Mists of the Serengeti(23)

“I don’t think I can eat again,” I said, after he left.

“You might change your mind. It’s not like there’s a vending machine if you get hungry in the middle of the night.” Jack tossed his shoes off and reclined on the bed.

When they’d told us there was only one tent left, I hadn’t thought it would be a problem, but the small space seemed dwarfed by his presence.

“I think I’ll go freshen up.” I grabbed my handbag and disappeared into the bathroom.

I was out two minutes later and heading for the exit.

“What are you doing?” Jack watched as I tried to pry the zip open.

“The toilet won’t flush. I’m going to let them know.”

“You can’t just walk to the lounge, Rodel. This place isn’t fenced in, which means there are wild animals roaming around. And that’s not an automatic toilet. You need to pour water into the tank when you want to flush.”

“Ah. Got it.” I marched back into the bathroom and looked around. “Umm . . . Jack?”

“Yes?”

I startled to find him right behind me. “There’s no tap on the sink.”

“You get the water from here.” He lifted a flap and pointed to the row of buckets filled with water. He removed the lid off the toilet tank, poured water into it, and flushed.

If I had thought he took up all the space in the tent, I could barely breathe in the cramped bathroom. There was something about Jack that brushed against the boundaries of my awareness—the way he moved, the way his arms tightened when he lifted the bucket, the way he radiated heat and warmth. But that was just Jack. I was pretty sure it was the response he drew from most women—the chance gaze, followed by a pause; the appreciation of something magnificent, no matter how fleeting. I would have to be six feet under not to react to him. It wasn’t just about the way he looked. He had something more. Solidity. Substance. The kind of thing the moon does to the tides, making the waves rise to attention. Jack could give you goosebumps simply by circling past you. I shuddered to think what it would be like if he deliberately decided to slay you.

“Thank you,” I said, as he returned the empty bucket. “I think I’ll hop in the shower now.” I practically shoved him out the door. I liked goosebumps, but I liked them on my own terms. And this was not a goosebump-approved situation. With a goosebump-approved man.

I was halfway undressed when I realized there were no taps in the shower either. And no showerhead. Just a drain in the floor.

Crap.

I slunk back into my sweater and opened the door.

Jack was standing there, arms folded, leaning against the beam, like he’d been waiting for me.

“It’s a bucket shower,” he explained, anticipating my question.

“No hot water?”

“Only in the morning. But they’ll heat some water for us if we request it.”

“I can wait. I’ll just use a wash cloth for now.” I shut the door again and heard his footsteps recede.

When I came out, I grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around myself. It was nice to be wiped clean of the grime and dust, but the water had been cold, the temperature had dropped, and I was freezing.

“You all right?” Jack opened one eye. He was lying on his tummy, fully clothed under the covers.

“Uh-huh.”

“Cold?”

“No.”

“Want to go for dinner?”

“Yes.” If only to warm up in the heated dining area. “Can we go now?”

“Hungry, so soon?” His voice carried the slightest hint of a smile.

“Famished,” I replied.

Jack signaled the watchman with his flashlight.

“Here.” He removed his hoodie and draped it around my shoulders as we stepped outside.

“What about you?” I asked, sinking into its warmth. It smelled like him, and I found it oddly comforting.

“I’m not so hungry,” he said.

A bubble of laughter surfaced and got lodged in my throat. He’d caught on to the fact that I wasn’t about to admit I was cold, so he was playing along.

I swallowed the chuckle because I couldn’t afford to like Jack Warden. Not that way.

Dinner tables were assigned by tent number in the dining area. Jack and I ended up sharing a table with an elderly couple.

“Hi, I’m Judy. And this is my husband, Ken,” said the woman. She had platinum blonde hair, and was wearing a brightly patterned dress.

“I’m Rodel.”

“Jack.”

We shook hands before taking our seats.

“Is that an English accent I detect?” asked Judy, when the starters arrived.

“Yes. I’m from the Cotswolds,” I replied.

“But you’re not,” her husband remarked, taking in Jack’s tanned skin. He had silver hair and eyes that twinkled when he spoke.

“No. I was born here,” replied Jack.

“Well, it’s nice to see a couple that didn’t let a little distance get in the way.”

“Oh, we’re not . . .” I gestured between Jack and me.

“We’re not together,” both of us said at the same time.

“That’s what I used to say all the time, didn’t I, Ken?” Judy laughed. “We’re not together, we’re not together.”