by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo
‘Listen!’
‘Listen to what? I don’t…’ Brionny frowned. ‘What is that?’
‘Water,’ Slade said, grinning like a schoolboy. ‘Running water. If I’m right, it’s a branch of the river.’
‘Here?’ It was too much to hope for. ‘But—but it can’t be.’
‘That mining report mentioned a tributary that’s supposed to cut through the forest somewhere in this vicinity.’ Slade took her hand and they moved forward. ‘It’s not on the map so I wouldn’t have wasted time searching for it, but going this distance cross-country may have put us right in line for—’
‘Oh, Slade—look!’ Ahead, a brown stream arrowed between sloping banks of dense vegetation. And tucked snugly against the nearest bank was a small, tin-roofed structure. ‘A house!’ Laughter bubbled from Brionny’s throat. She turned and went spinning into Slade’s arms. ‘That means people, and a radio, and a boat—’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t expect miracles, sweetheart. It’s probably just an old supply shed.’
Her face fell a little, but she kept smiling. ‘It’s still a miracle. The river, and a roof over our heads for the night—we can stay the night, can’t we?’
He hadn’t planned on it. Sunset was still hours away. If he worked fast, there was time to cut down some saplings, lash them together to form a raft—but how much further could he push Brionny? She’d already shown more courage and stamina than any woman he’d ever known.
She was probably right. If the Mali-Mali hadn’t caught up to them by now, surely it meant they’d given up.
He smiled. ‘OK. We’ll get a good night’s rest. First thing tomorrow morning, we’ll build ourselves a raft.’
‘A raft.’ She sighed happily. ‘And then, Italpa.’
‘Yeah. We’re almost home free,’ Slade said, with just a shade more conviction than he felt. He put his hand under her chin, dipped his head, and brushed his mouth over hers. ‘To success.’
Their eyes met, and something deep inside his gut knotted. Slowly, he bent to her again, giving her time to make the choice—and she did. Brionny gave a little sigh, tilted her head back, and offered him her lips.
How could she deny this moment? she thought as Slade’s head dropped to hers. They had teetered on the brink of incredible disaster and come through unscathed. Surely a gentle, brief kiss to celebrate their victory over the headhunters wasn’t dangerous…?
It was like touching flame to dry kindling. Slade groaned as their lips met—or was it she who made that soft, impassioned sound? It didn’t matter. Her arms wound tightly around his neck as he gathered her to him, his mouth opening in demand over hers. His hands slid down her spine, cupped her buttocks, and lifted her into the hard heat of his body.
Sensation swept through her in a dizzying rush. ‘Slade?’ she whispered.
‘Yes, sweetheart.’ He took one of her hands, kissed it, then brought it between them. He placed it against his chest and she felt the thudding beat of his heart. ‘Tell me what you want.’
The question was simple, but the answer was complex. What did she want? Every time Slade touched her she was swept away on an emotional roller coaster, and she was never sure how she would feel at the end of the ride.
Brionny’s head drooped. ‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘I’m too tired to think.’
Slade nodded. He had hoped for a different answer, but she was right. This was no time to think of anything but survival. He took a breath and clasped her shoulders gently.
‘Well, I know what I want,’ he said, smiling. ‘A bath in that river, another gourmet dinner of dried fruit and nuts, and the chance to curl up on the floor in that elegant shack and sleep for the next twelve hours straight. How does that sound?’
Brionny’s face lit. ‘It sounds like heaven.’
Hand in hand, they made their way to the shack. Slade motioned her behind him as he slowly pushed open the door. It was dirty, hot and musty—but it was safe.
‘Welcome to the local branch of the Hotel Florinda,’ he said, with a grin.
Brionny shuddered as she stepped inside. ‘The Florinda’s a four-star establishment compared to this.’
‘Come on, Stuart, where’s your spirit of adventure? We’ve got four walls, a roof, a cot bed—’ He dropped the pack to the floor and walked slowly across the room. ‘Some kind soul’s even left us a couple of tins of food.’
With a weary groan, Brionny sank down on the edge of the cot. ‘Tinned ptomaine,’ she sighed.
Slade chuckled. ‘What you need is a nap. Tell you what. I’ll scout around outside while you curl up here for a little while. How does that sound?’
‘No.’ She started to struggle to her feet. ‘No, if you’re not going to rest yet, I’ll—’
Gently, he pressed her back down on the cot. ‘It doesn’t take two people to check the area,’ he said. ‘I only want to see if whoever built this place left behind anything else we might be able to use. OK?’
Brionny fell back on the cot. ‘OK. You do that, and I’ll see what I can do to make this place a little more liveable.’
He smiled. Her eyes were already closing. ‘Good idea,’ he whispered. He waited until her lashes lay against her cheeks, and then he went out the door.
She came awake in a rush, heart pounding. ‘Slade?’
Silence greeted her. The shack was still and hot. Brionny frowned, sat up, and thrust her hands into her hair. How long had she been sleeping? Five minutes? An hour? Her watch had stopped working during their flight through the jungle; she had no idea what time it was or how much had passed.
She rose stiffly to her feet. Every muscle ached, and she groaned softly. Where was Slade anyway? He’d said he’d be just outside, but she couldn’t hear anything out there except for the omnipresent chirp of insects.
Maybe insects were the only things out there. Maybe Slade was gone. Maybe something had happened to him. The headhunters might have come creeping out of the jungle, or—
She swung toward the door as it flew open. Slade stepped into the room.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’
Her breath caught. He was shirtless and shoeless, dressed only in his jeans, and they were soaking wet, clinging to his long, muscular legs and narrow hips like a second skin.
He’d been swimming, she thought dizzily. Water gleamed in his dark hair, droplets of it dappling his golden shoulders and glinting in the swirls of hair that covered his chest.
Brionny’s throat constricted. How beautifully male he was, how perfect. Her gaze drifted down his torso, taking in the well-defined muscles, the hard belly. A dark arrow of hair led down to his jeans, dipped under the opened waistband, disappeared behind the taut, wet denim…
Heat shot through her, piercing her breast and pooling deep in her loins.
‘Bree?’
Her eyes shot to his. His smile had faded; he was watching her with the intensity of a jaguar stalking its prey.
‘Bree,’ he said again, his voice a husky whisper, and he started toward her.
She shook her head and took a step back. ‘Slade, don’t.’
‘Bree, sweetheart.’ He reached out for her, his hands hard but his smile persuasive. ‘Why should we go on playing this game?’ Her eyes closed as he brushed soft kisses along her face. ‘We both know what’s been happening. We’ve known since the day we met at the Florinda…’
His arms were tightening around her. He kissed her, his mouth hot, his tongue insistent. She was melting, she thought desperately, melting in his heat…
But she had melted before, in the arms of a man like this one, a man who’d also known just the right words to whisper, just the right places to touch and kiss…
She tore her mouth from Slade’s.
‘Stop it,’ she said sharply.
His head lifted. His eyes were dark and puzzled. ‘Bree?’
‘Don’t “Bree” me,’ she snapped, and wrenched free of his embrace. ‘I swear, if you touch me again—�
�
‘If I touch you again?’ Color flared across his high cheekbones. ‘Who are you kidding? You were all over me, lady, with about as much subtlety as a cat in heat!’
Her hand shot through the air and exploded against his cheek. He caught her wrist and dragged it behind her back.
‘I warned you before about this little game you play, Stuart. How many times do you think you can turn a man on and off before you get in over your head?’
‘Listen, McClintoch, when we reach Italpa—’
Slade smiled tightly. ‘Don’t you mean if?’
‘When we do,’ Brionny said with cold determination, ‘you’re going to get what’s coming to you.’
He laughed. ‘I already have. These couple of days in your company have been like a lifetime sentence in hell. The Mali-Mali don’t know how lucky they were, being denied the pleasure of your gracious presence, Stuart.’
Brionny yanked the door open and marched outside. ‘Why don’t you open one of those tins and have something to eat?’ she said, flinging the words over her shoulder. ‘With luck, you’ll get food poisoning.’
‘Stuart.’ Slade’s voice called after her. ‘Stuart! Where do you think you’re going?’
She turned and looked at him, her smile as cold and unforgiving as her eyes.
‘For a swim, McClintoch. Any objections?’
He glared at her. ‘Just don’t take too long.’
‘Why?’ she said sweetly. ‘Are you afraid I’ll use up all the warm water in these magnificent accommodations you found us?’
‘I was thinking of the possibility of intruders, Stuart. Caimans or piranhas or such.’ He folded his arms across his naked chest. ‘Snakes, too, but hell, what is there to worry about? There’s nothing out there with fangs sharper than yours.’
Brionny’s chin lifted. ‘Just remember that,’ she said.
She turned, kicked off her boots and, still dressed, dove into the water.
It was warm, almost unpleasantly so, but at least it would wash away the dirt and sweat.
Damn Slade McClintoch, she thought furiously. The man was impossible. The sooner they parted company the better.
She ducked under the water and came up, tossing her wet hair back from her face.
How dared he accuse her of playing games? She wasn’t the one. It was he who—
Something bumped gently against her calf. She held her breath and looked around her. There was nothing to see except some branches, carried by the current. That was what she’d felt—a branch or—
Something bumped her leg again. And again. And—
A long, sinuous body, as thick around as a man’s thigh or the trunk of a tree, broke the surface of the water beside her. For an instant Brionny stared at the huge snake, enraptured by its cold beauty, and then a scream burst from her throat.
Slade called her name. She heard him dive into the water.
‘Get to shore,’ he shouted, and she obeyed blindly, falling to her knees among the reeds.
She scrambled to her feet and stared out at the river. The water was churning, turned to foam by Slade and the snake. It was impossible to see anything clearly…
Everything went still. There was nothing visible, not the snake—not Slade. Brionny began to tremble.
‘No,’ she said. Her voice rose in panic. ‘Slade, no—’
He rose from the water, gasping for breath. Brionny flew to him as he stumbled to shore and threw her arms around him.
‘Slade,’ she sobbed, ‘I thought the snake had—’
‘You damned fool!’ He caught her by the shoulders and shook her, his eyes blazing with fury. ‘You could have been killed!’
‘I only went for a swim,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘You said—you said it was safe.’
‘The hell I did!’
‘Don’t yell at me,’ she said—and, to her horror, she burst into tears.
Slade glared at her. ‘Stop it,’ he growled. ‘Dammit, Stuart, did you hear me? I told you to—Oh, hell.’ His arms swept around her and he held her to him so tightly that she could feel the thudding beat of his heart. ‘Bree, sweetheart, don’t cry.’
But she couldn’t seem to stop. The weariness and terror of the past days had finally overcome her; she buried her face in his shoulder and wept and wept, her arms looped around his waist.
Slade pressed his lips to her hair. ‘It’s OK, sweetheart. It’s all over now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said brokenly. ‘I’ve been nothing but trouble, and I know it.’
‘Shh.’ Slade swept her into his arms and carried her into the shack. He sat down with her in his lap on the cot. ‘Shh,’ he said again, rocking her gently. She gave a little sigh and wiped her nose, and he smiled. ‘Better?’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘I never saw that horrible thing until—’
‘Hush, sweetheart. I should have stopped you from going into the water but I was so—so—’
‘Angry, I know.’
‘Not angry.’ His arms tightened around her. ‘I saw the way you looked at me when I came through that doorway. I knew what you were feeling, how your heart was racing—’
Her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘And then I saw you regret those feelings. I saw you judge me—and find me wanting.’
‘It—it isn’t that simple, Slade. I know you think it is, but—’
‘Hell, I don’t think it’s simple at all. It’s what happens to me whenever I look at you.’ He made a sound that was not quite a laugh. ‘I’m never sure if I want to turn you over my knee and paddle you or take you into my arms and make love to you until neither of us has the strength to move.’
Color flew into her face. ‘Is—is that really how I make you feel?’ she whispered.
Slade groaned softly. ‘Here’s how you make me feel,’ he said, and kissed her.
Brionny held still for an instant, and then she sighed, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him back.
It was Slade who ended the kiss. ‘This situation’s a mess,’ he said, ‘and I’m to blame. I’ve been so stupid and stubborn—’
‘Not you. Me.’ She laid her palm against his cheek, loving the feel of his beard-roughened skin. ‘You’ve saved my life more times than I can count, and, instead of being grateful, I pay you back with—’
‘Dammit, I don’t want your gratitude!’ Slade tumbled her back on the mattress and glared down at her. ‘Brionny, we have to talk.’
‘Yes. I suppose we do.’ She gave a muffled yawn.
‘Sorry. I’d forgotten how nice a real bed feels.’
He couldn’t help grinning. ‘Hey, Stuart, you already had half an hour’s sack time. It’s my turn, remember?’
She smiled and held up her arms. ‘How about if we share?’ she said softly.
‘Bree, please. Just stay awake for another few minutes. There’s so much I need to tell you—’
Brionny looped her arms around Slade’s neck. ‘Can’t it wait a little while longer?’ she whispered sleepily.
With a muffled groan, he came down beside her and gathered her into his arms. The truth about himself had already waited this long, he thought; what did another few hours matter?
‘Why not?’ he said.
Slade’s eyes closed, as did Brionny’s. Within seconds, they were asleep.
Brionny awoke to heat, blazing heat that encompassed her.
Her eyes opened slowly; it took a moment to orient herself. The shack, she thought, that was where she was—with Slade.
Slade. Brionny’s breathing quickened. It was his heat she felt. Some time during the hours they’d been sleeping, she had turned on to her back while he had rolled on to his belly. Now they were lying entangled, his leg across hers, his arm draped over her in a gesture that was as possessive as it was protective. His hand was lightly curved over her breast. She felt her nipples harden, felt an answering constriction deep in her womb. She swallowed and shut her eyes. It was only a ph
ysiological reaction. She had done enough experiments to know that you couldn’t control nerve and muscle responses.
Slade murmured in his sleep, rolled on to his side. His hand moved against her breast, his fingers brushing lightly over her swollen flesh. She bit back a soft whimper. Just a physiological reaction, she told herself desperately, that was all it was…
‘Brionny. I thought you were a dream.’
Slade’s voice was low. It sent a tremor of longing down her spine.
‘Slade. I—I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘I felt the heat of your skin, smelled its perfume.’ He moved a little, rose up so that he was looking down into her face. ‘I felt the softness of you here, under my fingertips—’
‘Slade—it must be late. Shouldn’t we—shouldn’t we—?’
‘Bree.’ He took his hand from her breast, curved it under her chin. ‘I want to make love to you.’
She looked up at him, at the eyes she had once thought cold, the mouth she’d thought insolent. He lowered his head slowly and kissed her, his lips catching at hers, shaping them to his desire.
Brionny stirred beneath the kiss, and her breathing quickened.
Slade drew back. ‘Tell me you want me too, Brionny.’
Maybe it was the darkness, lightened only by the moonglow streaming through the window. Maybe it was the sensation of being suspended in time and space. Whatever it was, Brionny knew that the time for denial was over.
With a little cry, she reached for Slade and brought his mouth to hers.
His kisses were gentle at first, soft touches that were like the brush of butterfly wings, but as she began to return them they deepened, grew more intense. His tongue slipped between her lips, slid along the soft inner lining of her mouth.
Brionny made a soft, urgent sound in the back of her throat and ran her hands up Slade’s naked chest, exploringthe soft mat of dark hair that covered it, skimming over the taut pectoral muscles, the flat washboard abdominals.
Slade groaned, caught her hand, brought it to his lips and pressed his open mouth to her palm.
‘Do you have any idea how much I want you?’ he whispered.
She smiled. ‘Tell me.’