guard, will you?’
Finn touched her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. ‘The only way that will happen is if I’m in the shower with you.’ Finn dropped his thumb when she shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t think so.’
Snuggled down in the enormous bed on the top platform, Callie couldn’t keep her eyes off the magnificent night sky. It looked as if God had taken a handful of diamonds and tossed them against a sticky backdrop, allowing them to hang there in a perpetual grip. She’d never seen stars like this before—she almost felt she could reach out and touch them.
She was beyond tired, Callie thought, and wished that sleep would come. But every time she closed her eyes she was jolted by another strange sound. The rustle of something in the tree—probably just the breeze, or a bird—had her constantly on edge. It was not the genius leopard, she kept telling herself. And just when she felt her eyelids starting to close those pesky jackals would start their yelping again, and then something would grunt and the hyena would laugh.
Callie was over her night under the African stars and was not finding anything remotely amusing. She was exhausted, slightly chilled, and—though she hated to admit it—a lot scared. She realised she liked having walls and windows between her and the night, locks and safety chains. She didn’t like feeling as if she was a snack on the buffet of the African savannah, and it didn’t matter how much Mr Cool downstairs reassured her: this was not natural! Or maybe it was too natural.
Again—walls, doors, windows! That was what God had created them for!
The sounds of the night dropped away and Callie felt her eyelids drooping. She was on that wonderful edge of sleep when she felt a rumbling in her chest, felt electricity charge the air. Instantly the night sounds ceased as a deep-throated grunt echoed across the bush. Oh, crap!
Callie scrambled up in bed and pulled the duvet over her head.
The grunt increased in intensity and she felt the sound invade her chest, skitter down to her nerve-endings. Lion! Callie sucked in her breath and wished that she could belt out of bed and run all the way back to Cape Town. The deep grunts tailed off and she bit her lip, waiting for the next sound. Just when she thought that the lion had stopped he let out a massive, deep-throated roar that raised every hair on her arms.
God—oh, God—oh, God. Finn had to call the lodge. There was a lion below them. Who could sleep with a lion below them?
‘Finn!’ she whispered.
Finn didn’t reply.
Throwing back the covers, Callie grabbed all her courage and belted for the stairs. She cursed when she stubbed her big toe against a table. The roars were still reverberating through the night. In bare feet she scampered down the steps and by sheer chance located the radio and mobile on the table, where Sarah had left them. Her shaky hands fumbled with the unfamiliar device.
‘Whatcha doing?’ Finn’s drowsy voice came from the direction of the hammock.
‘Finn! There’s a lion below us!’ Callie hissed. ‘We’ve got to call the lodge!’
‘Um, okay. Why?’
‘Because there’s a lion!’ Callie shouted. ‘Below us!’
‘Lions don’t climb trees, Hollis, especially animal-proofed trees,’ Finn drawled.
If she hadn’t been so freaked out Callie would have heard the amusement in his voice.
Another roar rolled through the stygian darkness and Callie jumped, dropping the mobile which skittered away. She swore and peered down at the pitch-black floor. She couldn’t see the phone so she swore again.
She was going to owe Rowan a lot of money after tonight.
‘Cal, calm down, honey.’ Finn’s voice was low and steady, a beacon in the darkness. ‘Leave the phone and head over here.’
Thinking that sounded like a very good plan, Callie inched her way over the deck to the bulky outline that was Finn lying in the hammock. When she stood next to him he lifted his hands and in one smooth movement lifted her, so that she lay on top of him. Rolling her off, he pulled the duvet out from under her and pulled her up so that her head rested on his shoulder.
‘Uh … what are you doing?’
‘Trying to get you to settle down so that we both can get some sleep,’ he muttered.
His hand rested on her lower back and she snuggled up to his warmth.
‘Now, listen to me, city girl. A lion’s roar can be heard up to five miles away, and I promise you that lion is nowhere near us. Yeah, he sounds amazing, but he’s not about to eat us—so calm down, okay?’
‘I still think we should call the lodge,’ Callie protested on a huge yawn.
‘What would we tell them? A lion is roaring? Yeah, that’s what they do in the wild, Mr Banning. They’ll think that I have the tiniest pair of balls in creation,’ Finn scoffed.
‘I’ll call them and tell them that you aren’t scared but I am terrified.’
Finn’s sigh brushed the top of her head. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of. Listen. He’s stopped.’
Callie lifted her head and, true enough, the grunts and roars had stopped. She was just starting to relax when another rumbling loud roar split the night. Callie yelped and buried her face in Finn’s neck, plastered herself tightly against him, hoping to climb inside.
Finn sighed. ‘Or maybe not.’
Finn’s hand stroked her neck, her hair, her back. His voice was low and warm and calming. ‘You’re safe, Cal, I promise.’
Callie shivered in his arms.
‘Breathe, angel,’ he told her.
Callie pulled in long deep breaths, felt his warmth and his strength and breathed again. Then her eyelids started to close and she pulled in another deep breath.
In Finn’s arms, fast asleep, feeling warm and safe, she didn’t even hear the next roar that shattered the night.
THEY DINED OUTSIDE the following evening, at a beautifully laid table on the lawn of the lodge, under another magnificent star-heavy sky. In the distance they could see a storm, the lightning lighting up huge thunderclouds. They could taste the rain in the air but were assured that dinner would be long over before the storm hit, so they sat back to enjoy the exceptional food placed in front of them.
Finn noticed that the lead singer of a popular band sat with a pouty waif at the next table, and beyond them he recognised an English politician with a woman who was definitely not his wife. If he were a tabloid journalist he would be having a field-day right now; he might be feeling a bit sleazy but he’d be making a fortune, he thought.
He looked across at Callie, who was leaning back in her chair, holding her wine glass, her eyes fixed on
