‘This way, you’ll reach the next town in about one hundred and fifty kilometres.’ He spun her to face the opposite direction and she tried to focus on the road rather than the way his hands felt on her shoulders. ‘That way, you’ll reach the next town in about eighty kilometres. Good luck!’ he said and stalked off the road and into the jungle.
‘Where are you going?’ she called after him, feeling for the first time a real sense of fear swirling in her stomach.
‘Home,’ she heard him growl over his shoulder.
She bit her lip to stop herself from calling him back.
Think, think, think.
She could feel panic beginning to build within her. If she stayed she could be waiting for hours before someone found her. But if she followed Benoit into the jungle it would take her further away from...from... She shook her head. He had the map. He was the key to her mother’s treatment. Her stomach twisted as if it had been punched, something she felt almost every single time her mother crossed her mind. He was the only choice.
‘Wait.’
He stopped walking, turned slowly and pierced her with his bright blue eyes. ‘Which one is it, Miss Soames? Am I an axe murderer or your salvation?’
She bit her tongue for the first time since she’d got out of the car and he seemed to nod as if he approved of her silence.
‘Leave the blazer in the car. You won’t need it,’ he called out as he set off into the jungle.
Skye threw her blazer in the back of the car, mumbling to herself that if he wanted to have a Bear Grylls moment then he could at least have thought about bringing a satellite phone. But she instantly felt better once the thick layer of her blazer was no longer trapping so much body heat against her skin.
This wasn’t who she was, she thought to herself as she followed Benoit through the thick jungle. She didn’t get on planes and fly to unknown places, let alone follow strangers into jungles. She was a secretary, for God’s sake. She had responsibilities—to her mother, to her sisters. She’d been responsible for them long before her mother had got ill. And would... She couldn’t finish that thought.
She almost wished that they hadn’t found the journals, that Rob hadn’t given her the time off work. Because then she wouldn’t be here, so far from everything that was even remotely familiar. Her stomach swirled and she felt a little nauseous. She didn’t know what the rules were here, how to act...who to be. Alone with Benoit Chalendar, world-renowned businessman, a supposedly charming international playboy and a man who seemed as at home forging his way through the rainforest as he might be in a boardroom.
He was in front of her, forcing his way through the forest, and she couldn’t help but watch the push and pull of his arm muscles rippling beneath his T-shirt as he sliced through another hapless branch. His movements were swift and efficient, his powerful body gliding ahead as if he was in his natural habitat rather than off the beaten path. All the while, heat and humidity pooled in her socks, causing her feet to slip and her shoes to rub. She was being eaten alive by mosquitoes and the sounds of her hand slapping against her skin punctuated the air as much as the thwack of the machete Benoit used to cut back branches from their path.
Hot, Star had said when they’d looked him up on the internet. Yes, her inner voice replied assuredly and accusingly—as if Skye had done nothing to feed her body’s carnal appetites for far too long... If ever, it asserted scathingly.
Benoit Chalendar had been impressive online, but in person? Once the shock of the accident had worn off, and the minutes in the forest trickled into hours, she’d had time to really consider him...or at least the back of him, which was enough. He was wearing khaki cargo pants, which she’d never expected a French billionaire to wear, but they most definitely suited the situation. Strangely, having seen him like this, she just couldn’t imagine him wearing some bespoke handmade suit and leather shoes. The idea seemed so absurd she nearly laughed.
The sound she’d made must have caught his attention as he turned back to her, a query painted clearly in those stunning blue eyes. And for a moment she just stared. His sandy blond hair was just a little longer than necessary, curling at the ends enough to make her want to reach out for them. He had a beard, closely trimmed to his cheeks but more than the designer stubble she saw on the backs of magazines at the office. More...masculine.
His nose was a little on the long side but it was challenging, daring the observer to find fault with it, when there was so much beauty in the rest of his features. She shrugged away the unspoken question and he went back to thrashing the foliage, and she went back to...
She hauled her gaze away from his backside and blushed. She barely recognised herself and blamed it on the situation. Because she hadn’t actually checked out a guy in... Oh, she thought on a sad sigh, had it really been that long? And the sting of pain as she thought of Alistair, of how he had left, reminded Skye exactly why she had avoided men for so long.
When the first drop of water hit her arm Skye was genuinely concerned that it might have been a tear. But soon there were far too many to count. The heavens opened and in an instant she was drenched. She looked up to where Benoit was standing, beckoning her on with fast movements of his arm.
‘Hurry,’ he commanded, and this time she obeyed without question. Jogging along the path as best she could, she stumbled slightly when she caught up with him. The rain drowned out the sounds of her harsh breaths as he pulled her deeper into the forest. The huge deep green leaves did little to protect them from the downpour and as she chanced a glance at Benoit she saw that his hair had turned dark with huge drops of water falling from the curling ends.
Her feet were now squelching deep into the mud, her legs having to work even harder to fight the suction beneath her. Her jeans were clinging to her skin, the material stiff and rubbing painfully. A thin branch whipped out and caught her on the arm and she couldn’t help the shocked gasp that fell from her lips.
He shouldn’t have turned around, he told himself, trying to focus on the thick, rain-soaked foliage in front of him instead of what he saw in his mind’s eye. Mud-covered, jeans-clad thigh and white, nearly see-through, shirt slick against a flat, toned stomach. It had taken a lot more than he’d care to admit to drag his eyes up to her face, but that hadn’t been much better. She’d just swept her dark hair back, her eyes a little unfocused, mouth open just a little... Dieu. All he’d thought was that this was what she must look like when she’d been thoroughly ravished.
He ignored the rush of blood to his cheeks and other areas. It was the heat and the rain and the pace he was having to set. He cast a look back at her to see if she was following. He was surprised to find her keeping pace. Her head was down, concentrating on her steps, only a slight stress on one leg over the other.
He frowned. She hadn’t complained once. She’d fought him, accused him of having a...what was it she’d said? He rolled the English word around on his tongue. Mantrum? He almost huffed out a laugh. Almost.
He thought fleetingly of what any one of the number of beautiful women to have graced his bed recently would have done in this situation. There would have likely been tears. No. Definitely there would have been tears. Maybe even some screams and not the good kind. He’d bet his life on a tantrum or two. But Skye Soames? She was nothing like those women. Not even in looks.
He’d not realised he had a type. Or at least he’d developed one since Camilla, now he thought of it. Just the mental use of his ex-fiancée’s name left a bitter taste in his mouth. There was a good reason he’d taken up a penchant for statuesque blondes and his tastes would stay exclusively on those.
‘Talk.’ He didn’t mean it to come out so harshly but she didn’t seem offended.
‘About?’
/> ‘What do you do? Where are you from? How you learned French,’ he said as he slashed another branch with the machete. He needed a distraction. Clearly his mind wasn’t to be trusted. There was a pause in which the sounds of the squelching mud beneath them and the roaring rain around them became a symphony and he nearly turned his head again but she started talking.