by Liz Fielding
‘I think that’s a pity,’ she said, and then felt the colour surge hotly to her cheeks.
‘Come on, George. It won’t do. You’ve been forced to share a tent with me. I can’t possibly take advantage of the situation.’
‘That’s what Walter said, is it?’ She saw from his expression that she had got it right.
She retired behind her newspaper until the steward brought her a plateful of sausage, bacon and fried aubergine. She stared at it for a moment, wondering how on earth she had thought she could eat it. Then she smiled at the steward.
‘Thank you. It looks wonderful. Could you pass the salt, please, Lukas?’ He looked up from the gloomy contemplation of his coffee and caught sight of her food and groaned. He stood up suddenly, his chair going over with a crash, and disappeared, clutching his mouth.
George looked at the steward. ‘I don’t think Mr. Lukas will want any breakfast this morning, Kubwa. But you’d better bring some more coffee.’
The others gradually drifted in and helped themselves to breakfast, Kelly sitting so long in dreamy-eyed contemplation of a slice of pineapple that George asked if anything was the matter.
‘She’s mooning over her boyfriend,’ Peach sneered. ‘He writes for the gossip page of the Chronicle.’
George appeared suitably impressed and, encouraged, Kelly went on. ‘I was telling him all about poor Michael’s accident and you having to come and take his place. He was ever so interested. He asked if you were Sir Charles Bainbridge’s daughter, and I said yes. I was right, wasn’t I?’
George nodded wordlessly, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘Yes, you were quite right.’ She didn’t bother to ask what interesting little details he had managed to extract from the guileless Kelly. She thought that on the whole she would rather not know.
When Lukas reappeared his colour had returned somewhat, but his temper had not. He snapped, without prejudice, at everyone who came under his eye. It was just George’s hard luck that she was closest for most of the time, and came in for more than her fair share of bile. That she refused to be intimidated seemed only to make him worse.
Peach had the misfortune to be the subject for the first session. She suffered half an hour of the sort of remarks that would have turned most men to jelly, but it took the suggestion that she had a blemish on her chin to finally reduce her to a flood of tears. Walter bore down on Lukas with an expression that sent George scurrying to cut him off. ‘Go and sort out Peach,’ she encouraged and, taking a can of drink, went after Lukas. She found him sitting on a fallen tree. He looked up as she approached and his mouth tightened.
‘Go away, George. I want to be on my own.’ Ignoring his words, she sat down beside him. She opened the can and handed it to him.
‘How’s your head?’ she asked.
‘Foul.’
She grinned. ‘There’s some justice, then.’
‘Bitch,’ he replied, but without emphasis. ‘What do you want from me, George?’
For a moment she was tempted to tell him exactly what she wanted, but this wasn’t the time, or the place.
‘I want you to act like a professional, Lukas. It’s what you expect from the rest of us. There was absolutely no need for you to get drunk last night. But you did, and you must pay for it. You’ve made us all suffer for quite long enough.’
She stood up and started back the way she had come. He caught her arm before she had gone ten yards. She looked pointedly at his hand. ‘Please let go of me.’
His eyes silently challenged her to make him and she met him head-on. He inclined his head slightly and finally released her and ran his hand distractedly through thick dark curls. ‘George, this is ridiculous. What are we going to do?’
‘Do?’ She remained completely still for a moment, trying to dismiss from her mind the memory of his mouth on hers, his caressing touch. ‘You are the best judge of that, but I imagine the most sensible thing would be to get this shot taken and get back to camp.’
* * *
‘You’re not coming to the races with us?’ Walter enquired with surprise, over breakfast one morning.
Lukas stared pointedly at George. ‘I have been volunteered for a bricklaying party.’ He glanced around the table. ‘You can all come. The more the merrier.’
There were no recruits for this unattractive proposition but Walter was interested. ‘Bricklaying doesn’t seem quite your scene, dear boy. I thought you enjoyed the turf.’
‘On this occasion I shall have to miss it. Just make sure you bring me back a motorbike. I want to take that last shot tomorrow.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I’m not interested in your best. Just do it. And take Michael the Sunday papers. They should arrive before lunch.’
‘Have a good time, all of you,’ George told them and handed some money to Kelly. ‘Put this on something with a pretty name for me.’
‘Each way or to win?’
‘To win,’ she said recklessly, then retreated to the tent before Lukas could comment.
They had done their best to avoid being alone together since the evening they went to Nairobi. He no longer slept in the tent but she was sure that she was the only person who knew that. Instead he took himself off to the Land Rover at night and she rose long before dawn so that he could come and wash. It was an arrangement arrived at by unspoken agreement.
She had assumed that he would choose to forget about taking her to the school building party and go to the races with the others. Instead, she was going to be left on her own with him, so the sooner she was ready to leave the better.
She had gathered her belongings when she heard the jeep roar out of the camp. She checked she had everything and turned to go. Lukas was standing in the opening, watching her. Despite the oldest clothes he had been able to find-a pair of torn jeans and a black T-shirt from which the sleeves had been ripped, probably years before—he looked unbearably desirable.
George was keeping a tight hold on her emotions, not allowing a tremor of what she felt to show. But it was hard.
‘They’ve gone. We’re on our own.’ There was nothing particularly threatening in this statement, but nevertheless George felt a quiver of apprehension.
‘Yes. Well, it’s time for us to be off too.’
‘You’ll need a hat.’ He was twisting a baseball cap in his hands with the MotorPart logo emblazoned on the front. She regarded it with disfavour.
‘I had a perfectly good hat until you binned it,’ she pointed out with perfect truth.
‘Wear this,’ he ordered, thrusting the cap at her. ‘We’ll be out in the sun all day, and I haven’t the time or the inclination to rush you into Nairobi if you get sunstroke.’
George crackled with resentment as she took it from him. ‘Don’t worry, Lukas. I’d lie in the bush and die before I asked you to waste your time on anything so trivial!’
He leaned over her, a frightening glint in his eyes. ‘Is that so?’ he rasped.
George stepped back quickly, intimidated by the fierce figure dominating her in the confined space, but found a tent pole at her back. ‘What’s the matter, Georgette? Nervous?’
She swallowed. Of course she was nervous. She had been alone for no more that a minute with this man she had fallen insanely, stupidly in love with. Already the air was crackling with sexual tension and one word from him would be enough. She would be lost.
‘N-no,’ she denied uselessly.
Without warning he swooped. His arm snaked around her waist and he dragged her against his hard chest.
‘Foolish … foolish …’ He held her fast with his eyes as slowly, oh, so slowly, he bent over her. A small cry escaped her and she tensed as his mouth closed the space between them and she shut her eyes tight to blot out the dark brooding eyes so close to her own. Then in a sudden panic she began to fight. She beat on hard, sinewy arms without effect and he grinned, holding her without effort. Finally, inevitably, she gave up. ‘That’s better. Now stand still, wretched g
irl. I’m going to make love to you.’
She held herself rigid, expecting him to be cruel, punishing, but his kiss took her by surprise. It was gentle, teasing, infinitely more dangerous. For a long moment she managed to retain control against the insistence of his mouth, but gradually her body betrayed her, relaxing against him, languorous pleasure suffusing every limb. Her lips parted under the sensuous probing of his tongue, and she responded shamelessly, pressing against him as desire flickered and ignited under his expert touch.
He shifted his grip on her, pulling free the shirt tucked into her jeans, flicking open the buttons one by one and peeling it off her with ease. He slipped his hand inside her bra and cupped a breast aching for his touch, and bent to kiss its rosy tip. She trembled, her legs buckling beneath her, her only support his arm pinioning her, defenceless as a butterfly, against the tent pole. She arched in brazen welcome, feeling his hard desire for her, and wanting him desperately in return.
‘Lukas …’ she gasped, and then she staggered abruptly as the tent began to sway and the pole she was leaning against tilted drunkenly. They collapsed in a heap together as the ridge pole descended, missing them by inches, and George found herself gazing up at the thunderstruck face of Lukas.
‘Is that what they mean when they say the earth moved?’ she asked, breathlessly.
He groaned. ‘Something moved. It felt more like the sky.’ He made no move to disentagle himself from her. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good.’ He resumed where he had left off …
‘Bwana? Memsahib? Are you there? Are you alive?’
‘Damn!’ Then Lukas grinned philosophically. ‘The trouble with this place is that there are just too many people about.’ He kissed her lightly then helped her find her shirt. She clambered awkwardly into it under the canvas, before they crawled sheepishly out of the remains of their tent. ‘I’m sorry about that, my friend,’ Lukas apologised. ‘Can it be put back together?’ George found herself irritated by his self-possession, while her emotions were all anyhow.
The steward nodded vigorously. ‘Will do, will do. No trouble.’
As they walked towards the Land Rover Lukas took her hand. ‘I was quite unaware that lovemaking in a tent was such a hazardous affair.’
George shook her head. ‘I’m sure he thought we were going to blame him for the collapse of the tent.’
Lukas gave her an odd look. ‘If that’s what you want to think, George, I won’t disabuse you. But anyone with an atom of sense can see what caused the tent to collapse just by looking at you.’
She blushed furiously, and stopped to tuck her shirt firmly back in place. She raked her fingers through her hair and placed the baseball cap that she was carrying on her head.
‘Is that better?’ she asked.
‘I preferred you as you were.’ Lukas opened the Land Rover door for her with a satisfied smirk that she could have slapped. ‘But, since you’re asking, I think your buttons could do with a little adjustment.’ She looked down and saw that she had missed the top two buttons. Her fingers were shaking too much to cope with the adjustment. He pulled her shirt out and began to undo the buttons. She tried to stop him, but he kissed her and completed the job.
‘I should feel as guilty as hell for taking advantage of a girl who’s been forced to share a tent with me.’
‘So what’s changed your mind, Lukas?’
‘Because, my sweet, after your fun and games the other night I have very strong doubts that I’ll be the one doing the taking.’
‘Despite the fact that I’m the boss’s daughter?’
‘Damn Walter. Has he said something to you?’
She shook her head. ‘It didn’t take a lot of working out.’ She looked him full in the face. ‘But I’m grown up, Lukas. Even my father wouldn’t have presumed to interfere in the way that Walter did. I make my own decisions and I expect you to do the same.’
He digested this information, then nodded. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ For a moment she thought he was going to do something about it there and then. Instead, he helped her into the Land Rover and she couldn’t decide whether she was pleased or not.
At the village George and Lukas were greeted as honoured guests. She had brought a small gift of cash for the school fund and was applauded politely. Lukas had brought a case of beer which was received with considerably more enthusiasm. He immediately joined the work, stripping off his T-shirt in the heat as the effort of lifting increased in direct proportion to the height of the wall.
George watched him with discreet pleasure through the lens of her camera, using her zoom to capture a sudden laugh, his well-muscled back shiny with sweat, a powerful man enjoying hard work. He looked up and caught her once, his eyes burning her through the prying lens, and she felt suddenly, ridiculously shy.
Afterwards there was beer, and a group of young girls began to dance. George leaned against Lukas, soaking in the simple pleasure of their closeness and his arm about her waist. When she was surrounded by the dancers, wanting her to join in, she scrambled to her feet reluctantly. But two of the girls took her hands and showed her the steps, encouraging her as she caught the rhythm. The men joined in and the dance struck a more urgent, primeval note. Lukas needed no second bidding to join in the raw thrusting motion, holding her in his possession with nothing but his compelling grey eyes.
When the drumming stopped they sank to the ground with relief. George fanned herself with her discarded hat and found Lukas regarding her solemnly.
‘You’ve no idea, have you?’ he asked.
‘No idea? What about?’
‘I’ve just claimed you.’ He indicated the village. ‘Everyone now regards us as betrothed.’ Lukas drained a can of beer as she thoughtfully regarded their dancing companions, scattered in couples, talking quietly together, just as she and Lukas were.
‘You’re making that up,’ was the only reasonable response that came to mind, but she wished he wasn’t.
Lukas pretended to look offended. ‘I had to dance hard to get you. That chap over there tried to cut me out.’ He considered her still flushed face. ‘Perhaps you’d have preferred that? Or are you already spoken for? The “man” friend you wrote to, perhaps?’
‘Bob?’ For a moment she was going to laugh, then the look in his eyes stopped her. Before she could explain, they were summoned to join in the feast but as soon as they were decently able to leave the celebrations he took her hand firmly and possessively in his.
‘It’s time to be going, George.’
Chapter Eight
Making no move to resist him, George allowed Lukas to lead her to the Land Rover. The sun was already setting and in the east a star sparkled against the darkening sky as they drove carefully homewards. They startled a jackal crossing the track, about his evening business, but apart from that and the singing of the cicadas they might have been alone on the planet. Lukas reached out and took hold of her hand.
The camp was in darkness when they arrived. ‘Alone at last,’ Lukas joked, lifting her down. He continued to hold her lightly around the waist for a moment and pulled her to him, letting her feel how much he wanted her.
‘Well?’ he asked softly, the question loaded with the possibilities that lay before them, but he made no move to claim her. The decision was to be hers alone. He wouldn’t use his body, or her own, to pressure her. They stood together in the quiet circle of his arms while George examined her unique response. It was not the first time a man had suggested she might like to join him in bed. What was unique was the fact that she wanted to say yes. Longed to say yes.
In answer she put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down, offering her lips, letting the love she had kept in tight rein flood from her and envelop him.
‘Oh, my love.’ His voice was a husky murmur. Then he kissed her, his tongue gently exploring the sweetness of her mouth. When he released her his eyes were dark with passion and a deep excitement that sent a shiver through h
er.
‘Could we …?’ She blushed at her own audacity. ‘Could we have a shower? First?’ she added, in case he should think she was trying to back out.
He dropped the lightest kiss on her forehead and smiled. ‘I do realise that I’m not very savoury.’ He laughed at her embarrassment. ‘I have been working rather hard. But since you’re offering …’ he was suddenly serious ‘… I can’t imagine anything I would enjoy more than a shower with you. First.’ He swept up their belongings from the back seat of the Land Rover and carried them across to their tent, his other arm looped around her waist. ‘Hold on, I’ll light a lamp.’
He dropped the things he was carrying on his bed and struck a match. As the lamp flared George saw, lying among the things Lukas had carried from the Land Rover, a slightly battered newspaper. Even as she moved to retrieve it, he gathered it up with her camera.
‘I’ll pick up another lamp for the shower.’ He glanced down to see what she was staring at. ‘Did you want this? It’s days old,’ he remarked without interest and just for a moment she thought she was safe. Then he saw the photograph. A sudden stillness about him sent her heart crashing to her boots. His face when he looked up at her had lost all gentleness.
‘So, sweet Georgette, everything becomes clear. Now I can see why you were sent here. Despite the fact that you clearly didn’t want to come. Didn’t even know what you had come to do. Tell me, do you keep a diary? Will you earn extra Brownie points for managing to soothe the savage Lukas in full hangover?’ He glared at her. ‘Well, watch me. You might just have to do that all over again. Because that’s what all this is about, isn’t it? Getting back in Daddy’s good books. What did he do, George? Cut you off without a penny and put you on punishment duty?’
‘Pa—’ She would have told him. Explained about the refuge and what it meant to her, but he didn’t give her the chance.
‘So much for all your much vaunted high ideals,’ he goaded her. ‘What did you do? Put them on hold until you’re forgiven? Until the parental purse is restored?’ He ignored the dangerous patches of red staining her cheeks. He took a step towards her. ‘Is that what the trembling virgin act was all about? Keeping me happy at all costs! You’ve already demonstrated that you would do almost anything to stay here, even to the extent of taking your clothes off.’ He bit off her protest. ‘And now you were actually prepared to let me make love to you … Love! What a joke!’ Horrified, George stumbled backwards, but he caught her wrist. ‘Ideals, George, are things people die for.’ He stepped towards her, a pulse beating violently at his temple. ‘I know.’