“Yum, can’t wait.”
We sit together and eat our fruit, listening to the water rush down the river.
“Can I ask you something?” she says with a serious expression. “I'd like you to stop calling me Princess Arabella or Your Highness. I'm taking a break from royal life for a few days.”
“Sure,” I say. “In that case, I need to give you a nickname.”
Raising one eyebrow, she gives me a skeptical look. “Like what?”
“I don’t know yet, but it’s probably going to have something to do with you being a thief.”
Arabella gasps dramatically, but her eyes sparkle with laughter. “I am no such thing!”
“That lighter you keep in your bra says otherwise.”
She laughs and slaps my arm playfully. “I was being resourceful. Think of a name that has to do with that.”
“Nope, you’re a bit of a scoundrel. Sticky Fingers?” I ask, then shake my head. “Nah, too weird. Maybe I should go with something to do with your foul-mouth.”
“I do not have a—oh wait, I guess I do when I’m rappelling, don’t I?”
“Just a bit.” I stand and smile down at her. “I’m going to have to put some thought into it, but I’ll come up with something just right.”
Getting up, Arabella rolls her eyes while she starts to collect the peels from our breakfast. “How about Arabella? You won’t have to hurt your brain coming up with a nickname, and it brings with it the added bonus of me answering to it.”
“Hurt my brain? Was that an insult?” I ask.
“No, I would never imply that you’re not smart,” she says. “Just because a good portion of the women Dylan surveyed thought you didn’t seem that bright?”
“She told you that?!”
“She may have done, yes,” she says with a mischievous grin.
“They only said that because of my physique.”
Arabella wrinkles up her nose. “Is that what she told you?”
I burst out laughing. “You’re a bit of a badass!”
“A bit, yes,” Arabella answers with a hint of pride. “Now, let’s get moving. We have miles to go today and I don’t need you slowing me down.”
I grin down at her for a second, then remember I do not want to fall for this woman. “Speaking of slowing you down, I have a much quicker way for us to get to Mbambole.”
“Really?”
“Want to help me build a raft?”
“I’d like that very much.”
“Good.” I grab the machete and start into the bush with Arabella in tow. “I’m not going to forget about the nickname, you know?”
“Damn.”
“You thought you could distract me with the results of that horrible survey and I’d forget, didn’t you?” I ask, over my shoulder.
“And I was right. You forgot all about it.”
“For about a minute.”
“Oh, come on, it was at least two.”
17
So, I Do Want to See Under Tarzan’s Loincloth. What of It?
Arabella
The cameras are rolling again, which immediately shifts Will’s focus, bringing him back to his business as host. The two of us have spent the last hour collecting long, green bamboo shoots and dragging them to the river’s edge. Each trip back, I yearn to jump in so I can be refreshed by the cool, fast-flowing water, but instead, I drop what I’m holding, turn, and continue on. I’m already sweaty and tired, my muscles aching from the exertion, but I’m also filled with a sense of hope that propels me forward and gives strength to my arms while we work. Riding the river is going to be heads above cutting a trail through the dense brush.
We reach an impossibly tall tree, where Will stops. “I’ll go up and get us some vines. If you can film me, that would be a great help, Mad Dog.” He looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nope, you’re not Mad Dog.”
“I should hope not,” I say, watching as he swiftly starts his ascent. He climbs up a few feet, then turns his head toward me and speaks into the camera. “Now, if you really want to get the strongest and longest vines, you're going to have to climb for them. This is not something you should normally do without a harness because the fall from these heights could be fatal.”
“Brilliant,” I say. “So, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
“Yup. But don’t worry, I’ve never died before.” With that, he starts casually climbing, as though he could hang out in that tree all day. I stand on the ground, finding myself simultaneously impressed with his abilities and terrified that he may be overly optimistic about the outcome. A few moments later, he's disappeared into the canopy of the tree. He calls down to me, his voice sounding far too distant for my liking. “You’ll want to stand back so that none of these vines land on you.”
I back up, then shout up to him. “All clear!”
Crackling and zipping sounds fill the air as the vines drop to the ground, slamming against branches and the trunk on their way down. When they hit the jungle floor, the soft bed of leaves and organic matter fly up and scatter. After several vines have been freed from the tree, I wait, expecting to see him climb down. Instead, he decides to swing down on one, hollering like Tarzan.
I laugh as he lets go of the vine and sticks the landing with his hands in the air. “Not bad, hey?”
I clap and say, “Encore. Encore.”
“Glad you enjoyed the show. Don’t forget to tip your waitress.”
* * *
The raft is roughly the size of a queen-sized bed when it’s all put together, and I cannot wait to get on and rest when we’re finished. The impossible humidity makes me feel like I'm sucking in water instead of breathing in air. As we work together tying off the vines, Will teaches me how to make a ‘clover hitch connector’ by placing one length of bamboo perpendicular to the others at one end of the raft. “We’re going to wrap the vine through the connecting piece, then use a simple overhand knot to secure it. The overhand knot is one of the most fundamental of all knots. It’s used in everything from fishing to shoelaces to climbing.”
“Or in my case,” I say, “If I wanted to tie some two-thousand-thread-count sheets together and climb out of my bedroom window.”
Will laughs. “Sure, or say, if you accidentally drop your tiara down a well.”
I grin. “That happens to me all the time. I must have dropped at least a dozen tiaras down the well behind the palace.”
“Now, you’ll be able to retrieve them yourself,” he answers. “Here, you pull this one. I want to see how tight you can get it.”
I take the vine from him, letting my skin brush against his for the briefest second. I yank on it as hard as I can, grunting and struggling while I put my entire body into it. When I finish, I stare at him, hoping I passed the test. “So? Did I do it?”
“You tried. I’ll give you that.” His face scrunches up a little as he takes the vine with one hand and gives it a quick tug, actually tightening it.
“Oh,” I mutter, my shoulders dropping.
“Don’t worry about it. By the time we get out of here, you’ll have some upper body strength. I’m going to turn you into Lara Croft, Tomb Raider.”
He gives me a questioning look. “Hmm, Tomb Raider? Croft?”
“Better than Mad Dog,” I say. “But not by much.”
“Yeah, still not quite right. I’ll figure it out.”
As we set to work on the other connector, I find myself wanting to reach out and touch his cheeks. And by cheeks, I don't mean the ones on his face. Those are some taut buttocks. Yum.
Oh, dear, the humidity must be getting to me.
After a quick lunch of leftover cold yams from last night and more fruit, we pack up camp and get ready to float our way down the river. A thought pops into my head that hadn't occurred to me before. “There aren’t crocodiles here, right?”
“Not many. I have heard of Nile crocs coming as far west as this, but don't worry, they mostly hunt at night, and with any luck, we�
�ll be off the water by then.”
“Well, that sounds comforting,” I say.
“Actually, we were more likely to be attacked by one last night since we were camped so near the river.” He gives me a teasing grin and I narrow my eyes, unsure of whether to believe him.
We heave our packs onto the raft, then Will holds it steady while I climb on and sit near the center. He hands me the long bamboo pole he's going to use to guide us downstream, then pushes us away from shore and lightly hops on in one swift move. A rush of excitement fills me as we start down the river. I turn and grin back at him as he kneels behind me.
He takes the pole and says, “What do you think? Does it beat walking?”
I nod. “Yes, my ankles say thank you. Well, actually, my entire sore body thanks you.”
“You should thank yourself. You did a lot to build this.”
“Thank you, me,” I say, feeling surprisingly proud of myself. I smile around at the passing trees and feel the sun on my skin, happy to be able to rest safely here as we make up some miles today. “This is terrific. We should do this until we reach Mbambole.”
“If only we could. We’ll stay on the river for the next three days, maybe a little more. Then it curves north, so we’ll have to hike it out from there. With any luck, you’ll be heading back to your palace in under four days,” he says.
“Really? But that’s five days ahead of schedule.”
“Yup! We’ll take them all by surprise.”
“Brilliant. Can’t wait,” I say, with a big smile, even though on the inside, that thought makes me anything but happy.
18
A Fork in the River
Will
It’s our second day on the river, and I’m having far too much fun, which is why I need to get the hell out of this jungle now. If I don't, the consequences will be dire, because for the first time in my life, I think I might be allowing a woman to worm her way into my heart like a skin-penetrating nematode. And it's not just her looks—although she definitely has the most beautiful eyes I've ever gazed into. Gazed into. Stupid Will, so very stupid. I've never gazed into anyone's eyes before, and the fact that I'm admitting to it in this situation proves that if I don’t get us out of here as fast as humanly possible, I’m totally screwed.
I want to hate her. I really do. Or, at the very least, I want a healthy disdain for her that will save me. But the more I get to know her, the more I get all the feels. She's funny and quick-witted and smart, and she has the loveliest voice I’ve ever heard. I could listen to her talk all day long. Or laugh. She has a great laugh, too. It’s like this full, feminine sound that is not only contagious, it’s addictive. And to be honest, it’s so much more fun to be out here with her than I ever would have imagined. She’s so enthusiastic about everything she sees, and even though she has a weak stomach, and isn’t into eating grubs or larvae, she’s up for almost everything else I’ve asked her to try. For a graceful, gorgeous, pampered princess, she’s extremely adventurous. And it’s the adventurousness that scares me because it makes me wonder if that trait might possibly carry over into the bedroom. Because if it did, wow. I’d be done in.
So, for all of those reasons, plus the whole money thing, I absolutely, positively must get us the hell out of this jungle as fast as possible so we can go our separate ways and I can forget all about her. I've done the math, and no matter which way I flip the equations, a relationship between someone like me and someone like her has exactly zero percent chance of working out. Not that I want it to, because I don’t. But, if I did and she did, it could never happen. I wouldn’t last two days in her boring, stuffy, conservative world without wanting to slit my throat, and it's not like she's going to give up her life and her family for me—nor would I want her to because that kind of sacrifice never works out. No, this is a total dead end, and if there’s anything all my travels have taught me, it’s that dead ends are a waste of time and effort.
Although she does seem incredibly happy out here. I thought she’d be missing home, but she hasn’t mentioned it once. Not that that means anything because, as fun as this is for her for a few days, it won't be long before she’ll need to go back to everything she knows—the security, the luxury, the ability to eat something other than charred yams and river fish.
Have I considered seeing if she’s up for a secret fling? Yes. Yes, I have. But Arabella’s not the kind of girl who ‘flings.’ She’s the kind of girl who falls in love for keeps. She has these bursts of courage and strength that seem to take her by surprise, but at the end of the day, she’s an extremely vulnerable person. And it's for that very reason I refuse to take advantage of her, not while I know how this ends. There is no future for us. We’re just two strangers who are spending a very intimate time together under highly unusual circumstances. It's bound to make you feel things that aren't real and think things that aren't true.
And for all those logical reasons, I’m doing my level best to make as many miles as possible each day. With any luck, I’ll only have to resist her for three more nights, then it’ll be goodbye Princess and hello Matilda.
Last night, when we stopped, I decided we should build a primitive rudder to make steering easier. Arabella thought we should cover the raft with a soft bed of banana leaves and made chairbacks out of bamboo poles wrapped in more leaves. To be honest, I’m kind of excited to try it out, which is what we’re going to do in just a few minutes. We've eaten and cleaned up our camp. Now it’s time to set off for the day.
“Last chance to use the loo,” I say as Arabella sets her pack on the raft.
“I'm good, thank you,” she says, her voice growing a little more formal as it does whenever the topic of a bodily function comes up.
“All right, let's test out our top-of-the-line raft.” I hold out my hand and help her get on, only to find I don’t want to let go when she's seated.
Okay, Will, keep it professional here.
I push away from the shore and hop on, then try the rudder. It does what I hoped it would—and soon we find ourselves in the center of the muddy river. I stretch out my legs and lean back, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face.
“This is so much better than hiking,” Arabella says. “It’s like being on a holiday.”
I glance over at her and see her eyes are closed, and she looks incredibly relaxed, which I imagine is an unusual state for her. We float along in a comfortable silence for a while, and I listen to the calls of the birds and the odd howl of a monkey in the trees.
“Are you missing home yet?” I ask.
“Certain things, of course. My Gran, and my niece and nephew, mainly. And my sister-in-law, Tessa. She’s wonderful. Oh, and my brother. He’s all right as far as overprotective big brothers go.” She pauses for a moment. “I suppose I miss scones, and raspberry-filled crêpes drizzled in chocolate sauce. Oh, well, obviously I miss my shower and real shampoo, too. And sleeping in a bed. I guess that’s something I've always taken for granted, but I don't think I will again.” She opens her eyes and looks over at me.
“So the answer is yes, then,” I say with a chuckle.
“I suppose, a little. But all of that will be waiting for me when I get back, so I’m not going to waste a second wishing I was home.”
“Except for the scones.”
“Yes, I would wrestle a gorilla for a warm blueberry scone and some heavy cream right about now.”
“Or a guerilla?” I ask with a grin.
She lets out a laugh. “One of those, too. You wouldn’t happen to know how to turn some tree bark and leaves into pastry, would you?”
“Afraid not.” Bugger. She’s being all adorable again. I wish she’d stop that already.
Arabella sits up a bit. “What do you miss when you're out being wild and free?”
“My family. I've been traveling so much over the past few years that sometimes I think I’m skipping their entire lives,” I say, then immediately regret it because sharing deep feelings is the last thing you should do wh
en you want to keep your distance from someone.
“Your family seems wonderful.”
“They are. I’m lucky to have them. Emma, Harrison, and I are really close.”
She nods, understanding filling her eyes. “Tragedy has a way of binding people.”
My heart squeezes a little at her words. “Yeah, it’s kind of the silver lining that comes with hard times.”
“So true,” she says.
We’re both quiet for a minute, and I wonder if she’s thinking about her mum. I won’t ask though. Instead I’m going to steer us into safer topics. “I miss cold beer and reggae music.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Those are two of my favourite things. They remind me of home. We play it for the resort guests. I used to hate it, but now whenever I hear it, it takes me right back to hanging out at the beach bar with my brother while we serve up drinks to happy people.”
Arabella smiles. “That sounds lovely.”
“It is. You should visit sometime. I think you’d like it there. We even have a royal suite.” Now, don’t go inviting her back to your place. Idiot.
“Do you now?” she asks, pretending to be impressed.
“Yes, but I’m sure the entire thing would be the size of your closet.” That’s better. Convince her not to come.
“Do you really think I’m the type who needs a giant closet to be happy?” she asks, looking slightly offended. “I’d say I’ve done quite well living out of a backpack for the past few days.”
She’s got me there. Damn. “Well, now that’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is, so I’m sure I would be more than pleased with your royal suite,” she says. “I just may have to come someday.”
“We’d be happy to have you.” As a hotel guest. Not as my future wife.
“Do you live at the resort? Like in some type of family compound or some such?”
Some such. How cute is that? “No. My brother and his wife have a bungalow tucked away at the back of the resort. Emma and Pierce have their own piece of property and an amazing villa at the end of the bay, so we can walk, bike, or swim over to their house. And when I’m home, I stay in the staff quarters.”
Royally Crushed: A Crazy Royal Love, Book 1 Page 13