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 fell 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 veld 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.”
He didn’t offer to take the other bags.
Devon stood there, momentarily surprised. Finally she lugged the bag over to the back of the Jeep and tossed it in. The sooner she accepted she’d be fending for herself, the better off she’d be.
As she loaded her luggage into the Jeep, she noticed vicious ruts gouged in the hood. Large portions of the red paint appeared to have been scraped off with a buzz saw. She climbed into the passenger seat. The glass in the passenger side window had a webbed shatter mark. The vehicle looked like it’d been under attack. “Can we take another Jeep?”
His eyes took on a soulful expression. “No, miz. This is my Jeep.”
Of course it was too good to be true. Why would the universe hand her an all-expenses-covered dream trip and make it perfect too? A moment of real unease passed over her. “What made those scratches?”
A hint of fear crossed his face, and he said nothing.
Perhaps she’d been too smug, and the guide was genuinely trying to be protective without alarming her. She knew nothing about local feuds or conflicts. “What happened to your Jeep? Were you shot at by poachers or something?”
The guide turned the key in the ignition, shifted gears, stepped on the gas, and off they went.
Devon jolted. Her back smacked the seat as she scrambled to put a seat belt on. It was obvious her guide knew only one speed—fast.
“Flying impalas,” he said somberly.
“What?” Had he lost his mind? What the hell were flying impalas?
He ignored her question and drove in silence. Apparently she’d misjudged him. He was not a chatty guide and didn’t speak another word. His gaze remained focused on the grassy track before them, and his lips were sealed.
A long while passed in unsociable silence. “My name’s Devon.” She spoke cautiously. “What’s yours?”
“Kibo.” He pronounced the name as two very separate syllables that existed miles apart. Keeeeee-bow.
She pointed toward Mount Kilimanjaro. “Kibo like the glacier peak?”
“Yes, miz.”
No further embellishments followed, and she was too jet-lagged to pursue the conversation. They drove the rest of the ride in silence. She didn’t mind, because she was able to take in the scenery while admiring various animals, but her thoughts drifted like a magnet toward Jace and Beau.
No one in her department knew about the rarely granted privilege of a paid photo safari, especially for someone like her who didn’t have a long-established reputation. Add to that, no one had heard of the Scherberg Sponsorship.
It didn’t matter; the airfare and travel accommodations were real enough. Jace had seemed genuinely excited for her to take this trip. He’d even given her a warm bear hug and said he’d miss her, which was uncharacteristically sweet of him. His confession had taken her by surprise. It was the first time he’d shown any tender emotions for her at the office.
What floored her more was when Beau had dropped by her desk and told her to have a fun trip. A big, bashful smile had lit his face as he slipped a tiny, polished amethyst crystal into her hand and told her it would keep her dragon egg company and bring her good luck on safari. The expression on his face when he offered the stone had made her heart soar. He’d looked so hopeful and his hand had lingered on hers for a few br
eathless moments. The offer of a small gift was the boldest he’d ever been.
It was wonderful to know Beau was happy for her journey and might even have planted the suggestion with Jace in the first place. Deep down, she suspected he had. Obviously there was a lot going on below the surface she had yet to discover. When she returned home, she’d insist Beau go out with her. Maybe she’d take him somewhere nice like the Thai Palace for dinner, where they would have the privacy to talk over an elegant meal.
Jace was great too. His intense gaze or smile could knock her off her feet. He could have awarded the sponsorship to any one of the senior staff members, but instead he’d made sure it reached her. Who knew he’d been really listening to her goals and dreams? Too bad she couldn’t share this adventure with either of them. Both of them would be even better, but that would be ridiculously optimistic to hope for. Despite the odd bits of conversation overheard at the office, she had little hope the men would willingly share.
After a bumpy ride across open country, Kibo stopped the Jeep about two hundred yards from a rocky outcropping where a pride of lions had taken shelter for a nap.
“Ah!” Devon reached into her courier bag to retrieve her long-lens camera. She drank in the majestic sight. “Look at that. Four lion cubs are crawling all over the dad!” Releasing her seat belt, she scrambled onto the dashboard to get the Jeep’s windshield out of the shot.
One of the elegant lionesses lifted her sleek head, flicked her ears, and looked directly at the camera.
“Oh, this is amazing!” Devon whispered in awe.
The lioness stood and gracefully stalked toward them.
“Wow, I’m getting the best pictures!” Devon squealed with delight.
The male lion woke and rolled onto his side with a massive yawn that revealed a lethal dental arsenal. The Jeep attracted his attention. He rose, stared threateningly at them, and snarled. She thought that might be the extent of activity she’d catch on camera. The lion padded a few steps in their direction, then burst into motion, charging full speed with long, purposeful strides. The lioness broke into a run as well. Together the two powerful animals rushed toward the Jeep.
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