by Penny Jordan
‘We want to keep them as off guard as possible,’ he explained when their guard had gone. ‘That way we stand a better chance of escaping.’
‘We can’t escape,’ Tamara whispered, turning away from the bowls of stew the man had placed on the floor.
‘We have to. It’s either that or die. What have you got in there?’ he asked, indicating her canvas bag, which she had dropped on the floor.
‘Nothing much. Just a few things I carried with me on the plane. No machine gun …’
Her weak attempt at a joke didn’t generate any response. Zach was already down on his hands and knees reaching for her bag.
Tamara took it from him.
‘One sweatshirt now damp,’ she enumerated, ‘a pack of wet wipes—a girl I work with recommended them for long-distance travel. She’s flown all over the world.’ There wasn’t much else in the holdall—a few articles of make-up, a small towel, two packets of biscuits and some small change.
‘The first thing we ought to do is to get out of our wet clothes,’ Zach told her unemotionally. ‘Oh, come on,’ he added impatiently, when he saw her expression. ‘We’re both adults, and I’m not saying it out of some prurient and infantile desire to see your body. We’re in the tropics, and although we’ve both had our shots I doubt we have the immunity to fever and disease that our friends out there possess, and I for one don’t fancy falling ill up here without recourse to a doctor or even the most basic curative medicine. Neither do I want a sick person on my hands, so if you won’t undress yourself you’d better believe that I’ll do it for you. After all,’ he added sardonically, ‘it won’t be the first time you’ve undressed in front of a man, will it? Or does your fiancé normally do it for you?’
He caught her hand as she raised it, bruising her wrist with the pressure of his grip, mockery gleaming in the depths of narrowed green eyes as they surveyed her flushed and angry face.
‘Very convincing, but hardly necessary. Your morals aren’t any concern of mine. Now are you going to stop acting like an outraged virgin and strip off or am I to do it for you?’
‘I’ll do it myself.’
‘Somehow I thought you would,’ he mocked as his hands went to the belt of his jeans. Tamara swung round immediately, glad of the opportunity to hide her burning cheeks. It was silly to feel so selfconscious, she told herself. After all, her underclothes were no more revealing than the bikini he had already seen her in, and yet there was something about the enforced intimacy of their surroundings that made her fingers tremble over their familiar tasks.
‘With any luck these should be dry by morning.’
The combination of level tones and matter-of-factness made it possible for Tamara to follow Zach’s example and spread her wet jeans out on the floor of the cave, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, fiddling with the contents of her canvas holdall until she was sure he had moved away. She stood up and almost collided with him, the shock of his unexpected proximity driving the breath from her body.
‘Now what’s the matter? And don’t try telling me you’ve never seen a man before. Is it this?’
‘This’ was the puckered scar disfiguring his thigh. Tamara shook her head, unable to trust her voice, shocked by the visual impact of his powerfully muscled body, so alienly male; primitive and powerful, the black briefs which were his sole covering doing little to disguise his masculinity.
‘If you want to use the—er—facilities,’ he gestured to the chemical toilet in the corner of the room, ‘I’ll turn my back.’
It was the final indignity. Tears blurred her vision. She had never felt more degraded or despondent. She longed for the shower in her hotel bedroom, for any means of feeling really clean and fresh so long as privacy came with it.
‘No?’ His eyes surveyed her clinically in her brief lacy bra and tiny matching pants. ‘Better not let any of our friends see you dressed like that,’ he drawled, his expression changing suddenly, something approaching excitement glittering in his eyes as he breathed, ‘Yes … perhaps that’s it.’
‘Perhaps that’s what?’ Tamara demanded crossly.
‘Nothing. Let’s try and get some sleep. Tomorrow threatens to be one hell of a long day.’
After the initial comfort of the fleece-lined sleeping bag, the cave floor began to seem hard.
To her left Tamara could hear the even rise and fall of Zach’s breathing; he apparently had no difficulty in finding the escape from their situation which persisted in eluding her.
At last exhaustion overcame the fear-induced adrenalin which kept her mind feverishly alert and she fell asleep, but even then there was no escape. Nightmare succeeded nightmare and she muttered protests in her sleep, tossing restlessly within the narrow confines of the sleeping bag.
In one nightmare they were walking through the forest again, and once more she felt the needle-sharp pain as the flaccid body of the leech attached itself to her skin. Her cry of terror was strangled beneath the heavy weight oppressing her; the years rolled back and she was a child again, turning to the comfort of a small bedside light to find solace from her fear of the dark; waking from a frightening dream with her father’s name on her lips and feeling the comforting protection of his arms banishing the bad dream.
Tamara awoke to darkness, pleasantly warm and comfortable, the aftermath of sleep dulling her senses. At first, confused by the heavy warmth of the body resting close to her own, the arm curving her body close against it, she thought stupidly that she must be with Malcolm, his name a perplexed whisper on her lips, because when had Malcolm ever held her like this? When had she ever felt this weak desire to seek the protection of his embrace with an intensity that went deeper than mere instinct?
The arm holding her stiffened, a dark, tousled head lifting and materialising out of the darkness as a cool voice drawled, ‘Sorry, but you’ve got the wrong man. Do you often make mistakes like that?’
Zachary Fletcher! Tamara bit her lip, closing her eyes in helpless dismay.
‘I thought you were my fiancé.’ she said dully, unaware of the way his eyes hardened in the darkness, narrowing on the soft thrust of her breasts half exposed by her restless movements.
‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve no intention of standing in for him,’ he mocked her, withdrawing his arm and leaving her suddenly bereft. ‘You were restless during the night. You cried out in your sleep, but it wasn’t for Malcolm.’
What was he implying? That she had cried out another man’s name—another lover? How could that be?
‘I must be going soft,’ he added jeeringly, ‘and I bet I’m not the only man who’s heard you call “Daddy!” in that lonely hurt little voice. Pity you haven’t got a razor in that bag of yours.’ He had completely changed the subject before she had time to respond to his earlier taunt, the clever change of topic leaving her fuming but unable to defend herself.
He glanced swiftly at the heavy, masculine watch strapped to a hair-roughened wrist. ‘Seven. I wonder if they intend to feed us this morning. Oh, they won’t let us starve,’ he assured her as the flare from the lamp he had just lit illuminated her face. ‘There wouldn’t be any point. They’ve obviously gone to some trouble equipping this place. I wonder how often they need to get supplies. They can’t store much up here—not when everything has to be carried up manually. We’ll have to try to catch them off guard, that way we can observe their routine. No, don’t put that on,’ he commanded, removing the sweat-shirt from Tamara’s fingers as she was on the point of reaching for it.
Again her face betrayed her, and he laughed shortly. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to rape you—it isn’t my scene.’
She heard sounds outside the door and the sound of the bolts being drawn back, but the agonised glance she cast Zach was ignored, so that the man entering with the tray had a clear view of her breasts covered only by the flimsy cups of her bra, the naked lust in his eyes making her blood run cold with horror, her eyes pleading mutely with Zach for protection as she remembered th
e warning the guerrilla leader had given them when he first announced that Tamara was to remain captive.
To her astonishment Zach didn’t repulse her, although it was several days before she realised why. The bulk of his body came between her and the guerrilla, shielding her from the hot, burning desire she had seen in his eyes, his arms so protective as they closed round her that this time she didn’t protest when his lips came down on hers in a briefly provocative kiss. However, she hadn’t been prepared for the hard warmth of brown fingers cupping her breast, nor for the throbbing response of her flesh as her nipples hardened in answering awareness, her whole body trembling with the onset of an emotion she refused to comprehend.
‘Good,’ Zach exclaimed with very evident satisfaction as the door closed behind their gaoler. ‘That, I think, will reinforce their belief that we’re lovers, and remind our friend of all that he’s missing.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tamara could still remember the fear that had filled her when the guerrilla looked at her; not because of any physical attributes she might have possessed which attracted him, but because it had been the look of a predatory male animal for the means of slaking his lust and she had recognised as much on a deeply instinctive fear.
Mercifully, or so she thought later, he didn’t tell her—then.
The day passed as others were to pass; some of it spent in the close confines of their cave and the rest in the main cavern with their gaolers, who gambled for small change, smoked and drank while listening to the radio they had brought with them, presumably for some mention of their kidnap.
When they had been imprisoned for three days Tamara began to lose hope that they would ever be free. Zach had made no further mention of escaping and she had come to the conclusion that he had thought better of it after considering the odds against them.
She ought to have known better.
On the fourth night of their incarceration, just as she was about to crawl into her sleeping bag, Zach said abruptly, ‘Don’t go to sleep yet. I want to talk to you.’
CHAPTER FOUR
HUNCHING her arms round her raised knees, Tamara stared at him. The beginnings of a beard shadowed his jaw. He had managed to persuade one of the guerrillas to furnish him with a razor, although he was never allowed to remove it from their presence, but by dusk each day the dark re-growth stubbled his skin, tonight as always prickling Tamara with the awareness of the intimacies she shared with him.
‘Tomorrow some of the men are going down to the main town to collect fresh supplies—I overheard them talking. The patois they use is very similar to French Creole and I was able to understand most of what they were saying. Only two men will be left behind to guard us. Tomorrow we have to escape, Tamara,’ he told her with heavy emphasis on the word ‘have’. ‘It may well be our only chance.’
‘But how can we?’ she protested. ‘There may only be two men, but they’ll both be armed. We don’t even know our way out of the caves!’
‘I know the way,’ Zach assured her tersely, ‘and as for the guards. … You do want to escape, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well then, listen. Tomorrow when the guard brings our breakfast I want you to distract him long enough for me to get his gun.’
‘Distract?’ Her forehead creased in a bewildered frown.
‘Oh, come on, or do you want me to spell it out for you? You’re not some unknowing little virgin, Tamara. There’s only one sure-fire way of successfully distracting him long enough for me to take him by surprise. You don’t have to let him touch you, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ he added harshly. ‘The way he’s been looking at you for the last four days, just a simple come-on from those huge grey eyes should be enough to do the trick. Especially if it’s accompanied by a little bit of sexual enticement.’
‘No! You can’t expect me to do something like that!’ Distaste mingled with fear, leaving an unpleasant taste in her mouth and a heart thudding with shock.
‘It’s the only way,’ Zach told her curtly. ‘And if we have to stay here much longer I can’t see him keeping his hands off you in any case. You heard what their leader said. It’s been weeks since they’ve been anywhere near a woman, and you can’t have missed the way he’s been looking at you.’
‘You said none of them would touch me,’ Tamara reminded him thickly.
‘I’d forgotten what sort of effect abstinence can have on men like them,’ came the dry retort. ‘Living the way they do strips away the veneer of civilisation.’
‘I can’t do it!’
‘You must. Pretend it’s your precious fiancé if it helps.’
Long after Zach had fallen asleep Tamara lay awake staring into the darkness, fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. She had seen the way the men looked at her, and especially the one detailed to bring them their food, and had been revolted by the way his eyes had roamed hotly, and increasingly boldly, over her body. Was Zach right? If they stayed here … Her mind shied away from the implications of what he had said. Wasn’t it enough that she had already had to endure all manner of physical degradation, forced to share this cell with him, was she now to be forced into actively encouraging the mental rape of her body?
Despite her conviction that she would never fall asleep, the next thing Tamara was aware of was Zach shaking her. Disorientated for a few seconds, she lay on her back, staring up at him, transfixed by the green eyes that seemed to watch her with an almost hypnotic intensity. Wasn’t that how animals of prey stalked their victims, she thought wildly, by using the power of their eyes to dull their sense of self-preservation?
‘I can’t do it, Zach,’ she told him huskily.
‘You can, and you will.’
The calm words brooked no opposition, but neither were they bullying or forceful. They were more like the calm reassurances of a parent to a child uncertain of its ability to perform a difficult task.
A few seconds later, while she was deliberating between wearing her sweat-shirt or the button-up tee-shirt she had worn when making the walk through the forest, Zach handed her the shirt.
‘Wear that,’ he told her softly, ‘and help me to roll up our sleeping bags. They’ll come in useful if we do manage to make our escape. I don’t know how long it will take us to reach safety, but it certainly won’t be accomplished in one day.’ He looked up. As usual he seemed to have heard their breakfast approaching far sooner than Tamara, and she tried to quell the trembling building up inside her as the footsteps drew nearer.
‘How do you know the other men have left?’ she whispered, feeling her courage desert her.
‘They intended to leave at first light. They never bring our breakfast until well after that.’ He looked at her for a moment as they heard the man fumbling with the lock, and then before Tamara could stop him he wrenched open the neck of her blouse, exposing the creamy curves of her breast, ignoring her sharp, terrified protest.
‘You’re acting a part,’ he hissed at her. ‘You’re Eve personified; you’ve seen it done a thousand times, and you’re playing for the most precious prize of them all—your life!’
As the door opened he turned away and she was left alone to face the leering look of their gaoler as he entered with the breakfast tray, his eyes sliding hotly over her exposed flesh, the tiny flames leaping to life there making her go rigid with terror.
For a moment she thought she was going to faint, and then with an almost superhuman effort she forced her lips to part in a stiff parody of an enticing smile, her hand going clumsily to the man’s arm.
His response was immediate, the sourness of his breath overwhelming her as he grasped her by the waist, the bearded face thrusting closer to her own.
‘You want a real man, do you? Well, you have found one in Jaimi,’ he boasted, his hot breath grazing Tamara’s forehead, a calloused hand sweeping upwards towards her breast, as she closed her eyes in mortal terror and disgust, her stomach heaving as her entire body clenched inwardly against the assault to he
r flesh. As the guerrilla swung her round, obviously intending to carry her to her bed, Tamara had a momentary glimpse of Zach’s face; unfamiliar in its hard-boned cruelty, his eyes glittering like frozen jade in a face suddenly devoid of all colour, and then there was a brief movement, the fiery dance of light along the blade of the knife he had removed from the guerrilla’s sheath, a sudden hissed gasp and the suffocating, relentless weight of the man’s body as it fell across hers, crushing her to the ground, until Zach pushed it aside and lifted her to her feet, mouthing words she could not hear because her mind was full of the silent screams of her body and the man who had just died because of his desire for it.
‘Tamara!’
There was a brief, stinging pain, her cheek on fire where Zach had struck her, and the screams faded, to be replaced by the calm decisiveness of his voice.
‘We have to hurry. Roll up your sleeping bag—that’s right. And the food. We have to hurry. Give me your holdall, and the sleeping bag, you can carry the other one. No, don’t look at him.’ He walked softly to the door, and returned, the man’s machine-gun slung over his shoulder in a casual manner which did nothing to deceive Tamara. For the first time she was seeing him in his natural habitat without any camouflage; she was seeing him as the predator with the killer instinct that he really was. She knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that the gun was merely window-dressing. She had seen the way he had killed the guerrilla—without a sound, with the greatest economy of movement—and a shudder went right through her.
