~~ Alex Trevenen ~~

Alex Trevenen sent his high-powered bike surging after Frederick’s plane.  He caught up easily and both machines buzzed down the runway neck-to-neck, until the plane rose gracefully into the sky.  At the same moment Alex veered off to the right, heading for a gap in the security fence.  He slowed his speed to negotiate the opening through a narrow slit of barbed-wire that had  been peeled back on either side.  Once through, he turned onto the main road.

Working through the bike’s gears, Alex rapidly increased the acceleration.  However, every turn of the wheels over the unkept road sent slabs of pain hammering at his ribs; a sharp reminder that Dar’s transport infrastructure and high speed did not go well with damaged ribs and a broken collarbone.   To be precise, it considerably dulled the pleasure of riding his latest heart breaker – a 1947 500cc Italian silver/black Saturno – acquired eight months previously and lovingly restored to mint condition.

With his concentration directed so completely on the copious potholes rushing towards him, Alex was unaware of a fast approaching truck from the rear.  Even if he had noticed it, there was nothing noteworthy about the vehicle.  In fact, it closely resembled most of the other trucks lumbering in and out of Dar.  What Alex wouldn’t have fully appreciated was that the truck’s battered exterior disguised a powerful engine purposefully designed for high speed.

The truck closed in on him, awaited an opportunity to pass, and did so as Alex slowed on an S-bend, reluctant to drop his injured shoulder or the bike too far into the corner at high speed.  Even at the speed he was doing, his concentration was such that  he barely registered the truck overtaking, let alone that it was squeezing him tighter and tighter into the corner.

The edge of the road fell away into a ravine of large boulders and thorn scrub and as Alex’s tyres hit the loose gravel it took him only milliseconds to realise what was happening and to appreciate the gravity of the situation.  Instinct took over and he accelerated, forcing his wheels back onto the road.

The bike’s engine lived up to expectation as it surged forward.  The truck too put on speed.  Alex opened the throttle, not wanting to believe that such a battered vehicle had the ability to keep him pressed against the edge of the bitumen.

They sped neck-to-neck but this time Alex was very much aware that, unlike his race with Frederick’s plane, the adrenaline rushing through him was not from the thrill of a challenge but from fear. Another sharp corner loomed up and the truck moved in.  Suddenly there was no shoulder, no edge to keep to, only an avalanche of loose rocks and him amongst them, fighting to control the bike, using every skill he knew to keep the Saturno from flipping arse over face and him with it.

He ploughed down the steep incline, smashing through the thorn scrub, grateful for the thickness of his flying jacket and wishing he had worn more resilient trousers.  He was briefly aware of an irrigation ditch rushing towards him and realised he had reached the bottom of the incline as the bike became airborne, soaring over the ditch.

Through the dust of falling rocks, he glimpsed a ploughed field.  His front tire buried itself in the freshly cultivated earth.  The bike slewed sideways, he the other, and there was a moment of intense pain as he made impact with the earth, before the sweet relief of oblivion folded over him.

On the road above, a black man, sweating profusely even at this early hour, due to his enormous bulk, stood looking down at the still form.  The man wiped sweat and flies off his face with a grubby hanky as he contemplated the steep climb down to check on the man lying some twenty or so feet below him.  Then he considered, with intense reluctance, the climb back up.  With a shrug of his massive shoulders and a last lingering look at what he hoped was a lifeless form, he turned back to his truck, satisfied that he had done what he had been paid to do, and drove off.

It was some while afterwards that the blackness became grey mists of pain.  Alex came too, but lay reluctant to move or to even open his eyes.  The incident flooded back into his consciousness and he quickly opened his eyes, realising he may still be in danger.  He looked around feeling confused and disorientated and wondered if he had any broken bones.  He tried to move but the pain was too intense and so he continued to lie still.

For some obscure reason, he thought of Jack.  Perhaps not so obscure, he decided, remembering that Jack was, at that very moment, flying into Tanganyika expecting answers.  Answers that Alex knew he could supply – but at what cost? Only Jack’s “ignorance” guaranteed him a safe stay in Tanganyika.  In fact, Jack probing into the situation and asking dozens of questions around the place could have dire consequences for both of them.  He was also in no doubt that with Shelalago’s shareholders as jittery as flea-infested camels Jack would have no scruples in firing him once he knew the truth.  Then what?  It would be far more difficult to protect Jack if he was forced to operate from the “outside”.

Jack Harrington was a man Alex admired more than anyone he knew and he had promised himself that when this was over he would tell Jack the truth.  In the meantime, however, he needed to stay alive long enough to do that.

It was a sobering thought.

Gathering every bit of will power, Alex dragged himself into a kneeling position. With his ribs screaming in agony and his body drenched in sweat he staggered to his feet and stumbled across to the bike.  He immediately dismissed from his mind just how battered his beloved 500cc Italian silver/black Saturno looked and concentrated instead on making sure the machine was in a ridable state.

It took agonizingly long for him to right the machine and check it over.  Having done so, he was hugely relieved to find that most of the damage was superficial.  That apart from an extremely buckled front and rear mudguard and numerous scratches, courtesy of the thorn bushes, and dents from flying rocks, it appeared fairly intact and, more importantly, drivable.

Alex slid onto the saddle and sat for a moment regaining his breath.  Blast!  How could he have got himself into such a god damned mess?  He said a quick prayer as he kick-started the engine and sighed with relief when it spluttered into life.  Spying a service road a hundred yards to his right, he turned the bike towards it and drove carefully over the ploughed field.

The six miles to his farm was driven at a respectable speed without further damage to himself or the bike.  Even so, he felt intense relief on seeing the irregular piece of timber, hanging from its rusty pole beside the two white-ant riddled gateposts, the word Nxamaseri burnt onto it.

Nxamaseri was a place in the Okavango of which he had very fond memories.  He wondered, as he entered his property, if Megan would recall it with equal fondness, should she ever get to see the sign.

He took the winding dirt track up to the house at an equally respectable speed, anxious to save his body further abuse.  Mango and cashew nut trees ran several fields deep either side of the track and at the end of the road, within the sweeping circular driveway, an African Flame dwarfed the front of his homestead and provided shade for his two sleeping dogs.

Ruaha and Kilima, aroused from their slumber by the noise of the bike, were bounding around him like a couple of lunatics as he brought the bike to a standstill.  Ignoring their antics, he killed the engine and gingerly slid off the saddle, intent only on dragging his aching body up the veranda stairs and into the welcome coolness of the farmhouse.

Emerging some time later, feeling slightly more human after a shower and a generous measure of cognac, dressed in a casual shirt and bush shorts, Alex stood at the veranda railing determined to recapture details of the incident, now that he was thinking a little clearer.   He was sure it had been no accident.  The name St Claire lodged firmly in his mind.  Was he responsible?  He certainly wouldn’t put it past the man.  He considered this fact in some depth.  If he was right, what then?  Was St Claire trying to kill him or only to frighten him?

His mind travelled from the latest incident to previous incidences, the blast at the mine and to the crashing of his plane and to other situations that could so nearly have cost him his life.  It slowly came to him, as his mind dwelt on these, that his overwhelming desire for revenge against St Claire might well become his nemesis.  Or, he suddenly wondered, was it in fact God he dallied with, rather than St Claire, by his continued involvement with Nina?

Glancing down at Ruaha, rubbing affectionately against his leg, Alex muttered, ‘Your master is a bloody fool, Ruaha. A bloody fool.’  The dog’s tail wagged happily back and forth as his master threw the last of the drink down his parched throat in a vain hope the soulless fire would warm a tormented soul.

A sudden low growl from both dogs had Alex lifting his gaze to the road.  He watched the approaching trail of dust.  As the vehicle causing it began to take shape his heart plummeted to further depths of despair.  Lifting his hand to his forehead, he rolled the cold glass across it and took several steadying breaths.

The car entered the driveway and stopped beside the gravel path.  It was a modest car, considering how wealthy her husband was.  The woman climbed out and Alex noticed that her usual tumbling mane of dark curls was caught up in a loose French knot, revealing a long elegant sweep of neck.

Nina St Claire, mid-thirties, was a beautiful woman, with lush blue-black hair, porcelain-like skin and a face offset by huge violet-blue eyes.  She had the delicate beauty of a china doll that God, in his wisdom, had kindly chosen to endow with a truly captivating body.

Nina’s eyes anxiously scanned his face as she walked towards him, along the path .  Alex tried to smile reassuringly as he raised a hand in greeting.  He did not attempt to drag his battle-scarred body down the stairs to meet her but chose, instead, to remain leaning against the verandah post, allowing himself to be seduced by the sway of her hips and a body wrapped so enticingly in a close-fitting apricot coloured dress.  This sight of which left him with a mixture of intense apprehension and mounting expectation.

‘You are out, at last,’ she breathed, climbing the veranda stairs.  Reaching up, she laid a cool hand on the side of his face.  ‘I was so anxious not being able to come to see you.  Are you really fine?  You don’t look it.  You look awful.  Are you sure you should be up and about?’  Her plummy English accent was in complete contrast to her showgirl body.

‘I’m fine,’ he lied.  ‘Merely a broken collarbone, some damaged ribs and a few scratches but very much alive,’ he reassured her, choosing to keep to himself the latest incident that had added a few more nicks to his already dented torso.

She suddenly smiled; a heady combination of shyness and invitation that had him grinning back ridiculously, like a schoolboy full of lusty hopes.

He peeled himself away from the veranda post and, placing his arm around her waist, led her into the house and into the lounge.

‘Something to drink, chère?  A glass of wine, yes?’  Not waiting for a reply he let the screen door slam shut as he hurried back along the verandah towards the kitchen rondavel, which was attached to the house by a breezeway.  ‘Imbécile!’ he muttered, furious with himself.

Ngome’s eyes narrowed in rebuke as Alex entered the kitchen.  He was a giant of a man with muscles that rippled beneath folds of dark skin, shiny now with perspiration.  He was wielding a large kitchen knife, expertly dicing vegetable into a bubbling pot of curried crab.  There was enough to feed an army… certainly himself, Nina – if she joined him for dinner – along with Ngome’s entire family of twelve.

Choosing to ignore the intense look of disapproval his house boy was throwing his way, Alex grabbed a bottle of wine from the drip tray under the dry-ice cabinet.  He wanted to say to the man: take your share, no need to hang around, I can attend to my guest, but felt irritated by the Shirazi’s presumptuous attitude, so he spun away without a word.

He knew he was in the wrong.  He knew he shouldn’t be dallying with another man’s wife.  He also knew that he could no more prevent his eager anticipation of what lay ahead, than he could change the forces of nature.

The lounge was bare.  Snatching up two glasses from the drink cabinet he made his way towards the bedroom.  She was draped seductively across his bed.  Grinning, he moved across to the bedside table.  Pouring wine into the glasses, he handed one to Nina.  His he left on table.

Slipping out of his shoes, Alex sat beside her on the bed and let his fingers trail up her arm and along her back, as she sipped her wine.  With deliberate slowness, he worked the buttons of her dress.  Alex began to remove her clothing, piece by unhurried piece, pausing only to plant a kiss on each newly exposed part of her body.

By the time Nina’s glass was empty, she was naked and ready for action.  Alex wondered how he would perform with damaged ribs and a broken shoulder blade and intense bruising all over his body.  His desire, however, was such that he chose to go ahead and hope for the best.

He began to stroke her in places that had her eyes glaze over and shortened her breath. As tiny shrieks filled the air and her desire for sexual release soared to its pinnacle, he knew he would have to oblige and hoped it would be over quickly.  Taking a deep breath, he entered her.  He moved rhythmically, ignoring the crushing pain of his damaged ribs, praying for the first spasmodic gripping of muscles deep within her that would tell him she was there.

He felt them tighten at last and unable to hold off any longer, gave way to his own need in a long, drawn-out cry of mind-numbing pleasure and intense physical pain.

He supposed he must have passed out, for he awoke to find himself curled on the bed, her body moulded carefully into his, her breasts pressing against his back. She smelt of gardenia petals and he wondered how she managed it.  His own body was slick with sweat; his heart still thundered like a marathon runner’s and pain engulfed his shoulder and ribs.

Her voice, post-coital husky, murmured anxiously, ‘Are you alright?’

He nodded.

She stroked his neck.  You are always so considerate, my love.  My beautiful white knight–’

‘Mon dieu! Not that.  Please, not that.’  The rush of self-loathing had him rolling out of her embrace.  He turned carefully to look at her.  ‘Never presume me to be some noble crusader.  I’m the Black Knight of damnation. Surely, you realise it, Nina?  I take, time and time again, promising you nothing in return.  I am no better than Hartley.’

‘Hush, my love.’  She laid slim fingers on his lips; her touch soft against the dryness of his skin.  ‘You are so much more of a man than Hartley and have every good reason to hate him.  This is your revenge, right?  I know that.’

‘No!’  But he had denied it too vehemently.  Unable to meet her eyes, he averted his gaze to the hollow of her throat.  She stroked his mouth with her thumb.  ‘I don’t mind.  I only ask that it is not all about revenge.  My one desire is to please you.’  Her voice dropped to a seductive whisper.  ‘Do I?’  She was like an unloved child deprived of affection and prepared to accept any morsel.  ‘Do I please you?’

‘How could you think that you wouldn’t?’ he replied gently. ‘It’s just…’ his voice trailed off.

She wriggled back into his embrace.  He stroked her tenderly.  ‘Chère, I’m worried.  This… this is playing with fire.  Your husband’s a dangerous man.  I have the scars to prove it.  You should go home before you get us both into trouble.’

‘Home?’ she echoed, disgust clouding her voice.  She shot upright and sat on the bed next to him, her eyes flashing with some deep emotion.  ‘Never presume to call it a home. For God sake, Alex, why do you always feel so guilty?  I’m not a wife to that man.  I’m his servant.  No, not even that.  I’m an ornament he uses to decorate his life.  If I don’t fulfil his every expectation, well… you know how volatile he is.’

‘Yes, I have found that out, chère.’

‘Is that what you’re afraid of?  That he will come at you again?’

“No!’  He frowned at her. ‘That is an absurd suggestion.’  He felt unreasonably annoyed by the accusation.  ‘It is just that it does not sit easy with me to be coveting another man’s wife.  My Catholicism… small island upbringing, you understand?  Whatever it is, I’m not comfortable with it.  I have told you this before.’

Nina gazed steadily at him.  Then she said in a tight voice, ‘I have done it, Alex.’

Her words mushroomed inside his head.  An explosion of sound that had him taking a deep, uncertain breath that was almost his undoing as pain shot through his body from his damaged ribs.

His silence clearly unnerved her, for she said, in a timid voice, ‘I did it for you, Alex.’

With his body locked in a spasm of pain, he gripped the side of the mattress and pulled himself towards it.  Somehow he managed to lower his legs over the edge.  He hooked his fallen trousers off the floor with his foot and, biting down on his lip to still his moans, managed to slide them on.

Behind him, he felt the sudden release of the mattress springs and knew Nina had risen from the bed.  He turned and watched her walk naked across the room, glossy hair loosened and tumbling down her back.  He wondered if there was a throwback of Irish heritage in her genes to have given her such striking colouring.  Actually, he had often wondered this.

Standing in front of the French windows, her body superimposed against the blue of the ocean, her shoulders slumped forlornly, he thought she looked like a dejected water nymph. His eyes drifted to a large bruise on her back and he experienced an immediate spasm of disgust.  Then he let his gaze flick to other bruises, some fading from deep purple to a sickly yellow and his hand tightened into a fist.  He thought of the night at the club, of his plane crashing, of the blasts at the mine, and the current incident with his bike and an unhealthy rage pushed its way steadily upward.

‘Whoever she is, she’s a fool not to have married you, Alex.’

It took him a couple of seconds to pull his mind away from his explosive thoughts and to bring his rising anger at the perpetrator under control.  Even then, he remained silent, too churned up to know how to answer.

She swung around to face him.  ‘Alex, I’m worried.’

He was on his feet in an instant.  ‘Why?  What has happened?’

Her arms folded protectively across her body – the move was not lost on him.  ‘Come here, chère,’ he said more gently.  He pointed to his wardrobe.  ‘You’ll find a cotton robe in there.  Put it on.’

She obeyed with unusual docility.  Crossing the room, he took her hand and led her out of the bedroom and back into the lounge.  He mixed her a gin and tonic with a dash of bitters.  For himself it was a whisky on the rocks.  He grabbed ice from the ice bucket for her gin and tonic, then sunk onto the couch beside her.

She threw back a good portion of her drink in one gulp and gave a small shudder as the alcohol hit her stomach.  ‘Bien-aimé,‘ he murmured, ‘The bruise on your back, how did it happen?’

‘It is nothing.’

‘Tell me,’ he demanded softly.

‘Hartley.’

‘Why?’

‘Does he need an excuse to vent his unreasonable jealously?’

He shook his head in exasperation.  Hartley would pay dearly for this one day.  God, he would pay dearly for those bruises and for many other things besides.  But, right now, he needed to get her talking.  To find out what she was frightened of.  ‘I visited Colonial Molloy last week,’ he said.

Nina went very still.  ‘Did you mention Hartley…?’

‘I kept the conversation general.  Molloy confirmed they’ve lost a huge amount of wildlife to poaching.  In fact, he mentioned twelve hundred and eighty elephant over the last year.  Only last week they discovered four hundred and sixty two pounds of rhino horn down an old gold mine shaft.’

‘A mine shaft?’

‘Yes.  On the Serengeti border.  It seems the poachers used the shaft as a storehouse until they were ready to transport the horns out of the country.  Apparently there are still bodies of dead miners down there, so superstition keeps the natives away… and most other people, I would imagine.’

‘Did he contact the police?’

‘I’m sure he did.’

She took a deep breath and threw back the last of her drink. ‘Hartley has begun building at Zariba Game.’

He frowned, not fully comprehending the significance of this.

‘The accommodation is lavish.  No expenses spared.’

‘Where’s the money coming from?  Rhino horns?’

She shrugged.  ‘Maybe rhino horns…  he’s not nearly as wealthy as everyone imagines.  He almost had to sell his safari outfit last year to pay his debts.  If Ahmad As-Salih had not–’

‘As-Salih?  Are you sure?’

She nodded.

‘My God, Nina, no one in their right mind gets indebted to As-Salih.’

‘Well, he has,’ she whispered.  ‘He has it written in his diary.’

‘You took his diary!’

Alex slowly exhaled and let his head fell back against the couch.  He closed his eyes, struggling to quiet the despair rising from the pit of his stomach.  He wished now he’d taken her into his confidence.  Told her what he had found out during his own investigating.  He could have dissuaded her more forcefully from endangering herself.  A sudden thought came to him.  He straightened.  ‘Where is the diary now?’

‘Back in his safe.’

‘I see,’ he said relieved.  ‘You didn’t remove it then?’

‘Only to put it on his desk.  I took photos with my flash camera like the spy in that Alfred Hitchcock movie. I was so nervous.’

What bloody spy?  What bloody Hitchcock movie? ‘What have you done with the film, Nina?’

‘It’s in my handbag.  It’s yours.  Do what you like with it.  I suppose you could use the dark room at your office if you wish to develop it.’

He closed his eyes.  What did the film contain?  More importantly what evidence was on it that she had taken from the diary?  What would he do with it?  He opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘You haven’t told me what it was that has you so concerned?’

‘Hartley wants me to go on safari with him.’

He did not immediately understand the significance.  ‘You’ve been on one before, yes?’

‘No!  Never’ she snapped, impatient, now.  ‘He’s never allowed me to tag along.  He says he has enough trouble making sure his clients don’t shoot themselves or him by accident, to have to babysit me as well.’

‘For God sake, Nina, if it worries you so much then don’t go.  Just say no.’

She let out a harsh laugh.  No one says “no” to Hartley.  I have no choice.  I have to go.  Besides, ever since his return from Zanzibar, he’s been acting like a wild cur.  Totally unpredictable.  I catch him watching me with this strange expression on his face.  He has started asking me questions about what I get up to when he’s away.  What I do with my time.  How I keep occupied.  It is as if, after ten years of marriage, he has taken a sudden interest in my well-being.  Ha!  I know it’s not the case.  There is some other reason for these questions.’

A picture of the suave Hartley as a mangy cur darted across his mind.  It fitted.  ‘Did he meet with As-Salih on this last trip to Zanzibar?’

She shrugged dismissively.  ‘He tells me nothing.  He does not think I have a right to know.  I’ve told you, I’m no more than a servant to him.  Yet, half the time, it is from the servants that I find out his whereabouts.’

‘Tell me about the diary.  Did it mention Ahmad As-Salih by name?  Did it mention anything about the poaching?’

‘Yes, it mentioned As-Salih many times and someone called Tumaini.  He had also written about Zariba Game. I read that section with interest because I have not heard him talk of Zariba Game for some time now….’

‘Was there any mention of Shelalago?’

She shrugged.  ‘You have to understand, Alex, I was very nervous.  I tried not to waste the time reading.  I concentrated only on taking the photos.  I didn’t want the servants to catch me in there.  Develop the film, please.  See for yourself what is on it.  Do whatever you like with the evidence.  Hartley was wrong to do what he did to you.  You were innocent of any wrongdoing.’

The way she said it, struck him as odd.  He said cautiously.  ‘If he is prosecuted for poaching, he could spend a very long time in prison?  Does that not bother you?’

She dropped her eyes to the empty glass in her hand.  ‘That would be the least of his worries… and mine.’

He stared at her in silence.  Waiting.

She looked up at him.  ‘I think Hartley is planning to kill someone.’

He reared back, as if struck.  ‘Jesus, Nina, who?’

‘Sirdar.  The name was mentioned several times in his diary in connection with a safari.’

He slowly shook his head, ‘Sirdar is not a name.  It means person of high political or military rank.’

She bit her lip.  ‘Then that’s who he’s planning to kill.’

He gazed incredulously at her.  ‘Are you saying Hartley is planning an assassination?’

Her eyes widened and she stared at him in sudden horror.  ‘I never thought of that,’ she whispered.

Neither of them said anything further, as if dumbstruck by what had been revealed.  The afternoon light was fading fast and Alex stretched across her to switch on the table lamp.  Beyond its periphery of sudden brightness, the darkness clung oppressively to the corners of the room.  As if feeling threatened by this, she curled her body tightly against his.  Distractedly he began to rake his fingers through her hair.

‘When is Hartley taking you on safari?’ he asked, some several minutes later.

‘Tomorrow.’

He frowned.  He hadn’t expected it to be so soon.   ‘Don’t go,’ he suddenly urged, not knowing why he should unexpectedly feel so afraid for her.

She glanced up at him, almost pityingly.  ‘I told you, no one says “no” to Hartley.  You know that, Alex.’

He stroked her cheek, stung into shame by how useless he felt.  ‘I’ll take the film into the office,’ he said with sudden decisiveness.  ‘Try to delay things for a day.  Give me time to develop it.  I’ll give the prints to the authorities.  I’ll convince them to investigate.  Damn it all, I’ll even organise protection for you.’

‘Police protection?’  She seemed surprised.

‘Yes… police protection,’ he gushed, ‘if that’s what it takes,’ willing to do anything to prevent her going on safari with her husband.

A hysterical giggle burst from her, startling then both.  ‘Oh, Alex, you know it won’t happen.  Hartley is too influential.  There would have to be a very, very good reason to put Hartley St Claire’s wife in protective custody.’

‘Okay then.  Let me buy you an air ticket back to Britain.’  His tone hinged on desperation.  ‘I’ll organize it tomorrow.  Tell Hartley you have disturbing news from your sister and you have to fly out immediately.  Convince him any way you can that you can’t go on safari with him.’

His desperation must have finally got through to her for she pulled away and her eyes levelled with his. ‘Okay, Alex, I’ll do it.  But I want you to come to Britain with me.  We could both start a new life there.  What do you say?’

Her eyes held such hope that he desperately wanted to assure her he would go to the ends of the earth for her.  But, he couldn’t.  It would be a lie.  More fool him.  He probably had more of a future with the beautiful Nina St Claire than he would ever have with the headstrong Megan Harrington.  Yet, as long as there was a sliver of hope, it left him unable to promise Nina anything.

Leaning forward, he kissed her gently on the lips.  ’Have the courage to follow your dreams, chère. You don’t need the likes of me… and you certainly don’t need that bastard Hartley.  Your voice is your guarantee to success, maybe not here, but certainly back in Britain, where they know you and love you.  You deserve to have someone far more worthy than either Hartley or I.’

He saw the hope fade in her eyes and watched a deep resignation take its place.  It left him feeling a pitiless coward.  Her hand reached up to stroke his cheek.  ‘She’s a very lucky woman, Alex.  I hope she knows it?’

‘There is no one,’ he automatically lied and saw the grimace of impatience in her face.

‘Make love to me,’ she whispered.

He let out a deep sigh.  He wanted to say no.  He had tried so hard to end this affair but felt so piss-weak and defenceless against her charms and the absolute love she enveloped him in that regardless of any noble intentions he always succumbed to her.

Damning himself for his weakness, he untied the cord dangling from the gown he had lent her. The robe fell open, exposing voluptuous breasts that, no matter how many times he laid eyes on them, left him feeling very short of breath.  He took the closest nipple in his mouth and caressed it with his tongue.  She began to moan.  Releasing the nipple, he pressed her breasts together, sucking them simultaneously.  He was rewarded with squawks of pleasure.

He stopped what he was doing and looked down at her.  ‘What do you see in me, Nina?’

She laughed softly.  ‘Men are such fools when it comes to love.’  Her hands slid down his body and into his trousers.  Within minutes, she had his breath quickening and ripples of anticipation swelling up through his groin.

‘Do I please you, Alex Trevenen?’ she asked, softly.  He was unable to answer, his mind distorted by the waves of intense pleasure.  She abruptly stopped what she was doing and he let out a guttural moan of disappointment.  Her mouth twitched in a satisfied smile.  ‘Do I please you?’ she repeated gently.

For a split second, he hesitated, but Nina St Claire was capable of taking him to heights of pure ecstasy and, knowing this, he had no willpower.  ‘Yes… yes you do.  Very much, little one,’ he murmured.

Her gaze softened, her smile became infinitely tender, and her hands resumed where they had left off.

~~~~~ * ~~~~~

Chapter 3….

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