Page 61 of Storm over the Caribbean
This jungle was alreadysteaming. Why not make it a little moresteamy?
I raised my hand to the top button of my dress.
“No!” an icy growl came from behind me.
I cocked my head, not turning around. “What do you mean? You don’t even know what I’m planning to do?”
“I can guess. Don’t eventhinkabout it.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I assured him. “I’ve already finished thinking about it. Next comes the doing.”
And, with those words, I opened my dress and let it slide down to the ground. Maternity gowns were such a wonderful thing. So loose, and easily disposable.
I heard a gruff, masculine sound from behind me as the dress dropped to the forest floor. Hm…what had it been? A bullfrog with hiccups, maybe?
“Aaah!” Stretching, I gyrated my hips and massaged my back. “That’s so much better. Don’t you agree, Dicky Darling?”
“Hnngr.”
Oh dear, there was this mysterious sound again…
Picking up the dress, I wadded it up into a roll and, with one of the sleeves, tied the bundle together. With a glance back, I smiled at my husband. “Would you like to take off something too, dear? It’s amazingly freeing in this heat. Maybe your tailcoat?”
Icy eyes bored into me, very welcome in the miserable heat of the jungle. “No, thank you.”
“How about your underpants?”
“No.”
Spoilsport.
We continued through the jungle in silence—though not quite the same kind of silence as before. With Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s icy stare boring into my swaying derrière from behind, it was quite a bit more…oppressive.
And, incidentally, also so much hotter.
How can an icy glare be hot, you ask?
You’ve obviously never met Mr Rikkard Ambrose.
I couldn’t help but grin.
“You know…” Swaying my hips just a little more, I tapped my chin, deep in thought. “I’m wondering how it would feel if I took off my—”
“There are snakes in this place, Mrs Ambrose. Poisonous spiders. Scorpions intent on crawling all over bare skin.”
“You are intent on ruining my fun, aren’t you?”
“Completely and utterly.”
I decided to keep my clothes on, for now. That had nothing to do with me suddenly feeling mercy for Mr Rikkard Ambrose, or with the heat lessening. No, those matters hadn’t changed. Instead, it had more to do with the fact that I knew he wasn’t bloody joking about the snakes, spiders and scorpions. Joking? Ha! This was Mr Rikkard Ambrose we were talking about!
Hm…what did roasted scorpion tail taste like, I wonder…?
No! Bad Lilly, bad! Scorpion tails aren’t for eating!
Blasted pregnancy cravings!
Repeat after me, Lilly: Do not nibble on scorpions. Do not nibble on scorpions.
