"Christ, Rita, what are you talking about?"
"I'd kill the bitch!” she almost hissed between clinched teeth. The woman's eyes were wide, glassy as they met his.
"I'll kill the whoring bitch!” she muttered.
Then without any warning at all Rita leaped away, turning, running for the brook in which Carol was swimming.
John rushed after her, realizing from the almost insane look in the woman's eyes that she was quite able to follow through with her threat.
* * * *
At about that same time, Bob suddenly awoke to find himself lying next to the jungle nymph who had saved his life. What followed was experienced through a mental daze, as if created by some fevered dream. He sat up, hardly realizing where he was. The wounds were only dim background, numbed. His whole focus was on the woman.
Tallie jerked up, springing to her feet. Her eyes searched the cave and entrance as if expecting attack. Then she looked at him and a slow happy smile broke across her lush lips.
She pointed to herself, said: “Tallie!"
Bob laughed and then pointed to himself: “Bob!"
"Boob?” she echoed.
"Bob!"
"Bob.” Then tapping her naked chest, “Tallie."
"Tallie—that's a nice name. Where do you come from?"
She shook her head, then suddenly came closer, standing only inches from him. A strange, questioning expression clouded her features. Her body touched his, eyes puzzled. She stood there as if expecting something to happen.
Bob had lots of thoughts about what could happen if she continued to stand there, naked and sexy as all hell. In a book it might be a natural setup for a seduction scene. In reality it was much more than that; a terribly teasing temptation; all but overwhelming.
Gently he took hold of her shoulders and urged her away from him, shaking his head from side to side to indicate she wasn't to do that again.
She frowned and the moment he released her shoulders stepped forward, this time much closer. He could feel the brush of her nipples tease his flesh.
"No, Tallie!” he said in a firm voice, pushing her away, fighting an automatic urge to ravish the hell out of her.
Bob didn't miss the implications. Who would know the difference? Nothing “civilized” needed to apply. Only the moment counted. Nothing more. And in one of his books it might have happened quite naturally. The primitive young women would overwhelm the hero and they'd fall passionately into one another's arms. Regardless of how unrealistic that might be. Nobody could blame him for taking her obvious offer.
He studied the woman and toyed with his imagined fantasy...
If she wanted it, he could have her.
He urged her away, back, at arms length. “No!"
The minute he released her, Tallie stepped closer again, this time circling his chest with her arms, holding tight, with all her strength.
The nearness, the soft texture of her tanned skin against his chest created a hot fiery reaction in Bob. It was impossible to ignore it. Even against the numbed burn of the stinging cuts that the native spear points had inflicted on his chest, he felt a wild, almost uncontrollable excitement surge through him. How easy to give in at this moment; to fold her into his arms and fairly devour the innocent offering, the delicious wonder of her young body. The mere idea was like a drug to him.
"Tallie! No!"
It must have been something in his voice that finally got to Tallie. She slowly relaxed and then bounced away. She studied Bob for a long time and then her face brighter and she lay down on the floor of the cave and reached up arms brightened in simple offering.
He turned away, trying to ignore the blunt suggestive way she was presenting herself. Was it natural instinct? She appeared like a woman openly offering herself to a lover, without strings, without thought of anything other than their mutual union.
Bob realized he was probably in a state of shock from all that had happened. The torture had driven him illusionary. Certainly the sight of this female didn't do much to sooth that madness.
"Bob—Bob—Bob—” Tallie chanted over and over again, laughing, giggling, hauntingly calling to him to come to her.
Bob moved to the front of the cave and looked out over the jungle. He felt drunk. Or drugged.
He wanted to ignore the jungle girl's chanting. He tried to think about Rita and Carol and John Barton. They were, if still alive, somewhere out there in the jungle convinced that he was already dead. He was as good as dead. The thought drove deep searing pain through him.
How was he ever to get out of this hellish jungle? There couldn't be many hours left before life was squashed out of existence. He didn't want to face that! Escape of any kind was all he wanted. No booze. Just the lovely young, girl.
Nothing seemed real, any more. Morality be damned!
He turned away from the jungle and his eyes fell on the reposed form of Tallie.
What an inviting sight. How primitive and natural. She had saved his life; he would be dead by now except for her.
"Bob. Bob. Bob...” she kept chanting. Maybe all she wanted was closeness.
That's it, he rationalized in his fevered desperation to find reasoned excuse for what was sure to follow.
Her arms reached out like a little child's, her eyes pleaded with his. He felt dizzy and as if caught in some haunting dream—this couldn't really be happening. It was an illusion of a mind gone mad. He was dying somewhere; back there—maybe dying at the stake where the natives were continuing to probe his body with naked spear points.
That made more sense that this vision lying on the cave floor.
"Could you possibly know what you're doing?” he asked.
Her face brightened happily at his words, as if they were some secret love sounds. It was a natural action of joy and excitement.
Yet, her actions were those of a woman who is doing something she had seen done—but never personally acted out.
Bob sat down, shook his head, tried to keep his eyes away from her.
Finally, Tallie stood, came over to him, leaned as close as she could get, attempting to be as near as possible. Her delicate fingers caressed lightly over the muscles of his arm and shoulder. The touch was electric and so damned pleasant that it was impossible to ignore them. He wanted to stop her. He wanted to make her understand that she shouldn't do such things.
But he wanted her more!
As he turned to gently push her away, Bob found himself staring into pleading, wide blue innocent eyes. Her lips, soft, naturally deep red, so close, so tempting, so impossible to resist. And the madness overwhelmed reality and without wanting to he found himself drawn into that illusion—not even sure if it was real, convinced he was having a last erotic fantasy before death took him.
In reality he must still be tied to that stake, being tortured to death.
He decided this was all the illusion of a dying mind.
Bob Lake embraced the fantasy with his total being. If he must die, then let it be in the arms of this fantasy creature, clutched in the pleasure of imagined ecstasy as death claimed him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Carol was enjoying herself, lounging in the water, dreaming of the safety and security of the United States—which she might never see again. Oddly enough the harsh reality of their situation had brought a sense of cold acceptance. All they could do was attempt to survive; if that didn't happen, then it was wise to make the best of what time they had. And so she had decided to enjoy her bath in the middle of the jungle.
She heard Rita's and John's loud voices shouting at each other. Then the sound of rushing feet coming toward her.
Startled, Carol tried to hide herself under the shallow water, not considering that there was any threat of violence coming toward her; only automatically attempting to cover her nakedness in case John Barton were to come on the scene.
Rita leaped out of the clearing, down toward her, face contorted like an escapee from an insane ward.
It was Carol's first w
arning of impending danger.
There was something about the look on the other woman's face that checked Carol's modesty and shot sudden fear through her.
Rita came right toward her, not breaking pace.
The woman merely screamed.
Carol couldn't possibly guess what had happened, or what could have caused Rita to charge her. In fact, at first, Carol couldn't really accept the fact that the other woman was actually about to attack her. She was on the point of convincing herself that Rita was merely running from some unknown or imagined threat, when the woman drove right at her, murderous rage in her eyes.
Startled, hardly prepared for what was happening, Carol attempted to ward off the other woman.
Rita's hands reached out and found Carol's throat, her face driving against Carol's head, pushing it down into the water.
Carol felt panic and shock, but also reacted in a wild attempt to save herself from this unprovoked attack. While she struggled to get her head above water, her mind was screaming in shock at what was happening.
She whipped around, gasped for air that wouldn't come. The fingers, strong with insane rage, were squeezing the life out of her. Carol suddenly realized that she had to do something fast. With all her strength she lifted up from the bottom of the brook, twisted, pulling on Rita's long black hair with all the power in her hand. It was a struggle in silence which seemed to last forever. The air was bursting in her lungs; she felt blackness ebb over her vision.
Then Carol kicked upwards into Rita's groin and the woman released the iron grip on her neck. Carol pulled away from the enraged female.
At that point John Barton leaped between them, dragged Rita to a standing position and then smashed his fist powerfully against the woman's jaw as if attempting to kill a bull elephant.
Rita stared at him for a moment as her head whipped back, and then she slumped limp in his arms.
Lifting the woman up, John carried her back to the shore.
"I'll explain later,” he said.
Carol had forgotten about her nakedness and suddenly discovered she wasn't the least embarrassed. The jungle had already made a vivid change in her outlook on life. They were savages in a savage land where civilized morality and customs had no reason or point.
Gathering her clothing she followed the man into the camp. When he had roughly thrown Rita on the ground near the fire, Carol rushed up to his side and asked:
"What the hell happened?"
John turned and then his eyes stripped over her body. It was the automatic reaction of a man who finds himself in the presence of a beautiful naked woman. And, automatically, a light of interest burned bright. Then he looked away. “You better get dressed!"
"What happened?"’ Carol demanded, ignoring his command, and enjoying the man's obvious discomfort.
Signing, Barton told her about Rita, making a point to keep his eyes away from her body. “Rita made a pass; I blocked it. She turned her rage on you. She had no reason ... to feel that way,” he stated, but the look he gave Carol brought doubt to those words. “I mean ... well ... you know what I mean!"
Carol felt a thrill wave through her when he finished.
"I suppose so,” was all she could say at that moment.
She was surprised at what he said but also pleased. Rita was jealous of her! Carol couldn't help feeling flattered. And horrified.
But there was far more to what his words stated.
"I was warned about her,” she offered. “Told she might be erratic, but..."
"So was I. By your publisher, to be frank."
"He believes her rep—fed by all those nasty stories,” she noted, thoughtfully.
"The tabloids are crap.” He sounded honestly frustrated. “One damned unstable lady! And we don't need that right now!"
"I'm sure she'll be okay."
"If not I'll have to pop her again! And believe me, I don't go around hitting women!"
"Glad you made an exception!” Carol admitted. Then more hopefully, added: “That scares me! What she did ... why?"
"Under stress the best of us can go quite mad! And Miss Bentley isn't any exception!” He knelt down by the fire and picked up the shaft he had been working on before Rita had made her advances toward him. “People can also do amazingly brave acts—or cowardly ones. That woman there ... well, to be blunt, is on overdrive. I've known a few like her ... they want thrills and figure a Great White Hunter is Thrill Number One. Well on safari, anyway! A bit boring, to be truthful."
"Oh, really?” she laughed. “I can't believe that! A robust, healthy, normal red-blooded male like you—"
"Oh? Not you, too!” he chuckled.
"I'm just considering the facts,” she countered, firmly.
He said nothing to that, but simply focused on the shaft in his hands.
Carol watched him, feeling a sudden wave of excitement.
As she looked at the tall white hunter, possibly the last white man she would ever see again, her found herself fighting a natural desire and physical need. Under the right circumstances she'd consider him a prime catch! That realization stunned Carol. Yet it would be easy to fall for the guy.
A caressing shiver raced down her spine and it was impossible to shake off the building desire. She almost welcomed it. What better way to die than in the arms of such a man! Right there in the jungle. Career, ambition, dreams, all faded under these circumstances. Suddenly the only desire left was to survive, live, make the most of what moments or days might remain to her. And in the arms of such a man it would be a wonderful experience!
The thought surprised, shocked and pleased her.
Carol drew John's shirt around her with a deep inner sense of pleasure. It was the best thing to being held in his arms.
Funny, she admitted, without embarrassment, how attitudes can change under pressure. In the civilized world she had never felt quite like this. Or would she?
We're all beasts, she realized, with some humor. And I'm hardly a virgin!
Carol sat down beside the man and tried to turn her thoughts to other subjects. But the lingering desire kept teasing her mind. How interesting to spend a lifetime with such a man! And, as things stood, that's exactly what she might be doing: spending the last moments of her life with John Barton!
* * * *
Bob would never have expected anything like this to happen; not even in the wild “true” adventures which had made him famous. It was something out of the make-believe of reality; that zone where all things that are fantastic and impossible really happen—things that could never be put in the annals of magazine stories or books. Those fictions could not even touch the reality and beauty of what was happening.
The very naturalness of making love to this innocent little jungle nymph made it the most beautiful experience in his life.
The way she clung so child-like in his arms, murmuring, smiling up into his eyes with an emotion that she must have never felt before, cut deep at him, bringing the intense feeling to a point of desperate need. How many men had ever had the chance to teach such a woman the joys of love; this jungle girl who knew little or nothing about the real pleasures the body could rush through her?
Or had it all been a dizzy, fevered dream? He really wasn't quite sure.
It was like diving into a pool of grain alcohol. He was drunk with the emotional feelings that surged over him at her nearness. Her beauty was that of nature, of perfection and simplicity. Her body firm, yet soft and yielding as only a child of nature can be; and it had overwhelmed him. She was all that God could make a woman; she had all the perfection that a man might desire in his woman.
And the feel of her flesh yielding hungrily to his thrusts, enveloping him in such passionately warm embraces, clinging to him as if never wanting to let the ecstasy end, it was all beyond imagination. He could never have captured it in words; never written his experiences down on paper. This was something beyond any dream he might have manufactured for publication.
All he knew was it would be wo
rth dying for such an experience; to die in her arms, at the peak of their shared ecstatic rapture.
A mood, a desire, an action; total union as only a man and woman would fully experience.
But had it really taken place? He wondered. And did it even matter? At least they had this momentary connection, a kind of physical intimacy that came from mere nearness, touching, mere physical contact.
His mind played over what he was uncertain had actually taken place.
He had slid down along side Tallie and folded her into his arms. They lay there for several moments, just aware of the feel of one another, content to be so close.
It was so beautiful, so wonderful, such a moment of perfection that he felt the emotion choke at every muscle and nerve within him. And when he pulled her tighter to him, it seemed as if this was meant to be, as if no matter what anybody on earth might have done in an attempt to keep it from happening it would have been impossible to stop. His lips found hers, instinctively parted in open invitation. After that it was a mere matter of discovering all of her, running his kisses down along her firm, pert breasts, headily drawing the nipples between his lips, as she moaned in pleasure. After that it was the total discovery of the woman as he flowed into her again and again, unable to stop, driven by her own eager body. Tallie matched every movement, flooding around him like hot fire, drawing him deeper, more fully possessed by her young flesh. He couldn't have stopped if he'd wanted to. She was bodily locked to him, legs enveloped around him as the rest of her enveloped him, embraced him, fully surging like a pumping heart in rhythm with his own. The world of reality had shattered in this mad dreamlike passion. He was drowning in it, and nothing else existed.
How long that had lasted he didn't know. But it was there, at least in his mind, in his make-believe fantasy. The universe returned and he was lying next to her, floating above her ... and simply sitting there looking down at this jungle nymph, the jungle goddess of innocence.
Bob wondered about this young woman lying there. Where had she come from? How had she gotten into the jungle? How could she have possibly survived against such impossible odds. A real mystery, which might never be untangled, but what a story she might be able to tell. What a tangled puzzle to be opened and revealed. What a book that would make! The Jungle Goddess mates with Bob Lake. He literally laughed at that.
Jungle Goddess Page 9
