Sara drew in her breath. Very few of the Malindi women had the power to cast the stones and those who had, used the ritual only for extraordinary circumstances. If it was used frivolously, so the people believed, the good magic would turn bad and destroy both the caster and the supplicant.
“Is it right to use the stones?”
“It is right. The villagers whisper of poachers and money to be made from the sale of animal parts. Some are too weak to resist the temptation. Only Siri Mtu can stop it—”
“What does it say?”
Ngina shook her head. “You know better than to ask, dear friend. The magic can only work if it is hidden. Otherwise you will contrive to make its message come true. But it will be soon.”
A sound broke the stillness—the stutter of a small plane.
Sara shot upright. “The flight from the city! Is it that time already?” She sprang to her feet and ran for the changing room, emerging again in a few moments, tucking her white shirt into her tan slacks.
With a wave and a quick, “Kesho. Tomorrow,” to Ngina, Sara tore into the office for the keys to the lodge vehicle.
Chapter Two
She pressed on the gas pedal, ignoring the ruts and bumps of the dusty trail to the landing strip. The windsock hung useless in the still, dry air. The plane was very low now, approaching with the sun behind it. She pulled up alongside the strip and shaded her eyes to watch it land. Within a hundred feet of the ground, the pilot waggled his wings in greeting and she caught her breath. What did he think he was doing? The kind of tourist who came to the Euphorbia Lodge did not usually appreciate thrills and spills. Smooth and easy was what they wanted.
The plane landed with a bump. The pilot throttled back and taxied toward her. Two men wheeled out metal steps and fitted them against the fuselage as soon as the plane stopped.
The door swung open, the young woman attendant appeared to fasten it back, then stood aside for the passengers to disembark. One by one they emerged, blinking in the strong sunlight. Sara stepped out of the van and walked toward them. First down the ramp was an older couple. She searched her memory, then held out her hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. Welcome to Euphorbia Lodge. I’m Sara Parker and it’s my job to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Please make your way to the vehicle. Someone will bring your luggage.”
Next she greeted a donnish-looking man accompanied by a sulky young woman. His daughter, it had said on the booking form.
There should be one more passenger, a single. She glanced up at the empty door of the plane. Had he missed the flight?
The pilot appeared in the doorway, neat in his bush shirt and tailored pants, his briefcase under his arm. He turned to say something to someone still inside, then ran down the steps. He was slim and dark and his teeth gleamed in his tanned face as he strode toward her. He thrust out a hand.
“Hi. Darrell Fisi, at your service. I’m new.”
She touched his hand briefly. “So I gathered. We don’t usually upset our passengers with flying antics. Just come in straight and level in future.”
The pilot gave a mock salute. “Whatever you want, ma’am.”
Sara sighed. “Just make sure you do it.”
She looked at the passengers straggling toward the minivan, then at the empty ramp. “Did you lose one?”
“What? Oh, you mean the professor? No, he dropped all his papers on the floor. Polet is helping him.”
He moved toward the vehicle. He would stay overnight and ferry some guests back in the morning.
She tapped her foot impatiently and eased the collar of her white shirt from her neck. This “professor” was taking his time while the others roasted in the van. She stepped closer to the ramp, ready to call up. At that moment he appeared in the doorway and she let out her breath, her attention riveted on him. Despite his rumpled clothes and the clutch of untidy papers protruding from a document case, she sensed strength in him. His hair was dark, worn unfashionably long. His shoulders filled the narrow opening and tapered to slim hips.
A large book slipped from under his arm and Polet picked it up for him.
Sara sighed. A daredevil pilot, a man with his daughter and a klutz.
“Soon,” Ngina had said.
Not on this flight.
As his book fell to the floor Dr. Jack Wilding hesitated at the top of the ramp, blinded for an instant by the fierce light outside the aircraft. His head throbbed and his throat ached. His skin felt tight, as if stretched too tautly over his bones. He longed for cool shade and a cold beer.
He stared down at the baked earth of the runway and all thoughts of his own discomfort vanished. At the foot of the steps was the most magnificent creature he had ever seen. Her head was tilted up toward him, showing the long line of her throat. The white cotton of her shirt strained over her shapely breasts. A heavy fall of tawny hair was brushed back from her face, emphasizing high cheekbones and eyes with an intriguing slant.
Suddenly he was filled with an intense yearning. He knew her cool hand could take away the pain in his head. He wanted her slim body curled next to his, longed to tell her about the mystery that had obsessed him for months…
Mine, a voice whispered in his head. Mine forever. His blood surged, his groin tightened, his fatigue forgotten.
“Doctor Wilding,” she called to him. “Do you need any help?”
He heard the edge of impatience in her voice, pulled his thoughts together and took the book from the attendant. He slapped his bush hat on his head. “Coming.”
He slid his hand down the railing of the ramp as he descended. It was almost too hot to touch. The dry air immediately sucked the last drops of moisture from him.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said as he reached the ground. “My papers—”
He paused as her scent reached him. A heady perfume like almonds and flowers, with an underlying musk that stirred his most basic instincts, coiled into his senses, robbing him of coherent thought. His mind filled with the image of her naked, the globes of her breasts cradled in his hands, the light of desire in her amber eyes…
She spun on her heel and led the way to the Land Rover, talking over her shoulder. “No harm done, Doctor. My name is Sara Parker. You look a little tired. I’ll get you back as fast as I can for a cold drink and a shower.”
Still clutching his open briefcase, he pulled himself together, set his lips firmly and followed her, sliding into the back of the vehicle while she took her place behind the wheel. The pilot moved over to give him room and winked. Had his lustful thoughts been plain on his face? The other passengers merely nodded to him and they took off in a cloud of dust.
“Welcome to Euphorbia Lodge,” Sara Parker said to the whole group as she negotiated the ruts. “Euphorbia is the tree that looks like an overgrown cactus. It reaches its arms to the sky like an upside down umbrella. The Malindi people from this area say it is a symbol of good fortune. Where the euphorbia tree grows, there will be happiness and good hunting. We thought that would be an excellent name for our lodge.”
As she uttered the last words, she drew the car up to a gate. “Karibuni. Welcome.”
She slid open the side door of the van with a noise that at last penetrated the haze in Jack’s brain. The other passengers stirred themselves to alight. He waited for a long moment, still gathering his wits from the impact of his first meeting with Sara Parker. For an instant he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the here and now, not on the fantasies that had invaded his head and seemed reluctant to leave.
“Wake up, Dr. Wilding.”
He opened his eyes. Sara stood by the open door, a small smile playing around her lips. The fierce sun outlined her shoulders, turning her white shirt to a streak of light, glinting on the slope of her breast, casting an intriguing shadow at her waist. She’d already said he looked tired, now she thought he’d dozed off in the few minutes it took to travel from the plane! If only she knew how active his mind had been.
Hoping he looked alert and competent, h
e clasped his briefcase firmly and peered out at a short plank bridge overarched with green fronds sprinkled with some kind of purple flowers. It led over a watercourse toward the shady overhang of the lodge entrance, where the guests were already accepting cold drinks from the waiters.
Sara walked by his side as he stepped onto the bridge. Her intoxicating scent wreathed around him again, and her arm brushed his with a jolt like a mild electric shock. The tingle went down his arm, through his body and settled between his legs. He stumbled on the uneven planks and she caught his elbow to steady him. Great. More contact with her was exactly what he needed! His erection pushed against his cotton pants. He shifted his briefcase, holding it in front of him, hoping to hide the obvious. Sara moved on ahead.
He tried the trick he’d used in high school of mentally reciting the periodic table, but before he could steer his brain away from the contemplation of Sara’s trim behind in her khaki pants, she was facing him again, holding out a glass of pink liquid.
“Let me take that briefcase, Dr. Wilding, before you drop it again,” she said. “Please try a glass of passion fruit juice.” Before he could protest she took his case from him and tucked it under her arm so it pressed against the side of her breast.
Utterly defenseless and exposed, he suppressed a groan and reached out to take the glass. It was cool and hard in his hand and he wanted to press it to all the hot spots on his body. As she relinquished her hold, he saw her eyes sweep downward for a fleeting moment. And that small smile hovered once more over her lips. He resisted the urge to seize her and press his mouth to hers, to crush that secretive grin with the force of his lips and grind that hard bulge in his pants against her. Instead, he had enough self-control left to raise his glass and take a sip. Sara moved away to chat to the other guests.
A flavor explosion burst in his mouth as the cool smoothness of the juice soothed his throat.
He looked at the remains in his glass. Had he ever drunk passion fruit juice before? Obviously not, or he could never have forgotten the flavor or the aroma. But there were lots of new and wild sensations hitting him all at once.
The drink’s icy coldness and the absence of Sara Parker succeeded in quieting his racing pulse, and he took in a long breath.
After a few moments, when he could safely walk again, he made his way to a rattan armchair at the side of the lobby and sank into it gratefully.
Unobserved he watched Sara deal with the guests, assigning them to their tents and directing the attendants to carry the luggage. She was taller than he’d thought when he’d first seen her from the entrance to the aircraft. The top of her head had easily reached his chin when she’d taken his briefcase from him. She still had it with her, but had removed it from under her arm and laid it on the desk. He wondered if the leather was still warm from the heat of her body, then suppressed the thought as his treacherous cock stirred again in response.
Her movements were quick and graceful as she took in papers, checked the register, gestured to the porters. Her body was lithe and lean, reminding him of a friend’s Siamese cat, all tawny limbs and smooth muscle.
At last she finished with the new arrivals and picked up his briefcase again. The case went back under her arm and she came toward him with a smile. “Let me show you to your tent, Dr. Wilding.”
He put down his glass and sprang to his feet, anxious not to be thought “tired” any more. “Lead on, Ms. Parker.”
“Please, call me Sara. You’ll find we don’t stand on ceremony.”
She led the way onto a paved walkway, shaded by more flowering bushes. “The tents don’t lock, so leave any valuables at the desk,” she recited. “Be sure to close the zippers when you leave. The monkeys love to get in and play with your things, so be careful if you don’t want your mirror decorated with shaving cream. The power is on in the morning and the evening. At other times it’s a cold shower, I’m afraid.” She shot him that smile again. She had noticed the effect she had on him!
“Here’s your home for the next few nights.” She mounted three steps onto the deck of a large, roofed tent that looked out over the narrow band of water. On the opposite bank a shelf of sand sloped down from thick bushes, hoof and paw prints clearly visible.
She gave him his briefcase and unzipped the tent flaps. He’d been right. The leather was warm and soft where it had pressed against her side. Had it retained any of her scent? God, was he going to have to smell her perfume all night? The merest waft of her scent provoked instant arousal in him.
He registered that she was still talking to him as she stepped into the cooler dimness of the tent. “Drinking water is provided and you can purchase anything else you need at the bar or the gift shop. Opening hours are posted in the lobby.”
The tent contained two single beds with spreads decorated with African scenes. Mosquito nets coiled down from the roof and a hanging cupboard was built in at the far end. Another door had to lead to the bathroom.
He followed her inside and stopped short as she turned to him again. She was close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body through his thin shirt. A light dusting of freckles was faintly visible against her golden skin. She raised her eyes to his face and the musky aroma he’d noticed before wreathed around them. A faint blush colored her cheekbones and he saw her breathing quicken. All he had to do was lean forward a few inches and place a kiss on her smooth brow. Then his lips would wander down to find her mouth. He would seize her, throw her down on one of the perfect beds and rip her clothes from her until he had her writhing and naked under him…
“Is there anything else you need, Dr. Wilding?”
God, what a question!
“Sorry, what was that?” He’d never forced a woman in his life, never had to, wouldn’t dream of starting now. So what was the matter with him, entertaining such fantasies? Was it something primitive in the air and heat of Africa that had inflamed his senses, made him act out of character? Or just the tiredness?
He managed to clear his throat and tear his eyes away from her delicious mouth. It was soft and pink and the upper lip had a delightful bow that he’d love to explore with his tongue…
“Dr. Wilding?” She touched his arm, then withdrew her hand nervously, like someone worried they may have made an inappropriate move.
“No, thank you.”
She brushed past him to reach the open flap, causing another tremor in his loins. “Then I’ll leave you. The afternoon game drive is at four, so you have an hour or so to rest.”
She slipped like a shadow from the tent.
His hand shook when he closed the long zipper on the flap. The tent smelled faintly of canvas and green, growing things, reminding him of past camping trips before his family grew affluent enough to stay in sterile hotels.
His luggage was already piled at the back of the room and he dropped the accursed briefcase next to it. A cold shower, she’d said? Maybe that and a long drink of water would clear his head and soothe his aching muscles. He hoped to God he hadn’t picked up some kind of a bug. Some tropical affliction that made his pulse race and stretched his skin tight as a drum.
Yet it had all started long before he took the plane to Malewi. Sandwiched between Kenya and Uganda, the tiny country was politically stable and boasted some of the best game parks in East Africa. The perfect place to begin his project and maybe end the restlessness that had disturbed him for the last few months.
He poured a glass of water, popped a couple of painkillers and stripped off his clothes. The cool, white tiles of the bathroom welcomed his hot body. The water pressure was strong and he sucked in his breath as the cold stream hit him. His cock, engorged and throbbing, retreated to its more normal dimensions.
He would emerge refreshed, ready to enjoy what the lodge had to offer. But he couldn’t help hoping the delights would include Sara Parker.
After the shower, he wound a white towel round his waist, stretched out on one of the beds and closed his eyes.
The dull ache still throbbed
behind his eyes and despite the jetlag, it still felt as if an electric circuit was feeding current to his muscles.
A couple of weeks ago, after he’d endured the headache and the restlessness for six weeks, he’d made an appointment with a doctor, who prodded and poked at him for twenty minutes.
“Nothing the matter with you a few days vacation won’t cure,” was the verdict. “Overworked and overtired. Can you get away somewhere?”
“I’ve got a trip planned to Africa,” Jack muttered as he buttoned his shirt.
“Excellent. That’s really away from it all.” The doctor glanced out the window at the Seattle drizzle. “Sunshine, good food and a complete change of scene. I envy you. Just what the doctor ordered.” He grinned and picked up a prescription pad. “Ever been there before?” he asked as he unclipped his pen.
“I was born there, but my parents came back to the States when I was a baby. Never had a chance to return.”
“I bet they’ve told you what to see and do.”
Jack nodded. “Oh yes, I’m returning to their old haunts, but it’s work, I’m afraid.”
The doctor handed him the white slip. “I’ve given you some sleeping pills and some vitamins. Take them and see if they help.”
Jack tucked the prescription into his shirt pocket and reached for his jacket.
“What kind of work do you do?” the doctor asked as he replaced the patient file in the rack on the door.
“I’m a biologist. I study animal behavior.”
“Good stuff.” The doctor’s mind was obviously drifting to his next patient. “You take care and come see me when you get back if there’s no improvement.” He grinned again and gave Jack a wink. “Animal behavior, eh? From what I hear there’s lots of that inside and outside the game parks.”
Outside the doctor’s office Jack dropped the prescription into a litter bin on the street on the way back to his lab. Pills wouldn’t help. He would just have to tough it out.
He was a practical kind of guy and didn’t much believe in weird stuff like omens and such, but for weeks, images of Africa had flashed in his head for no good reason until he’d grown convinced his subconscious was telling him to return to his birthplace. So here he was.
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