Ripping the shirt from the branch above him, Mr Ambrose sat up abruptly and slid out of the hammock. His feet landed on the ground with a resounding thud. But he didn’t turn towards me - probably because he knew what he would see if he did.
‘Do you mean to tell me,’ Mr Ambrose said in a very cold, very controlled voice, his magnificent back still towards me, ‘that you intend to skip through the jungle with nothing more to cover you than a piece of skimpy lingerie?’
‘Oh no, Sir. I still have my corset on.’
‘What a tremendous comfort to us all!’
Without turning, Mr Ambrose hurled the shirt at me, and somehow managed to hit me right in the head. I sputtered, pulling wet linen from my face.
‘Where’s Karim?’ my dear employer enquired in a voice so sharp one could have cut stones with it. ‘Has he gone to dance tango with the monkeys, or is there at least one person in this group besides me who has not lost their mind yet?’
‘He’s gone scouting ahead.’
‘This early? Why?’
‘I, um…’ I didn’t often manage to blush. But in this heat, and this moment, my cheeks did turn a little redder than their usual tanned colour. ‘He woke up just as I was pulling my shirt off. Gave the poor man quite a shock.’
Mr Ambrose, who had just been about to open his knapsack, froze in mid-motion.
‘Yes.’ His voice was unusually soft. Soft as a panther’s fur. Soft as a snake’s kiss. ‘I would imagine so.’
‘I, err…don’t think he saw very much.’
‘Is that so?’
‘He ran off into the jungle as soon as he had untangled his legs from the hammock he dropped out of.’
‘I see.’
My heart was beating wildly against my chest. Dragging in a deep breath of humid air, I tried to calm it down and stop my mouth from being so bloody dry! I had to get a grip, and get on top of this game again!
‘So…what about you?’ Slowly, I rose from my sitting position, taking a step towards him. The air, even hot as it was, tickled coolly over the bare skin of my arms and legs. ‘If you see me, are you going to run off into the jungle, too?’
Silence. He didn’t turn around to look, but continued to fiddle with his knapsack.
‘What’s the matter, Sir? Are you afraid?’
It all went so fast I had hardly time to blink. The knapsack landed on the ground, and he was surging through the trees towards me in a black streak, like a sleek, dark jungle cat. The next moment I was flung off my feet and back against the tree I had been leaning against just a moment before, the rough bark digging into my soft flesh.
Rikkard Ambrose towered above me, so close that I could feel the aura of power radiating off him on my skin. Cocking his head, he leaned down to my ear and growled: ‘Don’t play games with me, Mr Linton!’
‘Oh yes? Why not?’
‘Because if you do, you might soon find yourself the plaything rather than the player!’
I felt a tingle of temptation travelling down my spine. Raising my eyes to his, I met his implacable gaze - warm chocolate brown colliding with the cold, fathomless depths of the sea.
‘Who says I want to play games?’ I demanded - and kissed him.
Stone Cracking Open
Or at least I tried.
But I had been right in regard to one thing about Rikkard Ambrose. He always had to be the first at everything. I had just managed to part my lips when he fell on me like a ravenous animal, the pent-up need of days exploding in one hard, fast, heart-wrenching kiss.
The shock of it hit me like a hurricane. Memories came flooding back, of him and me, entangled in ways beyond decency or doubt. Memories from so, so long ago…Oh God! It had been months since I had touched him. I hadn’t realised until now, but I had missed his touch as if a part of my heart had vanished. And so, apparently, had he.
Good God…!
The wave of shock only slowly abated, and in its wake came a wave of need ten times its size. My knees almost buckled, and I was left helpless, with no idea what to do. Last time this had happened, on our trip to Egypt, we had been kissing for a reason. We were in disguise, pretending to be man and wife. Thus it was - purely as part of the disguise, of course - perfectly acceptable to engage in public displays of affection.
But now?
Now there were no disguises. We were stripped of all pretence, alone in the jungle. Very alone.
Which means nobody will ever know about this Lilly, a little voice at the back of my mind pointed out.
Good point.
I wasn’t going to get a chance to think any further upon it, though. In fact, I wasn’t going to get a chance to think at all. Catching my chin in the silken vice of his hands, Mr Ambrose forced me to open farther, and I did something I normally never did - I willingly complied. All thoughts disappeared as his tongue invaded my mouth and I took it, took him, took everything he gave me and still wanted more.
And then he did something he normally never did. He gave me exactly what I wanted.
He moved, his powerful body pushing forward, his hands sliding away from my face to capture my shoulders. I was pushed back hard against the tree, the plains and ridges of his granite body digging mercilessly, marvellously into me. The aura of unrelenting power in the air around him was so overwhelming, it nearly made my knees buckle. I was trapped between a rock and a hard place - and I didn’t mind at all.
Wrenching his mouth free of mine, he skimmed it across my cheek, eliciting a shiver, until he reached my ear.
‘What about now, Mr Linton?’ he whispered, his voice hard as stone and cold as ice. It made another shiver race down my spine. ‘Do you want to play games now?’
‘Yes!’
Afterwards, when thinking back on this moment, I wouldn’t be entirely sure whether it was actually me who had uttered that single, oh-so important word. But it didn’t really matter. It was out there, and Mr Rikkard Ambrose was not a man to hesitate.
His hands started moving, sliding away from my shoulders. For a moment, I was disappointed, wanting to cry out at the loss of his touch - until his hands returned in other places. Places much more interesting than shoulders.
Holy Moly…!
Sliding over curves, caressing every inch, only separated from my skin by a threadbare scrap of a chemise, Mr Ambrose’s hands worshipped me as if I were a cheque for a million pounds he had found in the street. His hands were just as hard as his body was, and yet at the same time inexplicably soft and almost…tender?
Oh God, oh dear God…if this is a sin, please change the heavenly rules fast, because I’m not giving this up, no chance in hell!
‘Mine!’ Mr Ambrose’s one-word growl tore me from my delirious state of bliss right into another. His hands left my body to grasp my face again, holding it as if it were the most precious diamond in all the world. As he gazed into my eyes, not kissing, not even really touching much, just looking, I felt something rise inside me more powerful than any emotion I had felt before. I felt hot and cold all over. I felt as if I could conquer the world, and lose it all in one single instant. I felt like a goddess - a goddess who would fall from heaven if he ever stopped looking at me like that.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
It was a question - yet even I didn’t know what exactly I was asking. He gave me the best reply I could have wished for: his silence and his hungry lips. A moment or two later, his hands joined in the fun again, sliding over me with effortless grace and tightly leashed power.
But, hey - why were his hands the only ones that were busy? Why the heck was he the only one having fun? I was a feminist, for heaven’s sake! I didn’t need a man to do things for me! Why were my hands just dangling limply at my side? If I was going to sink into the depths of depravity, I was bloody well going to jump right in and do my part, thank you very much!
Besides…the thought of my hands on that tight, hard body of his…
Enough said.
My hands were already halfway up towards him befo
re I had finished the thought. Even through thick layers of cotton, I could feel the hard muscles of his arms, flexing and contracting as his hands explored my body with shameless demand. I clung on, wanting to feel, wanting to own, but he tore free as easily as a lion from a cobweb, continuing his merciless assault. Gliding to his chest, my hands grabbed fistfuls of his tailcoat, trying to pull it aside, to get at what I wanted, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. I cursed the fact that unlike me, the stupid man hadn’t had the foresight to toss away his clothes over the last couple of days. Blast! Did a girl have to do everything by herself nowadays?
I grabbed the buttons of his shirt.
‘Mr Linton…’ he growled against my throbbing lips. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I think you can stop calling me “Mr Linton” now,’ I breathed.
Pulling away from my mouth, he captured my earlobe with his teeth, making me gasp. For a moment, he held me like that, then let go and, his lips brushing against my ear, whispered: ‘Mister Linton!’
‘Oh dear. Stubborn, are we?’ I felt a smirk spread over my face. ‘Well, I guess I’ll just have to provide you with proof of my femininity.’ I opened the first button. ‘After all, we wouldn’t want you running around with delusions, now, would we?’
My fingers were flying now. Button after button on his shirt opened, but soon I was interrupted by his tailcoat, and switched to that.
‘Mr Linton…!’
There was a note of warning in his tone. I completely ignored it. Opening the last button, I shoved the tailcoat back off his strong, broad shoulders. It fell to the ground with a wet thud.
‘That tailcoat is almost new, Mr Linton! Only ten years old!’
‘Then why don’t you get it, Sir?’ I whispered, running a finger over his hard cheekbone. ‘Why don’t you pick it up off the ground?’
‘I…’
‘Don’t want to, do you? Maybe because you see something more interesting?’
‘Mr Linton-’
‘You know,’ I murmured, standing on my tiptoes, straining up towards him until my body was mashed against his, ‘you really have to stop calling me that, don’t you think? Feel that.’ I moved against him with delicious friction, eliciting a growl from the back of his throat. ‘Does that feel like a mister to you? Or…’ I strained up even further, until my mouth, my tongue, my tickling breath was right next to his ear. ‘…does it feel feminine?’
The noise he made then was not human. It belonged not in London, England, in the strict, ordered world of Empire House, but right here in the wild depths of the jungle.
At the sound, heat rose inside me like a volcano, and my fingers were back at the buttons of his shirt in an instant. The wet fabric clung to his skin as if it didn’t want to let go, but I was a damn sight more determined than his shirt! Button after button, the white linen parted, revealing a marvel of marble with which no ancient Roman statue could compete. When my tentative fingers first touched the hard planes of his chest, a groan rose from the back of his throat.
‘Hmm…’ Leaning in, I ran my nose along the ridge between his iron-hard pectorals and breathed in his scent. I didn’t care that it was indecent. I didn’t care that we had been trekking through the jungle for days, and sweating every minute. He smelled of man, money and power, and I loved it! ‘Very nice. Very nice indeed.’
Reaching the top of his chest, I placed a soft kiss on his collarbone that made him shudder. His arms closed around me in a vice-tight grip.
‘Don’t stop!’
Slippery as an eel, I slid out of his hold.
‘I said don’t stop!’
I smirked up at him. ‘Ah, but I had to - I’m for the equality of man and woman, after all.’ Sliding one hand down his bare chest in a gentle caress, I placed the other on my own. The thin material of the chemise did little to conceal what lay beneath, and the corset did more aiding and abetting than concealing. ‘Wouldn’t you like to reciprocate?’
Cocking my head, I leaned back against the tree, offering myself to him.
Mr Ambrose wasn’t one to ignore a free offer. His fingers grabbed hold of my corset, racing, searching for a way to open, and making me want to faint in the process.
‘Where are the buttons on this thing?’ he growled.
I giggled. I couldn’t help it.
‘Mr Linton!’
‘Mister, Sir?’
‘Just tell me where the damn buttons are!’
Mr Ambrose, swearing? I was hardly able to hold in my laughter. ‘It doesn’t have buttons! Haven’t you ever opened a lady’s corset before?’
‘That,’ he growled, leaning down towards me until his lips brushed my ear in a tantalising threat, ‘is not exactly the kind of question a lady should ask a gentleman.’
‘Well, from where I’m standing,’ I whispered back, running one finger down his hard, half-bare chest, ‘you don’t particularly look like a gentleman.’
Suddenly serious, I looked up into his eyes. There was true confusion there. Could it be that he hadn’t…That he had never before…with any other…
Good God.
I abruptly lowered my eyes again, suddenly abashed. Why? Why the hell was I suddenly feeling so inexplicably shy?
‘Really?’ I whispered. ‘You really don’t know? You’ve never…’
I didn’t finish the sentence.
Suddenly, I felt a finger at my chin, taking control, lifting my gaze up to his. Anxious, chocolate brown eyes met his impenetrable sea-coloured orbs.
‘Knowledge is power is time is money, Mr Linton, remember? Why would you suppose I would ever waste time on something as frivolous and senseless as that?’
‘You’re doing it now,’ I dared to point out.
Shut up, Lilly, shutupshutupshutup!
But he didn’t pull away. Instead he stared at me for an immeasurably long moment, and then nodded. ‘Yes. I am.’ His arms tightened around me, and he pulled me against his chest in an embrace that was not at all sensual, and yet so much deeper in meaning.
‘Why?’ I whispered.
‘You’re my little Ifrit.’ His voice travelled up to me right through his chest, deep and strong. ‘How could I possibly say no?’
I felt something tug at my heart, so hard it was almost wrenched out of my chest and slipped into his.
‘But don’t you dare think I’ll be counting this as work hours!’ he growled. ‘I will deduct every minute from your pay cheque at the end of the month!’
Moisture pricking at the corner of my eyes, I grinned into his chest. ‘Please do.’
The way I was feeling right now, this would be over in two pennies worth of time. And that would be worth it a thousand times over! Inside me was rising a feeling stronger than heat, stronger than need, stronger than all the other emotions boiling inside me. I was his first! His very first and only! I was his little ifrit. I would have crowed it from the rooftops - if there had been any rooftops available. Instead, I pressed myself even more closely up against him, my lips finding his ear.
‘Want to waste a little time with me, Sir?’
The only answer was an animalistic growl that any tiger would been proud of. His fingers returned to their search, sliding over my corset with unshakable determination.
‘At the back,’ I breathed. ‘Laces!’
‘At the back? Why?’
‘No idea! Just do it! Open!’
We were almost there! Almost! His hands were just sliding around, searching for the laces at the back of my corset - when from the bushes beyond the hammocks a few dozen yards away suddenly a voice came:
‘Sahib? Sahib, I’ve scouted ahead, and the way is clear. We can star-nnng! What, by the beard of the-!’
Ramifications
Mr Ambrose’s hands froze.
There was a moment of silence that really, really wanted to be pregnant, but couldn’t be, because I still had too many damn clothes on!
‘Karim?’
‘Y-yes, Sahib?’
‘You didn’t see a
nything.’
‘N-no, Sahib! I didn’t see a thing! I swear it! Al'hā jhūṭha la'ī māfa kara, atē mērē akha dī bēgunāhī nū muṛa kara sakadā hai!’[15]
‘Indeed.’
‘I-is it safe to come out now, Sahib?’
‘Yes.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice sounded as cool and composed as if he had just been double-checking his accounting. His hand fell from my back, and only I heard the whispered word: ‘Moderately.’
I didn’t know whether to strangle Karim or laugh out loud. Since the latter was probably much easier to accomplish, I decided on that.
‘What is she laughing about?’ Karim demanded, still in the bushes. ‘Is she taking her clothes off again?’
‘No, Karim. You can come out of there now.’
‘If you say so, Sahib.’
The Mohammedan stepped out of the bushes, but didn’t remove his hand from where it was once more firmly clamped over his eyes.
‘I need my knapsack, Sahib. Where…?’
Mr Ambrose didn’t let him finish. Stepping away and leaving me bereft, he grabbed Karim’s knapsack from the ground, and a moment later, the massive sack hit the Mohammedan in the chest with a heavy thud. Karim didn’t so much as flinch, but grabbed the thing and slung it over his shoulder.
‘Thank you, Sahib. The way ahead is clear. Should we set out now, or do you wish to eat first?’
As if drawn by a magnet, Mr Ambrose’s dark eyes slid back to me. ‘I must admit, I feel quite hungry,’ he admitted, his gaze raking over my curves. ‘But I think it’s better if, today, we set out anyway.’
And, without one more word, he grabbed his knapsack from the ground, snatched up his hammock and disappeared into the jungle.
*~*~**~*~*
It took a while for my mind to resurface from the delirious whirlpool of passion it was leisurely bathing in. We had been marching for half a day, and still my mind was splashing around in pleasant daydreams involving Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s pectorals. When it cautiously peeked its nose through the surface for the first time and smelled the cold air of reality, it was quite a shock to me.
What had just happened?
What had I done?