To Love Honour and Disobey

Finally they got to the campsite near the top of the crater rim. The Jeep pulled up and they spilled out. Tomorrow they’d go in and see the wildlife. Ana could hardly wait—she had some live lion feed to toss over the side.

Seb stretched the cramps out and watched Ana walk a distance towards the lounge facility. He couldn’t stop walking after her as he saw her take off her tee shirt. Wearing just a bikini top, with low-slung cotton shorts, her incredible body was open to view. How could she possibly think those legs were too long?

He lengthened his strides, took them faster, reached for her arm and turned her. Her cheeks were lightly flushed. The blue of her eyes shone bright and deep and she watched him as slowly, deliberately, he looked down her length.

‘What is that?’ He cleared his throat. Hadn’t realised he was hoarse.

‘What?’

He pointed a finger at her belly button. ‘That.’

‘Oh.’

He watched with masculine pleasure as the colour deepened under the skin of her cheeks. ‘A navel piercing.’

Yeah, he knew that, but it felt damn good to see her react to him like that—knowing she still felt something too. Because his body was going out of control. ‘When?’

‘A few months ago.’

‘Why?’

She looked about to roll her eyes like some sulky teen caught out using peroxide for the first time. ‘It was a suggestion in a self-help book. Do something out of character—like get a tattoo or a piercing. I went for the non-permanent option.’

‘You did it because a book said to?’ He wanted to laugh but he was too busy staring. ‘What sort of a book is that?’

‘Quite a good one, actually.’

‘So you’re empowered now?’

‘Assertive.’

He did laugh then, for just a second. Ana was assertive? As if. Then he sobered and couldn’t resist touching. He pressed his hand flat to her belly, the navel ring centred between his thumb and forefinger. He felt her muscles quiver, felt the warmth of her skin. Felt the need for her bite harder. ‘Did it hurt?’

He lifted his gaze for her reply.

‘No.’ The challenge was back in her voice. ‘I’ve been through worse.’

The blue of her eyes was incredibly deep—ultramarine—and way too easy to drown in. And he was so close to kissing her.

If she was assertive, as she reckoned, he’d probably get a slap for it. And he deserved it, didn’t he? Because she’d taken their marriage seriously when he’d intended it to be a fun fling, never a forever kind of deal. He’d thought it was obvious, a holiday romance on steroids, but looking back he knew they’d been too busy sleeping together instead of talking about what they actually wanted. And still he wanted to sleep with her. The fire still burned—even now, months after she’d walked out.

‘Uh.’ He scrambled for words, any kind of coherent thought so he wouldn’t make a fool of himself. ‘What did your mum say?’

She blinked, obviously surprised. ‘About the navel ring? Seb,’ she laughed—a humourless choke. ‘My mum’s dead.’

It was Seb’s turn to blink. Was that a recent thing? He’d had no idea. ‘Hell, Ana, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK. It was a long time ago.’

‘Oh.’ He matched her small smile and aimed to lighten. ‘So what did your dad say?’

Her smile faded. He should have known better—total foot-in-mouth syndrome.

‘They died together in an accident, Seb. I was six.’

Seb sucked in a breath. ‘Ana, that’s terrible.’

She stepped back, was going to walk away. But he didn’t want her to walk away. He wanted to know now—ask all the questions he hadn’t bothered with before. Maybe then he could understand her more. And his hand was cold now it wasn’t touching her. ‘Who did you go to, then?’

‘My mother’s brother and his wife.’

Seb walked slowly beside her, wary about asking the obvious but unable to resist. ‘Are they nice?’

She stopped walking. ‘You really want to know, Seb?’

He nodded.

She shook her head. ‘I was the stereotypical lonely orphan. They already had two children of their own—perfect little blonde things. I just didn’t fit in. Could never make the grade. And I was grieving. I guess I made it difficult for them right from the start. I closed up. I was hard work.’

She was smiling, a touch of sarcasm acting as cover-up, but Seb got the glimpse of a pain that just had to run deep. ‘You were six. You had a right to grieve. You were lost. They should have found you.’

She should have been brought safely home. And Seb understood what it was not to be wanted—hadn’t he had that vibe from a step-parent or two? ‘Did it get better? Did you get on with your cousins?’