by Peggy Webb
"It's me," a deep voice bellowed back. "Lieutenant Commander Sid Granger. I'm setting up camp." He sounded as if he were giving commands to a bunch of disorderly ensigns.
"Sid?" Rose Anne had imagined he'd be in his plane, winging his way back to Paris by now. But then, a man who would follow her to Africa in the first place was not the kind of man to give up easily.
"Lieutenant Commander Sid Granger?" Charlie turned to Rose Anne. "The navy followed you to Africa?"
"Not the navy. Just one man."
"The one man you left Paris over?"
"Yes, Charlie."
Charlie pulled a silk plaid handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face. He hated controversy. And now it was staring him straight in the face, and he was going to have to do something about it ... or else lose ground in his blossoming romance with Bitsy.
"I guess I'll have to shoot the persistent devil first thing in the morning. Yes, I guess I will. ... If I can borrow that damed elephant gun from the cook."
"Now, Charlie." Bitsy patted his arm. "I’ll handle him with my frying pan."
Rose Anne was torn between laughter and distress. "Oh, hush up. Both of you." She pressed her hands to her temples. "I have to think."
"Charlie and I will go out there right now and tell him in no uncertain terms to leave."
"No! You can't do that." Rose Anne said.
Both of them stared at her.
"He has as much right to camp here as we do," she added, hoping her turmoil didn't show in her face.
"Well . . ." Bitsy looked uncertain.
"As long as he leaves you alone." Satisfied that he had handled the matter well, Charlie tucked Bitsy's hand through his arm. "Will you join me for a cup of tea, Little Bits?"
Bitsy glowed as if she had swallowed a swarm of fireflies.
"If Rose Anne doesn't need me . . ." She glanced at her niece.
’’Scoot, Auntie. I'm exhausted. I think I'll turn in."
Rose Anne hurried inside her tent.
S id was determined that Rose Anne not be able to ignore him. Although he could have set up camp within six feet of her in the thick darkness without arousing her attention, he made all the noise he possibly could. He clanged the tent poles together and rattled his cooking utensils and banged his gear around.
By the time he had set up camp, he was absolutely certain she knew that he had come to stay.
He stood in a single sliver of moonlight and gazed at the campsite across the way. Rose Anne was silhouetted inside her tent. Even her shadow was beautiful. He reached for his guitar and caressed the wood like a lover. Music roared through his mind.
Across the way, Rose Anne lay down on her cot.
He slung the guitar around his neck and placed his hands upon the strings. He would pour out his love to her, just as he had in Paris. He would woo her and win her—all over again. But this time it would be for himself.
The first chord vibrated through his fingertips.
Inside her tent Rose Anne jerked upright.
Sid paused, watching her. Slowly she arose from the cot and stood in the center of her tent, facing toward him.
The music clawed at his soul, striving to break free. But Sid held back.
The music touches me in ways I've never been touched, she had told him.
He possessed a powerful weapon. He had used it once, to win her for Luther. And nothing had come of it except heartbreak and pain.
Slowly he unstrapped his guitar and put it aside. Winning her for himself was a lovely dream while it lasted. But the harsh reality was that he had deceived her, and she hated him.
The best he could hope for now was forgiveness. His duplicity had made an unlikely love impossible.
Sid went inside his tent and undressed in the dark.
o0o
Rose Anne stood in her tent with her hand over her heart, waiting for the music. Every muscle in her body tensed as she listened, but all she heard was the distant murmur of the river and the chilling call of some far-off animal.
Had her mind played tricks? Had she only imagined the soft strain of guitar music?
She waited in the darkness, torn between praying that it would come and hoping it would not. Her legs and back grew stiff from standing still for so long. She strained her ears.
There were no sounds except the whisper of the wind and the subdued roar of the river.
At last, resigned that the music would never come, Rose Anne climbed back under her covers.
o0o
The fashion shoot started the next day. A crew from Panache magazine descended on the campsite, turning it into bedlam.
Rose Anne was glad for the activity. It kept her mind off the tall, dark pilot and his passionate music.
The first shots were to be taken near the campsite by the river. Dressed in a brightly colored sarong. Rose Anne sat in the shade of an open tent, having her hair arranged.
Bitsy bustled by, breathless with romance and bristling with anger. "He's standing over yonder like some giant from a fairy tale, just staring at you."
"Who, Auntie?"
"That outrageous navy pilot. You mean you haven't seen him?"
Of course she had seen him. Every nerve in her body was tingling and every bone was turning to butter. But she wasn't about to admit any of those things.
"Just pretend you don't see him, Auntie."
"That's right hard to do. He's about as tall as a mountain and twice as rugged. Besides that, he looks like he's up to something."
"Maybe he left all his tricks in Paris, along with his wretched buddies."
"We should be so lucky. I think IH go over there and give him a piece of my mind . . . after I see what Charlie wants."
Charlie Lazarre was motioning to Bitsy from the front of his tent. Bitsy fluffed up her hair and smoothed down her new safari skirt.
"Coming, Charlie," she said in the sweetly seductive voice she had lately adopted for him.
Rose Anne smiled and tried not to look toward Sid Granger's camp.
Let him stand over there. What did she care?
She stole a glance at him from under her eyelashes. It was a mistake. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.
"Is anything wrong, Rose Anne?" the hairstylist asked. "Did I pull too hard?"
"No. Nothing's wrong."
Nothing except a TOPGUN pilot who courted for smother then flew all the way to Africa to apologize. If she ignored him, maybe he would go away. And then she could go back to being rich and famous . . . and lonely.
Chapter Seven
All morning Sid watched her from afar. When the shoot broke for lunch, he sent her a note, asking for an audience. She returned it unopened with a message of her own scrawled across the front of the paper. Leave.
Patiently he sent her another, more urgent note. Please read this, he wrote on the front of the paper.
She looked up to catch his eye, then tore it to bits with him watching.
Sid turned and walked away.
She might have thought he had gone for good, except that his tent was still standing. After lunch she tried to keep her mind on her work, but all she could do was wonder what was in the notes she hadn't read and what Sid was up to.
That evening she found out. Just as they were all sitting down to dinner, Sid strolled into their mess tent, strumming his guitar. Bitsy and Charlie made a move to rise, but Rose Anne shook her head at them.
"Ignore him," she whispered to Bitsy. "Hell go away."
"Your entertainment is free this evening, folks," Sid said, strumming chords as he strolled among the tables. "Compliments of the U.S. Navy."
The crew clapped and yelled. They had no idea why he was there, nor did they stop to question. Theirs was a crazy business, full of crazy people.
Sid began to sing, looking straight at Rose Anne.
"There once was a lady named Ruby/ Who wouldn't say hi-diddly to me/ I sang and I played/ I even stood on my head, but Ruu-by/ She showed me the door."
&n
bsp; Rose Anne tried to keep a straight face. Ruby? His pregnant sister, big as a washtub. The song was outrageous and silly, totally unlike anything he had sung in Paris, but it brought back the good times.
Sid's audience laughed and clapped as he threw back his head and began to yodel.
Rose Anne rearranged her food with her fork, all the time trying not to come under his spell. Damn the man. Why did he have to be clever and funny as well as talented and devastatingly passionate?
His chorus finished, Sid came back to Rose Anne's table and stood staunchly before her, singing his second verse.
"Oh, Ruby, my heart is done busted/ 'Cause you think I'm a man can't be trusted/ Oh, take back your tears, and lend me your ears/ Just please don't you show me the door."
As he segued into the chorus, he leaned down to whisper. "What's this I see. Ruby? Could it be a smile?"
Rose Anne clamped her lips tightly together, but she could do nothing about the twinkle In her eye.
"The man's outrageous," Bitsy said as Sid strolled through the laughing crowd, yodeling. "Coming here after all he did to you in Paris. I ought to twist that nose of his into a pretzel."
"It's all right, Auntie. Just let him sing."
"You're not going to be crying and losing sleep over him again, are you?"
"After what he and his buddies did to me? No way."
But even as she made her denial. Rose Anne's gaze followed Sid. She knew she had told a lie. Whether Sid was making love or laughter with his music, he was full of a dark fire that burned when she came within his spell.
"Excuse me, Auntie," she said while his back was turned. "I'm going to my tent to read."
"You didn't eat enough for a fly."
"I don't want to look like a dough ball in the swimsuits tomorrow."
Before Bitsy could say anything else. Rose Anne escaped into the darkness.
o0o
When he turned to sing the third verse, Sid noticed that she was gone. He unslung his guitar.
"That's all, folks." he said.
The crowd clapped and begged for more. Sid merely smiled and held up his hand as he hurried out of the mess tent.
He found her outside her tent, sitting in a camp chair, holding a novel and staring into space. He was already at her side before she noticed him.
"Hello, Rose Anne."
"G o away, Sid."
He knelt beside her, smiling. "Does this mean you didn't like my song?"
"Acting the court jester again, Sid?"
"It's not an act; it's the real me."
"I thought the real you was the man who seduced women in secret for his friends."
Sid was silent, letting her get her anger out of her system.
"Or was the real you the man who pretended to hate romantic poetry, then stood under my balcony in the dark courting me with it? Or could it have been the man who betrayed my trust, even when I told him I despised lies and liars."
"All you say is true."
"At least one of us is truthful."
"Everything is out in the open now, Rose Anne. There's no more need for subterfuge."
"There's no more need for anything. The game is over. You can go home now."
"Not until I make you understand that my intentions were good." He reached for her hand, and was relieved when she didn't draw back. "I never meant to hurt you, fair one. Never."
She stared at him with eyes so impossibly bright, he thought he was seeing the sun. He leaned closer, almost blinded by her beauty.
"Oh, please . . ." She put her free hand to her throat. "Don't."
"Don't what?" he whispered.
"Don't seduce me with your eyes."
Sid forgot all the reasons he had come to Africa. "Do I seduce you?"
"Always."
"Rose Anne . . ." He leaned closer, drinking in her nearness, consumed by his love.
His lips brushed hers, as fleeting as the touch of angel wings. It was not enough. With a groan he tangled his hands in her hair, drawing her closer. And she came to him, urgent and hungry.
The wildness in her always took him by surprise. That a woman so perfect, so beautiful, could be such a creature of passion with him was beyond his imagination. It was as if her touch worked a kind of magic, changing him from a toad into a Prince Charming.
In that brief moment while they kissed, Sid believed his love to be possible. He believed in a future so glorious, his heart hurt just to think about it. He believed in a home with room for dogs
and children . . . and Rose Anne waiting at the gate. He believed and he longed.
He poured everything he felt for her into his kiss—the tenderness, the desire, the dreams.
And Rose Anne wanted it all. His vision of the future was so bright that she caught a glimpse of it, felt it in the kiss.
She struggled against her feelings, struggled to overcome the gentleness, the passion, the visions. Moaning softly, she lifted her hands to shove at his chest, but all she managed was a languorous caress.
Sid's hands moved over her, hot through the thin fabric of her blouse, insistent as they molded the sides of her breasts.
"Don't," she whispered against his lips. She was close to being over the edge. One more intimacy, and there would be no turning back. "Oh, please, don't."
He released her immediately.
"I didn't mean to take advantage of you, Rose Anne."
Shaken, she leaned back In her chair and closed her eyes.
"If you have any honor at all, please go," she whispered.
Sid stood beside her chair, honor battling desire, reason warring against need.
"I'll go . . . for now. But I intend to stay until you talk to me." His dark eyes held hers. "I've laid siege to your camp."
She watched him walk away. He had laid siege to more than her camp: He had laid siege to her heart.
The next day's shoot was at Victoria Falls. All day Rose Anne went through her paces. To complicate matters, the press arrived in force. In between photography sessions she gave interviews. It was exhausting.
By the end of the day all she wanted was solitude. While the crew and the press packed up their equipment, Rose Anne walked on the perimeters of the makeshift set.
Bitsy caught up with her. "Charlie's got the Jeep ready to go back to camp, honey."
"It's so beautiful here by the falls, I'd like to stay awhile longer."
"Fine. We'll stay as long as you like."
“I don't want to hurt your feelings, Auntie, but I really would like to be alone. Could you and Charlie go ahead, then send the driver back for me in about an hour?"
"Well ... I don't know."
Rose Anne tucked her arm through Bitsy's and led her toward the Jeep. "It's perfectly safe here, the camp is actually within walking distance, and besides that, you and Charlie could use the time alone."
Bitsy's face glowed. "You think he likes me?"
"I think he's in love with you."
"At my age! I never thought it would happen."
"Scoot, Auntie. And give Charlie an extra big kiss for me."
"How did you know we'd been kissing?"
"It shows all over you."
Rose Anne put Bitsy into the Jeep, then waved as she and Charlie drove way, the last ones to leave.
Dust from the departing Jeeps died away, and there were no sounds except the music of the falls cascading into the river. Blessed solitude. The perfect place to think.
Rose Anne sat on a smooth rock downstream from the falls, tucked her chin onto her knees, and gazed out over the water.
o0o
High above her, Sid kept his watch. He had come early to the outcropping of rock to write and soak up the beauty of the falls . . . and fate had sent him Rose Anne.
When the last Jeep disappeared from sight, he laid aside his notebook. She was alone, would be alone for the next hour if he had overheard correctly. Now would be a perfect time to talk to her. As he watched, she pulled off her shoes and dangled her feet in the water.
He changed his mind about Joining her. She had been surrounded all day long. She needed time to herself.
Moving quietly so he wouldn't attract her attention, he gathered his notebook and his picnic supplies. The walk back to his camp would be long.
Before he left he turned for one last look at her. With her face tipped up to the sun, she slowly peeled away her shirt. It floated to the rock.
Sid couldn't move. Her breasts were high and proud, perfectly formed. She was so fair, so smooth that her skin seemed to swallow the sun. She glowed.
At that moment Sid knew what it meant to covet. When Rose Anne lifted her hair off her neck, arching her breasts toward him, he almost sank to his knees with desire to possess her.
When she unfastened her skirt, he turned his back on her. He had caught her in a private moment, one not meant to be shared. Whether she was merely planning to cool herself in the late
afternoon breeze or cavort in the water, he didn't know. All he knew was that he would not invade her privacy by watching.
Quietly he began his descent. The whine of tires caught his attention as a Jeep squealed to a stop just on the other side of Sid's perch. He had been so mesmerized by Rose Anne that he hadn't noticed its approach.
An enterprising reporter, still wearing his press badge, bailed out of the Jeep at a run. Apparently word had gotten around that Rose Anne hadn't returned to camp, and he was determined to have an exclusive interview.
Fifty feet more and the reporter would be around the rock, snapping pictures that would sell in every sleazy tabloid in the country.
Sid flung his pack aside, raced across the rock, and judged the distance down. If he could make the jump without any broken bones, he could intercept the reporter before he got the photograph of his lifetime.
Giving a Tarzan yell, he jumped.
o0o
Beside the water, Rose Anne froze. She was not alone.
She pulled her skirt back on, then reached for her blouse.
