A Sinful Seduction

But her conflict over the prospect of spending time with him went deeper than that.

The other night when the calming strength of his arms had temporarily eased her panic, she’d been grateful for his comfort—and troubled by how it made her feel. Cal was a compelling man, and he’d touched her in a way that had sent an unmistakable message. There was a time when she would have found him hard to resist. But when he’d held her so close that his arousal had hardened against her belly, it had been all she could do to keep from pushing him away and running off into the rain. Only when he’d stepped back had she felt safe once more.

Over the past months, it was as if something had died in her. The things she’d witnessed had numbed her to the point where she doubted her ability to respond as a woman.

The issue had come to light a few months ago when a volunteer MSF doctor in one of the camps had invited her for a private supper. He’d been attractive enough, and Megan had harbored no illusions about what to expect. Such things were common enough between volunteers, and though she’d never indulged before, she’d actually looked forward to a few hours of forgetting the wretched conditions outside. But when he’d kissed her, she’d felt little more than a vague unease. She’d tried to behave as if everything was all right; but as his caresses grew more intimate, her discomfort had spiraled into panic. In the end she’d twisted away, plunged out of the tent and fled with his words echoing in her ears— What the hell’s the matter with you? Are you frigid?

By the next night the doctor had found a more agreeable partner. Megan hadn’t attempted intimacy again. She’d hoped it had been a fluke, but her reaction to Cal had confirmed her suspicions.

Her problem hadn’t gone away, and most likely wouldn’t. If Cal had seduction in mind, the man was in for a letdown. For that, and for every other reason she could think of, it would be best if she never saw him again.

But that was not to be. The next morning, as Megan was eating a breakfast of scrambled eggs and coffee, he roared through the gate in an open jeep that bore the logo of one of the big safari companies. A flock of brown parrots exploded from the tulip tree as he pulled up to the bungalow.

Dr. Musa stepped out of the clinic, grinning as if in on some secret joke.

Cal vaulted out of the jeep. “Pack your things, Megan,” he ordered. “You’re coming with me—now.”

“Have you lost your mind, Cal Jeffords?” She faced him on the porch steps, her arms folded across her chest. “What gives you the right to come in here and order me around as if I were six years old?”

His eyes narrowed, glinting like granite over a sharklike smirk. “I’m the head of the J-COR Foundation and you’re a volunteer. Right now I’m volunteering you to come with me on safari for ten days. I’ve already cleared it with Dr. Musa.” He glanced toward the doctor, who nodded. “Your replacement’s flying in this afternoon, so the clinic won’t be shorthanded. Everything’s been arranged.”

“And I have no say in any of this?”

“Dr. Musa agrees with me that your work here isn’t giving you enough rest. You need a real break. That’s what I’m offering you.”

“Offering? Does that mean I can refuse?”

“Not if you’re smart.” He stood his ground at the foot of the steps, his slate eyes level with hers.

“What if I say no? Will you haul me off by force?”

“If I have to.” He didn’t even blink, and she knew with absolute certainty that he wasn’t bluffing. Once the man made up his mind, there’d be no moving him.

Not that the idea of a safari seemed so bad. It might even speed her recovery. But how was she going to survive ten days with Cal? Scrambling for a shred of control, she squared her jaw.

“Fine, I’ll go with you on one condition. If I’m fit and rested by the end of the safari, I want to be sent back to Darfur.”

One dark eyebrow twitched. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Is it a good idea for any of those poor people who have nowhere else to go? It’s where I’m most urgently needed. And without that goal, I can’t justify wasting ten days on a...vacation.”

He scowled, then slowly nodded. “All right. But while we’re on safari, you’re on orders to relax and have a good time. That’s the best medicine you can give yourself if you want to recover. And as you said yourself, you’ll need to be fit and rested to return there.”

She took a moment to study him, the jutting chin, the steely gaze. Cal Jeffords wasn’t spending precious time and money on a safari just to help her get better. The next ten days would be a contest of wills. She would need to be on her guard the whole time.

“So, do we have a deal?” he demanded.

Megan turned toward the door of the bungalow. Pausing, she glanced back at him—long enough for him to see that she wasn’t smiling. “It won’t take me long to pack,” she said. “The coffee’s hot. Have some while you’re waiting.”

* * *

The single-engine Piper Cherokee circled the rim of the Ngorongoro crater, a place designated by National Geographic as one of the world’s Living Edens. Cal had been here two or three times over the years and knew what to expect. He was more interested in watching Megan, who was seeing it for the first time.

As the pilot banked the plane, she pressed against the window, looking down at the grassy floor of the twelve-mile-wide caldera. “This is amazing,” she murmured.

“It’s all that’s left of an ancient volcano that blew its top.” Cal shifted comfortably into the role of guide. “Geologists who’ve done the math claim it was as big as Kilimanjaro. Can you believe that?”

Megan shook her head. She’d been quiet during the short flight, and Cal hadn’t pressed her to talk. There’d be plenty of time for conversation later. He studied her finely chiseled profile against the glass. Even in sunglasses, with no makeup and wind-tousled hair, she was a beauty. No wonder Nick had been eager to give her anything she wanted.

“We could’ve driven here in less than a day,” he said. “But I wanted your first view of the crater to be this one, from the air.”

“It’s breathtaking.” She kept her gaze fixed on the landscape below. “Why is it so green down there? The rains have barely started.”

“The crater has springs that keep it watered year-round. The animals living there don’t have to migrate during the dry season.”

“Will we see animals today?” Her voice held a childlike anticipation. Once Megan had resigned herself to going, she’d flung herself into the spirit of the safari. Despite his hidden agenda, and his long-nurtured distrust of her, Cal found himself enjoying, even sharing, her enthusiasm.

“That depends,” he replied. “Harris Archibald, our guide, will be meeting the plane with our vehicle. Where we go will be mostly up to him. You’ll enjoy Harris—at least, I hope you will. He’s a relic of the old days, a real character. Be prepared—he’s missing an arm and he’ll tell you a dozen different stories about how he lost it. I’ve no idea which version is true.”

He’d been lucky to hire Harris for this outing, Cal reflected. The old man usually guided trophy hunters, and his talent for it had him in high demand. But when Cal had called on him in Arusha, Harris had just had a client cancel. He’d been glad for the work, even though shepherding a photo safari had meant changing the arrangements he’d already made.

The old rogue swilled liquor, swore like a pirate and had been through four wives; but when it came to scouting game, he had the instincts of a bloodhound. There was no doubt he’d give Cal his money’s worth.

“Will we be sleeping in tents tonight?” Megan asked as the plane veered away from the crater toward the open plain.

“You sound like a little girl on her first camping trip.” Cal squelched the impulse to reach out and squeeze her shoulder. She seemed in high spirits this afternoon, but he sensed the frailty beneath her cheerful facade. Or was that an act? He’d have to remember to be on his guard against her. This was a woman used to wrapping men around her little finger.

“Wait and see,” he said. “I want you to be surprised.”

And she would be, he vowed. By the end of the next ten days, Megan would be well rested, well fed, well ravished and trusting enough to tell him anything.

* * *

The plane touched down on an airstrip that was little more than a game trail through the long grass. Cal swung to the ground, then reached up for Megan. Using his hand for balance, she climbed onto the low-mounted wing and jumped lightly to earth.

A cool wind, smelling of rain, teased her hair and ruffled the long grass. Far to the west, sooty clouds boiled over the horizon. Lightning flickered in the distant sky. Megan counted the seconds before the faint growl of thunder reached her ears. The rain was still several miles away, but it appeared to be moving fast. Their personal gear had been unloaded and the plane was turning around to take off ahead of the storm. If no one showed up to meet them, she and Cal would be left in the middle of nowhere with no shelter to protect them from the weather or the wildlife.

But there was no way she’d let Cal know how nervous she was. Glancing over her shoulder, she flashed him a smile. “So our big adventure begins.”

He wasn’t fooled by her bravado. “Don’t worry, Harris will be here,” he said. “The old boy hasn’t lost a client yet.”

As if his words were prophetic, Megan saw a mottled tan shape approaching in the distance. Lumbering closer, it materialized into a mud-spattered heavy-duty Land Rover with open sides and a canvas top. There were two men in the front seat—a tall African driver and a stockier figure in khakis and a pith helmet.

Waving to the pair in the Land Rover, the pilot gunned his engine. The little plane droned down the makeshift runway, cleared the ground and soared into the darkening sky.

Cal hefted the duffel bags and strode toward the vehicle, where he tossed the gear in the back, keeping hold only of the case he had told Megan held the binoculars and cameras. Once the bags were arranged, he opened the door for Megan to climb into the rear seat. The driver gazed politely ahead, but their aging guide turned around to give Megan a look that could have gotten him slapped if he’d been a generation younger.

The man reminded Megan of an aging Ernest Hemingway, with battered features that would have been handsome in his youth. His bristling eyebrows and scruffy gray beard showed lingering traces of russet. His blue eyes held a secretive twinkle that put Megan at ease.