Of satisfying conversation, there was no sign. Hearing Chris read some news off his phone about some Hollywood couple I’d never heard of breaking up was about as stimulating as it got. Mostly, everyone was off in their own worlds, frantically browsing and texting after I reminded them early on when we sat down, “It’s satellite only once we leave town.”
That meant limited communication with the outside world. That meant we’d have to rely on each other for entertainment. For two long weeks.
Why had I ever agreed to this?
CHAPTER 4
Chris
Two weeks. Surely I could get through two weeks without wifi, eating kale out of cans, and hanging with lions. As a bonus, the woman, Dee, wasn’t as crazy as I thought she’d be. She was pretty sharp, actually. Funny even. And she had some spunk to her. Although that last was problematic. Until I met her I figured I wouldn’t want to bed her. That spunk could mean she’d play hard to get.
So there was my challenge. Getting her to say yes. A delicate balance between the chase keeping me entertained for a few days and the pay-off of sexy times for the rest. Two weeks, though, was a long time—I’d need to plan for an extended chase.
But the prospect of sex did make things a little brighter.
And really, how long could she say no to me?
Bedding her, however, was still in the future. Right now it was enough to enjoy an authentic African curry and look forward to that other activity so pleasurable in bed—sleeping off jetlag.
Before that, though, it looked like we’d have to kill a couple of hours of drive-time with small-talk. Switching on the charm, I slid into the passenger seat of the Range Rover, ready now, on a full stomach, to commence the chase. The SUV nosed out of the gray and dingy town with its concrete-and-cinder buildings punctuated by the occasional bright, traditional dress of the indigenous folk who lived there, then hit the narrow feeder road north to Kaposa that connected to a slightly better-maintained two-lane autobahn that struck off northeast. As we sped off to find our lions, I waited for the inevitable barrage of questions about Hollywood, my roles, my real height and whether or not I sleep in the buff.
Fifteen minutes later as we rolled through parched savanna and I craned my neck to better see a herd of tiny antelope grazing in the distance, Dee and I stilled hadn’t passed a word between us. I was the first one to break the silence. “What are they?” I nodded toward the herd.
“Springbok.”
As far as small-talk went, we couldn’t get much smaller. It occurred to me only then that this woman spent days and weeks at a time alone in the wild with only a pride of lions for company. Likely she was far more practiced at silence than I would ever be.
That, of course, didn’t explain her lack of curiosity about me. Was it possible she’d been isolated out here so long she hadn’t heard of me, didn’t know who I was?
“You do understand why we’re here, right?”
She gave me a peculiar look. “Of course. I signed the contract, didn’t I?”
“I suppose you must have. I’m not involved in that side of the business.”
“You mean you’re not interested enough to care.”
“I mean I have an agent to handle all that for me, and the production company handles it for others.”
“So you have people to run your life.”
“They don’t run it.
“Don’t they?”
What the hell? That couldn’t be pity in her eyes. “And just how did you get involved with all this? With us.”
“Reluctantly. Truth? Circumstance made that decision for me. I need funding. You might be surprised how few ways there are to raise the capital needed for documentary work.”
“Oh, come on. A big show, a celebrity. How reluctant could you have been?”
“You think I approve of all the staged nonsense you guys air?”
“I get it. You’re one of those people.”
“If by that you mean I’m not a fan of making people think they can walk into a den of bears or a herd of elephants on a two-week vacation without preparation or common sense and come out alive on the other side, then yeah, I am one of those whackos. Any other insults you care to throw my way? Keeping in mind I’m the one who’ll be holding the dart gun for the next couple of weeks?”
A cold shower couldn’t have flipped my thoughts away from seduction any more effectively. Now it was pride I was after. “Do you really think people can’t tell the difference between the high-brow work you do and that entertainment dreck we put out? Or that people need to be educated 100% of the day? Or want to be? Tell you what—you take the left-brained audience and we’ll take the right. Just get me in close enough to get some face-time with your lions without them chewing my face off and we’ll be done and gone. Deal?”
“I believe that’s essentially what the contract said. Except the part about not getting your face chewed off. I made sure I wouldn’t be held responsible for any ‘accidents’ on location. Dart guns going off accidentally. Lions chewing off faces or biting off other sentimental parts by accident. Monkeys accidentally carrying off canisters of film or digital drives. Lots of accidents that could happen—none of which I’ll be responsible for.”
“Look, a little cooperation is all I’m asking for here.” Time to re-engage the charm, I decided. “You, me, the lions. A little give, a little take, and we all come out ahead. Keeping in mind, of course, there’s nothing actually ‘little’ about me.” I flashed my best grin and waggled my eyebrows.
She blushed, and her gaze dropped to the area of my sentimentals for a split second before she snapped her eyes back to the road again.
“How about it?”
“I agreed to cooperate when I signed the contract. As for anything else…”
“Yes?”
I knew that expression well. I’d seen it on Reena’s face often enough. Reena—the only woman I’d actively pursued who’d ever turned me down. Until now, apparently, although it was still early in the game with Dee. She was going to say no. Probably even hell no. Might even throw in a you worthless piece of work for good measure. I steeled myself for rejection by mentally racking up the reasons I shouldn’t be hooking up with her in the first place—contrary, unpleasant, outspoken, stubborn and would probably fight me over who should be on top.
“Anything else will have to be negotiated separately, Mr. Corsair.”
Give a little, take a little.
Maybe this wasn’t such a lost cause after all.
“Call me Chris.”
“Nyala.”
I blinked in confusion.
She pointed to a pair of large, striped antelope by a copse of trees just ahead on the passenger side. “You won’t see them often.”
“Are they endangered?” They were certainly big and probably very beautiful. I was sorry my binoculars were packed away in the other vehicle.
“Not yet.” Dee reached behind my seat and handed me a pair of binoculars she pulled out from the mesh pocket organizer. A good host anticipating my needs or a gesture of truce?
Our fingers brushed, quite on purpose, as I took the binoculars from her. There was no fabled jolt of electricity in the touch, but there was something else. A hint of future. A promise of possibility.
Whatever it was, for a moment it filled me with the same sense of wonder and beauty as the nyala that filled my field of vision.
Staring at them, I let all the meanings of not yet roll through my mind. Two little words with so much history and so much future attached. A future that would be determined by how we acted today.
I watched the nyala until the road dipped and I could see them no more.
Maybe, I conceded, I understood Dee just a little more.
CHAPTER 5
Dee
Contrary to first suspicion, the three of them did an adequate job helping to set up camp based on their prior experiences filming various Living With… episodes. It was a new site closer to where the pride had recently relocated, an
d I would have moved camp there regardless. The crew’s arrival just gave me a deadline for doing it.
Without much fuss we erected the six two-man tents well before sundown. One roomy tent for each of us, plus an equipment tent for my gear and supplies and an equipment tent for theirs.
By the time they were unpacked and sorted, working in the heat—even though the camp site sat in the shade of a handful of acacia trees—the paparazzi-fresh faces were no more, replaced by the typical tired and sweaty faces of the veldtland. In late afternoon, my company disappeared into their tents to sleep off the jetlag.
The morning sun was still only a hint to the east, the last yipping of the hyenas dying away, when Chris emerged shirtless, clad only in baggy nylon shorts. Hardly appropriate attire out here, but I wasn’t going to tell him that as I lit the camp stove so I could drip-brew coffee for all. When he found a clear spot and started stretching, I realized I was about to get an eyeful of Chris Corsair’s workout regimen.
That certainly made things more interesting.
Chris was a “pretty” man—leanly built and well-proportioned. He wasn’t overly muscle-bound, but those muscles he did have were delicious eye-candy with clean definition to his well-sculpted abs and pecs, broad shoulders, and slim hips—a body as much at ease half-naked as in a suit. In fact, it was a body made to hang clothes on. And it was a body made to strip clothes off. As the water boiled, my imagination filled in the rest of him as he jumping jacked in front of me.
My imagination, it seemed, could be very generous.
He knew I was watching and took pleasure in showing off his body. Especially when he threw me a lascivious grin before dropping to the ground and pumping the long, lean length of him up and down in the classic missionary…er, push-up…position.
He definitely had stamina.
Something I was going to need as well. Two weeks of saying no to that would tax anyone’s endurance.
Mr. Cox’s—no, I wouldn’t call anyone Mister out here…Gary’s tent flap had opened, and he was sitting under it now, cross-legged, watching Chris—and watching me watching Chris, his desire and envy palpable in the gray dawn.
Pity panged my heart. What would months of being told no by that feel like?
Just the way Gary acted in Chris’ presence, the way his eyes were always on Chris whenever the two were anywhere near each other, made his infatuation with Chris way too clear.
Gary wasn’t some teen on the East Coast, 3000 miles from Hollywood, mooning over his favorite movie idol. He wasn’t even some grip on the idol’s set who would go home alone at the end of each day to watch his unobtainable heart throb in favorited scenes over and over on hi-def TV pretending he was the one being whispered to, being kissed, being made love to.
No, Gary worked, ate and lived 24/7 in the shadow of a man he clearly adored. Near enough to steal a touch or two, but if Chris wasn’t interested, his heart might as well be an unattainable 3000 miles away. Surely love that suffered rebuke after rebuke wasn’t a healthy love.
Or was he always rebuked?
I studied Chris, pumping away still, my imagination supplying a body beneath him whose face transformed from mine into Gary’s. Chris’ vigor didn’t falter. The face became Reena’s and Chris pumped as enthusiastically over her as he had over Gary and me.
Was it possible Chris swung both ways?
Would I care if he did?
His set done, Chris rolled over and reached for his toes, stressing his flexibility. Grabbing his arches, he slowly pulled his head to his knees.
Strength, stamina, flexibility.
I caught my lower lip as the water in the kettle over the fire boiled insistently, a wisp of steam rising.
Friction between his butt and the ground tugged at Chris’ shorts when he stood. His waistband slipped low across his hips, revealing a hint of crevice between the firm swells of his cheeks. I caught my breath, only to scowl immediately after, wondering why a peek of plumber’s crack was affecting me so.
Not bothering to pull his shorts up first, Chris disappeared into his tent.
Only then did I remove the boiling water from the stove, my every move followed by Gary’s deep and disapproving frown.
When the three of them emerged at last, ready for the day’s filming, they were each dressed in crisp but sensible safari attire. The only concession for the cameras Gary and Chis made was the snug fit of their shorts and shirts. Obscenely snug, I would have said, but my bet was that the hordes of fans would vote not obscene enough.
I served a breakfast of coffee, eggs and bacon, finishing off with sliced bananas and mangoes. “Enjoy now,” I reminded them. “The fresh stuff won’t keep long in the heat.”
After breakfast, we loaded the two sets of camera equipment in the Range Rover, along with a handful of those ready meals, piled in and took off for pride country.
“You know where they are?” Chris’ tone sounded like it couldn’t decide between admiration and skepticism.
“I heard Brutus whuffing last night. They’re that way”—I pointed toward the low-hanging sun”—about a mile in.”
“Brutus?”
“The adult male. I sent video of the pride—about 15 minutes’ worth—to introduce them. You didn’t watch it?”
The charm of Chris’ sheepish expression looked a bit too practiced to be genuine.
“I did,” Reena offered from the backseat. “There’s also three lionesses and two cubs in the family.”
“That’s right.” My smug smile was short-lived.
“Too bad the cubs aren’t younger. Chris and a baby Simba—the fans would eat that up. Just think of the Facebook shares and photo tweets that would draw in the publicity before we even air. How close do you think we can get him to Brutus?”
“If you’re hoping Chris’ll be able to prop an arm around him in a buddy shot, that’s not happening. He’ll—you’ll—be lucky to get within 20 feet. These guys might be 98% lazy and boring, but they’re 100% wild.”
“Defensive much? You’d think we were talking smack about her baby in public.”
I slammed the SUV to a stop so I could turn around and face Gary directly. “Unless you can puddle hop your way out of here before then, you’re my guests for the next two weeks. I can either help you make this TV show or I can lead you around in circles for the next 14 days. I suggest you leave that attitude of yours in your tent back there. Are we clear?”
“Only if yours will be there to keep it company, Miss Priss-with-a-stick-up-her—”
“Gary.” Chris silenced him with a weary warning before addressing me. “Look, we’ll cool it on the personal and snide stuff, but you need to bring it down a notch or two as well. We know where the money shots are and, believe it not, the other animals we’ve worked with have been just as wild and just as dangerous as your lions. If you want us to extend professional courtesy to you, then you need to do the same for us. You might be surprised to find I’m more than just a pretty face.”
Of course I knew that. I’d seen that pretty body of his as well. But if he wanted me to believe he was more than a plastic Hollywood smile… “How about this—I’ll stay open to you proving it?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gary smirking in the backseat. Reena looked only mildly interested in the whole conversation. I figured Gary for just being pleased his boyfriend and I were arguing. Reena I couldn’t read at all.
As for Chris, I was in a good way guardedly surprised at the tease of backbone he’d shown. Until— “Agreed,” he said. “And I’ll stay open to you being a person I need to prove it to.”
Too bad. We’d almost had a moment there.
Biting back the scowl that threatened, I put the Range Rover back in gear.
Why again had I agreed to this?
CHAPTER 6
Chris
We’d been to Africa before to film the elephant episode. We’d spent time on the slopes of Kilimanjaro, staying with a local tribe of Chagga, who made much of their living these da
ys playing Sherpa and shuttling tourists up and down the mountain. Those had been some beautiful, stunning vistas to backdrop us. Maybe we could do a gorilla episode later in the rainforests—Tarzan’s jungles. Here in Zambia, the parched savanna might be what audiences expected when they thought about Born Free or The Lion King, but it was far from cinematic. It wasn’t even as if there were herds of other animals around save for the few we’d seen between the airport at Zambezi and our camp. If millions of hoofed beasts still roamed Africa, they weren’t doing it here. Although the lions had to be eating something, I supposed.
Maybe Dee would surprise me yet.
Right now it just felt as though the producers were desperate to get something on the air. That they hadn’t progressed beyond the simple, bare concept they’d been pitched—a celebrity lives two weeks at a time with dangerous animals, people and situations. Lions had simply been a checkmark on their list.
Reena, of course, would make the place look amazing. Better yet, she’d make me look amazing. She could create onscreen magic like nobody’s business given the equipment she carried and the time she had to frame and film. I was proud of the work done, the work we’d do this season. Living With… was showcasing me as a rugged action hero. Someone at home in dangerous situations. It was making me organic and believable to producers. A firm identity I wanted to continue to parley into even higher-dollar movie roles. Maybe even a persona that would translate directly onto the screen at some point. Maybe even imbue my upcoming Atlas role with.
Proud Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 2) Page 2
