More Than Paradise (25 page)

She and Charlotte had made love for hours after their Þ rst union, and it only got better. She could hardly wait for the next time and she had

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JENNIFER FULTON

thought, when they left the orchid garden, that Charlotte felt exactly the same way.

But now she wasn’t so sure. One thing was pretty clear: Charlotte was discovering for the very Þ rst time the passionate, sexual woman she could be with the right lover. Maybe that had unsettled her. It had to be a shock to Þ nd out that your sexual self had barely functioned in previous relationships.

Ash was amazed every time a woman confessed how little pleasure she’d had with other lovers. How she faked it. How she had sex as a way of getting affection. What kind of deadbeats did those women sleep with? It wasn’t rocket science to Þ nd out what your partner wanted and give it to her. Her own motto was if in doubt, ask. Then do.

With Charlotte, she had quickly realized there was no point asking.

When a woman’s only yardstick was dull sex with well-meaning partners, she wasn’t in a position to state categorically what worked for her. How could she know? Ash had sensed something else, too.

Someone had destroyed Charlotte’s sexual conÞ dence.

It didn’t happen in a vacuum. An intelligent, sensitive woman with normal appetites did not just decide she was a failure as a sexual being.

Someone made her feel that way. Probably the same person whose physical violence was encoded in Charlotte’s reß exes. There were places she could not be touched without warning. Ash had carefully charted them for herself and when she read the completed map she knew exactly what she was looking at. Her own mother’s had been almost identical.

Whoever had used Charlotte for a punching bag had also beaten her up emotionally, and Ash knew all too well that in many ways, that was worse. A physical beating left scars but everything could return to working order. Emotional trauma was different. It continued to exact a toll because the damage could not be undone. Those who suffered it lived with wounds that kept opening. The ones who broke out of the cycle usually avoided making themselves vulnerable to more injury. As she had herself.

Ash wasn’t sure if Charlotte knew how much her past was a factor in her present. But it was obvious in the ways she protected herself. The layers of learning. The “rules” about this and that. The harsh judgments passed on weaknesses, especially her own.

Charlotte had wondered out loud what they had in common. Ash thought,
We’re both survivors.
She had the distinct feeling that she

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understood some aspects of Charlotte better than Charlotte understood them herself.

But perhaps that was arrogant. Charlotte didn’t see herself as a victim. People who grew up in bad homes, with violence and alcohol, were victims. But those who chose a bad partner were accomplices in their own misfortune. Charlotte blamed herself, and while she did she would always live in relation to her past.

Ash wondered if she wanted to sign up for that in a partner. She had problems of her own, not least her constantly pressing grief.

Maybe taking the break away from the camp was a good idea. She needed to think things through without the distraction of Charlotte’s presence.

With a Þ nal despondent glance around the area, she shouldered her backpack and set off for the camp. Charlotte was probably waiting there. Ash walked faster. She wouldn’t be able to rest until she held her again.

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Charlotte’s eyes had already made all the adjustments they were capable of and her night vision was still virtually zero.

Skeletal forms shadow danced before her, forest wraiths in claim of their domain. She clung tightly to Bruce’s rough, sinewy arm.

“Maybe we should stay where we are and Þ nd the camp in the morning,” she suggested when they fell over a twisted root.

“It’s not far,” he said.

Charlotte stared dubiously into the pitch dark. She wasn’t sure which idea was more insane—trusting her new best friend to lead her back toward the lake bed through a rainforest with no visibility, or spending the night camped out in the open with him, knowing he would probably leave her alone in the bewildering forest to Þ nd her way back the next morning.

“I have a GSM phone and a ß are,” she reminded him.

“If we get lost or fall into the wrong hands, I’ll use the ß are for self-immolation,” Bruce replied with the conÞ dence of a man who had departed far from societal norms.

Charlotte was about to make a snippy reply when he caught hold of her shoulders and made a shushing sound. Slowly he turned her ninety degrees to her left. Charlotte squinted and could just make out a zone where the darkness seemed less intense.

“Is that moonlight?” she whispered hopefully.

“Walk straight ahead for a hundred paces and you will be near your tent.” He released her.

“Oh, my God. How did you do that?” She could see pale blobs, tents illuminated with low-lit lanterns.

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JENNIFER FULTON

Bruce said, “Humans have a homing instinct. We just don’t use it.”

“Like the sixth sense,” Charlotte noted.

“I have that, too,” he said.

“You’re a spooky guy, Bruce.”

He gave a low chuckle. “I can live with that. So…do we have a deal?”

“I wish you’d let me tell Ash.”

“Like I said, she works for scum. I don’t trust that mongrel.”

“What if I just come right out and ask her. I mean, she’d know if this Tubby individual has a contract out on you, wouldn’t she?”

“Probably.”

“Then I’ll be discreet. I’ll just ask her in passing. We’re…

friends.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I hope you weren’t spying on us.”

“I stopped looking when you stripped off and started groping each other under that waterfall.”

“Oh, God,” Charlotte muttered, hoping he was telling the truth about ceasing his voyeurism before they made love.

“It’s the truth,” he said, adding mind-reading to his list of paranormal accomplishments. “I’m not a perv.”

No, you just wear a kangaroo head, call a rainforest home, and
have made the discovery of the millennium.
“How will I Þ nd you again?” she asked.

When she didn’t get an answer, she groped around in her immediate radius and found her companion gone.

“Bruce?” she called into the night.

“No worries.” His voice drifted back. “I’ll Þ nd
you
.”

Fixing her gaze on the tents, Charlotte hurried through the forest, breathing hard, ß ooded with relief and guilt. Some time earlier, she’d heard her name being called and had seen the frog hunters wasting precious ß ashlight beams on her. But Bruce had insisted on taking her all the way back to the campsite himself instead of making contact with them. He seemed to think people were out to get him. Against her better judgment and only because of what he’d shown her, she’d indulged his paranoia and hoped for the best.

She also thought it would be better if she located Ash before Ash found her wandering around like a lost soul. It was only two hours after

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the usual evening mealtime. She could argue that she’d fallen asleep when she only meant to take a short nap.

She felt uncomfortable not telling the truth, but Bruce had sworn her to secrecy and for the moment Charlotte had decided to respect his wishes. She needed some time to consider what she’d just seen. She was still reeling from it, her mind refusing to accept the evidence of her eyes. If she knew Ash better, she would tell her, if for no other reason than to be reassured of her own sanity. Having another person see what she’d just seen would conÞ rm that it hadn’t been a dream and that she wasn’t crazy.

The cave Bruce had dropped her into was only accessible via the chimney they’d used or through a tiny entrance on a jungle-clad slope with a clear drop below. Its inhabitants climbed a web of lianas to access their front door. Charlotte and Bruce had no hope of doing the same. They were far too big.

No one will ever believe you.

Charlotte tried to picture herself addressing a Sealy-Weiss meeting.

“The Foja cave dwellers are of small stature, rather similar in size to the so-called hobbit of Flores. It would appear that they represent a living family of
Homo ß oresiensis
and not a group of aberrant or pathological individuals. Their facial features are primitive, and it may be possible that they are descended from
Homo erectus
, the species known to have populated the region some 800,000 years ago.

“These hominids have language, tool-making skills, and Þ re.

But of most interest to the Institute is their apparent longevity coupled with unusual youthfulness. Further research is necessary, but one of the individuals in the group claims to be the same age as a mature mahogany tree situated close to the cave. I estimate this tree to be two hundred years old. The Foja hobbits attribute their long lives to the extract of an orchid they cultivate, a species previously unknown.”

She would need an arsenal of hard evidence to support these claims, preferably one of the individuals and, of course, specimens of the orchid. How she was going to accomplish this in secrecy was a mystery to Charlotte. But she could see why Bruce insisted she tell no one. Living prehistoric humans was one thing. But an orchid that could turn out to be the elixir of life—the ramiÞ cations were staggering. If Charlotte could take back proof, she would be the most famous botanist alive. She could write her own job description. Belton Pharmaceuticals would put a statue of her in their lobby.

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JENNIFER FULTON

Meantime, she had to keep her mouth shut.

As she headed for the tent, she repeated what she was going to say to Ash. She would be casual. Give her a moment to be annoyed, then apologize.

A hand clamped her shoulder and Charlotte jumped with fright.

“Where the hell have you been?” Ash demanded. “I’ve been out of my mind.”

“I fell asleep,” Charlotte said. “Then I got kind of lost.”

“Lost?” The Þ ngers in her shoulders dug in. “And you didn’t phone me?”

Before Charlotte could summon an answer, Ash made an entirely different demand, crushing her in a Þ erce embrace and claiming her mouth without ceremony. For several long seconds she kissed Charlotte hard and deeply, then she all but dragged her off her feet, propelling her into their tent.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” she warned as the tent ß ap dropped behind them.

Charlotte tried to move away from her, but there was nowhere to go in the cramped conÞ nes. Ash caught hold of her once more, pinning her hands together behind her back so Charlotte couldn’t jerk away. Her mouth found Charlotte’s throat and, as she bit down, she tore her shirt and bra away with one hand while the other maintained its grip on her sandwiched wrists.

“Ash, don’t,” Charlotte cried as she felt her belt being undone and her zipper tugged down.

The reply was swift and shocking. Ash pushed her onto their makeshift bed and dragged her pants off. Her weight pinned Charlotte as she quickly shed her own clothes. Then, when they were both naked, she jammed a knee between Charlotte’s legs.

“It’s not that easy,” she bit out. “Do you think I’m one of those tame house pets you can let into your bed once in a while? And when you’re bored I’ll wait in a corner?”

Her fury made Charlotte shiver. Fear tangled with excitement, knotting in her belly until she was helplessly aroused, crazily aware of the welling at her core. Already her body was molding itself to Ash’s, hungrily reclaiming what it knew. Ash’s mouth returned to hers, hard and relentless, forcing her lips apart, making her accept the onslaught of tongue and teeth. At the same time, her hands were seizing possession.

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She opened Charlotte, compelling her way inside with short sharp thrusts.

When Charlotte pushed at her chest, the kisses ceased and damp, hot breath rushed across her cheek. Ash spoke into her ear.

“Don’t Þ ght me.”

She gave no quarter. Every small ß utter of resistance was met with unbending authority until Charlotte stopped struggling and lay still, panting and shaking, her body no longer in concert with her mind.

She dragged a shaky hand past one of Ash’s rigid shoulders to stroke the Þ ne hair clinging damply to the base of her neck. With her other hand, she traced several Þ ngertips delicately over her lover’s face, trying to read what the darkness concealed. The piercing eyes and deÞ ned cheekbones. The straight deliberate nose and sensual mouth. Her Þ ngertips remembered every crease and shadow. Her heart remembered the glinting challenge and tender intensity.

When she found moisture where tears would linger, remorse formed a lump in her throat. Had Ash been crying?

“I’m sorry—”

“No, I am,” Ash rasped. “Forgive me.”

Charlotte could feel the beginnings of her withdrawal and begged,

“Don’t.” She lifted her hips and drew Ash insistently down. “I can’t bear if you leave me now.”

She slid a hand down the taut straining muscles of Ash’s back and moved with her as their bodies fused in passionate accord. Ash’s strokes slowed to a languorous rhythm that made her shudder with yearning. A ß ood of liquid bathed the Þ ngers inside her, bidding them deeper.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, almost sobbing with the sudden force of her emotions. She couldn’t think. All she could do was crave. And be.

Trembling, she offered her lips, then her breasts, cupping them for Ash’s possession. The torture of wet heat and gentle teeth compressing her nipples one at a time only increased the pounding pressure at her core. Moaning, Charlotte arched her back, needing more. Harder and faster. She was sweating, wracked with desire, her nerve endings telegraphing every miniscule sensation to the crushing tension at her core.