Entwined: Jane in the Jungle (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle: Part 1) (2 page)

By the time the sun was setting, Jane and Efremina had cleaned up all of the rooms, made dinner, and settled their belongings in their respective bedchambers. Papa had gone off with Mr. Darkdale to hunt down a blue-faced tweak he was certain he’d spied in the distance, and they’d returned just as darkness began to fall and the night sounds of the wild animals began in earnest. The roar of some creature that sounded angry and hungry reverberated through the night, sending Efremina scuttling under her bedcovers.

If Jane felt odd about the ship leaving them to continue on its journey, she brushed away any nervousness. Mr. Darkdale, for all his long glances and heavy looks, was well able to protect them, and he’d assured them that the treehouse, with its ladders pulled up, was a very safe place to sleep. However, Efremina had loudly declared she was not about to sleep high up in the trees with the bats, and she’d chosen to make her bed in one of the lower storage rooms, which had no windows.

This left Jane the unexpected pleasure of having a room to herself, and she chose one at the uppermost level. There were two large windows on which tattered curtains had hung, and she’d pulled them down in order to allow the gentle breeze from the ocean to cool the chamber. There was no one but perhaps a black-tailed pipsqueak or one of the bright red and blue birds she’d seen flitting about to see her as she loosened her hair and allowed it to fall in a heavy, waist-length swath.

It felt like heaven to run her fingers through it, massaging her scalp and shaking out the long curls that had been confined by pins all day. Then, lit by the golden glow from a small lantern, Jane began to unbutton her shirtwaist. As each button popped free, she felt the welcome breeze of fresh air cooling her skin until at last she was able to strip it off and hang it on a handy hook fixed on the wall.

Next, she unrolled her stockings, lifting her foot onto the bed in order to keep her skirts out of the way, and wondering why she hadn’t done this first of all. Her toes wriggled on the clean, bare floor (she’d need to find something for a rug), freed of their tight, warm confines. Then she removed her skirt and crinoline, and with herself free of those heavy weights, Jane was left only in her corset and chemise. A sense of freedom such that she’d never known back in the confines of Victorian London suffused her, and all at once Jane felt incredibly unencumbered and alive.

She went to stand at the window, her long hair falling out of the opening like Rapunzel’s legendary tresses. She could never have done such a bold thing back in London: standing in full view of the window in her unmentionables and letting her hair blow free. The breeze toyed with her curls like that of a lover’s fingers, and she drew in a deep breath of the sweet scents of flowers and the tang of ocean.

Jonathan
, she thought, looking out into the darkness.
Whatever has befallen you, I pray I’ll find the answers so that I may go on with my life knowing you are at peace.

A knock thumped her door and Jane turned in surprise. She picked up a shawl and draped it over her shoulders before poking her head through the entrance.

“Mr. Darkdale,” she said in surprise. What was he doing on the threshold of her room?

“Miss Clemons,” he said, his eyes raking over her dishabille. “I came to ensure that you’re comfortable for the night, and that your bedchamber is secure.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable,” she said, her pulse jumping. He was looking at her in such a way that made her feel prickly and unsettled. His face was in shadow, the flickering light from her lantern the only illumination.

The next thing she knew, his foot was between the door and its frame and he was gently but firmly pressuring the door open. “Miss Clemons, I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking my own bed until I knew you were settled and safe in here. I’d like to check for snakes—they like to lurk under the bed, you know. And the large spiders and scorpions as well.”

“Snakes?” Jane said, her heart thumping. “And spiders?” Much as she didn’t wish the man to enter her chamber, she much less preferred the possibility of sharing the room with such creatures. “Perhaps you’d best check, Mr. Darkdale…although Efremina and I did a very thorough job of cleaning. We didn’t encounter one snake.”

“They come out at night,” he said, giving her a long, heavy look.

Jane swallowed hard. She moved back from the door and it opened. Mr. Darkdale stepped in and she edged to the side, watching as he looked beneath the bed. The existing frame had been completed by a goosefeather mattress she’d brought from London, along with several light blankets and a pillow. As she stood near the doorway, Jane could hear the unmistakable sound of her father’s snoring cutting through the night.

The realization that her father was dead asleep and her maid too far away to hear anything somehow made her even more nervous to have Mr. Darkdale in her chamber.

As if sensing this, he rose, turning from his perusal under her bed. His dark eyes settled on her and Jane felt her breathing quicken.

“Miss Clemons,” he said, advancing toward her.

All at once, she remembered she was garbed only in her chemise and corset, and that her hastily-donned shawl was slipping down from her shoulder. “No spiders or snakes?” she said brightly. “Thank you very much for checking, Mr. Darkdale.”

“Kellan. You
must
call me Kellan, Miss Clemons.
Jane
.” His voice had dropped into something deep and husky and his eyes did not waver from her person. “We are far from the proprieties of London, and there’s no need to maintain them in this wild jungle, is there?”

“Mr. Dark—Kellan,” she said. “I think—”

The next thing she knew, he’d grabbed her hand and tugged her quickly and firmly from the doorway, and in the same movement, he closed the bamboo door behind her.

“Mr. Darkdale!” she exclaimed, yanking from his grip. Her shawl was on the floor and her breasts threatened to erupt from the confines of their stays as she fought to control her breath. “What are you doing?”

“Miss Clemons…Jane…forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you—”

“I’m not frightened of you. But you must leave, now,” she said, and realized with horror that one of her nipples was showing. Her breast had popped out from the corset and chemise during her sudden movements, and now it sat there, round and full and pink-tipped, right where they both could see it.

They both looked down and the room went silent and tight.

“Oh, Jane,” Kellan said, his voice rough and pained, his eyes fastened on her breast. “Do you have any idea how badly I want you? All this long trip, all those days aboard the ship….I know you loved Jonathan, but he’s gone. And I’m here. And…Jane, I know how much you must miss him…and the touch of a man. I know what a passionate woman you are.”

“Kellan,” she said, hardly able to wonder how he knew such a thing. Surely Jonathan hadn’t—

Suddenly he was there, pulling her into his arms.

“Jane,” he groaned again. His mouth fastened over hers, smothering any response she might have made, and his hand covered her bare breast. Jane pushed at him, trying to twist her face from his kiss, but his tongue probed deeply as his desperate teeth cut into the sides of her mouth. He plundered and tasted, his tongue thrusting hard and sleek as his lips sucked and nibbled.

One arm was a strong band around her waist, holding her in place against his body. His other hand found her nipple and pinched it, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. A little jolt of pain arced through her, followed by a sharp, hard twinge of reluctant pleasure, cutting through her dismay. Jane felt the hard ridge of his cock pressing into her thigh, only inches away from the juncture of her own thighs.

She pushed at him, trying to twist away from his greedy mouth. Her heart was pounding with anger and a little bit of fear; surely this was a misunderstanding. It had been the unfortunate sight of her bare breast that had set him off, loosened his control.

But the next thing she knew, the bed was behind her and his weight bore her down onto the soft mattress. His mouth, thankfully, moved from her lips and she managed, “Mr. Darkdale! This cannot be happening!”

His only response was a deep, low and heartfelt groan as he shifted to take her into his mouth. His warm, wet lips covered a nipple that had been pinched and teased into attention, and when he began to suck on it, Jane felt the sensations shooting through her body, down to her quim: pain battling with hot pleasure for precedence. Her twisting and writhing seemed only to excite him further and his insistent cock pressed harder and harder against her thigh, as if he meant to imprint himself on her.

His hand had found its way between her legs and as she twisted and pushed at him, he somehow slipped it beneath her chemise skirt. Finding that very warm, secret place between her legs, his fingers slid and shifted around, probing and then all at once shoving up deep inside her. Jane gave a soft gasp of surprise laced with dismay and began to struggle with more violence.

“Release me! Mr. Darkdale—Kellan—you must—release—me!” She pounded on his back even as he breathed hard and hot into her neck, his mouth wet against her skin, his hand fumbling between them, down at their waists. Jane knew what was about to happen and she closed her eyes, fighting and twisting as hard and desperately as she could.

All at once, a loud roar—spine-tingling and ferocious—blasted through the night. Jane screamed. Mr. Darkdale bolted up and away from her, stumbling backward, wild and dark-eyed. It sounded as if the feral cry had come from just beyond her window.

“My shotgun!” he exclaimed, looking about frantically as Jane grabbed up a blanket with which to cover herself. “I’ll get my shotgun!”

She stared out the window, expecting some bright yellow eyes and even a snarling mouthful of white teeth to invade her chamber. But there was nothing to see but shadows and the tops of trees filtered with moonlight.

However, Kellan Darkdale meant to take no chances, and he rushed from the chamber, ostensibly to collect his shotgun.

Jane, who at the moment found the possibility of a wild feline in her chamber to be preferable to the presence of Kellan Darkdale, slammed closed the bamboo door behind him and latched it shut with a sturdy piece of bamboo that served as a bolt.

Then, her heart still racing and her neck and breast dripping with his sloppy moisture, she collapsed onto her bed and lay there. Waiting. There were no other noises, no other wild calls. Nor did some ferocious feline leap into her chamber.

A moment later, Mr. Darkdale was back. The door held firmly when he tried to rush through it, and she heard his exclamation of surprise.

“Go away, Mr. Darkdale,” Jane told him, wishing the fool hadn’t ruined her evening. She sat up and began to unlace her corset with unsteady fingers.

“Miss Clemons…Jane…please…I was overcome. Forgive me. I…I vow it will never happen again.”

“It certainly won’t,” she told him. “The next time you enter my bedchamber, I’ll shoot you.” She’d already decided to appropriate one of her papa’s pistols and keep it hidden under her bedclothes. It seemed as if that would be a most convenient location, based on Darkdale’s fondness for that piece of furniture.

“But Jane…there was a tiger or a lion or some creature—”

“I’ll take my chances,” she told him as her corset loosened enough that she could wriggle out of it. “Now go away.”

She closed her eyes and lay back onto her mattress, concentrating on the soft, sweet breeze filtering through the uppermost trees and into her chamber. But her chemise was still a barrier to completely feeling the gentle air and once more she sat up. This time, she tugged the light cotton gown up and over and sat on her bed, completely nude.

The night air beckoned and Jane went to the large window and stood there. She heard the rush of waves in the distance, heard the sounds of wildlife in the night: coos of birds, clicking sounds, rustling noises, and, in the distance, a low, deep animalistic roar.

Her long curling hair feathered with the breeze over her bare skin, and the sensation erased the memory of Darkdale’s insistent, urgent touch. Jane closed her eyes and sniffed, smelling sweet, rich floral scents and the tang of ocean.

After a while, she moved to recline on her bed.
I’m going to sleep naked tonight
. She smiled to herself as she lay there, enjoying the sensual breeze over firm nipples, skating lightly over the skin of her belly. Such freedom.

She never had such freedom of sensuality back in London, even in Jonathan’s bed.

~*~

He was very near the large window, watching the woman with the burning hair. She couldn’t see him; he was in the shadows, hidden by thick leaves and vines. Like the big cats, he’d moved noiselessly, making his way from branch to branch to tree to tree until he was just outside the large opening.

If he reached out a finger, he could touch the wall. He sniffed silently, and amid the familiar scents of the jungle—the flowers, the damp soil, the underlying decay of plant and animal, the proximity of a tree monkey—he smelled something new. He smelled
her
. Musky and sweet and exotic. Something he’d never scented before; but an essence that drew him.

He couldn’t pull his eyes away as she took off her dress—that was another word he’d learned in the books—and saw all of the roundness there. The jouncing and the curves and the smooth, hairless, ivory skin…and a patch of fire between two legs. He wanted to touch that fire.

His heart was pounding and there were other parts of him pounding too.
Never.
He’d never seen anything he wanted to touch, to smell, to taste so badly.

And he was not the only one who meant to touch the woman. In the darkness, his face turned fierce and he forced back an angry growl. The tall man had tried to touch the woman, to take from her, to mate with him, and she hadn’t wanted him to.

She’d fought with him, but the foul man had his hands on her body, his red, wet mouth, his fingers leaving dark marks on her ivory skin. Her face had been frightened and angry, and the foul man’s expression had been hungry. Deprived.