Guarding the Princess - By Loreth Anne White Page 0,53
chance to rethink her future before she made a terrible mistake from which she could never turn back.
* * *
An hour later, wet through and caked with red clay, muscles screaming with exertion, Brandt reached down his hand and hauled Dalilah over a big slab and onto a wide ledge of rock that ran almost fifty yards along the cliff face. Dalilah caught her breath as she heard water and felt a waft of cooler air kissing her cheeks. They were almost at the top of the cliff, and through a crevice above, cascading into a pool carved by time and pressure into rock, was a fall of gloriously clear water. Thirst rose fierce and sharp. She shot a look at Brandt. A grin split his rugged face, his teeth stark white against skin that had turned an even darker bronze from a full day under the baking sun. The dancing light in his eyes reminded her of a summer swimming pool with its surface recently broken by a swimmer—sunlight refracting off the surface. Cool, welcoming.
And she’d never seen anything more beautiful.
“You should do it more often,” she said.
“Climb cliffs with you?”
She laughed as she pushed past him and dropped to her knees, dipping her hand in the clear, coppery-colored water.
“No, silly. Smile. I like your smile.”
His smile faded, his gaze darkening, becoming unreadable.
She cupped water in her hands—it was the color of clear Ceylon tea. “It’s cool, Brandt!” Dalilah took off her hat and bent forward, splashing it over her face, feeling like a child. Laughing.
“God, this is heaven.” She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Is it okay to drink, do you think?”
He was staring at her, and she felt suddenly aware, self-conscious, then that gorgeous broad grin crept over his face again, splitting it into facets and crinkles, making his blue-sky eyes dance again like a summer pool in sunlight. Then he braced his hands on his hips and laughed. “And what’s so funny?”
“You! You look like a female warrior with war paint out to do battle—and you’re still all trussed up in the harness and trailing rope.”
She peered into the surface of the water. In the rippling reflection she could see her face was now streaked with dark mud. She grinned. “I really must look a prize.”
“A hell of a lot cuter than you did in that cocktail outfit when—” He caught himself.
“When what?”
“It’s nothing.” Brandt came forward, untied the rope around her and swung off his pack. He dropped it to the slab with a thud, kettle clunking against rock. Crouching, he moved the rifle strapped across his torso to one side, then cupped his hands, tasted the water. “No cleaner in the world—just colored by minerals.”
“Still could have parasites, bacteria—”
“I’ll take that chance. This rock pool has been baked dry and clean by the sun all winter—it’s only flowing again now since the fresh rains.”
“Animal feces could be upstream.”
“Spoken like someone who understands water risks in Africa,” he said, pooling more water in his hands and drinking deeply, regardless. It was the first time Dalilah had seen him drink anything since the whiskey this morning. He’d saved their supply for her, and now he was slaking what was clearly a deep and desperate thirst.
He filled the water canteen, capped it, then stuck his whole head into the cool pool, rinsing his face. He got up, flicked his head back and raked his hands through his short hair, biceps flexing, and Dalilah was struck by a thought—she could love this man.
It turned her mood suddenly dark and heavy.
“Drink, Dalilah. And wash off—we’ll rest here a bit. We have enough light to get to the top before sunset. He dropped to his haunches again and opened his pack, removing two small airplane-size bottles. “Shampoo and lotion,” he said with a flourish of his hand. “You could take a full shower under this waterfall. Nature’s spa.”
Dalilah stared at the bottles. Her eyes flashed to his. “You brought those?”
A wicked tilt lifted one side of his mouth. “Traveling with royalty, aren’t I? Gotta keep a princess in the style to which she’s accustomed.”
“And there I was thinking you were going out of your way to make me feel uncomfortable.”
“Well, just enough to keep you focused.”
“See, I was right.”
“The princess is intuitive.”
She touched his hand. “Brandt.”
His body went stone-still.
“Call me Princess one more time,” she whispered, close to his mouth, “and I swear I will use that panga of yours to kill you.”