Tender Savage (Siren Publishing Allure) (16 page)

Needing to erase the terror from her Eleanor’s eyes, Abraham, distracting her from the raging waters, bent his head and found her lips with his and kissed her, a deep kiss that drew the very soul out of his body. Accepting his embrace, Eleanor wound her arms around his neck and pressed closer. The kiss was bliss and seemed to last forever. Taking and receiving, comforting and reassuring, he enjoyed her caresses, and he needed no reassurance that she enjoyed his. Her murmured mews of contentment spoke for itself.

* * * *

Taking Eleanor carefully by the hand, Abraham escorted her away from the stream and back to their resting place. The clothes she had taken with her were somehow lost in the accident, and without a further change, she settled for one of Abraham’s T-shirts. Loving the feel of the soft material as it caressed her naked breasts, Eleanor, her mind still grappling with the horror that had only narrowly been averted, thankfully welcomed its dry, comforting warmth and the smell of his earthy maleness. Her thoughts still on what might have happened had Abraham not reached her in time, she made ready for the journey. Moving like an automaton, she gathered up her belongings and followed Abraham from the clearing, the aftermath of a near-fatal adventure had shock setting in, leaving her silent and pale.

Continuing with the trek, Eleanor now wished the journey to be over. Perhaps once back to civilisation and back in her normal world of catwalks and magazine shoots, she would soon come to terms with all that had transpired over the last few days, and maybe, with time, she would accept losing the one man she would ever really love.

Abraham began to increase the pace, now moving with long, ground-eating strides. He devoured the miles with Eleanor stumbling silently along in his wake. An hour ago he’d supplied the information to a flagging Eleanor that they were nearing the rendezvous point, and if his team were not there, as they would soon be in radio range, it would only take a couple of hours for them to return. The end of a journey, Eleanor thought, her throat tight with tears, a moment suspended in time, a time of horror, fear, and worry, but also a time of discovery, of joy, and of love!

* * * *

Thrusting aside the fronds of a leafy fern, Abraham emerged into a clearing. His team was all there just as he had expected, Mike, John, Gavin, and Ian, all of them relaxed and sitting around a fire drinking coffee, the smell of wood smoke, caffeine, and bacon filling the air with an enticing aroma.

His intuition ever vigilant had Abraham suddenly spinning on his heel and thrusting Eleanor aside. Drawing his knife like quicksilver, he moved to challenge the man stepping out of the jungle, a gun cocked and ready. From her position on the ground, Eleanor gaped with wide, frightened eyes as the two men stared at each other and then, to her complete amazement, grinned widely and, lowering their weapons, slapped each other on the shoulder and shook hands.

Helping Eleanor to her feet, Abraham belatedly introduced the man as Marc, another one of his team members. Shaking hands, she smiled in relief and withstood Marc’s intense scrutiny. Soon they were surrounded by the rest of the group, and amidst much back slapping and talking, they were ushered into the clearing and given coffee and bacon sandwiches.

Abraham watched with interest as Eleanor charmed his team. Her body language and her calm, beautiful eyes drew people toward her, he should know. He grimaced. She was very beautiful, kind, and honest, and he would miss her—so much for staying dispassionate. She turned her face toward him, and noticing him looking at her, she smiled a sweet, soft smile that caused his senses to stir.

He’d forgotten what it was like to feel for someone, really feel for them, to want to protect them, care for them, and—love them. His jaw clamped shut.
No
, he wasn’t going to go there—not this time.

Eleanor stepped out of the shower feeling clean and fresh. It seemed to have been weeks instead of days since she’d last felt this clean. Plugging in the hotel’s hair dryer, she sat on the stool by the dressing table, and idly stroking the brush through her curls, she dried her hair, her thoughts returning to her leave-taking of Abraham.

* * * *

It had been a very emotive moment. After a relatively short journey by helicopter and an even shorter one in the Land Rover, they stopped at a small private house where the team unloaded their equipment while Abraham made a few short telephone calls. Then after bidding her farewell, the team had escorted them back out to the road and, calling farewells, had left Abraham and Eleanor sitting in the vehicle in silence. And it was in silence he’d driven her to a hotel, in silence he’d escorted her to reception, in silence he’d booked her in, and in silence he’d given her the key and walked her to the lifts. Turning Eleanor to face him, he’d looked down into her grubby face, her eyes large and wistful, and his eyes, it seemed to Eleanor, had softened in response.

“I’ve called your company, and they are relieved you are safe and will be meeting you here in an hour. The room is fully paid for, and I’ve set up a small account for you until you can draw funds. Don’t worry about the expense. Call it a parting gift from me.”

Tears swimming in her eyes and trembling on her lashes, Eleanor swallowed dryly.

“Abraham,” she began, her eyes pleading with him, but as his eyes once again turned cold, she swallowed back the words threatening to burst forth and instead drew a shaky breath before stretching up to kiss him gently on the mouth.

Her lips moved over his, soft and caressing, enticing and encouraging, but when he didn’t deepen the kiss, she quickly, if reluctantly, drew back.

“Well, I guess this is good-bye then?” Waiting for him to change his mind and ask her to stay, she hesitated, but when he didn’t reply, she threw her arms around him and hugged him close.

Taking hold of her upper arms, Abraham gently pushed her away.

“Don’t do this, Eleanor,” he said hoarsely.

Closing her eyes, Eleanor took a steadying breath.

“No, no you’re right. Well, I don’t really know what to say except thank you, Abraham. Thank you for everything.”

Abraham nodded and, turning on his heel, strode swiftly away, away from her, away from the hotel, and finally—away from love.

* * * *

Switching off the dryer, Eleanor got impatiently to her feet. She’d vowed she wouldn’t cry, but with her thoughts returning to the jungle and Abraham, it was a promise she was finding difficult to keep.

After pouring herself a stiff drink selected from the minibar, she swallowed it in one gulp and went to get ready for the meeting with her boss.

Slipping on the silky underwear, the bra that cupped and caressed her breasts the way Abraham’s hands had, and the miniscule panties that protected her feminine mound the way Abraham…

She closed her eyes and sighed, the sound just a whisper of a breath in the silence of the room, and made herself a vow—that she was going to stop thinking about Abraham and, in doing so, would stop tormenting herself this way. Pulling herself together, she took the stylish suit she’d had sent up from the hotel boutique from the hanger, and as she pulled it on, she realised that she’d lost quite a bit of weight. She then decided that after the meeting she was going to indulge in a huge dish of chocolate ice cream. It wasn’t good for the figure but was extremely good for the soul. So, drawing back her shoulders, she slipped her feet into six-inch heels that matched the suit to perfection and, picking up the key, left the room, making good on her intentions by putting all thoughts of Abraham out of her head—for the moment.

* * * *

Three months had passed since her time in the jungle, and they had been hectic months. The meeting with her boss had been successful. She’d been the face of a new perfume called, somewhat coincidentally, “Savage,” which of course had meant long, arduous hours in front of the camera. She’d done a television interview and a magazine article in relation to her time spent in the jungle, and deciding that her days as a model were over, she’d turned her hand to writing, something she’d found strangely satisfying. Oh, she knew she’d never win the Booker Prize. She wasn’t that talented, but she did seem to have a remarkable knack for erotic romances, something that had her occasionally in tears and at other times in gales of laughter. Her brother had sadly died, finally giving up his fight for life, and heartbreakingly, she’d heard from a member of Abraham’s team that Abraham was lost in Iraq and presumed dead. She’d cried bitter tears then, her loss so acute that she thought she might die from a broken heart. Walking around in a daze for weeks, doing her job like an automaton, smiling when told to smile and posing when told to pose, she’d had to carry on and put a brave face on things, but somehow, her life had become diminished by his loss. She assured concerned friends that she was getting over him, but alone in her house, her thoughts invariably turned to Abraham. She had only to close her eyes and she could picture him, the way his eyes softened when he’d smiled tenderly at her or how they’d hardened coldly like chips of ice when she’d done something idiotic, but always there in her subconscious was the look he’d had in his eyes just before he’d strode out of the hotel and out of her life forever.

Getting up from her desk, she stretched luxuriously and rubbed her aching back. Looking out of the window at her snow-covered garden, she felt a sense of peace. She’d bought this small cottage in the Cotswolds when her brother had died, using the money she’d saved. It was idyllic, two bedrooms, two reception rooms, a massive kitchen, and a small bathroom, just right for what she would need. The garden was beautiful. In the summer it would be a riot of colour, full of hollyhocks, lupines, and honeysuckle. She narrowed her eyes. She’d have a swing hung from the large apple tree at the bottom of the garden, and maybe one day, she’d have a couple of donkeys. They would be company for the little brown ducks that invaded the pond and for the new puppy and kitten she’d already purchased for company.

Looking smilingly over to where the pup, Buffy, lay curled up in her basket with a squeaky toy and the cat, Maxwell, lay curled up alongside it, she felt, for the first time in weeks, calm, and maybe there, in the corner of her heart, was a slight glimmer of contentment. It was snowing, and she watched as the soft flakes fluttered from the sky to land on the holly bushes heavy with bright-red berries. It was only a few weeks to Christmas, a season she loved, and for the first time she would not be out partying with the jet set, but staying warm and comfortable in her own home, with her new family. She smiled in genuine delight as the pup yawned widely and, stretching, fell out of her basket, taking the cat with her.

Thank goodness she made the decision to change her way of life. No more modelling assignments and no more hours spent with temperamental photographers. She had just had the biggest taskmaster of them all—her computer. She was on her second novel now, one that she hadn’t been quite ready to attend to when she’d first started to write. She frowned, gazing out at the snow piling up outside her window. Was it only three months ago?

The novel was set in the Amazon rain forest, where a spoilt, selfish woman had found herself in a precarious position and had to be rescued by a ruggedly handsome stranger, an action hero that in the end had been also been saved—by love. She sighed despondently. If only real life was as simple as a novel, with a couple that was meant for each other, who, thrown into each other’s company, found love and finally got married and lived happy ever after.

Needing a boost, something that was indulgent and comforting, she opened the freezer and took out a large tub of chocolate ice cream. Filling a dish, she reached for the Marmite. Mmm, delicious! Ice cream smothered in Marmite—decadent!

Curling up in front of the fire, she gazed into its leaping flames. Soft music played gently in the background, and she smiled mistily as her favourite song came on, “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias. Her hand went reassuringly to the soft mound of her stomach, no more a taut, flat belly but a gentle roundness where her and
her
hero’s child grew.

Discovering her pregnancy had been a mixed blessing. A month after returning from Brazil, she’d begun to feel sick, especially in the mornings. She remembered how she’d dared to hope, hope that the love she’d felt for Abraham had become manifest, a tangible expression of their joining and of all that he’d meant to her. She wanted to cry with joy. Now she was no longer alone. Now she had something of Abraham to hang on to, something to love and care for, something unique belonging to just the two of them. She’d toyed with contacting him, telling him of their miracle, but she’d hesitated, uncertain if it was something he’d want to hear. He’d made it clear that what they’d had wasn’t meant to last, a small interlude in an otherwise frantic fight for survival. She’d been nothing to him but a fling, a dalliance, someone with whom to satisfy his carnal urges, whereas for her it had been more, much more. She sighed, biting her lip. For her, right from the beginning, it had been…

Scooping up the last of the ice cream into her mouth, she savoured its sticky sweet and saltiness. Frowning down into the dish, she watched the swirls of melted ice cream mingle with the sticky residue of Marmite. What had it been?

Teas filled her eyes. Why, love, of course. She laughed silently to herself. She’d fallen for all the old clichés, love at first sight, unrequited love, and single and knocked up! How was that for a hat trick!