tipped a handful of berries into her hands. ‘I’ve no idea what these are, but they’re very high in sugar. The locals dry them and use them for long journeys.’
She tried one. He was right, they were sweet. ‘They’re very good,’ she said, holding them for him to help himself. ‘But then I’m so hungry that deadly nightshade would probably taste good right now.’
‘Try a little brandy with them.’
‘This is a picnic? We can finish it off with the last of the mints.’
After they’d eaten and washed their hands in the pool, they lay side by side, just letting the sun warm them, saying nothing. What was there left to say? They both knew that what had happened had been the final act in a drama that had overtaken them.
Except, of course, for the elephant in the room.
It was Nick who finally broke the silence.
‘Miranda-’
She rolled over, putting her fingers on his mouth before he could say the words. ‘You’re safe, Nick. That’s the first time for me in ten years.’
‘Ten years? A life sentence,’ he said, holding her, kissing her damp hair, her forehead, her cheek, until she had no choice but to look up at him. ‘I can’t match that kind of celibacy, but I’ve always used protection. Until today.’
‘Today was different. This is the Garden of Eden before the Fall.’
‘Maybe, but even the most basic biology lesson would confirm that unprotected sex, wherever it happens, can lead to pregnancy.’
‘No.’ It was her last secret. Telling him would be like removing the final veil. Leaving her stripped bare, exposed in a way that simple nakedness had not. ‘Not for me. The ectopic pregnancy made a bit of a mess when it ruptured, Nick. I will never have a child of my own.’