For days, she’d been fantasizing obsessively about Jace and Beau, which wasn’t in line with chaste Victorian sensibilities either. God help her, she wanted them both all to herself. Nasty, sweet fantasies hijacked her thoughts at every turn and tempted her to daydream a thousand times a day about having two men take her to the ultimate heights.
She’d never actually had the pleasure of two men at once. Hell, it had been forever since she’d had one. The sheer ecstasy of two lovers would probably kill her. Her neglected libido needed release so badly, she ached. She crossed her legs, squirmed in the plane’s narrow seat, and bumped the man next to her with her knee.
The robust gentleman seated beside her huffed impatiently and gave her a dirty look as he shifted his laptop away from her. “Would you like to switch seats with me?” he said sarcastically. “You seem to be spending a lot of time on my side of the armrest.”
Devon offered a tense smile. Excitement about the trip and so many things made it impossible to sit still. She’d lost count of how many times she’d bumped her seatmate. “I’m sorry.”
The man ignored her apology.
Snob. They had only been tiny bumps, little more than gentle nudges. She’d been a good sport for putting up with his ripe underarms and sneaky beer farts through several time zones. So what if she bumped him a little now and then? For God’s sake, they were packed into coach like cattle.
A flight attendant pushed a beverage cart down the aisle.
“Miss!” The gentleman cast his heavy arm across Devon’s face to hail the exhausted-looking attendant as she approached.
The attendant stopped.
The man offered the flight attendant a weak grin. “May I have another beer? Corona please.”
Uhh. More beer farts. Devon closed her eyes and thought ahead to Africa. Soon she’d have the opportunity to capture rare wildlife with her camera. Not many people could say that.
She’d always wanted the opportunity to photograph the so-called “big five” on the African veld, and now the chance was finally here. With her trusty camera tucked safely under the seat, which was far too precious to relinquish to the cargo hold, life was going to get a lot more exciting. She vowed to take as many risks as possible to get high-quality, exciting pictures the world would marvel over when they debuted. When she returned from this trip, International Explorer—and hopefully the rest of the world—would see her true potential. Jace and that sweetheart, Beau, would be so proud of the work she’d bring to the magazine.
Amboseli National Park was in the middle of nowhere. Internet service for her laptop and cell phone would be iffy, and as far as she knew, running water wasn’t available. The camp where she would be staying had its water hand-delivered to each hut by the jug. A battery-powered generator to charge the cameras was the only modern convenience offered. She was going to rough it and make it work to her advantage.
The plane’s engines droned in the background. Devon allowed her thoughts to drift, and the man beside her sipped his beer and quietly hiccupped. She wanted to concentrate on the upcoming trip to the sunny green plains of Amboseli National Park, but her thoughts kept errantly wandering toward Jace and Beau instead.
In the past few days, both men had paid her far more attention than usual. They hovered near her at the office like mother hens. At any given moment of the workday, at least one of them had been devising some reason or another to be within her line of sight. How they got any work accomplished was a mystery.
Beau had brought her coffee and dropped by her desk to chat, or contented himself with looking at her longingly from a distance with his big, innocent eyes.
Jace found frequent excuses to strut through the art department like a territorial tiger on the prowl. He watched her with a brooding, slightly possessive gaze obviously designed to frighten other men away, but why? He hadn’t been making any moves.
They both seemed genuinely excited for her about this trip, but neither actually asked her out or made any sort of social plans for after her return. Damn them.
Not that there had been an hour to spare getting ready for a major trip on short notice. She didn’t understand what the hell was going on with those two, but she loved it, and could give herself butterflies just thinking about it.
Devon crossed her thighs and bumped the man beside her. A bit of beer sloshed over the rim of the glass. Now she’d done it. He’d go enraged grizzly bear on her. “I’m sorry!”
Recoiling as if a damp and slimy thing had brushed his leg, the man huffed. “Again?”
“It won’t happen anymore. I promise.” She drew her knees close and maintained the prim stance until her legs ached. In contrast to her physical discomfort, pleasurable thoughts returned. Soon, she imagined the thrill of undressing in front of Jace or Beau—or both. Why not both? It was just a fantasy. Would she have the courage to be bold and give them a good show? For them, it would be worth putting inhibitions aside. She’d take her sweet time about undressing too, and tease the hell out of them with her soft curves.
How great would that be, to arch back on the mattress while two sets of adoring hands and two warm, solid bodies competed to get between her thighs? Would she go crazy when one or both stroked her breasts and begged to suck her nipples? She was going to drench herself dreaming about it. Her foot tapped the man’s leg.
The man frowned at Devon as he protectively shut his laptop. “Really?”
“Sorry,” she whispered, but her thoughts were far away. Who would take her first, Jace or Beau? Maybe they’d fight for the honor of coming inside her. God, that would be hot.
Damn the rude guy sitting beside her. His bulky shoulder half spilled over her armrest, and he glared disapprovingly at her from the corner of his eye, just waiting for her to make another clumsy move.
Closing her eyes, she tuned everything out, and returned to her fantasy. A hot, tangled threesome would be so delicious. Could she even take that much pleasure at once, or would she chicken out at the last searing-hot moment? It was all she could do to keep her fingers safely on the armrests and not let them stray between her thighs where they wanted to be. She was driving herself crazy.
Beau was so unassuming and shy. He wouldn’t assert himself unless it was something he desperately desired, which made the idea of surrendering to him even hotter. How much of a thrill would it be to lean forward on the mattress and offer herself to quiet, sweet Beau, and simply give him what he was too shy to ask for? He’d be so grateful and overwhelmed by pleasure as he stroked inside her, it would melt her heart.
She got so excited thinking about it that she swiftly uncrossed her legs and struck the man next to her with her shoe. “Sorry....”
The man snorted indignantly. He bolted out of the seat, set his laptop aside, and squeezed past Devon. “Excuse me.” The man lurched his way toward the aisle, thrusting his plump ass directly in Devon’s face. He wedged between the narrow seats and struggled to turn himself sideways, but remained trapped in front of her face with his bottom wagging back and forth in a ridiculous manner. “Goddammit,” he snarled.
Devon drew her feet under the seat to protect them from being crushed and used her palm as a shield in case the man’s bottom pressed any closer to the tip of her nose.
The man stumbled over Devon’s camera case, which was partially shoved under her seat.
Her heart froze when she realized her beloved Scherberg was in imminent peril. “Watch out, sir!”
The man spoke tersely. “I’m being very careful.” After a lengthy struggle, he laboriously pushed past Devon, nearly scraping his back pockets against her face.
Ping. A soft chime sounded. The intercom crackled, and a crisply professional female voice floated through the cabin. “Please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts. We are descending into Nairobi airport. Thank you for flying Safari Air.”
“Damn!” the man muttered as he turned and began the cumbersome return to his seat. Again, his bottom bobbed precariously in Devon’s face. He fel
l back into the seat with an exhausted plop and fastened his seat belt.
Devon dared to lean across the sour-faced man and peek out the window as the plane descended to the tarmac. Her first impulse was to look away, but she didn’t. The landscape below was a dizzying checkerboard of roads and fields and finally a cityscape. Glancing out the window was yet another victory over petty fears. Adventure and open plains awaited her.
The plane touched down with tires screeching. The wings flexed as the powerful jet engines braked, making the cabin shudder.
She tensed as she clutched hard to the armrest. Touchdown was such a nerve-racking moment to endure. The high-pitched scream of the engines always triggered a pseudo-news headline in her mind. FULLY PACKED COMMERCIAL LINER DROPS FROM THE SKY, SKIDS ACROSS RUNWAY, FLIPS, AND BURSTS INTO FLAMES. NO SURVIVORS—EXCLUSIVE FOOTAGE AT ELEVEN!
The engines roared to a slow promenade across the tarmac.
She leaned forward and peered past the frowning man as she tried to see which part of the airport the plane was taxiing toward. Exhausted from travel, she wanted to escape the airport and go straight to camp, but she knew customs inspection lay ahead, and that was never a pleasant task.
Beyond that lay another short plane trip in a much smaller, much more vulnerable plane. Yuck.
CUSTOMS WAS A BREEZE, and the tiny, privately owned airline she’d needed to connect with was at the other side of the airport. The long walk had done her cramped legs some good.
The sky was a brilliant blue, and the sun seemed especially large and bright, as if it loved Africa just a little more than the rest of the world and had crept a bit closer.
By the time she climbed the shaky aluminum ladder to board the antique-looking prop plane, it was midafternoon. Hopefully, she’d get to take a few pictures before sunset.
Devon sat back on the plane’s hard bench-like seat with cracked vinyl upholstery and buckled the frayed lap belt, which she presumed would be useless in a real emergency. The small craft was claustrophobically narrow. A nervous glance out the window revealed the paint on the static propellers was chipped and covered in a greenish-brown film of dead bug juice. The sight made her shiver and wish she were sitting on a parachute.
The pilot shut the door and drew the latch sideways. He nimbly jumped into his seat, put on his headset with a flourish, and pulled back on the throttle.
The engine coughed, and the propellers spun for a few revolutions but failed.
“No way,” Devon grumbled.
The pilot turned. The slender young man might have been a teenager, twenty at most. “It’s okay, ma’am.” A bright smile lit his youthful face.
Ma’am? No, it wasn’t okay. For God’s sake, she was far too young to be called ma’am by some cute young pilot who looked like he wasn’t old enough to buy himself a beer. She gasped in horror as the realization fully bloomed. Holy shit! There’s a kid flying the plane.
“I’m going to try again,” the pilot said gamely. “If this doesn’t work, we’re going to take a smaller plane.” He pulled back on the throttle, and that time the engine sounded strong and the propellers whirred.
Moments later, the pilot taxied onto a narrow runway, which was thankfully pointed away from the much larger international airport, but that fact didn’t stop her from stressing. She closed her eyes to blot out the horrific mental image of a slow-flying light aircraft haplessly crossing the path of a swiftly descending 747.
To calm her nerves, she thrust her hand into her pocket and felt the smooth, cool surface of the wish stone—or dragon egg as Beau had sweetly called it, and caressed it with her fingertips.
Suddenly she felt the presence of both Jace and Beau. Jace’s confident personality loomed large in her mind, seemingly taking charge of her rising anxiety, while Beau’s gentler presence offered a burst of compassion and support. For once the feeling wasn’t sexual; it was familiar, like they were stepping into her thoughts to comfort and remind her of what Witch Casey had said: her fate waited in Africa. But what the hell did that really mean?
The plane lifted into the air. In a craft that size, she could feel the rush of wind against the wings, and she didn’t like it one bit. Devon squeezed her eyes shut and tried to concentrate on other things.
If all went as planned, a bush guide would be waiting to take her to camp where she would spend her first night in a Maasai hut.
Hut.
It seemed weird to be thinking about staying in a hut. There was also an impressive collection of local insects to consider. She’d been warned to bring a skinny flashlight and use it to judiciously inspect her boots before slipping her feet inside. The thought of something other than her toes wiggling inside her shoes made her stomach flip-flop.
Was she really going to be okay on this trip?
The plane took a sudden sickening plummet before lurching upward again.
A hiccupping sigh racked her. It was time to stop worrying about what might happen and start enjoying what lay ahead. She was finally in Africa. The dream had come true. Leaning against the back of the seat, she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to check out.
An odd, almost dreamlike image filled her thoughts. She was flying, skimming over the earth at great speed, not in an airplane or an ultralight but free. A racing herd of impalas scattered beneath her when her looming shadow passed over the land. At her approach, the frightened animals burst in all directions like buckshot. A quiet voice within said, This is the real adventure.
“Ma’am,” the pilot called out to her. “Take anything sharp out of your pockets. Bush landings can be rough!”
Devon awakened from her strange daydream with a jolt. The plane swiftly descended. She could see the twin ruts of the camp’s landing strip carved into the grass, and a semicircle of thatched huts beyond.
The plane hit the ground with a thud and bounced, nearly jarring Devon out of her seat. For a moment she was convinced she’d bitten her tongue, but she was just clenching her jaw. “Ugh!” That landing would do wonders for her already knotted stomach.
The plane rolled to a stop in the grass about a hundred yards from camp.
After thanking the pilot, she gathered her belongings and departed the plane. The warm air was filled with the earthy scents of crushed grass and acrid diesel fumes from a generator an old man was trying to start with a hand crank, most likely in anticipation of her needs. The many squealing children playing near the huts and a woman cooking over an open fire pit didn’t look like they had any need of it. She waved to them, and they smiled and waved back.
Devon walked toward the huts, taking her time and hoping her stomach would settle down. This journey of a lifetime was suddenly making her very nervous. Reality was a lot scarier than fantasizing about it.
International Explorer had promised her a guide and a Jeep. Where was her guide? With no cell phone, she wondered how they would find each other. She dragged her rolling suitcase over the bumpy ground. Behind the huts she saw a row of Jeeps and approached them. The Jeeps were for tourists on safari, but that didn’t accurately describe her. She was an independent professional, determined to take control of a Jeep one way or another and get the kinds of pictures the other tourists missed.
In the first battered Jeep, a young man with a lean frame and sharply chiseled face sat with a piece of grass hanging from his mouth. His long legs hung haphazardly half out of the Jeep, like a sleepy leopard draped over a tree branch. He was dressed in a tan shirt, half-unbuttoned, and tan shorts. His hiking boots looked worn from years of walking the rough terrain.
She approached him. “Are you the guide hired by International Explorer?”
“Yes, miz.” His posture straightened. “Miz going deep into the bush?”
A nod was the only answer she had the energy to offer.
“Come with me.”
“Wait.” She eyed the lowering sun. The guide would probably talk her ear off, and she wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s company. A little time alone and some sunset pictures on the v
eld would be a treat at the end of a long journey. It would feel so good to take a short drive, park the Jeep, and get out and walk.
Devon pantomimed driving. “Can I rent the Jeep from you and drive myself?” She swept her hand across the horizon and pointed at a clump of greenery. “Toward that stand of acacia trees?”
“No, miz.” His face was somber.
Okay, he was a businessman. Negotiate. “I’ll pay you to use the Jeep.”
“No, miz.”
Devon spoke slowly. “It was a long flight. I just want to spend an hour alone—out there, but not far.”
The man vigorously shook his head. “No alone. Too dangerous.”
“Are you worried about lions, leopards, wildebeests?”
His face remained dour. “No.”
She glanced outward. “The only thing between us and those acacia trees is stubby grass. What’s going to sneak up on me, an anteater?”
The man’s face became sullen. He spread his arms wide and shrieked loudly as he flapped them up and down. “Marduko,” he muttered. “This is their season.”
Marduko. A shiver dashed up her spine. Crazy Witch Casey had used that word. The woman had been psychically clued in, she had to give her credit for that. “What are you talking about?”
He pointed toward the distant volcanic cone of Mount Kilimanjaro. “Creatures from the sacred place.”
“Oh,” she said as if she understood, which she didn’t. She suspected a Marduko was a disembodied entity used to frighten superstitious people into doing as their tour guides said and tipping them well for the protection—the equivalent of an African boogeyman. She curled her lip. “I take it Marduko have been a real nuisance lately.”
“No.” He seemed to recoil. “They seldom come, sometimes skipping many generations, but they come now. I saw large shadows on the mountain last night.”
“Okay.” This was one battle she might not win. She set her camera case on the passenger side of the Jeep, preferring to keep her luggage with her. “You drive.”
The Lady Prefers Dragons Page 6