A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,82
half smile. “I’ve seen her take down an elly twice as drunk as she is now. She’ll be fine.”
We rose as well and Ryder put a hand to my shoulder. “Stay inside tonight, no matter what you hear. If that lioness decides to come sniffing around, it could be dangerous.”
“Fine,” I said. I turned to go, but before I had made it a dozen steps, Ryder was at my side.
“What the hell did I just tell you?”
“To stay put once I turned in. I haven’t turned in yet,” I pointed out reasonably.
His voice was harsh. “You saw what one of those things can do to a human. How damned stupid do you have to be to go wandering around?”
“I’m not wandering around. I just need a moment alone before I go into the tent,” I told him. “I drank a bottle and a half of champagne.”
“For Christ’s sake,” he muttered. He took me hard by the hand and dragged me into the bushes. “Go there.”
“I think not,” I said, folding my arms. I stood toe-to-toe with him, refusing to budge.
“Women,” he said finally. He circled around to a thick bush and struck it several times with the flat of his hand. An irritable porcupine wandered out, shooting him resentful glances as it waddled away.
Ryder indicated the bush with a flourish. “Behind there. I’ll wait here by the tree, until you finish. Then I will personally escort you to your tent and tie it closed. Deal?”
“Fine.” I did what I needed and hurried back. He was resting a shoulder against the tree, and when I approached, he didn’t move.
“Ryder?”
He pointed upwards, and I stood next to him, watching as the moon emerged from behind a narrow cloud. It was still weak, but it was enough to silver the whole of the African savannah, washing everything with cool light. In the distance I could hear the men still talking at their fires, their voices low and sleepy as they settled down for the night. Far in the distance I heard the lioness give a long, low howl and it sounded like mourning.
I looked up at Ryder to find him watching me. I put out my hand, running my fingers over the scars on his arm. He sucked in his breath sharply, but didn’t move. The night breeze stirred a little, rustling the leaves around us, and the air was thick with the sage scent of the leleshwa and the sharp green brightness of the tiny violets we had crushed underfoot.
I put the flat of my other hand against his chest. I stepped as close as I could, pressing myself to him, thigh to thigh, belly to belly, ready for him to make the next move.
I didn’t have long to wait. He grabbed both of my wrists and pushed me, slamming my back against the tree, pinning my arms high overhead. I was stretched taut as a bow. My legs shook and he shoved his thigh between them, holding me up.
I said his name and he lowered his head. Any other man would have kissed me. Ryder didn’t. He pushed himself hard against me, filling the space so that there was no me, no him, no tree, no separateness. He put his face close to mine, his nose at my temple. And then he inhaled, slowly, tracing his way down from my hairline. He circled my ear, lingering at my neck, and nuzzling a moment before moving lower. My arms ached and my thighs hurt and I wanted it to go on forever, until the end of the world burned us up into ash that would scatter on the wind over the savannah.
He buried his face between my breasts and then lifted his head again, still sniffing me like an animal. His hands were bruising my wrists, but I wanted them tighter. I pulled, and he growled, pressing me farther into the hardness of the tree behind. He wasn’t gentle or sweet or easy, and I wanted him so badly that the wanting was a thing apart, driving everything I did. I would have clawed off my own flesh to get rid of it, and I wanted him to know it.
His face was pressed to my neck and I turned my head, putting my mouth against his temple. He reared back as if I’d scalded him, then shoved his body even further against mine, punishing, stretching my arms further. “Yes,” I said, half sobbing.