Читать книгу Christmas Secrets Collection - Laura Iding - Страница 46

The sound was coming closer from the south, the steady growl growing louder.

“A small plane,” Dax said. “Single engine. The flares?” He wobbled upright on his good foot and threw more wood on the fire.

She jumped from her chair and sprinted the few steps to the plane. The flares waited on the floor of the front seat where she’d put them when Dax was so sick.

She grabbed two. By then, the plane was directly overhead. She tossed a flare to Dax, lit hers as he caught his and lit it, too.

They waved the flares, yelled as loud as they could.

The plane kept on going.

They stood there, looking up, still holding the sizzling flares, waiting for the sound of it to grow louder again as it circled back. Her heart was beating so hard and fast, it felt as if it might punch through the wall of her chest.

The drone of the small engine faded away toward the north. Still, they waited. Maybe it would take a few minutes for the pilot to turn around.

More waiting. Awful, agonizing waiting.

And nothing.

They looked at each other then and both said the same really bad word at the same time.

Her heart slowed, dragging now. It found the sad rhythm of disappointment. The adrenaline spike faded, making that sick, dropping feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She stuck her still-fizzing flare in the ground and Dax did the same with his. Then she asked, hopefully, “You think they saw us?”

He shrugged. “The odds are pretty good—the clearing is highly visible from the air. Not to mention the wrecked plane, the fire. The two of us, waving our arms like mad. Plus, the flares—Yeah, I’m thinking they saw us, definitely.”

“So maybe they’ll report our location to the authorities at least?”

“I have no idea. But it is a little odd they didn’t circle back, just to make sure.”

She nodded, muttered another bad word and said half to herself, “Drug smugglers, maybe …”

He was shaking his head. “You just never know.”

She sank to her camp chair. “All these days … Monday to Sunday. Seven days—and nothing. And finally a plane goes over, and then right on by. I was kind of getting used to our situation, learning to live with it…. ”

He limped near and stood above her. “Come up here.” When she rose, he took her in his arms, kissed her hair, caught her face between his hands and kissed the tip of her nose.

She asked morosely, “Are you trying to cheer me up?”

“Is it working?”

“Well, a little …”

He held her gaze. “You’re the one who’s always reminding me that we can’t afford to let our attitudes slip.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

“And it’s possible they didn’t need to come back around, that they have our coordinates and help will be on its way. It’s not as if anyone would try and land here unless they were in a helicopter or, like us, they had no other choice. So buck up.”

“Yes, Dax.”

“We’re going to have ourselves a great time. Fishing, swimming, having all the sex we want together. Digging for grubs and root vegetables—”

“Dax.”

“What?”

“Just leave it at the endless sex, okay? Quit while you’re ahead.”

Keeping the fire going a little higher than usual and the flares close at hand, they went about their day.

Zoe got out her cameras and carried them with her—to the river, along the other trails that led off the clearing. She didn’t want to miss her chance to get some decent pictures, in case they did get out soon.

She took a lot of photographs that day, including any number of private photos of Dax, just for herself. And she took many more that would be suitable for general distribution—not only of him, but of the shy crocodile basking in the sun on the far riverbank, of a bright blue macaw perched on a palm leaf, of the waterfall in all its churning, jeweled glory.

But no more planes went over. The rescue helicopter they hoped for never appeared. And no one came out of the jungle to tell them they were saved.

As they ate their dinner of grilled fish, steamed bamboo shoots and baked yams, he said, “It’s very possible that the people who live in this area actually know we’re here.”

She glanced around at the rim of dark trees and then called, “Hey, if you’re out there, take us to your leader! Please!”

He chuckled. “If they haven’t shown themselves so far, your shouting at them probably isn’t going to do it.”

“But why wouldn’t they show themselves?”

“How would I know? Maybe they don’t trust us, maybe others like us have made them wary—rich Anglo-Americans, who think they own the world. It’s possible they’ll decide to come forward eventually.”

“And it’s also possible there’s simply no one there.”

He shrugged, tipped his head up to the black, star-strewn sky. “Mostly, it seems that way, doesn’t? Like we’re the only two people left on Earth.”

Not much later, they crawled into the tent together. In the fading light from the fire, she took a few more private pictures of him, pictures just for herself.

And then he told her to put her camera away.

She obeyed without argument. She went into his waiting arms.

And she was set free of the thousand and one fears that haunted her constantly: that they wouldn’t be rescued, that some deadly predator would finish them off first; that some death-dealing illness or injury would befall one or the other of them, leaving only one left.

Alone.

Somehow, that terrified her the most—that something might happen to him. She would lose her only companion. Secretly, since the crash, she had prayed that if one of them had to die, it would be her.

Partly because she found she had begun to care for him way too much. And partly because she was selfish; she didn’t think she could bear being left all alone.

Yet in the tent that night, there was only his kiss, only the marvelous terrain of his fine body. Only his passion.

And hers.

After they made love, they talked. He was so easy to talk to. And here, away from SA and the constraints of his role as Dax Girard, über-rich ladies’ man and macho adventurer, he was honest with her, revealing himself in ways he might never have done back at home.

He said that his workaholic father had died of a heart attack a month after Dax got his master’s from Yale. The death of his distant yet adored dad changed everything, he said.

“All my life, I had waited, to be a grown-up, for him to respect me and pay attention to me. He died without that ever happening.”

When his father died, Dax swore he would never be like the old man, ignoring the important things, never traveling, never really enjoying any of the pleasures of life, working himself into an early grave.

She stroked his shoulder, feeling sad for him. Without a mother at five, losing his father in his early twenties. “So … who’s Nora?”

He pressed a kiss against her hair. “When did I mention Nora?”

“You called out to her, more than once, when you were so sick.”

“Nora was my wife,” he said. “We married when we were both still in school.”

“She’s not …?” Zoe hesitated to say the word. He’d lost his mother and his dad so young. Surely his wife hadn’t died, too.

“She’s alive and well, happily remarried, with the children she always wanted.”

That was a relief. It was too bad that their marriage hadn’t lasted. But at least his wife hadn’t died on him, too. “What happened—I mean, that you’re not still together?”

“She wanted kids. I didn’t. And then, when we were married barely a year—this was about four months before my father died—she got pregnant.”

“Whoa. I had no idea you had a child.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, then …?”

“The baby’s heart didn’t develop properly. She was born prematurely and they couldn’t save her.”

“Oh, Dax. I’m so sorry …”

Gruffly, he commanded, “Don’t be sorry for me. Be sorry for Nora. It was terrible for her. She never forgave me.”

“Wait a minute. It was your fault that your daughter died?”

“I didn’t want children. I didn’t want them ever, I realize now. Being a dad is just not what I’m looking for, not what I’m cut out for. Nora knew it. And we had agreed to wait a few years, until I thought I was ready. But then she got pregnant. I wasn’t happy about it. And I told her so—after which I realized what a complete ass I was being, and apologized. I put a smiling face on it, told her it would all work out. And then I tried to accept that a baby was coming, that I had to settle down and learn to be the father I’d never wanted to be. She knew what was really going on inside me, knew that no matter how hard I tried to accept what was happening, I felt trapped.”

“And so, when she lost the child …”

“She resented me. And I really can’t say I blame her. No, I didn’t cause the baby’s death. But Nora knew damn well I wasn’t looking forward to being a dad—plus, she couldn’t understand the sudden change in me after my father died. She used to say I had a strange, far-away look in my eyes. As if I wanted to be anywhere but with her, with the baby she was having. And she was right. It wasn’t anything she’d done. She was a beautiful, kind, loving woman. It just turned out we wanted completely different things out of life.”

“And after the divorce … that was when you began to travel the world?”

He made a low sound, a thoughtful sort of noise deep in his throat. “At first, I traveled to console myself, to get past the guilt of failing at my marriage, of losing that baby I never really wanted, the little girl who died without drawing breath. I was trying to escape the reality of how completely I had disappointed Nora—and myself. But soon enough, I was traveling because I loved it so much.

“After the pain and loss faded, that was a great time for me. I would live in the finest luxury resorts one week and disappear into the wilds the next.”

“So where does Great Escapes come in?”

“Eventually, I realized I did have a need for productive activity, for work that matters to me. Remember that ne’er-do-well uncle of mine?”

“I do.”

“He’d taken me to San Antonio a couple of times during my Texas visits. And I’d loved it there. So I moved to SA, started the magazine. No, it doesn’t make me any richer. My investments do that. But it’s a job tailored exactly to my talents and my affinities. I travel the world and I write about it in Great Escapes.”

Zoe was still certain that if—when—they got back home, they would, as agreed, go back to their strictly professional relationship. She needed not to get her hopes up that Dax might turn out to be the man for her in any long-term way.

Still, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “So … you ever think you might get married again—say, when you’re ninety and too old for anything but rocking in your rocking chair and loving some lucky old lady?”

“Never again,” he said softly. But he meant it.

“Children?”

“Without a wife?”

“Well, it does happen.”

“Not to me. I’m no family man—married or otherwise. I know myself better now, know my limitations, know what I want from life. Marriage and/or a family … it’s not going to happen.”

She felt a small twinge and recognized it for what it was: regret. In spite of her determination not to, she had been nurturing some small spark of hope, for a possible future with him beyond this, and beyond Great Escapes. She could see now that it really wasn’t to be.

The small spark flickered and died.

And she told herself she wasn’t disappointed. She’d known going in that he wasn’t marriage material. And besides, a husband was the last thing she was looking for at this point.

So it was all good. Wicked good.

The next day was Monday, their anniversary in the clearing. A whole week and they had survived to celebrate it.

Again, Zoe carried her cameras everywhere. She took at least as many pictures as she had the day before.

After dinner, as darkness claimed the sky, Dax produced a carefully packed bottle of Scotch from one of his suitcases. It was to have been a gift for Ramón Esquevar.

“I think,” Dax said, “that under the circumstances, Ramón will understand if we open it without him.” The label said it was aged fifty years.

It went down hot and smooth and smoky. “Delicious,” Zoe said. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here in the jungle with you, drinking Scotch that’s almost as old as my mother.”

He laughed and asked her about her family, about what it was like growing up a Bravo. She described each of her brothers, her sister, her half sister, the various spouses and children.

A slow smile curved his tempting mouth. “And now, I want the real dirt. I want to know what makes Zoe Bravo tick.”

It didn’t even occur to her to hold back—not here, not now. “I’m the family’s ‘free spirit,’ the one who never figured out what she wanted to do in her life. I used to be perfectly happy about that, about getting by off the income from my trust fund, about not being tied down to earning a paycheck, not having that ingrained need to make a so-called ‘success’ of my life. I had no issues with simply moving on if something—like school or a job—started getting tiresome.”

He picked up on the operative words. “Used to? Past tense?”

She treated herself to another slow sip of Ramón Esquevar’s excellent Scotch. “Yeah, it finally got old. It got so when my dad called me his little free spirit, I wanted to punch his lights out. I knew then—like you, when you created Great Escapes—that I needed to find work I could stand doing on a daily basis.”

“And now you have.” He raised his tin cup.

She tapped hers against it. “To work.”

“And to you, Zoe Bravo. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you showed up in my office that fateful Thursday in June. There is no one I’d rather be stranded in the jungle with, no one in the whole damn world, and that is a fact.”

“Back at ya, Dax, and then some.”

They sipped, slowly, savoring every drop.

That night, in the tent, after lovemaking even more satisfying than the night before and the night before that, she laughed and warned that at this rate, they were going to run out of condoms before the rescue he so adamantly predicted could occur.

“I doubt it.” He was downright smug. “I brought plenty.”

“Always prepared.”

Braced up on an elbow, he traced a circle around her navel. “I don’t want any surprises. So I make it my business to prevent them.”

“Then again …”

“Is that a criticism I hear coming?”

“Well, Dax, if you really want to protect yourself against those kids you say you’re never going to have, why not get a vasectomy?”

Did she expect the question to give him pause?

It didn’t. He bent close just long enough to press a soft kiss on the vulnerable flesh of her belly. Then he shrugged. “You’re absolutely right. And I’ve been to the urologist more than once to get it done.”

“But?”

He shook his head. “I always chicken out. Some ingrained macho idea I have of myself, I think. That I’ll somehow be less a man if I’m sterile.”

“You know that’s just crap, right?”

He idly stroked her shoulder. “Yes, I do know. Still, it’s crap that I haven’t gotten past yet.”

She couldn’t resist suggesting, “Then maybe you do want to have kids, someday. Somewhere deep in your macho manly man heart, I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” He sounded very sure. “I’ve just got a stupid, irrational fear of being less of a man. A fear I will get over, one of these days.”

Zoe reached up to cradle the side of his dear face. “You know, I could actually start to admire you if things keep on like this.”

He faked a look of dismay. “You don’t already? What is wrong with you?”

She laughed, but then she grew serious again. “You’re more honest and self-aware than I realized.”

“High praise.”

“Yeah, who knew? Sheesh. That first day, during the interview, I was actually thinking that working for you was the last thing I ought to be doing.”

He ran a finger slowly down the outer edge of her arm, bringing a little shiver in anticipation of future pleasures. “Yeah, I’m a lousy interviewer, I know. I need to work on that.”

“No kidding.” She did a bad imitation of Dax’s deep voice. “‘Can I be straight with you? You work for me, that’s all you do with me ….’”

He had the grace to look chagrined. “Yeah, that was a little over the top.”

“A little?”

“See it from my point of view. I had just lost two assistants in a row, had to let them go when they decided they were in love with me. One of them showed up at my house unannounced, her arms full of gourmet food she’d whipped up just for me. She pushed past me into the house, set the bags of food on the entry table and then grabbed me in her arms and passionately declared that she had brought me dinner and we had to quit lying to ourselves. We had to face that we were meant for each other.”

She tried not to laugh. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. And the next one was worse. I got off the elevator one morning and she wasn’t at her desk. She was at mine. On mine, in fact, and wearing nothing but a sexy pout and pair of red high-heeled shoes.”

“I can just picture it—and I really wish I couldn’t.”

“So I had to fire her, too. It was very inconvenient. She cried. She talked about filing a lawsuit, about getting a restraining order on me.”

“On you? But she was the one who—”

He bent close for a quick kiss. “You’re preaching to the choir, Zoe.”

“What did you do?”

“I gave her a big severance package—and told myself I was one lucky SOB that I could afford to pay her off. She finally went away.”

Zoe teased, “An inconvenient naked woman. Is there anything worse?”

He traced a finger down the side of her throat, the caress feather-light. “Somehow, when you say ‘naked’ and ‘woman’ in the same sentence, it doesn’t seem like that could ever be a bad thing.”

She caught his hand, kissed it. “But it was.”

“Yeah.”

“You needed someone who could keep her mind on the job.”

“Exactly. So when you came along, I decided to get it crystal clear in the interview that a hot affair would not be happening. And then right away I regretted making such a big deal about it. I realized I wouldn’t have minded at all if I’d come in one morning and found you naked on my desk.”

She held his gaze. “I’m flattered, you know that. But—”

“I know.” He looked resigned as he pulled his hand from hers. “Never would have happened. Never going to happen, not when we get back to civilization. We have an agreement and I promise to stick by it.”

“Well, all right, then.”

He leaned closer. In the faint glow from the fire outside, his dark eyes were full of sensual promises. “So I guess I’d better grab my chance while I’ve got you naked in my arms, huh?”

“I guess you’d better.” She reached up, combed the hair at his temple with her fingers. “Kiss me, Dax.”

And he did kiss her—everywhere. When he rolled on the condom and eased himself between her open thighs, she thought that being lost in the jungle was almost worth the fear they might not make it out. She could live with the fear.

As long as she had Dax in her arms every night.

She woke to the strangest sound. Like the beating wings of a giant bird.

Her eyes flew open. Daylight. It was morning. Dax was already up, bent over beneath the low roof of the tent, hopping around on his good foot, getting into his pants.

“Wh—what’s going on?” she muttered thickly, her mind still lost in a fog of sleep.

“Helicopter,” he said the impossible word as he zipped up his pants. “It’s happening, Zoe.”

“Uh. Happening?”

“We’re being rescued.”

“Rescued …” Could it really be?

It was. The beating wings were descending—coming closer, louder. The sides of the tent rippled in a sudden hard wind.

Dax granted her his wonderful heartbreaker’s smile. “Better put some clothes on, don’t you think?”