let her eyes follow it down his muscular, hairless chest.
"Where's your snake?" she asked in surprise, noticing the tattoo on his chest missing.
"My snake?"
His gaze met hers and she couldn't help but notice the humor that glistened in his mocha eyes. His smile was intoxicating, as well as the fresh scent of his body.
"Your tattoo," she corrected herself, suddenly feeling the weight of his hands slip down to her hips. She felt as intoxicated by his presence as she was by his cleanliness.
"Oh, that." He released her, tied up the mosquito netting and collapsed into the hammock. She watched the make-shift bed swing back and forth, creaking under his weight. He crossed his arms behind his head, causing his biceps to bulge. He lay there virtually naked, as the only thing he wore was a short pair of frayed cut-offs which hugged him like a second skin.
"My snake slithered off in the shower this morning."
"What?" She marveled at the way he maneuvered the hammock to do what he wanted without falling out. She'd struggled with the uncomfortable thing all night, trying not to make a false move so she wouldn't end up falling through the hole in the floor he called a bathroom.
"It washed off," he added, closing his eyes with a sigh as he spoke. So he hadn't had a good night's sleep either.
"Since when do tattoos wash off?"
"They're not etched into my skin, but put on with paints made from roots and weeds. It's something I learned from the Jivaro."
She surveyed the front of his body and noticed the rest of the tattoos were gone as well. All but the condor upon his upper arm.
"So why is that one still there?" she asked.
He opened his eyes and sat up in the hammock, bringing his feet over the edge to the floor. His fingers glided over the markings on his arm. His face turned solemn.
“This one is permanent,” he said in a low voice.
“I see. So you like condors enough that you wanted one on your body forever?”
He stood slowly, his eyes taking on a faraway look. Her comment had distressed him somehow.
“I hate condors,” he growled.
“Then why did you have one tattooed on your arm?”
“It was put there against my will when I was only tens years old. The Jivaro saw the condor sitting on a rock above me one day, and decided I was some kind of savior that was mentioned in their tribal prophecy.”
“Prophecy?” she asked. “What prophecy?”
Unspoken pain washed over his face, and he turned toward the door. She didn’t think he was going to answer.
“Please, I’d really like to know.”
He seemed to consider it, then nodded slightly. She heard a slight waver to his voice as he continued his story.
“My parents were bringing antibiotics to the sick Jivaro tribe when they suddenly both died.”
“Oh!” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
“I was left alone in the jungle when a storm shook the cave. The Jivaro saw me emerge, and the condor swoop down past me, and that’s why the chief decided I was special. When I gave them the antibiotics in our supplies and their people were healed, they’d decided I was their savior. The chief declared me his son. He had a son my age named Hoatzin whom I befriended easily. He was like a true brother to me. But Motmot, the chief’s eldest son had no use for me. He liked to cause me trouble, as he was jealous from that day on.
“I had no idea,” she said, shocked to hear of his devastating childhood. She’d heard from Ryder he’d been raised by the natives, but she never imagined he’d gone through such troubled times. “I am so sorry about your parents.”
He turned his head slightly, his face stonelike. “Don’t be. They got what they deserved.”
“How can you say that?” she gasped. “No one deserves to die. You are just bitter at your ill luck and I don’t blame you.” She reached out to touch him, as she knew he needed it desperately, but withdrew her hand when she saw his muscles tighten in anticipation.
“Life is cheap in the
"Where's your snake?" she asked in surprise, noticing the tattoo on his chest missing.
"My snake?"
His gaze met hers and she couldn't help but notice the humor that glistened in his mocha eyes. His smile was intoxicating, as well as the fresh scent of his body.
"Your tattoo," she corrected herself, suddenly feeling the weight of his hands slip down to her hips. She felt as intoxicated by his presence as she was by his cleanliness.
"Oh, that." He released her, tied up the mosquito netting and collapsed into the hammock. She watched the make-shift bed swing back and forth, creaking under his weight. He crossed his arms behind his head, causing his biceps to bulge. He lay there virtually naked, as the only thing he wore was a short pair of frayed cut-offs which hugged him like a second skin.
"My snake slithered off in the shower this morning."
"What?" She marveled at the way he maneuvered the hammock to do what he wanted without falling out. She'd struggled with the uncomfortable thing all night, trying not to make a false move so she wouldn't end up falling through the hole in the floor he called a bathroom.
"It washed off," he added, closing his eyes with a sigh as he spoke. So he hadn't had a good night's sleep either.
"Since when do tattoos wash off?"
"They're not etched into my skin, but put on with paints made from roots and weeds. It's something I learned from the Jivaro."
She surveyed the front of his body and noticed the rest of the tattoos were gone as well. All but the condor upon his upper arm.
"So why is that one still there?" she asked.
He opened his eyes and sat up in the hammock, bringing his feet over the edge to the floor. His fingers glided over the markings on his arm. His face turned solemn.
“This one is permanent,” he said in a low voice.
“I see. So you like condors enough that you wanted one on your body forever?”
He stood slowly, his eyes taking on a faraway look. Her comment had distressed him somehow.
“I hate condors,” he growled.
“Then why did you have one tattooed on your arm?”
“It was put there against my will when I was only tens years old. The Jivaro saw the condor sitting on a rock above me one day, and decided I was some kind of savior that was mentioned in their tribal prophecy.”
“Prophecy?” she asked. “What prophecy?”
Unspoken pain washed over his face, and he turned toward the door. She didn’t think he was going to answer.
“Please, I’d really like to know.”
He seemed to consider it, then nodded slightly. She heard a slight waver to his voice as he continued his story.
“My parents were bringing antibiotics to the sick Jivaro tribe when they suddenly both died.”
“Oh!” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
“I was left alone in the jungle when a storm shook the cave. The Jivaro saw me emerge, and the condor swoop down past me, and that’s why the chief decided I was special. When I gave them the antibiotics in our supplies and their people were healed, they’d decided I was their savior. The chief declared me his son. He had a son my age named Hoatzin whom I befriended easily. He was like a true brother to me. But Motmot, the chief’s eldest son had no use for me. He liked to cause me trouble, as he was jealous from that day on.
“I had no idea,” she said, shocked to hear of his devastating childhood. She’d heard from Ryder he’d been raised by the natives, but she never imagined he’d gone through such troubled times. “I am so sorry about your parents.”
He turned his head slightly, his face stonelike. “Don’t be. They got what they deserved.”
“How can you say that?” she gasped. “No one deserves to die. You are just bitter at your ill luck and I don’t blame you.” She reached out to touch him, as she knew he needed it desperately, but withdrew her hand when she saw his muscles tighten in anticipation.
“Life is cheap in the
Similar Books
