The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (15 page)

“I was taking a photo,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

Finally, she looked over at him. He was stomping down hard on the brake to keep the vehicle from rolling into the streambed.
 

“I just lost my balance,” she said. “Really. You can go whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay,” he said and gave her a single nod.

As he eased off the brake, the Rover slowly made its way over the large cobbles. Though the shocks absorbed some of the up and down motion, the whole car slowly tilted one way and then another, almost at random. Though Quinn took it slow, the steering wheel seemed to fight him and they were both tossed every which way.

“Almost through this,” he muttered.

She heard metallic scraping from under the floor as the high clearance bottomed out. He eased off the gas immediately and slowly inched forward as the grinding noise gradually stopped. She breathed a sigh of relief as he gunned the engine up the embankment. She got ready as the hood pitched up and they bounced back onto flatter terrain.

Quinn wasted no time stepping on the gas and the SUV picked up speed. He up-shifted. Though it was only second gear, it felt like they were cruising. She kept a firm grip on the handle and turned her face into the light breeze. She knew she must be glowing.

• • • • •

Lou changed clothes in her small backpacking tent. True to Quinn’s prediction, they’d reached the edge of the Ahaggar Mountains just as the sun had begun to set. They’d set up their tents, thin air mattresses and sleeping bags and Lou had decided to opt for cooler clothing. By the time she emerged in her tank top and shorts, Quinn had started a fire.

A small metal pot hovered over it, suspended by three bent branches made into a tripod. He was dropping something into the pot.

“Anything I can do to help?” she asked as she looked into the boiling water.

It looked like herbs and it smelled like mint. Of course, mint tea with some type of bread was a staple in the Middle East.
 

“I love mint tea,” she said, looking up at him.

He quickly looked away.
 

He was looking at me.

“I thought we’d have some
taguella
,” he said. “And I’ve also got dates and goat cheese. We should eat the goat cheese tonight. It won’t last on the trip.”

“That sounds lovely,” she said. “What’s
taguella
?”

He smiled at her as he set a larger camping pot on a cloth he’d spread on the ground next to the fire.

“Flatbread,” he said, taking a seat.

She sat down opposite him, cross-legged.

Two, dark brown disks of bread, each about an inch thick, protruded from the pot. He took one, ripped it in two, and handed half to her. She tugged off a small piece and tried it. It was completely tasteless.

“It’s good,” she offered.

He grinned as he picked up a squeeze bottle that had been lying near a couple of plastic mugs. He handed it to her.

“Honey,” he said. “Not just for the tea but for the
taguella
too.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling a little foolish.

“
Taguella
is bread that’s baked in the desert sand,” he said. “It’s made from millet and doesn’t have much taste by itself.”

“Right,” she said, squeezing honey onto it.

“The cheese and dates are in the pot, under the bread.”

He used a handkerchief to grasp the rim of the pot of tea and poured two cups.

As she tried the bread again–
much
better this time–she surveyed their little campsite. The terrain had become increasingly craggy and higher in elevation as the day had come to a close. Quinn had seemed determined to reach this particular spot and now she could see why. Behind them to the east, rose the Ahaggar Mountains and the terrain that they’d need to navigate on foot if they had any hope of documenting the Painted Hunting Dog. In front of them, spreading out to the west, lay the Sahara. The sun had just fallen below the horizon, taking the intense heat of the day with it, and a soft breeze began to blow. The pale blue of the midday sky had turned to sapphire up above and the first bright stars of evening winked. In the far west, the rocky landscape gradually gave way to the iconic dunes for which the desert was famous. Under the darkening sky, the sand seemed to glow in subtle orange tones.

“Beautiful,” she said quietly.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said.

He held out her tea, looking into her eyes. Whether it was the orange of the sunset or the flickering of the fire, she didn’t know, but his dark eyes held a new intensity. They glowed as though something wild lit them from within. His skin seemed alive as the muscles of his extended arm rippled. Even the few inches of chest exposed in the triangle at the top of his shirt seemed to flex. As she stared at it, something fluttered in the pit of her stomach.

“It should be cool enough by now,” he said.

She blinked and realized he was still holding out the tea.

“Thanks,” she said quickly. She took the cup and wondered how long she’d been staring.

“Dawn and dusk,” he said and took a sip of his tea. “The times when the desert truly comes alive.”

She sipped her tea as well and picked up a date from the pot to avoid making eye contact. The breeze picked up her hair and she tucked it behind her ear.

“Before long,” he said, “it’ll be too windy to sit out here. And too cold.”

She looked up at him.

“Too cold?”

He was popping a chunk of cheese into his mouth and nodded as he chewed and swallowed.

“It can get to freezing, even this time of year. We’re higher in elevation here.”

She looked back out to the darkening desert. The light was fading fast and the breeze had turned cool.
 

“It can change pretty quick,” he confirmed. “But that’s part of the beauty–the constant changing, the tenuousness of life.”

She looked back to him and saw the faraway look in his eyes as he gazed out over it.

“You only have to make one mistake,” he said. “Sometimes you don’t have to make any. Beautiful but also harsh.”

He squeezed honey onto his bread, folded it around some dates, and ate with purpose.

She did the same, sensing that the chill was bringing their evening to an end. Even so, she couldn’t help but look to the desert again. She’d been in deserts before, in northern Mexico and southeastern California, and evening was always a time of transition. But she’d never seen anything close to this. Maybe it was the elevation, the expansive views, or maybe it was just knowing that the Sahara was legendary, but the unexpected grandeur of it was breathtaking.

“Stay hydrated,” he said.

She glanced back at him.

“Every chance you get,” he said, lifting his cup to her.

I know to stay hydrated
, she thought, but she dutifully drank her tea. Did he really think she didn’t know that?

The breeze rose another notch.

“Do you want any more dates or bread?” he said, getting up.

“No,” she said, standing too. “But that was good. Thank you.” She finished her tea and handed him the cup. “What can I do to help?”

For just a moment, his fingers brushed against hers and she looked down. In the next instant, he was putting the cup away.

“Nothing,” he said, not looking at her. “I’ve got it.”

“Quinn,” she said. “Really. I’m not helpless.” The breeze lifted a corner of the cloth on the ground. “Here,” she said, reaching for it. “Before it blows–”

He reached for it at the same time and their hands met, both holding the cloth. He stopped but didn’t remove his hand. She tugged lightly on the cloth but he didn’t let go. She looked at him, his face only a foot from hers, and their eyes met. There was that look again, unguarded and intense, drifting down to her lips, her throat. She blinked and let go of the cloth.

He stood up, towering over her, his jaw muscles working, his body tense.

“I think you should turn in,” he said lowly. “We have an early start tomorrow.”

• • • • •

Lou heard the clanking of the pots and, in only a few minutes, it was silent. She’d taken off her boots and left them in the tiny vestibule, off to the side. The pillow was already inflated and a small flashlight dangled from a string at the apex of the tent. Though it was a little warm, she crawled into her sleeping bag but left it unzipped. In a backpacking tent, it was only the middle that was long enough to accommodate people lying stretched out. Her backpack was tucked into the low edge of the tent on one side and her camera bag was on the other. She opened the bag and removed the satellite PDA–small, ruggedized, and probably full of emails.

“Goodnight,” Quinn said.

She jumped and her hand flew to her heart. He was just outside but he’d made no noise.

“Goodnight,” she said, when she’d recovered.

She listened carefully as he departed, barely able to hear his boots. By the time he was at his tent, her mind had drifted back to the look of him as he’d crouched next to her with the cloth. The muscles in his thighs had stood out under the lightweight fabric. His parted shirt revealed the deep curves of his chest and his belt was cinched tightly around his trim waist. She remembered him looking at her lips and then her neck. It sent a shiver down her spine.

With a start, she realized her fingers were tracing that same line down her throat. Abruptly, she lowered her hand.

She sighed and set the PDA back in the gear bag. Somehow, the impulse to check email was gone. Instead, she turned off the light above, slid down into her bag and zipped it up.
 

At dinner, by the campfire, Quinn had seemed so relaxed, more comfortable and at ease than she’d ever seen him.
No, relaxed wasn’t the word for it. He’d seemed at home.
 

She nodded to herself at the perfect characterization as her heavy eyelids closed. She smiled a little. Of all places, at home in the Sahara desert.

• • • • •

If Lou hadn’t gone to her tent, Quinn wasn’t sure what he would have done. His arousal had started the moment he’d realized they were so close. She’d only been a foot away and, when he’d stood, he had to stare at her lips and throat to keep his eyes from drifting down to her cleavage.

He clenched his hands.

The last time he’d touched a woman … had been too long ago. Much too long.

At the campfire, she’d been mesmerizing. With her auburn hair undone and wafting in the breeze, she’d looked like a classical painting. Her skin was creamy and, no matter where he’d averted his eyes, they landed on it: her shapely legs, her bare arms, and her long neck. The flickering firelight and the sunset had bathed her in warm tones that made her appear so soft that she didn’t seem real.

But she was very real.

He could smell her perfume even now. Quickly, he stripped his clothes in the dark and lay on top of his sleeping bag. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the top of the tent. The fabric of it rustled, blown by the night wind. The temperature was dropping quickly and yet he felt as though he might be in a furnace.
 

Then, he heard the zipper of her sleeping bag.
 

He immediately visualized her body in it. What would it be like to lay there with her? He imagined her skin would be smooth and incredibly soft. Her hair would be silky to the touch. And her lips…

His shut his eyes.

He bet her lips would taste like spice, like her temperament. He would have smiled at the thought except for his growing arousal. Instead, he took a deep breath, slowly blew it out, and turned his back to her. It was going to be a very long night.

• • • • •

They’d departed before the sun was up. Lou had no problem keeping up with Quinn, though he was moving at a pretty good clip. The Rover remained parked exactly where it had been the previous night. They’d be moving on foot from here on out. She’d expected this, since elusive animals weren’t going to be tracked from behind the windshield of a noisy, smelly vehicle. What she hadn’t expected was Quinn’s tracking style–if you could even call it tracking. He looked like he was simply out for a hike. He never paused, never did a double take, never scrutinized anything on the ground. At one point, he turned to look at her.

“Everything okay?” he said.

It seemed as though they had swapped outfits. Today he was in a tank top and shorts but she’d gone back to the long sleeves and pants. Her fair complexion wouldn’t tolerate the direct sun.

“I’m good,” she said, breathing a bit hard.

The pack was fully loaded and she’d stowed the tech gear there as well. They were also carrying as much water as possible. Even so, it wouldn’t last more than a couple days in this kind of environment. According to Quinn, there’d be an oasis before they ran out of water. It was located squarely in the territory of the Painted Hunting Dog.

“Any signs yet?” she asked.

Though they both wore sunglasses, a look of shock clearly registered on his face.

“You haven’t seen them?”

“Seen what?”

“The fur, the scat, the vegetation marking. Not to mention the spoor and–” He paused. “Wait. Are you serious?”

She knew she wasn’t a tracker but she’d been with one or two. She put her hands on her hips as she caught her breath.

“I’m completely serious,” she said.
 

He looked back the way they’d come.

“We don’t have time to go back–” he said, thinking aloud.

“No, that’s fine,” she said, not intending to cut him off but the heat of the day was rising. “It’s just that it didn’t look like you were tracking.”

She took her water bottle from the hip holster and took a sip.

“We parked the Rover right on the edge of their territory,” he said. “It’s as far as we could go with it. I’ve been tracking since we left.” He paused. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She was fine but the heat had a way of getting under her skin, in a bad way. And she didn’t need to be questioned about it.

“I said I’m good,” she said, putting the water back. “I’m not Jim.”

Quinn’s face screwed up at the mention of his name.