Love In The Jungle: 3

by Ann Walker

But there was also some anxiety there too—thankfully, for all the right reasons. I'd be introducing them to the love of my life, and in that same moment, I'd be meeting Grant's parents too. To say that the next two hours of my life would be an emotional rollercoaster was putting it mildly.

  "Hey…" Grant's whisper made me look up at him, and he smiled. "I love you."

  Heat flooded my cheeks—somehow he always knew the right thing to say these days to bring me out of a funk, impending or otherwise. Grinning, I stopped up on my toes and kissed him.

  "Love you too," I murmured. We then moved forward a few feet with the line, and once we were stopped again, wrapped our warms around each other and waited in silence.

  ****

  "Oh, my baby!" I closed my eyes as my mom squealed for the hundredth time since she'd enveloped me in her arms. People turned to stare at us, and my dad stood beside us, sniffling with his hands in his pockets, and yet I didn't feel the need to try and escape her clutches. For the first time in a long time, I was happy to let my mom do whatever she needed to feel good. The overbearing, overprotective side of her was one I could tolerate for now, and would probably want until I was settled again.

  Just as they said, they'd been waiting for me beyond baggage claim, and I fell into their arms crying like we'd been apart for years. They both welcomed me home in their own way, Mom as a sobbing mess and Dad as the guy trying to keep his emotions together. I appreciated both. They'd lost a bit of weight, all recent, from the stress of waiting to hear what had happened to me. I learned that my dad was very close to hopping on a plane and tearing through the Togolese jungle all by himself to find me, but the volunteer organization had managed to talk him down.

  Since I'd turn to them, the world had blanked out around me. In their arms, I hadn't even realized Grant was no longer by my side. Taking a deep breath, I pulled away and brushed the tears off my cheeks, then off my mom's, before smiling at them.

  "Something good came out of everything," I told them with a hiccup. My mom was still a watery, teary mess, but Dad at least managed to look skeptical. "I met a guy. Fell in love with said guy. Going to move in with said guy."

  As Mom blubbered, I watched Dad's eyes dart over to where I assumed Grant and his parents were standing. He nodded toward them, then asked, "That guy?"

  I glanced back over my shoulder, smiling as I spied him with two people who I assumed were his parents. No siblings made it out for the reunion, but I suspected that was because they couldn't, not because they didn't want to.

  Grant's parents were nothing like I expected. Both were plump and short, and their son's statuesque appearance and model good looks must have been something of a genetic fluke.

  He caught me staring over his mom's head, and his eyes honed in on mine as if they were a beacon. My heart skipped a beat as he led the pair of rather short—his mom was actually shorter than me—toward us, and I sensed a collectively hush fall over my parents as he approached.

  "This is Clara—" was just about all Grant could get out before his mom jumped on me, dragging me in for a hug. She seemed just about on par with my mom in terms of open weeping in airports, and I patted her back, my arms wrapping around her slowly.

  "Grant," I heard him say, obviously moving on to my parents. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him shake hands with my dad, and for once, I wasn't embarrassed about either my parents or the guy I was introducing to them. It was like they were meeting family at this point anyway.

  "Thank you for taking such good care of my boy," Grant's mom said when we broke apart, cupping my face with her chubby little fingers—only noticeable to me because they were such a stark opposite to her son's. I sniffled, overwhelmed with feeling, and shook my head.

  "He took care of me," I argued, but it didn't seem to matter. Both sets of parents fell onto us, thanking Grant and I for what we did, for being strong, for coming back together as a united front.

  It was the best homecoming I'd ever had.

  Chapter Ten

  "What…" My voice tapered off for a moment, my gaze fixed on the blue velvet box that had suddenly appeared on the kitchen table. The candles between us burned low, but even in the dim lighting, I could see color paint Grant's cheeks. "What the hell is that?"

  He grinned at me, then shrugged, obviously going for an air of nonchalance. I watched him grab his wine glass and swirl its contents before taking a sip. Lips pursed, I picked up the little blue box. It was light, and yet it seemed to weigh as much as the whole universe itself. Sitting neatly in the palm of my hand, I was sure the damn thing held our future—our entire future, just in this little box.

  "I think," I began slowly, head cocked to the side as I pretended to scrutinize every blue fiber, "it might contain something important."

  Grant chuckled and set his wine glass side, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. Our table. The one we'd been sharing in his penthouse apartment suite since I moved in a week ago. Memories of our time as captives faded faster now that we slept in the same bed again, only to resurface whenever local news ran a segment on us for the umpteenth time. His city was bigger than mine had been, and the tabloids couldn't get enough of local engineering millionaire's "brush with death in Africa". Sometimes I was mentioned, though Grant was usually the star of the show.

  He hated it—we both did. Like I wanted to see our story broadcasted on the news at random. As far as we'd been told, Felipe and his men had escaped into the Togolese countryside, and Henri had wrote in a recent email that they suspected he'd moved his camp into Ghana after the amount of press our story received. Thus far, we'd been issued no threats from him or any of his men; we both hoped they'd just forgotten about us. After all, with the thousands and thousands of dollars of supplies Grant had funded them with, they ought to have plenty else to keep busy with.

  "It might be important," Grant mused, the candlelight sparkling in his eyes, easily ensnaring my attention. I held his stare for a moment, both of us practically radiating giddy energy, and then closed my fist around the box.

  "Hmm," I hummed, licking my lower lip before clearing my throat. "I think it might be… a ring."

  "I've been sworn to secrecy, I'm afraid," he told me, his voice taking on an air of seriousness as he leaned back. "No hints."

  "Oh, really?" I said, laughing. I then set the box aside and went back to picking at the carcass of the lobster I'd just finished devouring, the scent of its cooked meat permeating the space. "Maybe I don't want to open it then if I'm just making a guess. I mean… I can't trust strange gifts from strange men, can I?"

  "I think you'll want to take a look at this one," he insisted, and I detected a sense of urgency in his voice. Oh, I bet he was all for playing this game, up until he couldn't take it anymore—and I suspected he'd break long before I did. Shooting him a mischievous look, I picked up the box again, this time with a slight tremble in my hand.

  We both drew in a hushed breath when I finally popped the damn thing open, and my eyes prickled as tears threatened to break free. It was… stunning.

  "Oh," I whispered, gently trailing my finger over the gold ring. "Grant… It's perfect."

  I told him once, maybe two weeks ago after an advertisement for engagement rings blared across the TV, that I'd never wear anything with a huge diamond in it. I'd seen too many businessmen's wives during my tenure in the corporate world with huge rocks on their fingers. They were always so scared to do anything physical, scared to walk in certain parts of town. Sometimes the rings slipped off, even though it fit perfectly, because the diamond designed was so obnoxious.

  It just didn't appeal to me. I seldom ever wore jewelry anyway, so I expressed, without wanting to pressure him or demand anything, that I'd want something simple from the man who proposed to me.

  Never would I have expected he'd do it so soon, and with the most perfectly simple ring. Diamonds littered the gold band, but they barely stuck out. I'd be able to wear it all the time, and there was just enough flash to appreciate, but n
ot enough to catch anyone else's eye. It was all for me. Me and him. I looked up at him with watery eyes, my lips trembling, and he shifted forward to kneel in front of me.

  When I'd seen proposals before, either on TV or in movies or on internet videos, I'd always considered them cheesy. A guy getting down on one knee in front of his girl? Who decided that was supposed to be a thing? But now that I was in the moment, with Grant kneeling in front of me, a beautiful ring in his hand and nothing but love in his eyes, I realized I wouldn't have it any other way. He cleared his throat, and I shifted in my seat so that we were looking at one another directly.

  Both of us were shaking.

  "Clara," he started as he plucked the ring from the box and held it up for me. The diamonds glittered in the candlelight, like stars on the darkest night. "Without you, I'd be lost. I would have given up without you in the jungle. You gave me something to fight for, someone to live for, and I… I realized that you were the piece of me that was . I don't need to travel the world fixing things and people anymore…" He paused, taking a breath, "Although I'd still like to, but only if you'll come with me."

  I nodded quickly, and added, "Maybe not Togo anytime soon. Let's give Europe a try."

  He mirrored me with his nod, and I swore his eyes glistened. "Deal."

  "I'll hold you to it."

  We studied one another for a short moment, and I inhaled shakily when he grasped my hand, setting the ring at the tip of my finger.

  "Clara, with you, I don't need to search for a purpose anymore," Grant continued. "With you… I'm happier than I've ever been. Will you continue making me the happiest man… as my wife?"

  A giggle slipped through my lips, and I chalked it up to the tension between us, to the heat of moment, and to the idea that I might be called someone's wife. When I'd composed myself, I realized he was still staring at me, waiting for me to say the answer we both knew was at the tip of my tongue. There was no point in prolonging it, in making him sweat.

  "Yes," I whispered, a tear slipping down my cheek just as he slipped the ring on my finger. It was a little big. In fact, it was a lot big. We both laughed as it slid off my finger and onto the floor, and I hastily picked it up and kissed it before setting it on the table. "Probably need that resized a little."

  "I thought I'd made such a good guess," he said, though his voice sounded choked in his throat. His emotion moved me, and without another word, I fell into his arms, our lips coming together in a passionate embrace that would live on in infamy between us. His hands raked through my hair, and I immediately set to work on the little buttons of his shirt, popping one off completely in my haste.

  "Sorry," I mumbled as his lips ran down my neck.

  "Ruining my things already," he mused, cupping me between my thighs and rubbing in the delicious rhythm he'd mastered a long time ago. "Tsk, tsk, fiancée."

  "Shut up," I hissed. I then grasped the collar of his shirt and used it to yank his face back to mine, letting his lips claim me heatedly.

  Hoisting me up, Grant moved us from the spotless floor of the kitchen, away from its pricey stainless steel appliances and our recently gobbled-up lobster dinner, and carried me through the penthouse. We hurried by the sitting room and his office, pausing here and there so that he could push me to the wall and grind against me. The bathroom was bypassed, where we'd done this very same deed last night in the bathtub, surrounded by soothing candles and serenaded by classical music.

  We only stopped our wandering when we reached the bedroom, with its floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the downtown cityscape. Lights from nearby skyscrapers illuminated the space, and Grant tossed me on the bed unceremoniously. We slowly melted into a mess of discarded clothes, the floor and bed covered with them. The dress I'd spent hours fussing over at the store, trying to find the right one for what Grant told me would be a special dinner at home tonight, lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed, totally forgotten.

  We were a wonderful mix of heady sighs and heated skin, our lips everywhere and anywhere they could get to. He slipped between my thighs, my legs hoisted up over his shoulders, to torment with a deadly combination of his fingers and mouth, my body succumbing to the torture gladly in a matter of minutes. I cried out, knowing no one would hear me, over and over again as I came down from the high. My fingers digging into his shoulders, and only felt it fair that I return the favor—which Grant made no objection to.

  We were calm, at peace, in love. Our lovemaking was both hurried and unhurried, desperate and comfortable, knowing that no one would come in and yank us apart. Knowing that, now, we had forever to explore together. We finished strong, though plainly, with him settled on top of me, our final climaxes almost in unison, Grant buried deep inside me, my arms wrapped around him, his hands cradling my head.

  The last kiss we shared was tender and soft, and when we rolled onto our sides, I stroked Grant's cheek with the tips of my fingers, watching him catch his breath. Affectionately, I smiled and snuggled closer, putting off the necessary trip to the bathroom just a few minutes longer.

  "I'm glad you said yes," he murmured, nuzzling his nose into my hair and sighing. A chuckle slipped past my lips, and I shot him a look, one I'm sure he didn't see.

  "Did you think I'd say no?" I asked, a little surprise. He shook his head, his arms wrapping around me. Snug. Safe. Secure. Good grief did I ever love him.

  "I thought you might want to wait… You know," he paused, kissing my cheek before settling back to observe me, "maybe hold off until the nightmares stop."

  I bit my lower lip briefly, then shook my head.

  "I'd rather conquer them with you," I told him firmly, tears stinging my eyes once more. "I'd rather do everything with you."

  "Good…" He sighed contently, his eyes roving my face. "Glad I'm not the only one."

  We stayed like that for some time, me taking in all that had happened since we got home from our ordeal. I'd moved, become engaged, and there were new job prospects on the horizon with a few local firms. Small firms. Not corporate America—just what I wanted.

  In fact, it seemed I was suddenly getting everything that I wanted. If I blinked hard enough, I worried it would all go away. Instead, I stole a kiss from my fiancé, and then slid out of bed, my tone anything but innocent.

  "You ready for the next round?" I asked, trailing my hand over his thigh, eyebrows raised. Grant licked his lips and sat up, following me, his moves almost predatory. Definitely eager.

  "Always," he purred. I smiled, then darted toward the bathroom before he could catch me, ready for our next round to finally happen in the shower—like we'd planned all along—his warm, soothing voice sounding over and over again in my head.

  Always. Yes please!

  ~The End~

  Thank you for reading!

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