by Dana Marton
A couple of seconds passed before every nerve ending in his body got the message that she was here, safe in his arms, and he could let her go.
“Glad you feel that way,” he said, “because we’re going to have to do this again.”
The second swing took them clear of the mud that now cut them off from the river.
“We can’t get to the boat, can we?”
“Even if we could make it over there, I doubt we would find it.”
“So we’ll walk?”
“For now.” They didn’t have another option. “Walking would get us out of the jungle eventually, but it won’t get us to civilization in time to warn Kuala Lumpur of the attack.”
“We have to get back to the water.”
“As soon as we can.”
He started out, following the edge of the mudslide toward the river, and they walked all morning until they finally reached the Baram around noontime. It was tamer than he’d expected.
“The mud might have dammed it up somewhere above us. I wouldn’t want to be on the water when that dam breaks,” he said. Not that that was a worry at this stage. They no longer had a boat.
“Look over there.” Audrey pointed to a fallen log down the bank.
The vegetation had been flattened by water that had overflowed the river basin not long ago, debris littering the muddy bank. He scanned the thick chunk of wood that had caught her attention.
Not just a log. He scrutinized the pointed end as he walked toward it. A canoe. The water must have lifted it somewhere upriver and dumped it down here. He ran, praying it wasn’t broken, that half of it wasn’t missing but was just buried in the mud. He was digging around it by the time Audrey caught up with him.
“Give me a hand. Pull here.”
They heaved it toward the water and he flipped it over, scooped out the mud that still remained inside. As far as canoes went, it was a rather primitive one, cut with an axe from one piece of wood. And no paddles, he felt around in the mud, coming up empty-handed.
He grabbed a flat, straight piece of driftwood—better than nothing—then with Audrey’s help pushed the canoe in the water. It didn’t sink. So far, so good.
“Get in.”
When she did, he handed her the rifles then pushed the canoe out far enough so the current would catch and carry it. But before he could climb up next to her, the canoe caught on something and rolled, taking her under.
She didn’t come up.
He could see nothing in the murky water, tried to feel around with one hand while holding the canoe with the other. He couldn’t let the water take that. They needed it. Had Audrey hit her head? Had she gotten tangled in something?
He plunged under, searched desperately while struggling to keep the canoe in place. Oh, hell. He let go and clawed the opaque water with both hands, mad panic gripping him. How long had she been under? Less than a minute, it couldn’t have been a full minute yet, although it felt like a lifetime.
Then his fingers brushed against cloth and he grabbed on, pulled her up. She was limp in his arms. He shook her and when he did, she sputtered and opened her eyes, pressed a hand against the reddish bump on her forehead.
“Can you stand?”
She nodded, coughing hard, and steadied herself.
The rifles. No time to look for them now. He threw himself into the water and went after the canoe. Damn, the current was strong. He caught the thing at last, afloat still with the air trapped under it. He struggled to turn it over and managed somehow, holding it in place with one hand, bailing water out with the other. There was no way he could drag it the fifty feet up to where she stood.
And she must have understood it, because she began walking, then swimming toward him. And after an eternity she reached him at last, and he heaved her into the canoe and got in after her.
“You’re okay,” he said instead of asking, not to reassure her, but because he needed to hear it, then went back to scooping water.
She pitched in, her hands shaky. They didn’t stop until they were down to the last couple of finger’s width in the bottom. The rain was easing off, the sun making a half-hearted effort to break through the clouds.
“How bad are you hurt?”
She tried to smile, but failed miserably. “Nicky used to get me worse while playing tennis.”
“Runaway ball?”
“Runaway racket.” She coughed. “We used to play doubles. She’s like a windmill. A serious hazard on the court.” The words were said with obvious love.
He brushed her wet hair out of her face. They’d both lost their hats—the least of his worries at the moment.
“I have a hard time picturing you in an ordinary life, playing tennis. I’ve only seen you as part of the jungle. An Amazon.”
She laughed, but it turned into a coughing fit. He didn’t dare reach out and pull her to him, for fear that they would upset the canoe’s balance again.
“What are we going to do?” she asked when she could talk.
“We’re fine for now.”
The water carried them straight down the middle, but sooner or later he would need something to steer them away from drifting logs and other hazards. The river floated enough broken branches to make a pole or even another makeshift paddle, he just had to wait until they got close enough to one to grab it.
Audrey coughed the last of the water out of her lungs. “Phew. That was nasty. I’m not doing that again.”
The thought that he could have lost her squeezed his lungs until he was breathing as hard as she was.
“You keep saving my life.” Her jungle-green eyes looked at him, endless wells of trust.
He leaned forward carefully, cupped her face, and with his thumbs brushed off the drops of water that clung to her eyelashes. “Maybe it’s you who is saving my life,” he said, and kissed her.
And got lost in the softness of her lips. He had denied himself this the night before, and he had been right to do so. Because now that he reached the gates of heaven, there was no going back.
The meeting of their lips was like kissing for the first time—tentative, excitement mixing with a sense of awe. His hands moved to her shoulders to gather her closer, and she pressed against him. Then the canoe rocked and it brought him back to reason fast and hard.
He straightened and looked around, pushed away the jumble of driftwood that had bumped into them, keeping a sturdy stick that looked long enough to be of some help. Only when their path was clear did he turn his attention back to her, painfully aware that the slightest distraction, the smallest error in judgment could cost both of them their lives. What the hell had he been thinking?
That he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything.
But he couldn’t have her. Not under these circumstances, perhaps not ever.
“Keep your eye on the back, I’ll watch the front. Same as we did with the boat.”
And as they soon came to a spot where a tributary came into the river, making navigation even harder, that was the last piece of conversation they had for the rest of the day, other than quick directions thrown at each other.
When night fell they pulled the canoe out of the water and dragged it with them inland, not wanting to lose it. It was smaller and lighter than the boat.
He made their shelter far enough in the forest so that even if the water rose it wouldn’t reach them—a makeshift platform, and two poles at each end that held the canoe upside down above them like a roof. They dined on a handful of crunchy roots he’d dug up by the riverbank. Then, unable to light a fire without smoking themselves out, they snuggled together for sleep.
A part of him, the selfish part, wished they would never find their way out of the jungle.
She lay facing him, his arms around her. The rain that had started up again drowned out everything but the sound of their breathing. She brought her hand up to his face.
“You are…” She took a deep breath. “You are not like anyone I’ve ever known.”
He wasn’
t, although he would have given anything to be just an average man, someone who could have hoped for a future that included the woman in his arms. The darkness that surrounded them seeped into his heart.
“Are you telling me that I’m rough around the edges?” He tried to make light of it, and wished he could see her face, read her thoughts in her eyes. He could barely make out the shape of her head.
“Complex,” she said. “On the one hand, you can kill a man without blinking an eye, which scares the crap out of me.” She hesitated. “On the other hand, you are thoughtful, and gentle, and protective, and I have never felt as safe as I do when I’m with you.”
His heart beat a slow thumping rhythm.
He saw himself differently. He was like the jungle—too overgrown, impossible to clear. His past was a tangle of vines that bound him.
She stretched up to put her lips against his.
Their soft comfort caught him by surprise. And he took them, because his throat suddenly tight, speech was beyond his ability. He felt as if in a fantasy, as if kissing a dream.
He brushed his lips across hers tentatively, knowing it would be better to leave things at that, but he couldn’t. He covered her mouth with kisses from corner to corner, outlining the soft arches that drove him mad during the day. Then he kissed her face, wanting to drink her beauty until it replaced the darkness inside him. He pressed his lips against each eyelid in turn, grateful and humbled that she saw beyond appearances and somehow managed to glimpse the last vestiges of the man he had once been.
When he was done covering her with kisses, he returned to her mouth again. She parted her lips for him, and his heart melted. She tasted mildly spicy, like the roots they had eaten for dinner, intoxicating. He deepened the kiss, lost in the moment, lost in the sweetness of her.
“Audrey,” he whispered her name when they came up briefly for air.
She slid her hands under his shirt, and desire washed through his body, the sensation so hot and hard it took his breath away all over again. A mudslide couldn’t have buried him so completely.
He didn’t dare move while she unbuttoned his shirt, fearing he would scare her away, still expecting her to change her mind, to stop. It would have been probably the sanest thing to do.
But she didn’t, not even when her fingers glided over his scars.
He reached for the bottom of her shirt, hesitant, but she helped him, and with the T-shirt and tanktop as well. And then her bare skin was against his, a sensation so overwhelming that for a moment he didn’t move, just held on to her, memorizing it. The gentle curve of her breasts pressed against him, and when she shifted and her nipples dragged across his skin, a groan rumbled up his throat.
He waited for the mad, animal-like need that he had feared he would not be able to control, but instead he found another emotion surge from deep inside, one that didn’t have to do as much with the primal act of sex as with this one specific woman.
His body had needs, yes, and they’d gone long unsatisfied, but he didn’t just want to take her body. He needed more than release. He wanted to make love to her. He lifted his lips from hers and buried his head in the crook of her neck for a long moment, soaking up the exquisite sensation of their bodies touching.
His hands sought her soft skin, the curves he wanted to get lost in forever. He drank from her lips again, and unwrapped the rest of her as carefully as a child unwraps a most treasured present.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and heard her chuckle in response.
“That compliment loses some of its effectiveness in the pitch-dark night.”
“I have you memorized. And I don’t need light to know the beauty in here.” He put his palm over her heart.
She pressed her lips to his in response. The kiss was slow but thorough. When she tugged on his pants, he turned to make it easier, but resisted to help, to rush. The feel of her hands on him, there, sent fire coursing through his veins.
They finally had nothing between them, and he gently turned her on her back and tasted her at his leisure, her lips, the hollow of her neck, her breasts. He skimmed his fingers over her flat belly, drawing circles around her belly button, playing games over the curve of her hip.
He wanted to discover every inch of her, taste every patch of skin, make it his if only for a night.
He moved lower and tangled his fingers in the silky curls between her thighs, drew a fingertip over the parting line slowly, inch by inch, from one end to the other, then made the trail back up again.
“Oh,” she said, breathless, when he slipped into her. Her breasts pushed into his chest as she arched against him.
The way she responded to his touch was a wonder. She opened to him, gave herself to him freely and with abandon.
Nearly blind with need, he moved deeper inside, with one finger first, then two, and felt her respond, but then she reached for his wrist and pulled his hand away.
He obeyed, his ears ringing with the harshness of his breathing, willing his heated desire to calm, even as his body screamed for her. He wouldn’t push her. If this was as far as she was willing to go, so be it. If it killed him, this was it.
But instead of pulling away, she pressed the palm of her other hand to his hardness and folded her fingers around him. “I want all of you.”
Her words seared across his skin, sending every drop of blood he had into the part she was holding.
He pushed against her, pumped his hip—he couldn’t help it now. She brought her hands to the small of his back, parted her legs and lifted her knees. He ran his fingers across her inner thighs. When she moaned with impatience, he moved over her, slipped one hand under her firm buttocks and lifted her for his entry.
“Are you sure?” He could barely croak the words out.
“Yes!” She leaned up and bit his shoulder, slipped her hands over his buttocks. “Trust me, I’m not going to get pregnant. And otherwise, I’m as healthy as a woman can get. I’ve been tested to oblivion during the fertility treatments.”
He had been, too, he wanted to reassure her. Regular checkups for the members of the SDDU were mandatory and exhausting. Then she did some wicked little movement with her hips, rendering him unable to speak, managing no more than a reassuring grunt.
Her opening was moist and tight, and for a moment he simply rested against it, trying to catch his breath—a futile effort. He outlined her perineum with his dewy tip. She responded by squeezing her long slim fingers into his buttocks. Oh, man.
He pushed in a slow inch, then backed out, moved forward again. Her glorious body stretched to allow him in.
“Brian…” Like a prayer, she whispered his name.
Next time we make love I want to see your face, the thought burned through his mind, rushing to his lips. But since they both knew there wouldn’t be a next time, he kept his mouth shut and lost himself in her.
The world fell away as he pumped in and out and, answering his rhythm, she moved beneath him. He dipped to taste her mouth, plundering her at the same time below and above, then moved to her breasts and ravaged them one after the other, his control slipping now.
He wanted to consume her, as she was consuming him, burning him up with need.
He wanted to race to heaven with her, and at the same time, he struggled desperately to hold back, to make it last forever.
He felt her body grip him even tighter, squeeze him with quick contractions, milking him wave after wave. There was no holding back then. He poured into her with so much force, it felt like he was pouring his soul out.
Bliss. Floating. Eternity.
Neither of them could move or talk for some time.
Then in some hazy recess of his mind a thought arose that he must be crushing her, so he flipped them over, sprawling her on top.
They stayed like that forever.
“That was hot,” she said next to his ear, still gasping for air.
He grinned weakly into the night. “If it wasn’t raining, we would have started a forest fire.”
She giggled. An honest-to-goodness giggle. And it made something leap deep inside his heart.
He held her closer, tighter.
“What?”
“Nothing. I wish I could see you. I want to make sure you’re real, not just a trick from some jungle spirit.”
She took his hand and put it over her madly beating heart. “It’s real,” she said.
He kissed her, feeling her heart in the palm of his hand, and refused to think of that other reality that waited for them outside the jungle.
HER BONES were made of rubber, and just the memory of last night was enough to set her body tingling. Audrey stirred, opened her eyes and found Brian still sleeping. The rise and fall of his chest was slow and even. She spread her fingers on the middle of his chest where her hand rested, skimming the hard muscles beneath her fingertips.
He had made love to her with such gentleness, such reverence. He had been right. It did feel unreal. If they weren’t still naked, entangled in each other, she would have thought it a dream. She burrowed into him, emotion choking her all of a sudden.
Last night had been the most beautiful night of her life. They’d had no champagne, no candles, no chocolate, not even a real bed—nothing normally associated with romance and seduction.
But none of it mattered, the magic had come from between them.
She let her gaze glide over the awakening forest, drinking in the peaceful beauty of it. Frogs were singing a serenade. The rain had stopped, she realized just as Brian’s arm tightened around her. She glanced up at him. He was awake after all, but was keeping his eyes at a slit.
“Somebody’s watching us,” he whispered, his lips barely moving.
Fear replaced her good mood in an instant, and she turned into him more to hide her nakedness. The guerillas had caught up with them. For a moment she panicked, then from somewhere deep welled up new-found strength and resolve.
Screw them. She was ready to fight. For herself and Brian, for what they had found last night. Nobody was going to take that away from her.
“Is your knife within reach?” He slid his hand off her, maneuvering closer to his own weapon.
