by Ava Miles
He sang some Shania Twain in case Michaela heard him. His spirited renditions had always made her laugh. The shower was over before the song, though, so he continued to sing as he changed into black cotton pants and a loose gray shirt. Slapping cologne on his cheeks after shaving, he almost laughed at himself. When had he ever shaved or brought cologne on a trek?
But Mickey liked smooth skin sometimes, and the smell of cologne mixed with sweat. He’d brought it to remind her of the old days when she used to rub herself all over him so their scents would be combined. He checked on Marvin. The gecko was sleeping in his makeshift traveling terrarium, which basically consisted of a soft-sided pet carrier with mesh panels stuffed with a couple of local plants he’d procured upon arrival. Marvin would be all over the tent and the campsite after nightfall doing his happy little gecko thing. Fighting a prickle of nerves, Boyd picked up the bouquet of flowers and headed next door to Michaela’s tent.
He called out “Mickey?” before opening her tent flap and ducking inside.
Her aunt sat on the twin bed, making him draw up short. She was knitting what looked like a navy sweater, the mere sight of which made his skin want to itch in this heat. Apparently, her chaperoning duties had begun.
“Planning to catch Michaela in the shower, were you?” she asked, her needles moving the yarn with brisk efficiency.
“I’d hoped you were joking about your knitting needles on the plane,” he said, chuckling. “And no, I was only bringing Michaela some flowers like a gentleman. See?”
“Gentleman, indeed.” Clara lowered her knitting and held out her hand. “I’ll give them to her after she’s cleaned up.”
The way she was running interference prompted him to be cheeky. “Ready to turn around yet? The bathrooms must have come as a bit of a shock.”
“You mean the gallon bucket with the rudimentary board on top with the hole in it?”
“I had the men make that for you and Arthur due to your…ah, advanced years,” Boyd said, biting his cheek. “Hargreaves has the same.”
“My thighs are in better shape than Arthur’s, so thank you for that,” she said with a snort. “I won’t even contemplate Hargreaves’. As for the shower…the flower pot with the bottle of warmed water was ingenious, if you ask me.”
She was as confounding as her butler. Then again, she was Michaela’s aunt—he shouldn’t have underestimated her.
“We won’t turn around, Boyd,” she went on, “so stop trying to make us bolt. You called my niece Rocks for Brains, if I recall, and I can be just as stubborn. Arthur as well. If for some reason you concoct anything additional to test our goodwill, I won’t do things like, say…give Michaela these flowers.”
As an argument, it was a compelling one, and the way she wielded those knitting needles made him suspect he’d find himself up close and personal with the pointy ends if he offended her niece. “Truce then.”
“Good plan, young man. You may go.”
He glanced at the scarlet cloth draping the doorway to the makeshift bathroom. Michaela could hear everything they were saying, for pity’s sake. “Mickey, I know you’re listening. Come see the flowers I found for you. They’re some of your favorites: Cape daisies, Cape Heath, and even Star of Bethlehem.”
“That’s nice, Boyd, but my aunt will give me to them like she said. I’m still dressing.”
He wanted to scoff and ask her what, exactly, she was dressing for. They both knew simpler was better in the field.
“Enough stalling,” her aunt said. “The flowers, Boyd.” She waved her still-extended hand.
Growling, he handed her the bouquet. “I’m trying to win her back,” he said in an undertone, “and you’re not helping.”
Clara’s mouth tipped up. “It’s because I believe in second chances that I’m not ordering you to take these flowers with you when you leave. Now go.”
He did as she’d asked, but he looked back when he reached the front of the tent. “Second chances, huh? I’ll hold you to that, Clara.”
“As you should, my boy.” She lifted the flowers and studied them. “All nice choices, I might add.”
He took one last glance in the direction of the scarlet cloth concealing Michaela from view. “Of course they are. I know what she likes.”
“Are you planning a lantern-lit dinner next, Boyd?” Michaela called as he was lifting the tent flap. “It won’t work. I’m not dazzled by romantic gestures.”
“Liar.”
Her face peeked out from behind the cloth, her hair pinned up, baby curls trailing in a sexy array down her neck. “I am not.”
He leaned against the tent flap, careful not to use his full weight. “I remember you telling me once on a trek that you’d never known kerosene lanterns could be so romantic. And you love bouquets of flowers. Any kind.”
“I don’t remember the part about the lanterns,” she shot back, disappearing behind the cloth again. “Only the smell.”
Boyd couldn’t help but grin. She was so full of it. “As for dining under the stars…I’ve asked the Universe to dish up a shower of falling stars. How many nights have we pulled out a bedroll and watched the stars in each other’s arms?” He left out the part about them making love slowly and steadily under the night sky since her aunt was listening.
“You’d better be ready to tell me more about where we’re headed,” Michaela snapped. “I won’t be kept in the dark any longer.”
He hadn’t expected any different. “If you show me a little leg, I’ll tell you right now. Just lift the drape.” He was mostly joking.
A brush came sailing out of the back of the tent, nearly nailing him in the chest. Clara laughed.
He reached down to pick it up, laughing. “Temper, temper. You used to love giving me a safari striptease.”
“Boyd!”
Since her aunt was laughing, he didn’t see the harm. “Shall I put on the Victrola?”
“You brought a Victrola?” Clara asked with a gasp.
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “No, I just use a small battery-operated portable system.”
Clara set the flowers aside and stood, drilling him with the kind of glance a cross teacher would deliver to a disagreeable pupil. “Let me clue you in on something, son. Never joke with a lady about music. Or romance, for that matter.”
“Exactly!” Michaela called out. “Get out of here, Boyd. Before I throw something else at you.”
He clutched his hands to his heart. “Is it any wonder I still love you, Mickey? The way you speak to me—”
Something volleyed through the air before smacking the side of the tent and falling to the ground. A lotion bottle? “You never had decent aim, Mickey, but there are so many other things I love about you.”
“Get out!”
“I’m getting,” he said, chuckling, lifting the flap and ducking out.
When she was this riled up, there was usually more than a kiss ahead in his future.
He couldn’t wait.
Chapter 5
Michaela had always liked dining under the stars.
Boyd knew it, of course, and wily man that he was, he’d used that knowledge to make their dinner look like a date. The soft lantern light was breathtaking, accenting the wildflowers in the makeshift crock in the middle of their picnic-style table. Hypnotic chords of Brahms trailed through the camp from his sound system, strategically placed nearby.
Then there was the view. He’d picked a spot with an unlimited view of the plains, and with the twilight hours upon them, one could make out the dark silhouette of wild game like antelope and giraffe on the horizon.
He’d designed this evening to remind her of their good times—all the way down to the Indian food their cook had prepared—and so far, it was working.
That sexy smile. Those big, dark eyes. She soaked them in, even though she knew she shouldn’t, waiting for his big hand to brush her leg under the table. He’d positioned her to sit next to him, of course. Maybe she’d stab him wit
h a fork if he made a move, or, and she knew this was bad, she might let his touch linger.
No one had ever touched her like Boyd.
“I can’t say I ever had a hankering to sleep in a makeshift tent in my retirement, but this campsite is pretty good despite the ‘bathroom’ situation,” Arthur said. “If you’d have told me I would be eating Indian food on an African safari, though, I wouldn’t have come. Not even for a juicy story. Traveling usually affords me the opportunity to escape Hargreaves’ Monday Indian buffet.”
Clara leaned her head on Arthur’s shoulder and laughed. “Oh, you’re such a fuddy-duddy about Indian food. If you’d done any research, you’d have known Indian food is quite common in Kenya. Hargreaves here is right at home. Aren’t you, dear?”
“Yes, Madam,” he said, forking up a spoonful of the delicious curry.
The butler sat on Clara’s other side, his posture as perfect as if they were in a finishing school rather than the great outdoors. Hargreaves usually never ate with the Hales, but as Boyd had pointed out to him when he’d offered to eat in his tent, doing so could attract mice, which would in turn attract snakes as well as other animals. Hargreaves hadn’t been able to quibble with that one, especially since Joseph had also joined them. Simon and Jaali had deferred, and no one had pushed them. They hovered by the campfire, talking quietly.
“Jaali has everything in hand,” Hargreaves said. “This curry is excellent, and the view spectacular.” His awe was unmistakable as he gazed off in the distance.
“Michaela loves Indian food,” Boyd said, snaking out a hand to touch her arm. “That’s why I hired Jaali from Nairobi. The restaurant he’d been working at had just closed. He’s going to make Saag Paneer with butter chicken tomorrow.”
Normally this news would have made her groan in delight, and Aunt Clara did make a happy sound in the back of her throat, but Michaela knew his game. “That’s nice, Boyd, but we’re here for work, not food.” Even if his thoughtfulness was sweet.
“Indian food for the whole trip?” Uncle Arthur croaked like Marvin did when he spotted something displeasing. “I’ll go to bed with indigestion after two nights of spicy food in a row.”
“Spice does not cause indigestion, sir,” Hargreaves said, wiping his mouth properly with a napkin.
Michaela considered the table setting again. Usually they used paper products sparingly on a trek, and Boyd darn well knew it, but everyone had been given a napkin. Then there was the china. For God’s sake. Her uncle had joked about Aunt Clara taking her cues from Out of Africa. Maybe Boyd had done the same.
“Don’t tell me about my stomach, Hargreaves,” her uncle barked, making Joseph laugh before he could muffle it with his hand. “I’ve lived with it longer than you have, and it’s—”
“Enough about your stomach,” Aunt Clara said, patting his back. “Open your mind. Take in the vista. Arthur, even at twilight, have you ever seen a sky this magnificent? I didn’t know it was possible to see so many stars before darkness fell, and they feel so close. It’s like I could reach up and sweep them into my hand. And the music and the lanterns! I’m telling all of our newly engaged friends that safari is an ideal honeymoon.”
“If you want to eat curry the whole trip and get eaten by a wild animal,” Uncle Arthur shot back.
Boyd’s hand grazed Michaela’s thigh—finally!—and she waited a moment to cut him a look. Her flesh tingled at the contact. She poked him in the side to tell him she understood why he’d chosen this moment and did not approve. She and Boyd had often joked about being wild animals when it came to each other, the instinct to mate so strong between them. It had been like a compulsion, making them both remark that it was nature’s way of telling them they were each other’s mate for life. Now that reminder only seemed scary.
He couldn’t be her mate.
Could he?
“Still,” Uncle Arthur said, kissing Aunt Clara’s cheek, “if I have to die of either a lion wound or indigestion from Indian food, I’m glad I’m with you, my dear.”
“You’re such a romantic,” she said dryly. “Boyd, I hope Arthur doesn’t hurt Jaali’s feelings with his testiness.”
“He’ll be fine, Clara,” Boyd assured her, tearing a piece of naan in two and handing half to Michaela.
She caught Joseph’s smile when she took it. He’d been watching them tonight. Was he wondering about their breakup? The way they were now was a stark contrast to how inseparable they’d been on their last trip with Joseph. They’d been in complete sync and unable to keep their hands off each other. Oh, she shouldn’t be thinking about that. Her thighs were tingling again.
“Boyd wants me well-fed and watered, Joseph,” she told him as an explanation, shaking the bread in her hand. “Finding the flower is important to both of us.”
“He’s feeding his woman like a man does, Dr. Michaela,” Joseph said, picking up his glass half-filled with wine. “I seem to remember him doing it on our last trip.”
When he gave her a knowing look, she stuffed the bread into her mouth.
“I’m not his woman—”
“Tomorrow, we’re going to be driving for quite a long time,” Boyd interrupted, giving her a warning look. “We’ll camp again tomorrow night, and then a boat will take us to the next leg of our destination.”
When it came to sharing their itinerary, he was still as vague as mud. That had to stop. She’d have to find a way to coax the information out of him. Maybe you should play his game, a devilish little voice whispered in her head. Give him a kiss if he gives you the first leg of your destination.
Except she wasn’t sure she could stop at a single kiss. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop at all. Her thighs weren’t tingling now; they were burning.
“Iggie needs to be released tomorrow morning,” she said, taking a hard line. “Once we get on the boat, it will be harder for him to intercept us.”
“You’re probably right,” Boyd said, giving her a playful wink. “But I’m hoping he’s tied up with bureaucracy a little longer. He’s a pain in the butt.”
“Hear, hear,” her uncle added, lifting his wine glass.
“He has been since my first day at Merriam Enterprises,” Boyd continued, “when he treated me like I was a kept man. Excuse me a moment, everyone. I’m going to check on dessert.”
A kept man? He had to be kidding! He’d never told her that detail.
“My dear,” her aunt said, leaning forward in the soft light, “I must confess, Boyd’s growing on me. His boldness does have a certain appeal, and he cared enough about your likes to hire someone to cook your favorite cuisine. Are you sure you knew the whole story when you broke things off with him?”
“Broke things off?” Joseph sat up straighter. “What is this? I thought you’d only had a fight.”
“We’ve severed our personal relationship completely, Joseph,” she said, noting the shock on his face. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so blunt, especially given what Boyd had told her about the seers’ visions, but she didn’t want to lie to him. And she didn’t want to let herself pretend the “fight” wasn’t permanent. “This trip is all business. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I need to see about this whole dessert thing.”
She strode off in the direction Boyd had gone to the mess tent. He was conversing with Jaali, who’d left the fire and was arranging mango slices dotted with ground cardamom on a white china platter. “Can we speak for a moment, Boyd?”
He turned, smiled, and bowed formally. “Of course, Michaela. Jaali, this looks wonderful. I’m so happy you agreed to come with us.”
“Thank you,” the man said, also with a short bow and smile. Hargreaves’ manners were invading the camp, it seemed.
“The curry was delicious,” she told the cook, offering a smile in turn. “It’s a delight to have such incredible food on this journey. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Dr. Michaela,” he said, again with a small bow.
When she and Boyd walked away, she eyed the best
place for their talk. She didn’t want to share their private business with anyone else. Boyd must have sensed what she was doing because he took her arm and led her past their circular encampment toward one of the Rovers. The light from the camp still illuminated his face, and she was glad for it. It afforded her the opportunity to see the wariness creep into his eyes.
“What the hell is going on, Boyd?” A breeze washed over her, making her wrap her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Dessert? Curry? China! What is wrong with you? We never trek like this, and you know it.”
“Since you love food, I made additional arrangements. What was I supposed to do? Cook for your entire family? I also hoped these kind of details would make you feel special. Appreciated even.”
She rocked back on her heels. “What?”
“I worried a lack of appreciation was one of the reasons you walked away from me. That I didn’t do enough to show you how much you mean to me. Not only romantic gestures like flowers and date nights, but sharing in the mundane, practical details of life like grocery shopping, dusting, or making the bed. Living with someone isn’t only hearts and flowers. I understand that better now.”
She’d wanted to hire a cleaning lady, and he’d outright refused. He hated the thought of hiring someone to clean for them like his mother cleaned for the people at the hotel. She’d tried to point out that the service economy employed people, but he’d shut down. Of course, it could have been the money issue. He’d always insisted on paying half of the rent, utilities, and groceries when he’d moved into her place. That had been a thorny issue in some ways. She had a trust fund, after all, and while she was hardly a spendthrift, she had greater means than he did. Which meant she’d had to relinquish certain comforts to ensure he felt he was doing his part.
Still, he was talking crazy. She hadn’t left him because of anything so mundane. Stuff like that didn’t matter at the end of the day. “What do you mean? Details like who did the last grocery run had nothing to do with why we split, and you know it.”
He looked off, casting half of his face in shadow. “I’m not so sure anymore. After I got over my injured pride and anger, and then the hurt, I finally could step back and analyze things less emotionally. I figured you wouldn’t have been so quick to think the worst of me if I hadn’t given you cause to doubt my love for you. This trip is as much about fixing whatever I broke so I can have you back as it is about finding the flower, Mickey.”
