To Love a Man (5 page)

Suddenly Lisa became aware that, beneath the blanket, she was completely naked. Her hand slid down disbelievingly to confirm the fact and encountered a faint stickiness on her abdomen and thighs. She blanched. Hazy memories of a hard, driving male body danced in her brain. Dear God, what had she done? She hadn’t—please say she hadn’t practically raped a total stranger. Snippets of her actions of the previous night played like first-run movies in her mind. Her paling face turned a bright tomato red. How could she have been so—so totally shameless? To beg him to make love to her, to touch him as she had done . . . !

Lisa closed her eyes, groaning. Whatever had possessed her? That she, usually so cool and reserved, could have behaved in such a way was crazy. And with such a man! A common soldier, for God’s sake! But she knew, with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, that it was true.

Lisa groaned again, pulling the blanket up over her head in an effort to keep out the world. What must he have thought, be thinking of her?

Finally a slow anger began to build. Maybe Sam wasn’t as innocent in all this as she’d first thought. After all, he’d given her two injections that she knew of, and no telling how many more! Who knew what had been in them? Maybe he’d deliberately doped her up, hoping for that kind of reaction. Anyway, she hadn’t been in her right mind last night, that much was certain, and he must have known it. Taking advantage of her in such a way was—was downright loathsome!

A soft footstep on the ground directly outside her tent brought her head shooting out from beneath the blanket. Despite all her rationalizations, her face turned fiery crimson, and the hands clutching the blanket to her shoulders were unsteady. Any second now she expected to see that all-too-familiar shape step through the flap. But what did thrust through was only a head, and it was certainly not the arrogant black-haired one she was expecting. This one was balding on top, the glossy circle surrounded by a graying fringe, and the eyes that met hers were brown instead of the cobalt blue she remembered with such skin-tingling vividness.

“Who—who are you?” she asked faintly, suddenly feeling apprehensive. After all, embarrassing as she would find Sam’s presence, he was at least a known quantity. This man was a stranger—and after her recent experiences she didn’t feel overly trusting.

“Name’s Riley Bates.” He stepped inside as he answered. His tone could in no way be interpreted as friendly, but the familiar name allowed Lisa to relax. She had heard Sam call him last night, before . . .

“What do you want?” Keeping the blanket well up around her neck, she cautiously sat up. Her eyes went over Riley Bates assessingly. He was skinny and stooped and looked to be at least fifty years old. Like Sam, he was dressed in a khaki uniform.

“You hungry?” he asked brusquely. Lisa considered, then nodded. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

While he was gone Lisa puzzled over his attitude. He was positively hostile—but why? To her knowledge, she hadn’t done anything to offend him. Maybe he resented having to wait on her. Or maybe he just didn’t like women.

Before she had arrived at an answer, Riley was back, carrying the same kind of tin plate she had eaten out of before. Unspeaking, he held it out to her. Lisa found herself in a quandary. To take the plate she would have to let go of the blanket, and that was clearly impossible. She bit her lip. Seeing her problem, Riley snorted and set down the plate on the overturned box along with a fork and a mug of what she hoped was coffee. Then, still without a word, he turned and left.

This time Lisa didn’t bother to puzzle over his motive. The sight of food had set her stomach to rumbling, and she could feel her mouth watering hungrily. Quickly she stood up, wrapping the blanket around her body sarong-fashion, then sat down again on the cot and pulled the plate toward her.

The contents of the plate would have daunted a less eager stomach than Lisa’s. There was a rubbery, whitish-looking mound that she tasted gingerly—scrambled eggs? If so, they were without doubt the worst she had ever eaten, and the sausages—she hoped—that went with them were just as bad. If she hadn’t been absolutely starving she wouldn’t even have attempted to get it down. But she had a sneaking suspicion that she would get nothing better, so she mastered her squeamishness as best she could and ate. The coffee at least was passable, hot and strong and liberally sugared.

“Them’s for you.”

Riley was back, carrying some limp-looking clothes. His attitude was, if anything, more surly than before. Lisa eyed him doubtfully as he threw the clothes down on the cot beside her.

“Thank you.”

Riley snorted again. “Don’t thank me, missy. This here’s an army camp, and you can’t run around it naked, no matter what you’re used to. Fact is, you can’t run around it at all. You’re to stay in this tent, right inside, ’cept for a certain time of the day when I’m with you. Otherwise, you ain’t to step a foot outside. You got that?”

Lisa stared at him. She was to stay in the tent—he had to be kidding! Already it was stuffy in here, and she had a feeling that as the day wore on it would get positively unbearable. He couldn’t be serious! Anyway, who the hell was Riley Bates? She couldn’t believe he was the one who gave the orders.

“Where’s Sam?” she asked coolly, lifting her chin. Despite the embarrassment the thought of seeing him again brought, he at least had been kind. And he had to have more authority than this little runt. . . .

“Sam’s busy.” Riley’s reply was openly gloating. “He ain’t got no more time for you. Besides, them orders came from
him.
He ain’t a man to let his judgment be warped by a little slap and tickle.”

Lisa stared at him with dumb shock, her cheeks slowly suffusing with crimson. From his words and tone, it was clear that he knew what had taken place between her and Sam the night before. Good Lord, had the conceited creature bragged to the whole camp about how easy she was? Her body burned from head to toe with embarrassment as she imagined Sam describing her behavior in intimate detail to a snickering circle of men. By the time she got through painting her mental picture, Lisa was more than willing to stay cooped up in the tent. In fact, wild horses couldn’t have dragged her out!

“You understand?” Riley asked with a trace of satisfaction.

Lisa could only nod in reply. As he left the tent she covered her hot face with her hands, wishing that the ground would mercifully open up and swallow her.

The remainder of the two weeks she had planned to spend in Rhodesia passed in a blur of discomfort, inconvenience, and downright embarrassment. Only when the Tuesday of her scheduled departure from the country came and went with no mention of when—or if—she would be allowed to return to civilization did it begin to dawn on Lisa that she was in fact a prisoner. Diplomatically at first, and then more and more furiously as Riley ignored her as thoroughly as though he were stone deaf, Lisa demanded to be let go, or at the very least to be allowed to send a message to her family that she was safe. If her grandfather was aware of what had befallen the Blasses—and she was sure he would be by now, nearly two weeks after the event—he would be beside himself with grief. Because, to her knowledge, he had no way of knowing that she had not shared the Blass family’s grisly fate. . . . The shock might even kill him. Despite his facade of vigor, he was an old man, and Lisa was all he had left in the world. But, for all the notice Riley took of her orders, entreaties, and even occasional attempts at outright bribery, she might as well have saved her breath. Clearly he intended to do absolutely nothing to help her. And he was her only link with authority—which was, in a word, Sam. Finally, seething, Lisa abandoned her efforts to persuade Riley to intercede on her behalf. It was hopeless, she knew.

During that time, humiliation was her constant companion. On the occasions when, under Riley’s supervision, she left the tent, it was clear from the knowing smirks on the faces of the men she passed that her night with Sam was common knowledge. It was also clear that they considered her open to suggestions. She supposed she had Riley’s constant guardianship to thank for the fact that their suggestions weren’t followed up with action.

She saw Sam only at a distance. Just the sight of his tall, broad-shouldered frame swaggering about the camp was enough to send her blood pressure shooting up. She was conscious of an almost overwhelming urge to injure him, and derived immense pleasure from conjuring up pictures of herself slapping his dark face until it stung.

One thing she’d been right about—the tent was hot. She sweltered during the long days, and her temper grew hotter as she did. The clothes that had been provided for her were no help. Her own underthings, laundered daily and made of nylon, were reasonably cool, but the cast-off military uniform she was forced to wear was not. For one thing, it was miles too big, so she had to fold up the sleeves and the pants legs into awkward rolls, and for another the material, designed for durability, was impossibly heavy. Finally she succumbed to temptation and ripped at the sleeves and legs until they tore right across. She was left with a very baggy pair of shorts that hit her at mid-thigh and a sleeveless shirt. The outfit was ragged, and she knew it must look ridiculous, but at least it let what little air survived in the tent reach her skin.

Riley was horrified when he saw what she had done, and expressed his disapproval volubly, refusing to take her outside dressed as she was. He ended his diatribe with a threat to go directly to Sam with the information that she was getting up to her whore’s tricks again. Lisa, flicked on a raw spot, blew up.

“You can tell your precious Sam to go straight to hell,” she spat in a low, shaking voice. “I don’t give a damn what he, or you, or any of the rest of these animals around here, thinks. I totally despise you all!”

With that she burst into tears. Riley looked appalled, staring at her like she had suddenly grown two heads.

“Oh, get out!” Lisa sobbed furiously. After a moment’s hesitation, he did.

The tears left almost as soon as Riley did. Lisa gulped, sniffled, and wiped her eyes. After all, what did she really have to cry about? She was alive, and reasonably safe and well cared for, and she was realistic enough to realize that her situation could have been immeasurably worse. Tension and physical discomfort were her only immediate problems, and they could be remedied. A long walk out in the fresh air would do it, or a warm, tingling shower. Lisa thought longingly of cooling spray washing down over her body, wetting her thoroughly, cleansing her. The only bath she had had for over two weeks had been a quick wash in a bowl, and she felt distinctly grubby. And her hair could use a wash. . . .

On her daily excursions to the lime pit that served as the camp toilet, Lisa had glimpsed, not too far away, a small creek. Quite suddenly she made up her mind that she would have that walk and the bath, too. And if Riley, or Sam, or anyone else didn’t like it, fantastic!

Gathering up her precious sliver of soap and the rough cotton towel, Lisa moved across to the tent flap and cautiously peered out. It was early afternoon, a time when the camp was usually almost deserted. Riley was around somewhere, she knew, but she didn’t see him. This was probably the best chance she’d ever have to sneak away unseen. With luck, no one would ever know she’d flouted Sam’s orders. Anyway, once she’d had her bath, she didn’t much care if they did know!

Lisa ducked outside, blinking in the bright African sunlight, momentarily having to shade her eyes. It was good to feel the sun beating down on her head, to smell the fresh air, to see the beautiful cerulean sky and green-gold landscape so typical of this remote part of the world. Quickly she began to walk toward the creek, not slowing her pace until a bend in the path took her out of sight of the camp. She was surrounded by short, scrubby trees with deep green foliage and a charm uniquely their own. Brightly colored birds fluttered from branch to branch, their raucous cries filling the air. Butterflies with enormous, gaudy wings flitted all about her, and in the tall golden grass on either side of the trail she could hear little scurryings as small creatures went about their daily lives. The possibility of snakes being somewhere nearby caused her a moment’s unease, but then she resolutely dismissed that quibble from her mind. She was going to enjoy her first taste of freedom for what seemed like months, and nothing short of a woman-eating alligator on the banks of the creek was going to send her back!

She passed the rough plank toilet and kept going, averting her nose from the strong smell of lime. There had been times over the past week when she would have given anything she possessed to see this place at times other than the measly one allotted to her, but, perversely, this afternoon her body was not interested. Lisa wondered at the contrariness of her own system, then forgot about it as the path ended at the edge of the creek.

To her eyes it was a beautiful creek, clear and shallow and sparkling in the sunlight. Lisa looked around, satisfied herself that she was alone, and quickly began shedding her clothes. An innate sense of modesty prompted her to leave on her peach-colored, nylon-and-lace bra and panties, which covered her as well as any of the swimsuits she possessed. And she was sensible enough to know that she needed her sneakers to protect her feet from whatever might lurk on the creek’s bottom. Finally, she waded into the tepid water, which in the middle came no higher than her shoulders. Happily she dove beneath the surface, emerging to lather her hair and face and body with soap. It stung as she got it into her eyes, but she was too pleased with herself and the world in general to mind. At last she ducked under the water again to rinse away the soap, and when that was done she paddled joyfully about. She ended up floating on her back, her long hair trailing around her like pale seaweed. In that position she could enjoy an unimpeded view of the sky, and for a while she entertained herself by making pictures in the fleecy white clouds. It was only when a long shadow from a tree on the bank touched her face that she realized how quickly time had passed. Faint fingers of pink were beginning to streak the sky, and she could no longer see the sun. It must be nearly dusk. Lisa stood up, shaking her soaking hair back from her face, realizing with a sinking feeling that she had to get back. If she hadn’t already been missed it would be a miracle, and the thought of a confrontation with Riley, or, a hundred times worse, Sam, was suddenly extremely unappealing. Quickly she waded to shore, twisting her hair into a rope and squeezing the water from it as she went. There was no time to lie on the bank and let the sun leisurely dry her underwear, as she had planned, and anyway the air was cooling rapidly. Lisa shivered as she kicked off her shoes, then unhooked her bra and stepped out of her panties, wringing them out and snatching up the towel to briskly rub herself dry. The marks on her arms were almost completely healed, she registered vaguely as she patted the moisture from them. Her back was, too, despite the fact that she had flatly refused Riley’s reluctantly offered ministrations and insisted on tending her injuries herself. . . . Finally Lisa toweled her hair until it was just barely damp and turned to pick up her underwear. It was then, stooping and reaching, that she saw the two men.