them—hard and only a fraction wider than single beds. There was no floor, just soft sand underfoot. And a door made of the same mass of woven-together leaves.
She turned and found he was standing in the doorway behind her. The weather gods had smiled upon her and he’d been in the mosquito net under the stars outside her tent every night since that first. But their tents and nets were back on the truck in Dar es Salaam and now there was just this dim, spacious hut.
‘I don’t think we should share,’ he said, arms folded across his chest. ‘I’ll see if there’s room in anoth—’
‘It’s OK.’ She avoided looking at him. They were adults. They could handle it.
Besides, there was no way they could both squash up on those cots. Not without being on top of each other. But, oh, didn’t she want just that?
No.
She stepped back at the same time as he and they avoided each other all afternoon as if by tacit agreement. As the evening progressed they sat on opposite sides of the bar and joined in the conversation with theothers. Ana didn’t drink. Nor, she noted, did he. Too dangerous. Any hint of intoxication would see her will sliding from her. Temptation would be impossible to resist.
So she played it safer still, loitering in the bar until it was late, changed into her sleepwear in the bathroom facility. Left it long enough to be sure he’d be already tucked safely away.
She didn’t look at him as she slid inside her thin silk sleeping bag.
‘Goodnight, Ana.’ He flicked the torch off.
‘Night, Seb.’
The narrow cot creaked as she wriggled on it, bunching up her fleece jumper again, trying to push it into more of a comfy pillow. Seb muttered about the length of the hard little beds. Then silence.
Minutes that felt like hours later she knew he was still awake. Could feel the awareness swirling between them in the room. She counted sheep, thought happy thoughts, closed her eyes and consciously tried to relax all her muscles.
Failed.
There was nothing else for it. They were just going to have to do more of what they’d been too busy to do before.
Talk.
‘Seb?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’
‘Are you awake?’
‘Obviously.’
She grinned in the darkness and rolled onto her side to face him. ‘Did you tell your parents you got married?’
‘Hell, no,’ he laughed.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, for one thing you walked out before I had the chance. And for another they have enough failed marriages between them not to need me adding to the tally.’
‘Your parents are divorced?’
‘Three times each. Mum is on her fourth marriage now. Dad’ll no doubt play catch-up soon.’
Ana wished like hell she could see his face right now. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Would I make that up?’ Wow.
What an experience. ‘When did they divorce each other?’ He sighed. ‘Do you really want to know this?’
‘Yes.’ ‘They separated when I was twelve. Mum got married again that year. Dad the year after that. They both divorced again the year after that. To be honest, then I start to lose track.’
‘What happened to you?’
‘What do you mean what happened to me?’ Defensive as ever there was.
‘Who did you live with?’
‘I split my time between them.’
Ana winced. She hadn’t had the greatest home life—but at least it had been stable. One house, one lot of guardians. ‘What were the step-parents like?’
‘They varied.’ ‘Did you have stepbrothers or sisters?’
‘Occasionally. For a while.’ His answer was supposed to be a conversation closer.
But she ignored it, because that must have beenhard, because it explained just a little about him. ‘But you don’t have other siblings.’
‘No.’
Utterly closed now and, as if to reinforce it, he pushed the questions onto her. ‘What about you? How did your aunt and uncle take it?’
‘I’ve never told them,’ she said baldly, still thinking over his revelations.
‘Really?’ He grunted. ‘When did you last see them?’
‘Oh, I
She turned and found he was standing in the doorway behind her. The weather gods had smiled upon her and he’d been in the mosquito net under the stars outside her tent every night since that first. But their tents and nets were back on the truck in Dar es Salaam and now there was just this dim, spacious hut.
‘I don’t think we should share,’ he said, arms folded across his chest. ‘I’ll see if there’s room in anoth—’
‘It’s OK.’ She avoided looking at him. They were adults. They could handle it.
Besides, there was no way they could both squash up on those cots. Not without being on top of each other. But, oh, didn’t she want just that?
No.
She stepped back at the same time as he and they avoided each other all afternoon as if by tacit agreement. As the evening progressed they sat on opposite sides of the bar and joined in the conversation with theothers. Ana didn’t drink. Nor, she noted, did he. Too dangerous. Any hint of intoxication would see her will sliding from her. Temptation would be impossible to resist.
So she played it safer still, loitering in the bar until it was late, changed into her sleepwear in the bathroom facility. Left it long enough to be sure he’d be already tucked safely away.
She didn’t look at him as she slid inside her thin silk sleeping bag.
‘Goodnight, Ana.’ He flicked the torch off.
‘Night, Seb.’
The narrow cot creaked as she wriggled on it, bunching up her fleece jumper again, trying to push it into more of a comfy pillow. Seb muttered about the length of the hard little beds. Then silence.
Minutes that felt like hours later she knew he was still awake. Could feel the awareness swirling between them in the room. She counted sheep, thought happy thoughts, closed her eyes and consciously tried to relax all her muscles.
Failed.
There was nothing else for it. They were just going to have to do more of what they’d been too busy to do before.
Talk.
‘Seb?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’
‘Are you awake?’
‘Obviously.’
She grinned in the darkness and rolled onto her side to face him. ‘Did you tell your parents you got married?’
‘Hell, no,’ he laughed.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, for one thing you walked out before I had the chance. And for another they have enough failed marriages between them not to need me adding to the tally.’
‘Your parents are divorced?’
‘Three times each. Mum is on her fourth marriage now. Dad’ll no doubt play catch-up soon.’
Ana wished like hell she could see his face right now. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Would I make that up?’ Wow.
What an experience. ‘When did they divorce each other?’ He sighed. ‘Do you really want to know this?’
‘Yes.’ ‘They separated when I was twelve. Mum got married again that year. Dad the year after that. They both divorced again the year after that. To be honest, then I start to lose track.’
‘What happened to you?’
‘What do you mean what happened to me?’ Defensive as ever there was.
‘Who did you live with?’
‘I split my time between them.’
Ana winced. She hadn’t had the greatest home life—but at least it had been stable. One house, one lot of guardians. ‘What were the step-parents like?’
‘They varied.’ ‘Did you have stepbrothers or sisters?’
‘Occasionally. For a while.’ His answer was supposed to be a conversation closer.
But she ignored it, because that must have beenhard, because it explained just a little about him. ‘But you don’t have other siblings.’
‘No.’
Utterly closed now and, as if to reinforce it, he pushed the questions onto her. ‘What about you? How did your aunt and uncle take it?’
‘I’ve never told them,’ she said baldly, still thinking over his revelations.
‘Really?’ He grunted. ‘When did you last see them?’
‘Oh, I
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