Now almost in tears, she convinced herself that he had indeed left her, and she began racing as fast as her heels would allow in the direction he had taken.
Branches tearing at her hair, thorns catching her face, and tears of panic running like rivers down her cheeks, she pushed on, stumbling more than once as her heels caught in the undergrowth.
Eleanor was brought to a sudden halt by the hard arm that snaked around her midriff, and, terrified, she began screaming a high-pitched screech that resonated around the trees.
“Shut up, you little fool.” Abraham growled, spinning her swiftly around.
Lowering his head, he stopped the protests from spilling out of her already open mouth by kissing her soundly, his lips hot and hard on her trembling soft ones.
Shock held her still, electricity seeming to fizz through her veins, effervescence bubbling in her blood and melting her resistance. She leant in, and with a reluctant groan, her lashes lowered, her body trembled, and her arms lifted and entwined around his neck. Giving into the sensations that were pulsating through her body, she pressed even closer and, with her breasts softly pushing against his chest, gave herself up to the primitive desires that the feel of his mouth was bringing out.
It was as if time stood still. Lost in Savage’s arms, she became all woman, soft, pliant, sensual, and willing. His lips softened, stroking and seeking, and his arms became a powerful cage which she felt no urge to escape. Hands, hard and callused, caressed her curves, finding all those funny little places that had her writhing in desire. Adrift in the sensual dance of Eve, she was aware of nothing but him. Time meant nothing, as she gave back caress for caress, lost to the world around, conscious of nothing but him and her own desires.
Abruptly, she was brought firmly back to earth by him pushing her briskly away.
“Enough, woman! I’m not here to satisfy your sexual fantasies.”
Gasping in outrage, Eleanor did the first thing that came to mind and drew back her arm before slapping him as hard as she could across his smug, arrogant face.
The sound, loud and incongruous among the call of the birds and the clicking of the insects, had her stepping instinctively back. Shock at her primitive display of brutality had her hiding her trembling, sore hand in the flirty folds of her skirt.
The silence between them stretched, the reddening mark on Savage’s cheek testimony to her wanton display of violence.
Lifting a hand, Savage stroked his red cheek, his eyes growing cold like frozen splinters of ice.
“Don’t do that again.” His voice, a low murmur, was more effective than if he had shouted and had her trembling in apprehension.
“S–sorry,” she whispered, looking down and, in an attempt to avoid his glacial stare, finding inordinate interest in her dirty toes.
“Where the hell did you think you were going?” He growled dangerously.
“I thought you’d left me, and I was coming to find you,” she stuttered, strangely not frightened by his cold anger, but certainly feeling the fool, ashamed not only by her aggression but by her decadent reaction to his kiss.
“Stupidity, thy name is woman,” he responded in derision.
Eleanor gasped, shocked by his mockery. “Well, where were you? You’d been gone for ages, and I was worried.”
Turning to look at her, he gave a short, humourless laugh.
“About me—or yourself?” His eyebrow lifted in contempt.
Pride and a certain amount of defiance had her raising her chin.
“Well, about me actually,” she replied with feigned arrogance, willing the colour in her cheeks to subside.
“At least you’re honest.”
“Well, where did you go?”
“To see if I could find the cockpit and the pilot.”
“Oh, and did you?”
“Yes, both pilot and copilot were killed, and the stewardess I found earlier was also dead. The other woman, there’s no sign.”
“Oh! So it’s only me that’s left.”
Striding ahead, Savage didn’t reply. Trotting to keep up and stumbling along the way, Eleanor, feeling small and insignificant, said a silent prayer for the casualties and a thankful one for herself.
Abraham, pulling Eleanor in his wake, arrived back at the encampment, where he barked at her to wait and strode into the plane, coming out minutes later with some luggage. Opening each case, he rummaged carelessly through their contents.
“What are you doing?” Eleanor asked, grimacing in distaste. “Those belong to the dead.”
“Well, they can’t use them now.”
“Just how callous are you?”
Savage glanced briefly up at her. “Callous enough to leave you behind should you cause me any trouble.”
Gasping, Eleanor, incensed, flounced off and sat under her makeshift shelter, refusing to give him the satisfaction of arguing with him.
“Unfeeling beast,” she muttered.
A shadow blocking out the sun had her looking up.
“Put those on and be quick about it. We’re wasting daylight.” Savage growled, throwing some garments at her.
Listlessly turning over the clothes, she bit her tongue at the words waiting to spill forth.
“I can’t. They’re too big for me.”
“Do it and do it now unless you want I should leave you here.”
“Savage by name and savage by nature,” Eleanor grumbled, complying albeit unwillingly, her mind shying away from the thought of wearing a dead person’s clothing.
Dressed in long trousers belonging to the other woman, cinched in at the waist by a leather belt, as well as a long-sleeved blouse of her own, and a jacket belonging to one of the men, she was ready, except for the socks and boots.
“Isn’t there anything else?” She complained, turning the boots over in her hands. “These are so ugly!”
“Just put them on and stop your whingeing, princess.”
“Well, they’ll never fit,” she responded huffily.
Savage, seemingly holding onto his patience with difficulty, handed her plastic bags and socks.
“Socks, bags, socks—then, they will fit. Believe me!”
“Why the plastic bags?”
“To stop the snakes biting your ankles and crawling into your pants.”
Needing no second bidding, she quickly donned the clothing and laced up the boots.
Lifting up her holdall, he shoved it at Eleanor. She grappled with it, but it fell unheeded to the floor, the contents spilling out.
“Bloody hell!” Eleanor swore in annoyance, shooting Abraham a filthy glance.
His movements confidently efficient, Abraham slung his own pack on his shoulders and, shooting her a sardonic look, moved out of the encampment, leaving her trailing behind him dragging her holdall.
“And now it begins!” Eleanor muttered sulkily.
* * * *
It was hot! Perspiration ran in rivulets down Eleanor’s spine. She felt uncomfortable, her clothes sticking to her and her feet aching. Stopping for a minute, she shrugged out of the outsize jacket and tied the arms of it around her waist. At least without the extra clothing she felt slightly cooler. Picking up the bag again, she trudged on, giving a little skip now and again to try and catch up with the wretched man who was still striding ahead. Exhausted, she gave up trying to catch him up and instead shuffled along, gazing up at the trees, attempting to see the monkeys that were noisily chattering down at them from the canopy. Pushing back her sweat-drenched hair, she blinked the perspiration off her eyelashes. Surely Savage would have pity on her and stop for a break soon. It seemed as if they had been travelling for hours. Glancing at her watch, she mentally calculated the time. They had been travelling for all of—two hours and fifteen minutes! She stifled a groan. It felt like forever!
Abraham glanced impatiently behind him, as the woman was slowing him down. He watched impersonally as she shied away from the soft fronds of a nearby fern. She was skittish, jumping and yelping at everything, wincing at the sounds of the jungle and running scared at the buzz of insects. His eyes narrowed. They had been travelling for just a short time. However, she was already limping, and she seemed to be favouring her shoulder. His eyes narrowed further. When asked, she had affirmed that she was unhurt, and yet she was obviously in some discomfort. He waited whilst she took her time to catch him up. She was treating this trek like a walk in Regent’s Park, gazing into space, sniffing at flowers, and oblivious to all the dangers around. Eventually she arrived before him, and looking mulishly up at him, she waited. Catching hold of her chin, he looked into her wide eyes.
“Is your shoulder injured? Are you in pain?”
“No—not really, it’s just aching a bit, that’s all, and my foot hurts. I think I’ve got a blister.”
Staring into her eyes, almost as if he was attempting to read her mind, he hesitated, then in one lithe movement swung the pack off his back. Rummaging within its depths, he pulled out some beef jerky, the water bottle, and the first aid kit.
“Sit,” he ordered, indicating the pack he’d placed on the ground.
Thankfully, Eleanor dropped her holdall, which felt like lead, and gingerly lowered herself down. God! Everything ached, and she had a burning thirst.
Handing her the water bottle, he waited whilst she took a gulp then pushed a piece of beef jerky into her hand.
“Eat!”
She looked at the dried, brown object, and her stomach churned.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat it anyway.”
Listlessly taking a bite, she watched as he unlaced her boot and removed the outer sock, the plastic bag, and finally, carefully, he drew off the white sock, now stained with blood from a broken blister.
His face setting into uncompromising lines, Savage cleansed the wound, his grip tightening on her ankle as she jerked away. Biting her lip, she willed the tears trembling on her lashes not to fall when he doused the wound in antiseptic then added a thick dressing. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to take her mind off the stinging pain by silently counting to ten. Substituting the blood-soaked sock with one of his clean ones, he covered it with the plastic bag and added the other sock. Passing her the water bottle again, he removed the mangled jerky from her hot hands and indicated she should take another drink.
“Undo your blouse.”
Eleanor nearly choked on the water and, grasping the neck of her shirt, stared at him, horrified. “What?”
“Take off your blouse. I want to look at that shoulder.”
“It’s fine.”
Still crouching in front of her, he waited, his eyes looking cold, like glittering pieces of unfeeling ice.
Biting her lip, Eleanor silently railed against his bossiness and, finally unable to sustain his stare any longer, reluctantly unbuttoned the shirt, her fingers trembling on each button.
As Savage drew her arm out of the sleeve, his look was mocking.
“Anyone would think that you didn’t take your clothes off for a living the way you’re behaving.”
“I don’t,” she replied huffily. “I put clothes on. I’m a fashion model.”
“I know exactly what you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think I mean, princess?”
Gritting her teeth, she refused to answer, but drew in a deep breath as his hard but gentle fingers probed her shoulder, unexpectedly sending tingles of delight throughout her body.
“It’s just bruising, I think. There’s no obvious injury.”
“I told you it was fine. There was no need for me to strip off for you.”
Savage’s eyes danced with amusement, and he grinned as he looked his fill at the soft mounds of her breasts rising above the lacy cups of her bra.
“Oh believe me, princess, there was.”
Drawing her blouse quickly back on, she gave him a look that would curdle milk.
“Savage!” she muttered, grinding her teeth as he laughed, sending heat flooding into her cheeks.
It was growing dark, the night drawing quickly in. The temperature was still high, the heat humid, and the jungle steaming from yet another downpour, and every bone in Eleanor’s body ached and her feet were on fire. Savage had kept up a steady pace all afternoon, sparing her no quarter and only allowing a small drink of water every two hours.
Unfeeling brute, she thought, glaring with the little strength she had left at his uncompromising back.
Returning to looking at where she was putting her feet, Eleanor was unaware that Savage had stopped until she cannoned into him.
“We’ll camp here. It’s getting too dark to continue. We’ll rest for a few hours and then start out at first light.”
Thankfully, Eleanor dropped to the ground, no more caring of the insects she might be resting on.
Unpacking a small groundsheet, Savage padded it out with some fronds from a nearby fern and then, using two small branches and some rope, placed a shelter of plastic above it. Indicating with a nod that she should scramble inside, he then concentrated on getting a meal, whilst she flopped exhaustedly onto the crude bed.