The sun was setting beyond the horizon, the only hint at a sunset being the glorious solitary rays of golden light streaming in through the trees ahead, when I reached up and, pulling off my hat, shook out the long, tangled strands of my hair. From behind me, I heard a noise like a stone statue being choked to death.

I smiled.

Bloody hell, this is fun! So…what next?

I was just reaching up to find some nice buttons to open when from behind me abruptly came a voice: ‘Stop! I…ehem. I mean we’ll stop here for the night.’

‘Already, Sahib?’ Karim asked, and started to turn - until he remembered, and whirled to face away from me again. ‘It’ll be quite a while till the sun is down yet.’

‘Don’t question my orders! Do as I say!’

‘Yes, Sahib. As you wish, Sahib.’

Spoilsports! Sighing, I let my fingers drop away from my buttons. Ah, well…tomorrow would be another day. And as for the night…

My devious smile returned.

How exactly did one spend the night in the jungle? On the hot, moist ground, pressed up close against each other in a tangle of-?

My question was abruptly interrupted by something soft hitting me in the back of the head.

‘Sling this!’ Mr Ambrose commanded me as I whirled to catch the thing. ‘Go on, don’t laze about!’

Blinking in the twilight, I held up the object. For a moment, I thought it was a vast gown, designed specifically to entrap females and spare the sensitive nerves of men. Then I realised that it was, in fact, a hammock.

Hm…that has possibilities…

‘There’s one for each of us,’ Mr Ambrose told me, as if he had read my mind. Looking up from the tangle of cloth in my hands, I met his eyes and fluttered my lashes.

‘Oh, really? Could you maybe help me and show me how to hang one of these up? I’m afraid I’ve never done it before, and I might do it wrong.’

Come hither, come hither, I’m a helpless little damsel in distress - until I get you in my clutches! Then I’ll eat you for dinner!

‘If you do it wrong,’ Mr Ambrose informed me. ‘You’ll land on the forest floor. A course of action I would advise against, considering the poisonous snakes.’

With that, he left me standing.

Damn! He was a tough coconut to crack! But, on the other hand, I was in the jungle now. So I was bound to get some experience in the cracking of coconuts.

Deciding to make a strategic retreat and resume the battle on the morrow, I looked for two trees standing close enough so I wouldn’t have to stretch the hammock to the length of Loch Ness, and far enough apart for me to not have to fold myself. I finally settled on a pair and began to lash the thing down. The result was less than perfect, but at least provided me with a reasonably dry and soft surface to lie on.

Swinging back and forth, I lay in my hammock, chewing on a piece of dry bread, while Karim and Mr Ambrose sat around a tree stump, discussing our strategy in low voices - or discussing ways to force me to leave the rest of my clothes on. How would I know? Lying in my peaceful little haven, I watched the sun go down and wondered what the morning would bring.

*~*~**~*~*

By the end of the day, I was definitely starting to have misgivings about my battle plan. Certainly, Mr Ambrose seemed inordinately interested in my increasing lack of clothing. So, however, were the jungle insects. When I woke up next morning, the nasty little beasts had decorated me with a number of angry red stings in places even I didn’t think were polite to mention. Perverts!

Karim, at least, hadn’t escaped unharmed, either. During breakfast he kept scratching his butt in a manner that, combined with the fact that he had his hand clamped over his eyes the whole time, made it very hard not to snigger. But as for Mr Ambrose - well, whenever I wanted to snigger, I just had to look at him, and the urge would disappear instantly. He didn’t scratch himself once. Not a single solitary bleeding time! Was his stone skin impervious to mosquito bites? Or did the stench of too much money keep the hungry little bastards away?

Damn him! How dare he just…sit there, perfectly impervious, while I was itching like the devil? For that offense, he deserved to be eternally tortured!

Well…

Then I would have to see that he got what he deserved.

‘Dear oh dear.’ Sighing, I rose from the tree root on which I’d been sitting eating my breakfast, and stretched, taking care that my chemise rose up as high as the laws of physics allowed. ‘It’s really hot this morning, don’t you think?’

‘No!’ Karim barked, almost desperately. ‘No, I don’t think so at all! In fact, I detect a definite chill in the air this morning! Isn’t that right? Sahib, you know best! It’s chilly, is it not?’

‘I concur,’ Mr Ambrose said in a voice that could have made the Amazon frost over. ‘Positively freezing.’

‘Strange. I somehow feel that I’m too hot. You know what? I think I’m wearing too much clothing. I should…’

Karim was out of there before I could say another word. With a curse, he jumped up and, hand still over his eyes, stumbled off to scout ahead.

‘That’s south!’ I shouted after him. ‘We’re going northeast!’

‘I had better be going, too,’ Mr Ambrose stated coolly, rising to his feet.

‘What?’ I glanced around at him and, from under lowered lashes, gave him a challenging look. ‘Don’t you want to guard my rear today?’

His gaze lowered until it fixed on my barely covered derrière. ‘I think your rear will be much safer without me as a guard.’

‘Well, that’s too bad,’ I told him, and whirled around, grabbing my backpack and flitting after Karim. ‘I guess I’ll just have to live in danger,’ I called over my shoulder.

In answer I only received silence.

Well, apart from the monkeys cackling in the distance.

We continued our course northeast, just as yesterday: Karim in front, me in the middle, and Mr Ambrose at the back. I would instantly bet money on the fact that it was not a position he was used to. You just had to glance once at Rikkard Ambrose to know that he was always at the front, always first and best at everything. It made me wonder why, in this case, he was content to march behind me. I had great fun wondering, because, really, there was only one possible answer.

‘Are you enjoying the view, Sir?’ I asked about half an hour after we had set out. A little small talk couldn’t hurt anybody, right?

‘I’ve seen jungles before,’ came the brusque reply.

‘I wasn’t talking about the jungle.’

There were a few moments of pregnant silence, strongly in need of an abortion.

‘Mr Linton?’

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Be silent!’

‘Yes, Sir!’

‘And, Mr Linton…’

‘Yes?’

‘When we return to London, you are buying more underclothes!’

‘I don’t know, Sir… Underclothes are quite expensive. Will I get a raise?’

‘Don’t stretch my patience, Mr Linton!’

‘Oh well, I’ll stretch something else, then.’ And, leaning against a tree, I stretched my aching limbs. It felt good! Especially when, from behind me, I heard an indistinct noise coming from Mr Ambrose.

It went on like this for exquisite hour upon exquisite hour. With something to keep my mind - and certain parts of my body - occupied, hiking through the Amazonian jungle didn’t feel nearly as difficult as I had feared it would. Not even the stings of mosquitoes could bother me much. After all, to a certain extent I could perfectly well understand how much fun it was to nettle somebody. And my approach seemed to be getting to Mr Ambrose a lot more than the pitiful attempts of the mosquitos.

It was just after we had set out again after stopping for a short lunch that I decided to make my next move. The sun was shining through a small open patch in the roof of leaves above us, highlighting my figure, I was sure, to anyone who walked behind me. The perfect scene! Now all that was missing was action. Slowly, I raised my hands to the buttons of my vest.

‘Mr Linton!’

Ignoring the call from behind me, I undid the first button.

‘Mr Linton, what are you doing?’

‘I’m adjusting my attire. Don’t you remember?’ Slowing down, I half-turned to glance at him. ‘I said this morning that I thought it had gotten even warmer.’

‘It hasn’t!’

‘Really?’ I undid another button, revealing the wet, clinging linen of my shirt. ‘I feel positively hot.’

‘Mr Linton, cease that immediately!’

‘What?’ Reaching for another button, I teased it with my forefinger. ‘This?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why?’ The button popped open. Oh, how wonderful I had purchased a vest with this many sparkly little buttons…‘They’re just buttons.’

‘It’s not the buttons I’m concerned about,’ he bit out. ‘It’s-’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing!’

‘Oh, well, if that’s the case…’

I let the last button pop open. This time, I didn’t slow down, let alone stop. Oh no, I took care to continue walking, accentuating the sway of my hips with every step in a way that back home in England, would have caused shocked gasps, even had I been fully dressed.

But I wasn’t.

Not at all.

The vest dropped with a soft, silky noise. Catching it on one finger, I slung it over one shoulder, where it dangled like a hook, waiting for the big fish to bite. But what was much, much more important was behind the hook: the bait. Sweet little me.

I had no illusions about my physical appearance. I was utter perfection, thank you very much. My figure was perfectly slender and elegant and not at all overly padded (despite solid chocolate being my favourite food), my cleavage was enough to rob any man of his senses (probably because he would faint in the senseless effort to find it), and my smile was the most brilliant smile in the city of London (that was reminiscent of a tiger waiting for dinner).

All right, maybe I did have a few little illusions! But I was aware of them, so pretending I didn’t know that I was no great beauty was perfectly all right. I had always been content with being beautiful to myself, and never cared much for the opinions of society at large, let alone its male representatives. So it didn’t bother me at all if I heard a man murmur that I was fat, or sunburnt or a shrew that should be locked up for public safety. But Mr Rikkard Ambrose…

He was different.

He had never said anything about my looks. He never said anything about anything. But he had done things. Quite a few things, to be exact.

Hard hands holding me captive, lips catching mine with demanding force…dark eyes flashing in the shadows, boring their way into my very soul…

Even in the jungle heat, the memory from Egypt sent a shiver down my back. Oh yes, Rikkard Ambrose had done things to me, with me, and on top of me. Things that showed me exactly how he felt about my body. Even if it weren’t for the burning cold gaze I could feel drilling into me from behind at this very moment, I knew that to him, my behind wasn’t too generous, my smile not too feisty, and I suspected that with thorough research, he’d even be able to find my non-existent cleavage.

Then why not give him the chance to look?

The thought popped into my head unbidden, but not at all unwelcome. I waited for my inner feminist to screech in protest, to start waving her ‘No men allowed!’ sign - but nothing happened.

Why protest? Why hesitate? You know he wants you. Besides, with the exception of a few exceptionally hairy specimens dangling from trees somewhere above us, you are the only female within a hundred miles. That’s bound to be a point in your favour.

Good God! What was happening to me? Had my inner feminist gone nuts in the heat? Well, I certainly felt hot enough. Even the cold stare drilling into my back didn’t cool me down anymore. On the contrary - somehow, incredibly, it seemed to heat me up.

I suddenly realised, with a clarity that had evaded me before, that all that was between me and Mr Rikkard Ambrose was a shirt, a corset and a very, very thin chemise. The hand that held my vest clenched involuntarily, and for a moment, just a moment, I was tempted to pull it back on. But then I remembered the noise Mr Ambrose had made when I had popped that one button, and the dark gaze he had swept over me earlier, and another, much stronger temptation swelled up inside me.

Once again, I smiled.

*~*~**~*~*

When Mr Rikkard Ambrose awoke in his hammock the next morning and opened his eyes, he found a wet white linen shirt several sizes too small to be his dangling above his head, teasing the tip of his straight, sculpted nose. I watched from where I sat against a tree as he went stiff (well, stiffer than usual), staring up at the offending object above him.

‘Mr Linton?’

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Remove this item at once!’

‘Item? What item, Sir?’

‘You know exactly what item I am referring to, Mr Linton. Remove it, and get dressed. We’re leaving.’

‘Certainly, Sir. There’s just one tiny little problem with that…’

‘Yes?’

‘I am already dressed.’

‘What?’

Ripping the shirt from the branch above him, Mr Ambrose sat up abruptly and slid out of the hammock. His feet landed on the ground with a resounding thud. But he didn’t turn towards me - probably because he knew what he would see if he did.

‘Do you mean to tell me,’ Mr Ambrose said in a very cold, very controlled voice, his magnificent back still towards me, ‘that you intend to skip through the jungle with nothing more to cover you than a piece of skimpy lingerie?’

‘Oh no, Sir. I still have my corset on.’

‘What a tremendous comfort to us all!’

Without turning, Mr Ambrose hurled the shirt at me, and somehow managed to hit me right in the head. I sputtered, pulling wet linen from my face.

‘Where’s Karim?’ my dear employer enquired in a voice so sharp one could have cut stones with it. ‘Has he gone to dance tango with the monkeys, or is there at least one person in this group besides me who has not lost their mind yet?’

‘He’s gone scouting ahead.’

‘This early? Why?’

‘I, um…’ I didn’t often manage to blush. But in this heat, and this moment, my cheeks did turn a little redder than their usual tanned colour. ‘He woke up just as I was pulling my shirt off. Gave the poor man quite a shock.’

Mr Ambrose, who had just been about to open his knapsack, froze in mid-motion.

‘Yes.’ His voice was unusually soft. Soft as a panther’s fur. Soft as a snake’s kiss. ‘I would imagine so.’

‘I, err…don’t think he saw very much.’

‘Is that so?’

‘He ran off into the jungle as soon as he had untangled his legs from the hammock he dropped out of.’

‘I see.’

My heart was beating wildly against my chest. Dragging in a deep breath of humid air, I tried to calm it down and stop my mouth from being so bloody dry! I had to get a grip, and get on top of this game again!

‘So…what about you?’ Slowly, I rose from my sitting position, taking a step towards him. The air, even hot as it was, tickled coolly over the bare skin of my arms and legs. ‘If you see me, are you going to run off into the jungle, too?’

Silence. He didn’t turn around to look, but continued to fiddle with his knapsack.

‘What’s the matter, Sir? Are you afraid?’

It all went so fast I had hardly time to blink. The knapsack landed on the ground, and he was surging through the trees towards me in a black streak, like a sleek, dark jungle cat. The next moment I was flung off my feet and back against the tree I had been leaning against just a moment before, the rough bark digging into my soft flesh.

Rikkard Ambrose towered above me, so close that I could feel the aura of power radiating off him on my skin. Cocking his head, he leaned down to my ear and growled: ‘Don’t play games with me, Mr Linton!’

‘Oh yes? Why not?’

‘Because if you do, you might soon find yourself the plaything rather than the player!’

I felt a tingle of temptation travelling down my spine. Raising my eyes to his, I met his implacable gaze - warm chocolate brown colliding with the cold, fathomless depths of the sea.

‘Who says I want to play games?’ I demanded - and kissed him.