Jackal's Dance (24 page)

‘Taking a wild guess here but do I detect a touch of dislike for the man?'

‘Got it in one.'

Philip's sudden laugh took Felicity by surprise.

‘What's so funny?'

He looked away over the pan. ‘Oh, I don't know. I was just thinking how odd it is to be having this conversation with a complete stranger. Do you think that being out here strips us of inhibitions?'

It was Felicity's turn to look amused. ‘That's pretty deep. I might write a poem about it. Ibsen suggested that nature hypnotises us and has power over our moods.' She smiled. ‘Look what happens on board ships. People falling in love left, right and centre.'

‘Yeah. They're the ones not leaning over the side vomiting.' Philip was grinning.

Felicity laughed. ‘That's probably the most romantic thing I've heard this decade.'

‘Stick with me, baby,' Philip said, Bogart-fashion. ‘There's plenty more where that came from.'

They turned away from the waterhole and walked slowly back towards their bungalows. ‘See you later,' Philip said when they reached Felicity's.

She waved and went up the steps. Disappearing inside, Felicity was rhyming:

The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la

Contain little bastards that sting, tra la.

‘Careful, girl,' she cautioned. ‘He might not seem like The Turd, but keep your knickers on.
You're doing just fine and dandy all on your own.'

Philip was humming an off-key version of ‘Me and Bobby McGee', something he unconsciously did when life was looking good. His bags had been brought from the car. He went straight to the bathroom mirror and stared critically at his reflection. ‘Should have had a haircut before I left Oz.'

Caitlin found Eben and his students working through a communal plate of crumbling sandwiches. ‘I understand you're spending the night with us.'

‘So it would seem,' grumbled Eben.

‘Anyone want to come on tonight's game drive?'

No-one responded and Caitlin realised suddenly that, for most of them, the cost would be prohibitive. ‘Our treat,' she offered in a rush of generosity. Billy would be furious if he found out.

Hands went up. Only Eben, Josie and Angela declined. ‘Be at the dining room at four,' Caitlin said. ‘We'll have you back by eight or eight-thirty. And bring something warm.'

‘Why don't you want to come?' Megan asked Josie and Angela, once Caitlin had gone.

‘I've seen enough of the bush to last me a lifetime,' Angela announced with surprising candour. ‘I need to talk to you, Prof.'

Eben looked up from under his bushy grey eyebrows and nodded.

‘Josie?' Megan asked.

She shook her head. ‘All I want is a nice long shower and a chance to sit quietly. Angela and I can do tonight's supper.'

Megan shrugged. ‘Okay. Just four of us then.'

Fletch watched Caitlin walk away. He thought she'd be a couple of years his senior. She was tall with an athletic figure. Her strawberry blonde hair was very curly and worn shoulder length, offsetting the cat-like green of her eyes. That one, he decided, was something else.

Troy followed his gaze. ‘Tasty,' he pronounced.

‘Very,' Fletch agreed.

‘Fetch, Fletch.'

Both laughed

Angela heard them. How could they discuss the ranger as if she were a meal or a dog?

Troy noticed her look of disgust and erroneously assumed that he and Fletch had just been classified as politically incorrect. Before he could say anything in self-defence, Angela turned and walked towards her tent. He found himself wondering, regretfully, what went wrong with what had started out as a very promising sure thing. Angela Gibbs was getting to Troy in a way no female ever had. And it was starting to drive him crazy.

When Matt returned to the bungalow, Gayle was groggy but awake. Sitting on the bed wearing panties and bra, she threw him an angry look. ‘Where have you been?' she asked sourly.

‘Lunch.'

‘Thanks very much. I don't suppose it occurred to you that I might be hungry too.'

‘You were dead to the world.'

‘Someone who cares would have woken me.'

‘I thought you'd appreciate the sleep.' Matt was toeing a diplomatic line here. If he intimated that Gayle needed sleep because of their early start she might construe it as a snipe at the fact that she wasn't getting any younger. If, on the other hand, she thought he was criticising her drinking, it would probably set off another gin spree. Either way, Matt was unlikely to win. So he did the only other thing he could. Sitting on the bed he leaned towards her. ‘You look like a little girl when you've just woken up.'

‘Mattie!' Gayle was suddenly purring with pleasure.

‘You do. All pouty and sleepy.'

‘Do you love me?'

‘Yes,' he said, telling the truth.

‘How much do you love your baby?'

‘You're my little girl.' He kissed her. ‘My beautiful baby girl. I love you more than life.'

‘Mattie!'

Matt could tell from the timbre of her voice that she was already aroused.

He eased her down, his hands holding hers high, arms outstretched. Lying beneath him, hair spread over the pillow, her body hot for his, Matt found it easy to dismiss the twenty-two years difference in their ages. She had a magnificent figure, well toned and firm. Creases on her neck and arms the only indication that she was two years off fifty.
They were only lines. They didn't matter to Matt. Gayle's eyes were a little red-rimmed, the flesh under them slightly puffy, but she was still outstandingly beautiful. ‘I want you,' he whispered, his mouth seeking hers.

‘How much do you want me?' Gayle teased when she could.

‘More than anything or anyone I've ever wanted.'

‘Hands, now,' she instructed.

Matt let go and felt her nails dig into his back through the thin cotton material.

‘Shirt,' she demanded, helping him out of it. Desire stirred the instant her tongue found his nipple. Matt's fingers gently massaged her full breasts. Gayle moaned.

His hand moved slowly, slipping inside her panties, feeling the silky pubic hair already moist with the heat of arousal. Matt gently stroked then, pulling her panties halfway off, moved down and buried his face into her, his tongue seeking and finding, tasting and sucking until he had driven everything from her mind but here and now. He felt her shudder and swell. She came with a low growl, fingers in his hair clutching, tensing and finally relaxing as her body pulsated the last lingering relief. Matt's lips moved up to her breasts and Gayle made soft mewling sounds of pure pleasure. He could tell that this one was for her. Not that he minded. With Gayle, it was either all take or all give, and when she gave it nearly blew him away with pleasure.

She was squirming under his lips. ‘Feel me,' she breathed. ‘See if I'm ready.'

Gayle's panties hit the floor. Matt slid fingers into her. Soft, warm and welcoming as she always was. She was fumbling with his belt and fly. Then her hand closed around him. ‘Ahh, God, yes,' she whispered.

He gently eased her grip and sat up. Shoes, socks, jeans and underpants joined her panties. Gayle's bra quickly followed. Both naked now, he took her back into his arms. ‘Tell me what you want.'

Gayle didn't hesitate. ‘Three-in-one, lover.'

Her voice in his ear sent a shudder through him. He couldn't come now. What she wanted required intense self-control.

‘Now,' she breathed.

Matt entered her.

Gayle would call the shots. A few minutes in the missionary position and she'd demand to be on top, sitting astride him watching his face. When she judged that his control was slipping, she would ease off and turn on hands and knees. Matt would take her doggy-fashion but, instead of bringing things to a natural conclusion he would tuck his knees between hers and lift her up so that she sat on his lap, facing away from him. Gayle loved that. She would go wild. At home, she had a full-length mirror strategically placed so that she could watch them.

Matt forced his mind away from the sensations engulfing his body. Holding back until Gayle was
ready tested him to the limit but it could be done. She said once he'd been the best lover she'd ever had. Matt was under no illusions, though. If he disappointed her sexually their relationship would be over. Time to change positions. With Gayle on top, the look in his eyes as he stared into hers became lustful. In order to keep control, Matt was, in fact, reciting the eight times table in his head. Over she goes. Gayle was getting there but not quite yet. Once eight is eight, two eights are sixteen, three eights . . .

He felt her arch. She was about to come. Matt allowed his own climax to build. They came together in shuddering, gasping relief and, even while the last of his desire ebbed away into her, he put one hand on the bed and gently lowered the two of them together so that he lay with his body curled around hers, still joined. Gayle was making murmuring sounds of contentment. Matt tenderly scratched her back with his nails, prolonging her pleasure.

‘Mattie,' she whispered.

She wanted to be held. He withdrew, gently rolling her to face him. Holding Gayle after making love would last at least fifteen minutes and may even lead to more love-making. Gayle's sexual appetite remained strong and she was very demanding, but when they were together like this, the rest of the world could blow up as far as he was concerned. He forgave her the sarcasm, jealousies and drinking sprees. He forgot her rudeness. He even forgot who she was. When Matt and Gayle
were alone, when there were no other people around expecting a performance, Matt knew no-one could come as close to knowing the real Gayle Gaynor. It was the one and only time she dropped all pretences. Her need to snuggle was a cry for togetherness and Matt, who had grown up in a close-knit family, responded with his own need to give her, no matter how fleeting, that sense of security that comes from having someone unconditionally on their side. It broke his heart, this hunger in her which she kept from the world, and for the brief time she would allow it, tried to give as much of himself as possible. He knew, however, that the psychological damage done to the little girl could never be truly eradicated from the woman.

The elephant encounter had done more than scare Angela half to death. It had forced her to confront the fact that she was never going to become a game ranger. Angela already knew that she didn't like the heat, the hours spent watching animals waiting for something to happen, or the discomfort of camp life. She had persevered only because working in eco-tourism would be different. All the boring stuff required to become qualified would be a thing of the past and she could start to enjoy the bush in comfort. Driving around with different groups of tourists all of whom depended on her skill and knowledge appealed to Angela.

But that elephant! The sheer size and savagery of it, the threat to life and limb, the terror as they
fled back to camp, was something Angela knew she could never face again. The others had been scared too but seemed able to bounce back from it. Troy even went with the rangers to face the animal a second time. He was welcome . . . They all were. They could keep their bloody bush. She'd had enough.

Angela intended to drop out. Today, so that she wouldn't have to go back out there. And if the professor didn't like it he could stick it up his arse. She couldn't wait to go home. Her mother's contacts should bring in enough modelling work to make ends meet.

And now, irrespective of the professor's plans for a discussion, Angela was going for a swim. In mutinous mood, she changed into shorts and a T-shirt. Swimming was not an activity the students anticipated so none of them had any proper gear. Angela swept up a towel and set off towards the lodge.

Eben saw her go and noted the body language. He quietly said to Fletch, ‘Bring her back.'

‘I'll try.'

‘She may fail this course but discipline has to be maintained.' Eben was thoroughly sick of Angela but then, he had never been particularly well disposed towards students who were not as enthusiastic about Africa's fauna as he was.

Fletch set off in pursuit. He caught up with Angela halfway to the lodge. ‘The Prof says you have to come back. The pool is off-limits.'

‘So what?' She kept walking

‘He'll kick you off the course.'

‘Have to be fast. I'm leaving anyway.'

‘Angela, have you thought this through?'

‘Yes.'

‘You've only got a year to go. Don't let that elephant thing ruin all your plans.'

‘You don't understand . . . I can't deal with it.' Angela had only felt terror like that once before. The rape. In her mind, the feelings were too close to be able to handle. Raw fear, irrespective of what caused it, crammed her head, driving out all thought other than to get as far away from it as possible. She was acting instinctively, a mindless attempt at self-preservation, and nothing or no-one would weaken that intention.

‘Okay,' Fletch was saying. ‘Drop out. But come back now. The professor is in charge, Angela, he's responsible for all of us.'

Her steps slowed. She turned to face him. ‘Well, he is certainly not responsible for me. I'm not going back out there.' The back of a hand brushed at tears. ‘You're better off without me.'

‘Angela.' Fletch wanted to comfort her but she stepped back smartly.

‘Please, leave me alone.' She turned away.

Fletch put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Angela,' he pleaded.

He was completely unprepared for the reaction. She flung off the contact and spun on him, face distorted. ‘Don't you dare touch me!' Both hands were up in front of her, ready to ward him off. ‘Don't,' she repeated.

Fletch held his hands out. ‘I'm sorry. I was just –'

‘I know what you were doing. Do you think I'm stupid? I know what you want. Don't touch me, don't
ever, ever
touch me again.' She sounded hysterical.