Georgie wasn’t lost, technically speaking. At least not completely. According to her protractor or compass or whatever it was, she was three miles north and maybe a little west of their camp with just a few fifty foot cliffs, rapidly rushing creeks, and thundering waterfalls between her and civilization and ultimate safety. She gave a little snort.

Hardly either. No more did she want to return to that malaria infested scorching patch of dirt that the professor called a village than she wanted to be hiking circles in this steaming overgrowth of vegetation that sported banana leaves longer than her body. Course, she could use them for clothes should she be stranded into the next millennium.

She cursed the professor. If he hadn’t tried to hunt her down she never would have slipped away. But she refused to haul another water jug up that steep hill just so the village women could cook gluey stew they’d all have to choke down. What else could she do but hide out?

And she doubled-cursed him for earlier insisting she wear this Salvation Army scrap of a sundress that the chief had presented to her with such pride - a threadbare cotton floral too short, even for her small frame, to keep her legs from getting scratched up as she hacked her way through brush and tangled vines. Its spaghetti straps bared her shoulders and much of her breasts to the unrelenting heat of the sun and overgrown jungle so that now she burned and itched all over her fair skin. She could only imagine the multitude of parasites that lived in the oozing bark and wet moss.

But she wasn’t desperate. Not yet. She kicked aside a rotting log and watched a swarm of insects cloud the air. True desperation was twelve lousy credits away from graduating and parents who threatened to cut you off and take away your red metallic Miata until you do. This nightmare she could handle, if this little internship gained her the promised credits and freedom.

A college degree by her 21st birthday had meant access to her two million dollar trust find and independence from her fire-breathing parents. She was 26 now and still working on it. Her parents thought they’d lost patience? What about her? Imprisoned in academia during her prime was not exactly her dream either. She should have been honing her underdeveloped sailing skills and nurturing her love of nature - at least the nature that included a smooth Grenade on a hot sandy beach.

The darkness hovered lower, whether from the sun setting or from traveling deeper into the jungle, she couldn’t be sure, but either way, it wasn’t a good sign.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. She glanced up at the canopy of trees above, aware that the tiny dots of light peeking through the ceiling of vegetation were growing dimmer. She wasn’t frightened. Just concerned. She’d find a cave to sleep in, hopefully a nice studio whose lone tiger had taken off on a little jaunt.

She crawled through what looked like an opening to somewhere and ran smack into a pair of hairy feet with nails long overdue for a manicure. For one paralyzing moment she looked up into the small beady eyes of the largest Silverback gorilla she had ever seen. Only gorilla she had ever seen. But before she allowed terror to strike, she remembered the professor describing the species’ lack of aggression and innate gentleness.

The huge-skulled beast reared up on two legs and let loose a roaring growl that rivaled King Kong’s best. Then it beat its chest with a fury, its dagger-like teeth glinting in its ugly face. So much for the esteemed professor.

She did an about face without daring to look back to see if her furry friend followed and made a run for her life. After she had run for what seemed like the distance of three laps around Central Park and was sure he wasn’t chasing her, she dropped herself down by a rubber tree in a thick part of the forest and applauded her skillful escape. But not for long, because the darkness was growing and the eerie silence of the day was slowing being replaced by the sound of creatures. And they seemed to be coming closer by the minute.

She gave a quick glance around. Nothing. She was starting to rethink the cave idea when she was yanked up from behind by her ponytail and dragged out into a small clearing.

Pain shot through her as she grabbed frantically at her scalp and twisted to see if her attacker was animal or human. But before she could catch her breath, she was whipped around to face her aggressor. A band of hunters, three native men with rifles in hand and ammunition and knives strapped to their chests, stood before her while the fourth one hauled her to her feet. He thrust her into the pack. They jostled her, clicking their tongues and laughing. She blanched at the feel of sweaty palms sliding down her bare arms.

When she pushed back at them, she was scooped up from behind around her waist, one thick arm trapping her. She dug her nails into hairy skin and kicked out her legs, but the man held her tight. The others surrounded her, chuckling and stroking her face, trying to flip her dress up, and terrifying her as she imagined what they would do next.

No doubt they were poachers, because a pile of satchels, filled with the scent of blood, rested nearby.

The professor had bemoaned the profitable illegal trade in gorilla meat and warned his adoring student groupies of bands of outlaws roaming the jungle. She wished she had paid more attention, like that kiss-up graduate student, Kristy, who hung on his every word.

The men’s toothless grins widened when one poked a stubby finger at her nipple, raised against her sweat soaked dress. She thrashed and kicked, cringing at the feel of him.

But then abruptly they released her and stepped back when a small figure emerge from between the trees and stood before them. His wide safari hat did nothing to disguise his weak-jawed face and his white legs looked like bamboo shoots under his baggy shorts. A leer split across his face the instant he saw her.

"Well..." He murmured. "What’s this?" His thick nasally voice made her skin crawl. Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes darted around seeking an escape. But while she could probably take this little runt, the numbers were not in her favor. She took a cautious step back, but before she could get her bearings, he signaled to the men. Instantly, they surrounded her and dragged her to a large tree.

"Get off of me!" She scratched down at a face, drawing blood and an angry bellow from one attacker, but it didn’t stop him and the rest of them from smashing her back against the tree and tying her arms around the trunk.

Then they fanned out as one, facing the perimeter of the clearing and stepping a few feet into the jungle, as though guarding against intruders.

Alone now with the white man, she watched as he took a few deliberate steps toward her, at the same time he reached slowly into a side strap of his shorts. He whipped out a long gleaming blade. Its shiny metal glinted even in the growing darkness. Her heart leaped in her throat. Did he plan to slice her like he did the animals he hunted? For what purpose? Unless he was plain crazy.

"My..." He lifted a blonde curl from her neck with the tip of his knife and smiled. "I haven’t seen skin this creamy in a long time."

Her heart raced as he trailed the knife along her neck clear down to her collarbone and then took the cold metal tip and pricked at the peaks of her nipples through the worn fabric of her dress. A paralyzing fear gripped her unlike any she’d ever felt. Her mother’s oft-recited complaint came back to haunt her. "The child has no fear. Just once she needs the living daylights scared out of her, then maybe she’ll listen." As right as her mother probably was, Georgie was sure this was not what her mother had in mind.

"You’re such a pretty little thing. I don’t know where to look first, your lovely face or your luscious tits." She shuddered beneath his twisted smile.

In one swift movement, he grabbed the front of her dress and sliced down to her waist, popping every button. He drew aside the fabric and feasted his eyes on her, letting out a low chuckle. "You are too beautiful. I’ve surely died and gone to heaven." He lifted her skirt and tried to hook his fingers under the elastic of her panties.

With perfect aim, she kneed him in the groin and watched in relief as he doubled over. A hefty whoosh left his lungs as he struggled to stay on his feet.

"You little bitch," he growled, grabbing her skirt. He brandished the knife and made menacing slicing gestures with the blade into the space between them. He was furious now and out of control. He lunged for her.

A scream froze in her throat. With alarming dexterity, he slipped the knife under her panties and ripped through them, sending them to fall at her ankles. Then he unzipped his shorts. She writhed in confusion as he fumbled with his limp penis. What did he plan to do with that?

After her precision slam, he should be out of commission for some time, but the rage in his faded blue eyes and his shaking body told her he’d rape her with his knife if needed. She fixed her eyes on the polished blade, willing her brain to move fast and figure an escape.

He prodded her thigh with the sharp tip of steel. "Open up!" he spat. With his initial shock aside, the raw pain must have surfaced because he grabbed his balls now and moaned.

"My father is Minister of the Interior," she warned, hoping such a position existed. She yanked against the leather line at her wrists.

For a half second the man faltered and then grinned wickedly. "Minister of the Interior?" He gave a cynical laugh.

Behind him, a bush shook and then a dull thud sounded, but he was too intent on her to notice. She hoped against reason that this little band of thieves was being followed by the authorities and had just been tracked down. She listened for more sounds but only silence followed.

"What’s he gonna say when I fuck his daughter?" He pushed up her skirt and gawked at the golden tuft of hair between her legs. Another tree shook, followed by a gentle whishing sound, metal slicing flesh. She dared to hope.

"You wouldn’t be the first man to fuck me," she quipped, saying anything that would keep him distracted from what was going on behind him. She only prayed it was good. His sickly eyes clouded with lust.

"Open yourself for me," he rasped.

Oh, God. The thought of spreading herself for this creep made her want to vomit.

"Do it," he shouted.

Behind him, a half-naked male dropped out of the sky, landing with a grace that belied his muscled bulk. Without making a sound, he lassoed his forearm around the white man’s neck. His eyes met hers and held as the hunter dropped his knife to claw at the thick arm suffocating him.

The poacher’s skin turned a satisfying shade of blue and spittle formed at the corners of his mouth while he stared at her without seeing, bug-eyed. Her gaze flicked between her attacker and her rescuer. Her rescuer’s gaze remained steady. A crack of bone signaled a crushed windpipe and then, with a flick of his elbow, the man snapped the hunter’s pale white neck. He dropped the body at his feet.

She stared, open-mouthed, as the loin-clad barbarian before her dragged aside the crumpled figure and dumped him into the trees.

Her heart pounded.

She had never seen someone killed right before her eyes, or seen anyone die for that matter. Her eyes followed the movements of her rescuer, this disturbingly solid violent man she was now alone with as she contemplated what would happen next.

He towered well above six feet and with his long dark hair in a wild tumble to his shoulders, he looked like a throwback to a medieval warlord. All he lacked was a good set of chain mail to replace the primitive loincloth that draped his muscled thighs. He, too, brandished a long sword-like knife and with those boulder-like shoulders and biceps as thick as tree trunks, she knew one well-executed swipe could slice her in half.

Her eyes widened when he came to stand before her, legs braced apart and hands on hips, sweaty muscles flexing. He shoved his knife into a leather pouch strapped to his thigh watching her closely as he did, his gray eyes intense. This bronze-chested savage was obviously wild and dangerous, primitive, a terrifying specimen of masculine power and ... gorgeous. She swallowed.

His eyes followed the movement of her throat, traveled over her hair and then settled on her face. He gave a little frown and then took a hesitant step forward and raised his hand.

She startled, causing him to drop his hand abruptly and step back. He grumbled something under his breath.

"I’m sorry," she said, finding her voice. "I...I should thank you." His eyes followed her lips as she spoke. "You saved my life."

His thick lashes blinked and the little creases in his forehead smoothed out. After a moment he cocked his head and then took a hesitant step forward before he stopped again, as though gauging her reaction. She stayed still for now, until she figured out what he intended to do with her. A glistening layer of moisture skimmed his chest and clung to a tight patch of dark hair. He smelled of rain and fresh male sweat.

He eased a fraction closer and hesitated. Then he tipped her chin up with one finger and studied her, turning her face to one side and then the other before he ran his fingertips over her cheek with the softest touch. Then he dipped his head to her throat and moved in closer. Warm fingers slid along the curve of her neck. Then he breathed deep against her skin. He was smelling her.

The thought drew a pull of sexual awareness from her that took her by surprise.

He straightened a bit and cupped her face.

Behind him the trees wobbled and then thrashed. She glimpsed a blur of fur and claws. "Oh my god," she screamed. "Untie me!"

King Kong had returned.

Her rescuer glanced at their intruder and grunted, gesturing abruptly with his hand. She held her breath.

But Kong just ambled forward and plopped himself down to lean against a nearby tree. Her rescuer nodded and then returned his gaze to her.

Then it occurred to her. He had to be the legendary wild man of the jungle. Local legends echoed through the mountains of a creature not of their race who sliced and diced poachers with a vengeance, the reward for his capture rivaling the price the underground market paid for the largest catch of primate heads. Even the government was eager to rid the country of him with tourist revenue already taking a plunge.

As she stared at Kong she felt the press of fingers along her neck again. Tarzan was sliding his fingers down her throat and murmuring something unintelligible. His fingers came to rest on her rapid pulse. After her horrible ordeal, his touch was warm and surprisingly soothing. He leaned his big body in closer and she wondered if he would try to smell her again, but he continued to stroke her skin as though fascinated with its feel, his eyes following the deliberate path of his caress. Her blood pumped hot as his fingers continued a slow travel down, over her collarbone and then along the top swell of her breasts.His fingertips lingered on the sensitive skin between her breasts.

She glanced down. In her struggle with her captor, her dress had partially covered her breasts again, the opening edges catching on each nipple.

His brows knit together in a puzzled crease as he studied the sweat-soaked fabric that clung to her skin. Her nipples grew instantly taut under the worn cotton.

He frowned and then cupped her breast.

She gave a startled cry, struggling against her restraints. His expression grew more bewildered as he blatantly continued to cradle her, despite her protests, with both palms. He gave a grunt and grumbled.

She tipped her chin. So, she had small breasts, big deal. At least they were real. But his insult to her feminine pride was soon softened when his persistent feeling and fondling drew a warm sexual heat from her. Still, she squirmed and pulled on her restraints.

"Are you going to release me?"

His eyes glinted with interest, but he finally dropped his hands. Up this close the rough shadow of his jaw smelled deliciously of shaving cologne. She gave herself a mental shake at the crazy thought.

He turned to Kong and mumbled something indiscernible. Then he began to pace, casting her sideways glances as he did.

King Kong watched, his clumsy head cocked in curiosity. "What are you looking at?" she snapped.

He bared his teeth and let out a roar.

Oh God. She held her breath. The angry beast pumped up his chest and leaned forward on his thick arms as though ready to jump her. His small dark eyes gleamed bright under his wide forehead. She didn’t dare move or speak. From out of the corner of her eye, Tarzan stopped before her and lifted a lazy hand to the animal. Immediately, the ferocious monster relaxed.

She sighed with relief. But still, she had to get him to untie her.

"Please... Tarzan. Untie my hands." She motioned to her back and pulled.

But he wasn’t paying any attention to what she said. He was sweeping his eyes over the corkscrew knot of her curls that fell to her shoulders. Then he reached up and pulled gently on the tips of her curls and watched with fascination how they bounced back. He drew in a soft breath.

The air grew thick between them.

He lifted pensive eyes to hers and brushed his thumb along her bottom lip, his expression a mixture of pleasure and confusion.

She dropped her gaze and one look at his groin settled any confusion she might have. The rough leather loincloth grew right before her eyes. And it looked like his size there matched the rest of his body.

He stepped back and looked over at King Kong. After a moment of what she’d swear was male commiseration, they both stared at her. She straightened her shoulders and stared back. For Heaven’s sake, you’d think they’d never seen a woman.

Her eyes widened. She watched them, her heart hammering. My God. They hadn’t. She’d bet her Tarzan had never seen a woman. The shock of it was more than she could comprehend.

His hands flew to the top of her dress. "What are you doing?" she gasped. With a quick hand, he drew aside the fabric, fully exposing her small white breasts. She struggled against her restraints, burning with embarrassment as his eyes eagerly traced over the small swell of her cleavage and settled on her nipples. The smoky gray of his eyes lightened and he seemed truly fascinated.

He mumbled something, his voice low, and then smoothed his palms along the soft curve of her breasts. She drew in a shocked breath and was mortified by how quickly she warmed to his sensuous caress.

His subsiding erection reversed direction.

She squirmed against his hands. "You can’t just do whatever you— oh..." She stifled a groan when he pinched her nipples between his fingers, sending fire to her groin. Her nipples to tighten to hard points. His eyes lit with interest.
Then he mercifully stopped.

He glanced at her panties lying at his feet and bent to pick up the scrap of lace. He drew the silky fabric to his face and breathed deep. Apparently, he liked her scent. A full erection was forming under the skimpy leather draping him as he turned his hot gaze back to her. He stuffed her panties in his waistband. Then he dropped to his knees and threw up her skirt.

Read the rest in SECRETS, Volume 9!