For the sheer bald front, you couldn’t fault her. By now she had to be wondering just how much he knew about her and yet there wasn’t even a flicker of guilt in her eyes. Or concern about his proposal to take her deep into the jungle. She just stood there in her perfectly cut Armani suit, balancing on four-inch heels, as if tramping through the African rainforest was something she’d packed for and which she frequently did in her spare time.
She had no idea what it took to walk through the jungle in the heat and humidity.
Five minutes, he said to himself with grim satisfaction. Five minutes was all it was going to take to have her shrieking about snakes and insects and clinging to him.
Without the heels, the suit, and the lip-gloss she’d be lost and vulnerable.
And she’d turn to him
