by Entangled
Before she could respond, he pulled her face toward his, covering her mouth with full, demanding lips. He tasted of whiskey, strong and pungent. His hand slipped down to pull the blanket away, but Jane dragged it back up. She twisted her face from his and sat back, breathing heavily. “Jonathan, what are you doing?”
He gave a low chuckle. “Such fire you have, Jane, darling. It matches your hair. I love to see you riled.” His eyes, she saw now, were glazed. He was very drunk.
“Jane.” Kellan’s voice drew her attention from Jonathan, and she turned. Their eyes met across the flames, and she saw at once that though Jonathan was in his cups, his friend was not only dressed, but fully sober. For some reason, this realization made her become even more alert.
“What did you mean about Jonathan promising you? What did he promise?” she asked.
“I promised him,” Jonathan said, his words a little slurred, “if I ever saw you again…if he brought you to me…he could—”
“What do you mean, if you ever saw me again?” For the first time since waking, Jane sat up straight, at full attention.
“Jane, darling…as much as I appreciate the view,” Kellan broke in, “you must take care with that blanket. It’s nearly in the fire.” His gaze dropped pointedly to her bare breasts. “If you’re chilled, come sit next to me. I would be happy to warm you.”
She yanked the blanket up again, trying to make sense of a conversation that stopped and started and followed detours. “What did he mean?” she demanded of Kellan. “How could he have known he wouldn’t see me again? And why would he—”
Kellan was shaking his head. “No, no, Jane…he’s not making sense. I know. He’s had too much whiskey. Forgive him. He is still suffering from shock at finding you again. And it’s been many years since he drank whiskey—I daresay he wasn’t prepared for the result.”
“Tell me why you said that,” she insisted.
“It was a jest we both made when we first arrived here in Madagascar. A poorly-timed jest, frankly, in which he promised if he ever saw you again, he’d allow me to…well, Jane…knowing what I know about you, and your…passionate nature, I’m sure you wondered what it would be like with two men.” His eyes were little more than dark spots in his shadowed face. “And you’re too much of a proper lady to actually agree to such a thing…even though you clearly enjoyed it. Didn’t you?”
She swallowed hard. How could it be? He was correct. She had enjoyed it…yet….
“It happened we made that joke the very night before Jonathan became lost,” Kellan explained. “Poor timing, and yet…it all worked out well, did it not?” He reached out his hand for her. “I made no secret how I felt about you Jane. Surely you cannot hold it against me, that I desire you.”
“But it wasn’t Jonathan’s permission to give,” she told him, at last finding the strength to be angry. She ignored his hand. “It was mine.”
Before Kellan could respond, a low growl rolled through the night. Jane gasped and turned to look into the shadows. Kellan jumped to his feet and snatched up his rifle as Jonathan staggered upright.
“Leopard,” Kellan said, aiming his firearm into the darkness. The tall grass waved eerily in a non-existent breeze.
“An angry one from the sound,” Jonathan said, dragging his shirt on with awkward movements. “I’ll get a torch.”
Jane pulled to her feet, heart pounding, staring into the darkness. Would the beast come charging into the clearing? She edged away from the shadows, clinging to her blanket.
The growl came again, followed by a roar that sent a horrible shiver down her spine. “It’s coming closer!” she cried just as Jonathan said, “It’s angry! It must have a mate or den nearby—”
“Or a kill,” Kellan said. His voice was grim and he aimed his rifle into the shadows. “I hope we aren’t between it and whatever it’s after.”
Jane looked frantically around for her clothing and finally spied the white bundle. She wanted more than a simple blanket between her and an infuriated leopard. But before she could even pick up the chemise, there was a loud rustle. This time it came from a different direction. Behind her.
A chill ran down her spine. Was Kellan right? Were they caught between the cat and its mate or kits?
“Quick, Jane, climb up that tree,” Jonathan said. His voice no long slurred, but was tight with alarm. He lifted a long, thick stick from the fire, flames blazing from it.
She stumbled toward the tree he indicated, all the while watching with wide eyes as the two men faced the shadows, back to back. Kellan’s rifle seemed puny in comparison to the mental image she had of a leopard. Another growl rumbled through the dark, closer. She fancied she could see its eyes, glowing from the shadows. The sight raised the hair on the back of her neck and she scrabbled for the lowest branch of the tree.
It was barely possible to hold the blanket in place and attempt to climb, but Jane managed to do so. At least she’d have some protection against the rough bark or the sharp, fine twigs that might scratch her sensitive skin. She pulled herself up with great effort, climbing onto a nearby stump to help. She was crawling onto the second-lowest branch just as a massive cat streaked into the clearing in a long, low pounce. He was no more than a man’s height below her.
She bit her lip, holding back a scream as Kellan fired. He either missed or the bullet was no deterrent, for the leopard—sleek in its spotted golden coat—gave no pause. It landed in front of the two men with a roar.
Jonathan swung the torch at the feline as Kellan dodged its great, clawed paw. The cat reared back, ready to strike. Jane, already climbing to the next branch, saw the way its fur rose along its spine. It was infuriated. She couldn’t see its face, for she was too high. But she imagined glowing green eyes and pointed fangs.
She wanted to cry out Be careful, Jonathan!, but she knew better than to distract him. In fact…she suddenly took note of her environment. Was there something she could do to distract the cat? Even injure it?
She put her hand down on a nearby branch, leaning forward into the thick branches of the trees growing close to hers. The branch moved.
Jane screamed as the smooth, dry scales of a snake registered in her mind. She jolted back and away, nearly losing her balance in the tree, and then…before she could think too hard about it, she jabbed at the thick body of the snake with another branch. It stiffened and hissed, as thick as her wrist, coiling itself together. But the head was in the opposite direction and she must have taken it by surprise, perhaps waking it. Jane gave a good, sharp jab at the head with the forked stick to hold it off, then used her hand to yank the creature off the branch. She flung it away and watched it fall, tumbling in a tangled mass to the ground.
Bile rose in her throat as she realized what she’d done: she’d touched a snake. She’d not only touched a snake, but she’d poked at it, lifted it, pulled it, thrown it to the ground….
Whether it was a poisonous snake or otherwise dangerous, she didn’t want to know. She simply tried to keep from vomiting (it could have bitten her!) and looked down. She saw that the snake landed in the middle of the clearing, in front of the leopard.
And the snake was furious.
It rose in front of the cat and, as Jane watched, Jonathan and Kellan tried to circle around from behind. The leopard and snake seemed intent upon each other, and the two men began to ease away toward the edge of the clearing. They could disappear into the darkness and they would be safe.
Jane was about to call out to them to go, when the tree in which she was perched gave the faintest shiver. And then all at once he was there.
The wild man.
She would have gasped, or even screamed, if she hadn’t been so startled. If it hadn’t been so sudden, his appearance…as if from thin air. As it was, she merely stopped breathing for a moment.
He crouched on an adjacent branch, his eyes meeting hers in the moonlight. They were close enough that she smelled the cinnamon essence on his breath and the fresh, jungle scent tha
t always accompanied him. His broad, muscular shoulders were glazed with silvery light, and one hand rose, grasping a thick liana vine above his head. The bulge of muscle in his flexed arm was outlined and Jane found herself breathing again. Rapidly. Heat rushed through her.
Before she could react, he reached for her, curling an arm around her waist, lifting her toward him. And the next thing she knew, they were airborne, swinging past branches, through leaves…and up.
Jane gasped as he landed surefooted on a wide branch much higher off the ground than her perch. By now, she was clinging to him, her arms around his neck, his warm, firm torso pressed against hers….
And she realized with a shock that somewhere along the way, the blanket had slipped from her grasp. She was naked, her breasts wedged against his chest, her bare legs straddling his cloth-covered waist. The graze of the hair on his thighs brushed against her sensitive skin, and she had to lift her face to keep from burying it in a warm, male-scented shoulder.
Then she forgot her immodesty, for they were gliding through the air once more. So smoothly and rapidly, it was as if they were flying. And not like the hot air balloons back home that merely floated wherever the wind took them, but with speed and dexterity. Her loose hair ruffled, fluttering and tangling behind them. His muscles bunched and stretched, sleek and firm, and as they swung from vine to vine, the leaves brushed over her like a gentle breeze.
How did he know where to reach in this darkness? How did he so unerringly find the next vine in the shadows? The thought made her tense for a moment and close her eyes, as if to ward off the possibility that they might suddenly tumble to the ground.
Then Jane relaxed. He showed no hesitation in his movements. He obviously had been traveling like this for a long time. He was as skilled as the sweet little chimps she’d seen at the circus, and had yet to see here.
But this man was no sweet little chimp.
As she clung to him, Jane couldn’t banish the memory of the night he visited her in her treehouse bedchamber. His hands were gentle, almost reverent. His eyes covered her, drinking in the sight of her as if she were some great object of beauty. But his mouth…his gentle, exploratory, sleek mouth, buried between her legs….
Jane’s mouth went dry as she remembered him, lifting his face from her wet, swollen quim, and meeting her eyes in the low light. His lips were full and glistened from her juices, and his firm hand still curled darkly against her thigh. She invited him to her, beckoning him close…and then he heard the snake rustling across the floor.
Whatever might have happened between them was interrupted as the wild man battled the snake, writhing on the floor with the massive reptile. Jane retrieved her pistol and got close enough to shoot it in the head while he held it still. Then he disappeared through the window when everyone else came to investigate the ruckus, and Jane was left satisfied—oh, indeed—and yet wanting more.
She couldn’t contain a small shiver of anticipation. What would happen now?
Where was he taking her?
Her question was soon answered when they landed on the massive branch of a wide-reaching tree. To her surprise, the spread of branches held a treehouse, smaller and less complicated than her own.
He held onto her until her feet were stable and then released her gently and gestured toward the structure. “Go,” he said in his deep voice. Jane did as he bid, taking a mere two steps along the branch to the entrance.
She didn’t have to duck in order to get through opening, and inside she was struck by the neatness of the place, its compact size, and the fact that its walls and roof weren’t in the best of condition. Either this treehouse had been built many years before the one she and her companions inhabited, or it hadn’t been as well-maintained. Regardless, it was obviously a home built in European style (as much as one could take into account in the jungle)—not at all like something the natives might have built, if one believed Con Bellingworth’s Pictorial of the Madagascan Jungle.
Of course, Bellingworth also claimed there were no leopards or dangerous wild cats anywhere in Madagascar…but he was obviously wrong.
Jane stepped in and then hesitated. What if another snake—or something worse—was inside? It was too dark to see much, and she’d had her fill of slithering reptiles in the last two days.
The wild man seemed to understand her hesitation, for he eased past her into the small space. After a brief moment of listening to him rustle about, she heard a soft, sharp scraping noise. He was crouched in the corner of the small treehouse, his arms moving back and forth rapidly over something on the floor. She inched closer and saw that he was rubbing a slender stick quickly and forcefully back and forth along the narrow groove in a small, stripped log. After only a few moments, she smelled smoke and then light flared in the tinder that had been shaved from the log.
He bent over the young flame and blew long and gently. The tiny fire shifted and expanded, billowing into a small blaze. When he looked up at her, his face limned by the golden glow, Jane’s heart stopped.
He was breathtaking.
Their eyes met and once again she became conscious of her nakedness. But it wasn’t shame that brought a warmth to her cheeks.
He held out a hand to her and Jane, her heart thudding like a drum, stepped toward him.
Now that there was illumination, she could see more of the treehouse’s interior. There was a bed, large enough for two people. It appeared to be well-kept, and even the coverings on it seemed clean and inviting. No pillow. Three large steamer trunks sat to one side. A crude desk was built into the wall, with a massive stump for a chair. And she noticed in the corner a small box on tall legs, filled with soft cloth. And a small stuffed bear. Her heart swelled. A baby’s crib.
At once a myriad of thoughts rushed through her; perhaps a good distraction from the fact that she was naked and alone with the wild man once again. She looked at him, wondering. His blue eyes and relatively light skin clearly indicated he was European, or perhaps even American. Did this dwelling belong to him or his family? Had he been shipwrecked, like Robinson Crusoe, but with a wife and child? Could he have been the child who slept in that crib and somehow been separated from his parents? Raised by the wolves like the storybook character Mowgli?
Or was it possible he had simply found this place accidentally? Did he even live here?
His hand solid and firm around her fingers, the wild man brought her to the bed and, heart still racing, Jane perched on the edge of it. She took no notice of her nudity any longer. She saw that he’d contained the fire in a small metal tinderbox, obviously left by the previous occupants of this place.
She looked up at him, their eyes meeting in the dancing light. The desire she saw there made her breath catch. Despite her earlier activity, a sharp dart of lust stabbed her, and she moistened her lips with her tongue. The wild man’s eyes fell to her mouth and seemed to catch there for the longest moment.
Jane still couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t imagine wanting anything more at that moment than for him to bend to her and cover her mouth with his.
How can I think this way? I just left my fiancé, only moments ago.
The fiancé who’d promised her to, and shared her with, another man.
Jane firmed her lips and thrust the thoughts of Jonathan away, reaching to touch the wild man’s chest. It was just in front of her, slightly above eye-level. She hardly had to stretch out her arm. Her fingers settled against the firm planes of his torso, in the shallow indentation between two flat slabs of breast. The pounding of his heart thudded frantically beneath her fingers. His skin was warm, the color of shelled almonds in the daylight, but tonight it was a rich caramel hue in the glow of fire. A light smattering of hair grew there, turning darker and thicker in a line that traveled below his navel. He wore a cloth around his waist made of animal skin.
She felt his breathing stop, his body still and become so taut it seemed to quiver.
Then, before she could reach for him, he stepped back. Her hand fell
to her lap and she looked up at him, confused and questioning.
He gestured to the bed, and, drawing one of the coverings up and away, indicated that she was to lie down.
Bewildered and yet touched, Jane did so. The platform was covered with a large silky fur and despite her expectation, it wasn’t hot or heavy. Instead, the skin was soft and inviting.
No sooner had she reclined than he settled the blanket over her in a waft of sweet, light cloth. She had a brief moment to wonder where he’d obtained such a thing. Whatever filled the mattress was both soft and firm, and Jane suddenly realized how exhausted she was. Exhausted, sore…and overwhelmed.
She looked up at the wild man and smiled. How had he known?
But…. She lifted herself up on one elbow, holding the blanket modestly to her chest. “Woman,” she said, touching herself between the breasts. Then she gestured toward him, brushing his torso once again with her fingers as he crouched next to her. “Man.”
He nodded. His heart thudded hard beneath her touch. “Man.” He covered her hand with his strong, callused fingers, then moved it back to her chest. Heavy and warm. “Woman.”
She nodded, then, when he would have taken his hand away, she shifted and held it firmly in her fingers, still at her breast. “Jane,” she told him, flattening his hand against her. “Jane.”
His eyes lit with comprehension. “Szzzzhaaaayn. Szhane,” he repeated. His voice was reverent. “Jane. Woman.”
“Jane,” she said once more. Then she moved their clasped hands to touch him again and waited, still propped on her elbow.
He understood immediately. “Zaren. Man.” He thumped himself on the chest, losing his grip on her fingers in the process.
Jane smiled at him and eased back down on the bed. At last. The wild man had a name. “Zaren,” she whispered. “It suits you.”
And she closed her eyes.
— V —
Zaren watched the woman for a long time.
Jane. She was called Jane. He smiled, something inside him expanding into a great warmth. Jane.
