Mists of the Serengeti(74)

“Never mind.” I grinned. “I’m happy! I’m so happy I could squish you both.” I kissed them each on the cheek.

“I don’t think so.” Jack growled and pulled me back, claiming my lips. My senses whirled and skidded. My arms went around his neck as he lifted me into the cradle of his arms.

“Oh,” said Bahati, pointing at me, then pointing at Jack. “Ohhh.” He backed off with a big smirk on his face.

“I think we’ve rendered Bahati speechless,” said Jack, when he was gone.

“Let me down, Jack.” My feet were still dangling off the ground.

“No.”

“No?”

“You need to be punished for teasing me through that group picture.”

“Jack, no!” I shrieked as he tossed me over his shoulder. “I’ll bite! I’ll bite your injured arm!”

“Oh, baby.” He laughed. “I love it when you talk dirty.”





I STEPPED INTO the shower and closed my eyes as the water poured over me. Steamy rivulets cascaded down my face, my hair, my back, dissolving the dirt and grime of the last few days. I inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of the thin, white bar of hotel soap. I was never going to take the little luxuries of life for granted again.

A puff of cold air hit me as the shower stall opened.

“You’re back.” I smiled as Jack stood there, gazing at me, his eyes running over my naked body like a warm caress.

“You started without me.” He stepped into the shower, completely disregarding the fact that he was fully clothed. One very large, male arm wrapped around my waist as he kissed me, lifting me off the tiled floor.

Hot water, soap, and Jack’s special brand of kisses—the ones that sweep you off your feet. Literally.

I could spend my whole day right here.

“Your clothes are all wet,” I said, when he set me down.

“I don’t plan on putting them on again.” He shrugged out of his dusty, tattered T-shirt and trousers, and kicked his briefs to the corner.

The sight of him standing there in all his naked glory gave me a heady rush, until I noticed the purple welts on his body.

“Oh God.” I traced the one running down his chest.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It looks worse than it feels.” He stepped closer, keeping his arm angled away from the water. “They told me to keep it dry.” He gestured to the white gauze around the cut.

“And that’s it? The rest of you is okay?”

“Would you like to test me out?” My pulse skittered as he pulled me hard against him and nibbled on my neck. I gulped as the full, heavy imprint of his passion reignited memories of our afternoon in the tent.

“Rodel.” He cradled my cheek in his palm.

Rodelle. It made me feel like the sexiest woman alive.

“We were impulsive,” he said, his eyes pinning me down. “We got carried away in the moment. I should have been more careful. I should have—”

“Shhh. We were in the middle of nowhere, and it’s not like you carry spare condoms in your wallet. Besides, I finished my cycle a few days before we left for Wanza, so the chances that I’m pregnant are very slim.”

He let out a deep breath and rested his forehead on mine. “That’s a relief. And yet . . . for a small, selfish moment, when I considered the possibility, it made me unbelievably happy.”

I swallowed, thinking how much he’d loved Lily, and how I could totally see him being an amazing father. But I was leaving in a few days, in time for the beginning of the school year, and it was too painful to consider all of the possibilities that could have blossomed with Jack.

Steam rose around us as we soaped each other in silence, skin to slick skin—marveling, memorizing, cherishing. Jack’s eyelashes, thick with water; his bold thighs; the way his muscles rippled when he moved; the ends of his hair curled up with lather.

He slung a towel around his hips, wrapped me up in another, and carried me to the bed. The room was worn and sparse, the curtains frayed at the hem, but I sighed in tired contentment.

“A hot shower, soft sheets, a real mattress. Pure bliss.” I sat at the edge of the bed as Jack rubbed my hair dry.

“I can think of a couple of things I’d like to throw into the mix.” He grabbed a shopping bag that was sitting on the side table and put it in my lap.

“What’s this?” I rummaged through it and found an antibiotic cream for his cut, a comb, toothpaste, gum, lotion, and . . . a box of condoms.

“I meant this.” He knelt before me, pried the bag from my fingers, and waved the lotion at me. “Lie down,” he whispered in my ear. “On your stomach.”

My skin tingled as he unwrapped the towel from around me and started kneading my sore muscles in slow, steady circles—my feet, my calves, the backs of my knees.

“Mmm.” I snuggled deeper into the pillow. I was more exhausted than I’d thought. I hadn’t slept in ages, but I fought the urge to close my eyes. “Did the police pick up K.K.?”

“No. The van was gone by the time they got there. They think the two men who came after you on the train found him and let him out.”

An uneasy feeling unraveled in the pit of my stomach. The idea of K.K. running loose was unsettling. “How’s Bahati?” I asked. “Is he going to be all right?”