Tender Savage (Siren Publishing Allure) (11 page)

Hearing Abraham calling out for her, Eleanor roused herself, so relaxed was she from her ablutions she must have dozed off. Disregarding her bra, she searched for her blouse. Pushing her arms into the sleeves, she froze. There was something on her arm…

In the process of drawing off the garment she looked down, and rubbing frantically at her skin, she started screaming, a shrill, high-pitched scream that signified real fear.

Abraham erupted through the vegetation, his knife already drawn. Ignoring her screams, he quickly surveyed the area. There was no would-be attacker or wild animal in sight. Grabbing hold of her arms, he shook her slightly. The screams stilling in her throat, she threw herself into his arms, sobbing brokenly.

Unable to comprehend exactly what the screams were all about, he pushed her slightly away from him and, in one glance, identified the situation. Eleanor was covered in leeches, their bodies already becoming engorged from feeding off her blood.

“Little fool! You went into the pool didn’t you?”

Not waiting for her hysterical reply, he drew her arm close and, using a finger, began prising the bloated creatures from her limbs.

“The rain forest is teeming with leeches. They’re not aquatic, but the vegetation around the pool is a veritable breeding ground for the creatures, and you just had to go in the water, didn’t you!”

“Yes, yes, all right. Stop repeating yourself. Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough from these bloody things without you going on at me? Anyone would think you’re my father.”

“Your father—no, but it might have been an idea for him to give you a sound walloping now and again, and stop your bloody swearing. You’ve a mouth that would put a navvy to shame.”

Ignoring him, she drew a trembling breath as the vile little creatures dropped off her soft flesh and lay unmoving on the ground. Still shuddering in fear and disgust, blood running profusely from the wounds, she went to throw herself into his arms again but was stopped from doing so by him ordering her to turn around. Unquestionably she did as bidden, realising that the little horrors were probably on her back as well. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she caught her breath, clenching her teeth at the miniature stings which indicated the creatures’ demise, then patiently remained still when he minutely examined every embarrassing inch of her body, including between her buttocks and her love-swollen pussy, explaining in a gruff voice that she probably had ticks on her as well. Finally it was over, and sparing the pests no more than a shuddering look, she relaunched herself into his arms and started crying all over again. Unfeelingly, he firmly put her from him and, drawing out an antiseptic spray, spayed each of the tiny wounds in turn, then in a tone which brooked no argument, ordered her to get dressed.

Snivelling resentfully to herself and with limbs still trembling from the trauma, she pulled on her clothes. An involuntarily glance at the water had her looking just as quickly away. What had once been a haven of calm and enjoyment was now the scene of fear and shock, the peaceful, deceptive-looking pool finally displaying its loathsome underbelly. Her oasis not what she had thought had her scurrying hurriedly away, bitterly realizing that as with all Edens, there was always the equivalent serpent.

* * * *

Abraham doused the fire with dirt. It was time to get underway. They had been at the encampment now for two days, and the delay was making him antsy. He looked over at Eleanor, watching as she did up her boots. Having her near to him, sleeping in his arms had been difficult. He was worried that her feelings for him were becoming something more than lust, but, as to his own feelings, he ignored the slight fluttering of his heart. He didn’t need that kind of complication.

Eleanor, feeling Abraham’s gaze on her, smiled a slow, soft smile that lit up her face. Glad to be on the move again she felt a touch of regret that the intimate time of playing house with Abraham for two days was over. But, she thought and sighed tremulously, to stay any longer would be folly. He didn’t love her, and she could tell from the impatient way he packed up the camp that he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Oh, she was fine for sex, great in fact, and beneath the vast green canopy their passion had known no bounds, but for any longer—for life —it was a no-go.

Marching out of the clearing, Eleanor cast a last look back. Funny, but the time spent in the clearing would always have a special place in her heart, even though parts of it had been just horrendous. She gave a visible shudder at the thought of the fat, disgusting leeches that had made a gluttonous meal of her blood.

* * * *

It was noon before Abraham called a halt. Thankfully, Eleanor dropped the pack from her shoulders and wearily sat down on it. This morning’s walk had been a hard slog, and with every step her resentment for Abraham grew. Why couldn’t he ease up a little? Didn’t he realise she wasn’t one of his men! Ready to march into God knows where at a lift of his finger. Loath to do more than watch Abraham as he took trail mix from his pack, she stared steadily at his broad shoulders. He looked disgustingly fresh, and she hated him for it.

Abraham handed her some of the mix, surreptitiously scrutinising her face. She looked weary and cross.

Ignoring her mutinous expression, he turned from her and crouched to his pack. To engage her in conversation would result in a fiery exchange of words. He could see it in her eyes.

“Well!” Eleanor exclaimed.

Abraham’s shoulders stiffened. So much for ignoring her.

He swivelled to look at her. “Well, what?”

“Well, how much longer is this going to go on?”

Abraham lifted an enquiring eyebrow.

“This?”

She ground her teeth.

“This!” She waved a vague hand. “This frog march through the jungle, this pretence that I mean nothing to you, that’s what I mean.”

Suppressing a smile, Abraham rose to his feet, and, arms akimbo, he studied her. She wanted a row, that was plain to see, but she also looked a touch vulnerable. All that had happened in the last few days was finally catching up with her.

“First of all, I think you mean route march, not frog march. Second, I estimate if we continue to travel at the pace we have been travelling today, it could take us another three days, but if we go slower—who knows. And as for you meaning nothing to me—I don’t mean to sound callous, but you don’t, not in the way you want me to feel. I care about you, of course I do. We’ve spent the last four days and nights together. I’ve used your body and you mine, and it was great, no more, no less. And I’m sorry if I’m hurting you, but I did warn you not to go imagining yourself in love with me.”

Wounded by his words, Eleanor checked the tears and, wanting to hurt him the way she had been hurt, lifted her chin and stared at him defiantly.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Abraham. You don’t mean a thing to me, you were just a dalliance, that’s all, and believe me, not such a good a fuck as you would imagine.”

“Good.” Abraham nodded and swung his pack back onto his shoulders.

“Then, as we both know where we stand, let’s cut out the histrionics and get a move on.”

Following Abraham out of the clearing, Eleanor tried desperately not to cry. She had hoped he felt more for her than he was letting on, but obviously she was mistaken. She looked up as another drenching soaked through her clothes. It was almost as if the weather knew how she was feeling. His words had cut her to the quick, and her eyes swam with tears. Oh how she wished she’d never fallen for his rugged charm, and how desperately she wished she hadn’t given into her baser instincts and let him bed her.

* * * *

It was beginning to grow dark. High up through the canopy, Eleanor could see the pink glow of the sun just beginning to set. She was tired to the bone, every step spine jarring. The weather seemed to have matched her mood, being particularly bad with heavy showers every few minutes, and then the sun, burning in its intensity, drying her clothes within seconds, only to be soaked again minutes later. They had barely stopped for any rest, and Abraham had set a pace that would test even the toughest of men. She’d followed silently, not giving him the satisfaction of asking for a rest, but with every weary step, she had hated him even more.

“We’ll stop here.” Abraham at last gave the order to rest.

Throwing her pack to the ground, Eleanor plonked herself down on it, rudely snatching from him the water bottle he offered. Unscrewing the top, she took the requisite two gulps and silently handed it back. Abraham stared at her, but, saying nothing, rescrewed the cap and began setting up camp.

* * * *

The fire was burning brightly. Abraham placed a couple of fish he’d caught at the river’s edge on a simple rotisserie made from sticks over the licking flames. The aroma of baking fish filled Eleanor’s nostrils and whetted her appetite. She’d spent the time since they’d set up camp consciously ignoring him, keeping her distance and not even looking in his direction, but finally, unable to resist any longer, she picked up her bag and moved toward the fire. Dumping her pack back on the ground, still quiet and distant, she settled down to enjoy the warmth.

Abraham lifted his head at her movements but said nothing, continuously tending the fire and turning the fish. At last the meal was ready, and Eleanor gratefully received the offering with outstretched hands and a watering mouth.

“Careful,” Abraham intoned. “It’s hot.”

Ignoring his warning, Eleanor eagerly picked at the fish, shovelling bits of it delicately into her mouth. The fish was as ugly as sin, but boy did it taste good!

The meal finished, she sat back, replete. All she needed now was a good cup of rich, aromatic coffee.

“Coffee?” Abraham asked, holding out a plastic cup that had been filched from the aircraft.

“What! You can’t mean—have you really got coffee?” Eleanor was stunned. It had been almost like he could read her mind.

“
Mmm
, just enough for a cup each. It might taste a bit strange, as I’ve used the last of the sterile water from the canteens to make it, but it is coffee.”

Gratefully, Eleanor took the cup and, after first blowing on it, took a sip of the dark, steaming liquid. It tasted like ambrosia!

Silence reigned as they drank their coffee, the only sounds those of the rustling trees and the gentle vibrations of the night insects.

Eleanor felt contentment steal over her. The jungle was beautiful. She’d never appreciated it before, but she supposed feeling warm and having enough to eat for once changed her perspective. She’d never in a million years thought she would find something as simple as a campfire captivating, but the enchantment of the rain forest seemed magically to steel over her, catching her unawares. She glanced across to Abraham, who was leaning back against his pack gazing up at the stars, and dejection momentarily settled in her heart.
Oh why
couldn’t he love her the way she did him? Tonight would have been perfect if he did. In a beautiful jungle surrounded by the miracles of nature, under a star-studded sky, replete with good food and wine—well, coffee, and with the man she loved and who loved her back by her side, what could be more perfect? But, she thought and silently sighed, he didn’t and never would. He’d made that doubly plain now, so she should stop tormenting herself with what might have been and take what she could get and enjoy the moment, pretend he loved her and make the most of what time they had left together.

Decision made, she gulped back the last of her coffee and, putting the cup to one side, stood up.

Abraham glanced at her, something in her eyes captivating him, stirring his senses, and he carefully placed his empty cup on the floor. His eyes never leaving hers, he waited.

Standing in the glow of the fire, Eleanor began to dance, sensuously moving her body to an imagined tune. Raising her arms above her head, thus revealing to him the full ripeness of her breasts under the thin material of her blouse, she swayed, her hips gyrating, twisting this way and that, in time with the elegant movement of her hands. Slowly, she then lowered her arms and began to undo the buttons of her blouse, each flick of her fingers widening the gaping neckline until she slipped her arms free of the material.

Breasts bared, her fingers fumbling slightly at the zipper, she slowly removed her slacks. Kicking them free of her outsized boots, she stood in all her naked glory for him to inspect. Slowly, she swivelled, enjoying his hungry stare. Turning fully around, she allowed him to look his fill. She was proud of her body, he could tell, and was prepared to do whatever was necessary to capture his attention.

Sensuously, Eleanor lifted her arms to her hair and, releasing the elastic band, allowed her waves to tumble down in a blaze of gold to her waist. Shaking her head to release the tresses, she stood waiting in anticipation, but when Abraham failed to move, she concluded that he wanted her to take the initiative.

Swaying gently, she twisted, turned, dipped, and twirled, getting faster and faster, sexy movements that bounced her breasts and tossed her hair. She rolled her pelvis, extended her legs, and shook her bottom, each movement designed to tease and tantalise. Slowing the movements, she cupped her breasts in silent submission, then, with his hot gaze burning into her flesh, she gently sucked a finger, drawing it into her mouth before pulling out in a perfect imitation of the mating dance. Abraham sat up, his eyes narrowed, as she continued to entice him. Her fingers, still wet from her mouth, slowly skimmed between her breasts, roved across her flat stomach and onto the crest of her thighs before dipping eagerly between the lips of her already-moist pussy. Her breathing shallow at her daring, she stretched out a hand and, lowering herself back onto her pack, opened her legs. Then, caught up in the primitive spell of the jungle, she did something she’d never done before and certainly not in front of anyone else. She, with her open pussy fully on display, worked her fingers in and out of her wet entrance, her thumb flicking at her clitoris with every thrust. Her breathing became laboured as she worked her fingers harder, and finally, with a guttural cry, she came, her juices overflowing onto her fingers and her open thighs.