More Than Paradise (22 page)

v

Ash kept thinking this was a mistake. She’d stumbled onto the secluded waterfall two days after arriving in the Fojas, and she’d known then that she would bring Charlotte here. At the time, she hadn’t expected the place to hold any signiÞ cance other than botanical.

But here they were. Alone in paradise. And for the Þ rst time in living memory, Ash had performance anxiety.

She let her gaze slowly wander as she unlaced her boots, automatically verifying their solitude. The waterfall cascaded about forty feet into a tranquil pool overhung by a magnolia tree with enormous waxy white ß owers. That alone was worth the trek, but it was chump change compared to the orchids that rambled over the entire area in a carpet of sensuous blooms like nothing Ash had ever seen.

As she’d expected, Charlotte ß ipped out the moment she saw them, gasping about new species and how there were more orchids in New Guinea than anywhere else on earth. She even delayed stripping for her shower so she could swoon over a silvery white ß ower she described as “like a ravishing gossamer star. The
Taeniophyllum
genus, I would say.”

When she was Þ nally done crawling around on her hands and knees, the face she lifted to Ash was adorably pink and framed by a mass of black waves corkscrewed into curls by the damp mist. A profusion of tiny white petals clung to her hair and if it hadn’t been for the beige cotton vest and pants, the hiking boots, and the portable microscope, she could have passed for a bride.

That wasn’t a thought Ash entertained every day. Neither was the one that followed. She wanted to kiss Charlotte and make love to her for the rest of the day, then take her home to Madang.

She told herself to get serious. There wasn’t a chance in hell that this woman would walk away from a plants-are-us megastore in the middle of nowhere to shack up for a couple of months of passion with someone she’d never clapped eyes on until three weeks ago. They didn’t know each other, and Charlotte held down a prestigious job, doing what she loved, on the other side of the world.

A romance between them was the kind of impossible scenario that only happened in novels, and even the women who swore by that stuff would probably Þ nd it a bit far-fetched. Sure, fact could be stranger than Þ ction—Ash’s life was an unappetizing example of that principle. But

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JENNIFER FULTON

she was a realist. A well-brought-up, overqualiÞ ed girl from a normal family back East was never going to allow herself more than a brief brush with adventure. She would never consider settling in the tropics with a mercenary soldier-cum-pilot, and why should she?

Ash sensed that Charlotte might fool herself that they could have more. That was how women like her gave themselves permission to do things that would normally make them uncomfortable. But, in the end, she would go home and get on with her life. In due course, she would meet another impressively credentialed career woman and Ash would be nothing more than a fond memory. Hot sex in the wilds of West Papua.

Normally, Ash would have no problem with that. She always hoped her sexual partners would one day Þ nd love and happiness if that’s what they were looking for. But in Charlotte’s case…not so much.

She followed the swooping path of a fruit dove as it landed in the magnolia tree above them. An uneasy thought took shape as she watched the graceful bird explore a ß ower. What if her feelings for Charlotte weren’t just a reaction to the loss of Emma? What if she was falling in love? Stranger things had happened, admittedly not often.

Ash riß ed through her memory trying to Þ nd another time when she might have been in love so she could compare the two. At nineteen she’d had a relationship for a year with a girl she really loved. Things hadn’t worked out. Posy’s folks were religious and gave her a hard time about being a lesbian. They made a series of false complaints to the cops about her, just so that she would have the hassle of door knocks late at night and trips downtown to answer absurd questions about crimes she couldn’t have committed.

At nineteen there’s only so much you can cope with. She and Posy just gave up in the end and the last Ash heard, she had married a guy from the church and had a house full of kids. No doubt her parents were still congratulating themselves on their intervention.

After Posy, she’d had a succession of girlfriends, all short-lived.

A career in the military made it hard to have real relationships, even for straight singles. Ash got used to limiting her emotional involvement, and by the time her world crumbled and she moved to PNG she seldom thought any more about Þ nding “the one.” Every now and then, when she lay next to another stranger whose body she’d just known intimately but whose heart and soul were entirely closed to her, a dark mood claimed her and she would have to leave immediately.

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At those times she was aware of an aching void inside and a sense of isolation so profound all she wanted to do was bury it any way she could. Alcohol. More sex. Sex with fewer limits. Nothing ever made any difference and lately, she’d been Þ nding herself even less satisÞ ed than usual. Having sex, when all she ever shared was her body, simply brought home what was absent. Tenderness. A lover who knew who she was, not just what she could do. A mate.

Ash could swear that a part of her soul was shriveling. Neglected.

Untouched. Starved of its needs and Þ nding no safe harbor in another’s arms.

“Hurry up.” Charlotte’s feet stopped not far from hers.

They were bare. So were her legs. Naked, she presented herself, hands shyly folded, one cupping the other, chest rising and falling at the mercy of her shallow breaths, eyes wide with apprehension.

Ash was so enchanted she forgot to be suave. “I am
so
not worthy.”

“Does that mean I should shower alone?” This was spoken with a kittenish purr that made Ash feel like a country bumpkin mysteriously chosen by the May Queen.

“Absolutely not.”

She got to her feet, feasting on the inviting grace of Charlotte’s form, the girlish rise of her belly, the apple-perfect breasts and blush pink nipples, the delicate hollows where her shoulders ß ared. Arousal engulfed her senses and infused her limbs with familiar tension. But she was surprised by an unusual sense of tranquility where normally she was driven by a single-minded focus. The change was interesting.

It meant she could slow things down. Sometimes that was difÞ cult to do when desire overtook her.

Intrigued, she let her gaze fall to the shadow of dark hair between Charlotte’s legs. Her desire was just as urgent and irresistible as it ever had been for anyone, yet another, deeper emotion was at work. Ash could feel it stirring in that starved inner self. Hope.

“Let me.” Charlotte unbuckled Ash’s belt with deft purpose. Her Þ ngers played teasingly across Ash’s torso, making the blood run hot beneath her skin.

“Temptress,” Ash said, relishing her rare foray into ß irtatiousness; it was so at odds with the woman the world saw.

She let Charlotte continue the ritual of undressing her, enjoying the changes in her expression from playful seduction to beguiling

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JENNIFER FULTON

delight to moments of faltering inquiry. When she started to lift Ash’s tank, she froze.

Seeking to reassure her, Ash said, “It’s okay. Nothing hurts anymore.”

“What happened?” A slight breeze swept the soft dark curtain of her hair away from the Þ ne bones of her face. She lifted pained eyes to Ash.

“This big one was shrapnel.” Ash took Charlotte’s slender hand in hers and traced her foreÞ nger over the knotted scars, wanting her to know it was okay to touch them. “The three holes are from bullets. And these stripes are machete wounds.”

“Machete?”

“It’s a long story,” She gave a deß ective smile. “I’ll tell you sometime over a civilized meal.”

“You lived,” Charlotte said softly.

Ash could not take her eyes off that full, pursed bow of a mouth.

She was made for kissing. It needed to happen soon or that fortuitous sense of calm would evaporate and Ash would probably blow everything by grabbing her.

Holding herself in check, she asked the question that kept repeating in the back of her mind. “Charlotte, why me?”

Charlotte took a while to think about it, then answered, “Honestly?

I don’t know.”

Ash shrugged. She didn’t want to give the impression that the answer had mattered. She let it go, and because Charlotte seemed hesitant, she pulled her tank off for her and said, “You know this is killing me, don’t you?”

Charlotte withdrew her hand and regarded her gravely. “You don’t like it?” She sounded genuinely anxious.

“Quite the opposite. You’re making me so horny I’ll probably drown in that waterfall, thanks to the distraction level.”

To her relief, Charlotte’s uncertainty vanished and, after a long look at Ash’s breasts, she shifted her attention to the briefs that stood between them and a real skinny-dip.

“I should tell you something,” she conÞ ded as she edged a Þ nger around the waistband. Pink ß ooded her cheeks.

Wondering what this babe in the woods could possibly need to confess to, Ash murmured, “Yes?”

“I’m not as experienced as you.”

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MORE THAN PARADISE

Ash smiled. Tracing a solitary Þ nger from Charlotte’s throat to the bony recess of her heart, she said truthfully, “I like that about you.”

The two small dark eyebrows angled together like butterß y wings, joined in the center by a narrow crease. “I’m mentioning this because I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Her quaint formality made Ash think before answering. Normally she would have treated this conversation as play, but she sensed Charlotte wasn’t teasing. She watched the shifting expressions on her face, the tiny giveaway signs of emotion. No, she wasn’t pretending.

Her anxiety stemmed from a lack of conÞ dence. She was trying to be honest and open about something that must have been an issue before, with other lovers. And maybe she had some far-fetched ideas about what butches expected from their sexual partners. Over the years Ash had run into all the usual stereotypes in that department.

Hoping to cover as many bases as she could, she adopted a casual tone and said, “How about if I just tell you what I want. I think I’d Þ nd that quite a turn-on.”

The chest beneath her Þ ngertip rose and fell with a slow, deep breath and Charlotte’s beautiful mouth relaxed. The pressure was off.

“I’d like that.”

Ash stepped toward her and curled a hand behind her neck, cupping the base of her skull. “See how easy it is.” She brushed her lips back and forth over Charlotte’s. “Any time you’re not comfortable, just tell me.”

She tilted Charlotte’s head back a little more and pressed closer, taking in her creamy oriental scent. Delicious. Even in this humid zone.

Even with some perspiration. She placed the tip of her tongue a fraction beneath Charlotte’s upper lip and slowly sucked until she was invited inside.

Caressing gently with her tongue, she moved against Charlotte, letting her know she was wanted. Charlotte responded with a soft whimper of anticipation, her nipples peaking marble hard against Ash’s chest. The response kicked Ash’s heart into an up-tempo beat that pounded through her body. Blood rushed south and she let both her hands slide to Charlotte’s butt, cupping the Þ rm cheeks and lifting her just enough so they connected completely.

Charlotte ended their kiss by catching her breath. Dazed gray eyes stared into hers.

Ash said, “Let’s wash. I need you.”

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JENNIFER FULTON

Charlotte shuddered and the arms wrapped around Ash fell.

Somehow they stumbled into the chill cascade, where they washed and licked and caressed each other, imprinting taste and smell. Ash could feel every pore contract as Charlotte’s hands brushed over her. The delicacy of her touch was maddening. Her small hesitations and careful avoidance of breasts and groin made Ash ache for her relentlessly.

A stream of sunlight seeped through the leafy vault above, bleeding reß ected color onto the water’s surface, and Ash stared around at a paradise so vivid and sensuous it could have ß owed from the palette of a master. The ceaseless drone of the jungle pounded in her ears, surging with the ebb and ß ow of blood in her veins. She caught Charlotte beneath the arms and lifted her onto one of the natural stepping stones leading down into the pool.

They returned to the spot beneath the magnolia tree where their clothes were piled. Ash unrolled the sleeping pad she’d strapped to her backpack that morning and positioned it on the spongiest patch of interlaced vines she could Þ nd. Then she spread her spare cotton sleeping bag liner over the top. It was clean. That, she’d made sure of.

Orchids clamored on all sides and Ash was drunk with their scent.

She couldn’t help but be struck by the blatant sexual allure of the plants.

Petals splayed wide. Moist, softly parted pink lips hungering toward rigid little shafts.

“It’s a bower,” Charlotte breathed. She clasped her hands behind Ash’s neck and allowed herself to be lowered onto the improvised bed.

They stared at one another.

Ash asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, very sure.”

Charlotte’s mouth was orchidlike. Ash wanted to feed her tongue over the ß eshy folds. She closed her eyes and breathed in Charlotte’s scent, an animal tang in a heady ß oral sea. Kneeling, bending down, she sealed their lips together, at Þ rst in tender pledge then in silky, searing demand. Charlotte tilted her head in yielding compliance, inviting Ash to linger in the dusky almond wetness of her mouth. Still, she thirsted for more, her blood pulsing furiously through her body.

Charlotte felt new and good, all hers. There was something remarkably innocent about her for a woman of thirty-some years. Ash touched her. Smooth strokes, down the long pure line of her throat and the supple curves beyond. Her breasts. Her sides. Her hips.

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MORE THAN PARADISE