“That’s not what I’d call a proposal,” she grumbled, keeping an eye on him so that, if he should take her teasing seriously, she could shout “yes!” before he changed his mind.
“It’s the best you’re going to get from me,” he said with pretended indifference laced with a touch of humor. When she continued to eye him speculatively, wondering if she could coax him into a few pretty speeches before she accepted, he cocked an eyebrow at her inquiringly. “Well?”
Those blue eyes twinkling at her, but holding just a touch of uncertainty in their depths, were her undoing. She abandoned all thoughts of prolonging her decision just for the joy of baiting him, and threw herself against him, her arms going around his neck, hugging it tightly. She forgot all about his wound until she felt him wince.
“I’m sorry,” she said at once, drawing back. His arm around her refused to let her go. Instead, it drew her closely against him. Lisa felt the impact of his big naked body pressed intimately against her smaller, softer one all the way down to her toes. He felt it, too. She could tell by the sudden smoldering in his eyes and the stiffening of all his muscles.
“I’m all right,” he answered huskily. “Or at least I will be as soon as you say yes. I refuse to make love to a woman who won’t have me for a husband.”
She drew back her head so that she could see his face as she gave him her answer. Her eyes smiled into his. His face softened, and his eyes smiled back warmly.
“Yes,” she whispered. The smile in his eyes widened and spread to include his hard mouth.
“That’s a good girl,” he said approvingly, then captured her mouth with his. He kissed her with exultant ownership, clearly bent on impressing on her that he was now the man in possession. Lisa kissed him back with abandon, her arms twining around his head to hold him closer, her fingers tangling in the thick strands of his black hair. To her surprise, and faint amusement, she found that she loved his atavistic display of male dominance.
She murmured adoring phrases into his ears as he took her, which seemed to drive him wild. She could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, taste and smell the perspiration that rolled from his body onto hers, and hear his rasping breath as he made love to her with a driving need tempered with care for her pleasure. Finally, at the end, when he had driven her almost out of her mind with rapture, he said the words she had been dying to hear.
“I love you, Lisa,” he said, groaning, stilling her for an instant as she rode astride him. His big hands nearly spanned her hips, his fingers digging into the skin of her lower back, his flesh imbedded deeply inside her. His breathing was impeded as he looked up at her; his eyes glazed with passion as they met her equally dazed ones, then moved comprehensively over her body. “Christ, I love you.”
“Sam . . .” She gasped, wanting to be even closer to him than she was at that moment, wanting to absorb him into her body and never let him go. She reached for him, but his hands on her hips started her in motion again, and she forgot everything except the wonder of her own mounting enchantment.
Later, he held her against him as he smoked one of his few remaining cigarettes. Lisa curled happily against his side, warm beneath the blanket he had dragged over them, her fingers idly twisting the hairs on his chest into tiny curls.
“I’m not going to let you take it back, you know,” he said with a faint grin, but his eyes were serious as they looked down at her. “You promised, and you’re going to marry me. And you’re going to stay married to me for the rest of our lives, and you’re never going to so much as look sideways at another man. Understand?”
“No time off for good behavior?” she teased, giving the curl she was making a tiny yank. His hand came down to capture hers and free the imprisoned hair.
“None at all,” he confirmed sparely, giving her an admonishing look.
Lisa made a face at him. “I can see you’re going to make a very possessive husband,” she murmured provokingly.
“Damn right,” he answered, his jaw tightening. He slanted her a hard look.
“Well, if you really feel that strongly about it, I guess I can tell all my lovers that I’m no longer available.”
“You’d better,” he said, growling. “I think if I saw another man so much as lay a hand on you, I’d kill him. And I’ve never felt like that about a woman in my life.”
Lisa knew the admission had cost him something, so she pressed a rewarding kiss into the thick mat of hair on his chest.
“Sam,” she said softly, wanting to clear up any misconceptions he might still be harboring about her. “Except for Jeff, there’s never been anybody but you in my life. I’ve never slept with anybody else, I’ve never wanted anybody else. And Jeff . . .”
But he didn’t let her finish.
“Is that the truth?” His voice was incredulous. When she looked up, his eyes were, too.
“I swear it.”
He was quiet for a minute. She looked up again to find that he was smiling. The faintly smug expression on his face made her smile, too. He liked the thought of that, she could tell.
“And here I was thinking that you turned on like that for all the guys,” he said, mocking both himself and her.
“No. Only you.”
“Only me.” He lingered over it, savoring the thought like a child who has just been given a shiny new present. Then he added, teasing but with an underlying note of warning, “And it better stay that way.”
“Yes, Sam,” she answered with proper meekness.
He grinned at her, looking suddenly very young and carefree. “Now, that sounded very nice and wifely,” he approved. “If you can just keep that up, I might be able to stop myself from beating you three times a week.”
Lisa punched him in the ribs for that. He yelped, clutching his side, laughing.
“Can’t you take a joke?” he complained, and then she demonstrated very clearly that she could not, of that sort, anyway.
The rest of the day was spent like that, making love and lighthearted banter and playful war. Lisa had never been so happy in her life. This man was what she had been searching for for years, what she wanted and needed and absolutely had to have. He was as necessary to her now as water, or food, or any other basic of life. She loved him with a completeness that hurt.
Even mundane acts such as bathing and eating and changing his bandage took on a new glow because he loved her. She felt foolish smiling all the time, but she couldn’t help herself. Sam was equally happy, she could tell. He laughed and played and joked like a teenage boy in the throes of his first love.
When at last it was time to sleep, Lisa was still wrapped in a warm glow. She felt as if the world had suddenly righted itself, as if nothing could ever go wrong for her again. Even the dangers of their present situation held no terrors for her now; she had complete and utter confidence in Sam. He would get them out of this crazy country, and they would go home and marry. . . . On that delectable thought, she fell asleep.
It was morning when Lisa awoke. She could tell because of the characteristic light grayness of the interior of the hut. For just a moment she lay still, basking in Sam’s presence and the knowledge that he loved her, not even minding the unyielding hardness of the ground beneath her as she listened to his breathing. It was slow and regular—and almost unnaturally loud. Frowning, Lisa lifted a quick hand to lay it softly against his brow. Had the fever come back? she wondered. No, his skin was no warmer than it should have been. It was something else. . . . Then, with a curious sinking feeling, she realized that the absence of background noise was what was making his breathing sound so much louder than usual. Sometime during the night, the rain had stopped.
“Sam!” She nudged him. His arm tightened automatically around her to prevent her from moving away.
“Hmmm?”
“Wake up! The rain has stopped!”
This brought him instantly awake. He lay for a moment with his eyes open, listening to the silence.
“We’ve got to get going, then,” he
said unemotionally at last.
“Yes.” Lisa was moving away from him. He let her go, sitting up and rubbing his face. He was naked, his bare chest looking very virile as it rose in a muscular V shape from the blanket covering his lap. Lisa, already splashing water on her face and then getting dressed, felt a quick surge of pride. He was every inch a man, hard, strong, reliable, handsome, tough as boot leather when the occasion demanded it yet capable of infinite tenderness—and every scrumptious inch of him was hers. She smiled at the thought.
“You look like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary,” he observed as he got to his feet and reached for his pants. “Care to let me in on the joke?”
“You are the joke,” Lisa replied impishly, her eyes sparkling as they moved over him.
He zipped up his pants and then stood for a moment, barefoot, fists resting lightly on his hips as he looked her over from head to toe.
“Getting cocky already, are you?” he said at last. Only the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth told her that he was not serious. “Watch yourself, woman, or I’ll take my hand to your backside.”
Lisa grinned at him. “I’d like that,” she said, laughing shamelessly. He laughed, too.
“You’re asking for trouble,” he threatened, sitting cross-legged on the ground to pull on his boots. He moved his left arm with some degree of difficulty, but still he managed. “When we get home again, remind me to give it to you.”
“Yes, sir.” Lisa saluted smartly, hoping to provoke him into grabbing for her, but he only grinned.
He was still dressing when she went outside for a quick visit to their makeshift toilet. Out of necessity, they had designated one of the other huts as the bathroom, to provide both protection from the rain and a modicum of privacy. As Lisa headed toward it, she marveled at the sun-washed freshness of the morning. The world positively sparkled around her. Moisture still clung in thousands of tiny droplets to the grass, which seemed to have turned a lush green overnight. The trees fringing the camp, cleansed of their customary coating of dust, were also newly green. Sweet scents of grass and fruit and the gorgeous red flowers of the syringa trees filled the air. Brilliantly colored birds fluttered about, calling raucously to one another, their chatter overlaying the deep gurgle of the nearby stream. An inquisitive baby gnu poked its head through the scrub brush near the perimeter of the village, and Lisa knew that a herd of its fellows must be nearby. The rain had temporarily turned the barren scrubland surrounding them into a verdant paradise. Lisa soaked it all in, amazed at the change.
When she had finished in the makeshift bathroom and was heading back to the hut she shared with Sam, she thought there was something different in the air. She could sense it, like an animal. She stopped walking and looked slowly around her, cocking her head and frowning as she tried to figure out what had changed. Was there a lion or cheetah in the vicinity? was the first thought that crossed her mind, as she noticed that the birds had quietened and the gnu was gone. Heart in her throat, she looked toward the trees, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The morning was still almost unbelievably beautiful.
“Abetusdisti-kowebo!” The shouted words, which she had heard before on the night when the guerrillas had come out of the jungle to blow up her world and the Blasses’, meant “white devils,” Lisa knew. She whirled toward the direction whence the shout had come, and stood petrified as she saw an African soldier, garbed in khaki with the typical white headdress under his cap, advancing on her, rifle at the ready and an evil grin on his dark face. A little beyond him, Lisa saw that a motorboat had pulled up to the bank of the stream without her hearing it. Two of its four occupants were approaching her; their guns were pointed squarely at her midsection. The third man was making for the first of the huts, presumably intending to search the village. The fourth stayed at the controls of the boat. Its engine was still running.
Lisa didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. She sensed that if she did so, they would kill her on the spot. Which, she thought through a mind hazy with fear, might be preferable to what they had in mind. Horrible visions of rape and torture preceding her inevitable murder flashed through her brain. Still, she could not bring herself to do something that would make them kill her any sooner than they meant to. She thought of Sam, and one part of her mind seized on that tiny ray of hope and clung to it. Any minute now, he would miss her, if he hadn’t already. If he saw what was happening before being surprised by that one guerrilla—if he didn’t come walking blindly into this situation before he knew that it existed—they might have a chance. Lisa thought of the four men Sam would be facing, each as heavily armed as he was, but strong and healthy and well fed, and felt that small flicker of hope die. The odds were impossible; she might as well face it.
“Lisa, when I give the word, I want you to drop to the ground. Cover your head and don’t look up. Understand?”
She didn’t dare look in the direction of Sam’s voice, which came from some little way behind her and which was too soft to be heard by the approaching guerrillas. She could only suppose that he had somehow seen what was happening, gotten out of the hut without being seen, and circled around through the trees. Clearly, the guerrillas had no idea that he was nearby; their continued approach, slow but not particularly wary, told her that.
With a tiny, just-perceptible nod, she acknowledged Sam’s instructions. Then she stood tensely, wondering when the word he had warned her of would come, and what he would do.
The two guerrillas were very close to her now, less than twelve feet away. Lisa was so frightened she could hardly breathe; her throat was so dry she couldn’t swallow. Her knees were shaking like Jell-O, and she could only hope that they would support her until Sam was ready. Part of her mind, clear and steady and alert, was focused on the situation, and continued to observe it quite clearly; another part was a jumbled mass of terror, sending up prayers for her own safety and for Sam’s.
As Lisa made no move to attack or escape, or scream for help, the approaching men relaxed fractionally. Their rifles were still pointed at her, but they were talking to one another, and their eyes had ceased to dart warily from side to side.
“Now, Lisa!” Sam’s shout made her start, prepared for it though she was. Even as she was obediently throwing herself to the ground, her arms coming up to protect her head, she saw the whites of the guerrillas’ eyes as Sam caught them by surprise, saw their mouths drop open with sudden alarm, and saw, too, as they jerked their rifles up, fingers tightening on the triggers. Then she covered her head, sobbing, praying, screaming as a staccato burst of gunfire roared from behind her. More gunfire answered; a man screamed in mortal agony. Forgetting Sam’s instructions in her anxiety for him, she looked up. The two guerrillas lay on the ground in front of her, one so close she could have reached out a hand to touch him. They were clearly dead, or dying. The feet of the man nearest her were kicking convulsively in what were obviously his death throes. Blood poured from the part of his head that was still attached to his body; the top of it had been blown clean off. Gray brain matter mixed with bits of bone and blood spattered the ground as far as five feet away.
Lisa felt her stomach heave, but she had no time now to spare for her body’s squeamishness. Where was Sam? Looking beyond the two corpses, she saw him running, then throwing himself to the ground and rolling as one guerrilla emerged from a hut and the other leaped from the boat, both with rifles firing. He seemed unhurt, she noted thankfully, watching as he dived into the safety of the trees, positioning himself so that a tree trunk shielded him from the hail of gunfire as he fired volley after volley at the guerrillas, who were trying to inch up on him while remaining under cover as much as possible. None of the three men seemed to spare the slightest thought for Lisa’s presence; she might have been as much out of the picture as the two dead men before her.
The guerrilla who had stayed with the boat was darting from hut to hut on Sam’s left, trying to circle around behind him. Lisa could see quite clearly what he was up t
o, but she thought that Sam was taken up with the man who was approaching him from the right; anyway, most of Sam’s gunfire seemed to be heading that way—maybe he just feared hitting her if he shot at the boatman who was between Sam and herself. She thought about shouting to warn Sam, then immediately thought better of it. She had no desire to draw the guerrilla’s attention to herself. He could deal with her in a matter of seconds. But still, she had to do something. She couldn’t just lie helpless on the ground with her head in her hands while those murderers did their best to kill Sam!
Keeping a cautious eye on the man nearest her, Lisa began to crawl toward the rifle of one of the dead men, which lay just a few feet away. He had been shooting when he’d gone down; the rifle would still be ready to fire. All she would have to do was point it and pull the trigger. At this range—perhaps twenty-five feet—how could she miss? Sam had told her once that if one just continued to hold down the trigger, any automatic rifle would keep shooting until it ran out of bullets. That was an automatic rifle—she could tell from the cartridge. Silently Lisa blessed Sam for his lessons in marksmanship. She had hated them at the time, but they might save his life today.
The guerrilla was closer by the time Lisa reached the rifle. She lay looking from it to him for a moment, suddenly suffering severe qualms about what she was about to do. If she missed—and she very well might, she thought, remembering the untouched target tree—he would undoubtedly kill her. Maybe she would do better to stay quietly out of the way and leave the fighting to Sam.
The decision was made for her perhaps three minutes later. There was a sharp burst of gunfire, followed by a hoarse cry that she recognized as Sam’s. The guerrilla closest to her was immediately on the move, headed in a circular, crouching run toward the trees where Sam had taken cover. Without even thinking about it, Lisa snatched up the fallen guerrilla’s rifle, put it to her shoulder, caught the running man in her sights, and pulled the trigger. The gun roared in her ear so loudly that it seemed to fill the world; it kicked back against her shoulder with the force of a locomotive. For one horrible instant, as the guerrilla whirled around and seemed to be moving in her direction, she thought that she had missed and he was coming to kill her. Then he fell to his stomach on the ground; blood gushed in a bright red stream from his mouth.
To Love a Man Page 21