Silence is Golden

27. Fishy Business

Making a fishing spear was astonishingly easy. In essence, it was nothing but a stick split at one end into four prongs that were held apart by twine and pieces of liana. Actually catching a fish with one – that was an entirely different matter.

'Blast, blast, blast! Stay where you are, you bloody slippery little beast!'

'Silence, Mr Linton! I am concentrating.'

Vengefully, I stared over at Mr Ambrose who already had a pile of three nice, fat fish resting beside him. The spot on the bank next to me was still empty. A little farther down the stream, the fish I had been trying to catch sprang out of the water, waggled its tailfin at me in a triumphant manner and disappeared downstream.

'I'll be back for you, you fin-flapping fiend!' I shouted after him. 'You won't escape me!'

Mr Ambrose gave me a look.

'What?' I demanded. 'It's frustrating, not catching anything! And it's so unfair! It's not my fault if you have more luck than I do! It's that stare of yours. It freezes the fish in place, so you can pick them off at your leisure.'

'I highly doubt that the temperature of my vision has anything to do with the matter, Mr Linton.'

'Oh yes? Then why don't I manage to–? Damn! Missed again!'

'It's simply a matter of practice.' The splash of two long strides through the river was all the warning I got before Mr Ambrose's strong arms encircled me. One gripped the spear I was holding, the other went around my waist, pulling me back against him. My breath caught in my throat.

'Come here,' I heard his voice, only inches away from my ear. 'I'll show you how to do it.'

Oh, yes, please! Show me! Show me everything!

Suddenly, my mind wasn't on fish anymore. Not at all.

I could feel the hard muscles of his chest against my back, could feel the tiny movements as he breathed in and out, in and out, in and out. His hand around my waist was holding me firmly against him, leaving me no room to wriggle.

As if I would have wished to move! Ha! Right then, there was no place I would rather be.

'Right, Mr Linton. Now, spread your legs...'

What? Already?

'...to get the better stance. You have to stand firm on your feet to make a catch.'

Oh. Right. Fishing.

Licking my lips, I spread my legs as advised. He was right – it was a firmer stance. But with as little as I was wearing right now, it also left me feeling unexpectedly vulnerable. His hand moved against my belly, and I felt a tingle of temptation race down my spine.

'I suppose you've always made the catch you want,' I asked, my voice breathier than usual for a fishing trip.

His voice in return was hard and implacable. 'Always.'

I swallowed. 'So...how do you do this?'

I would suggest tearing off each other's clothes, falling into the river and engaging in a mad, passionate orgy right there in the hot water.

'I stay still and silent.' He shifted, and through the thin cloth of my chemise, I felt every one of his muscles flex against my derrière. Every. Single. One. 'When a fish comes, I wait until the prey is directly beneath me – then stab!'

Stabbing sounds good. Now, please!

'And what...do I...do?'

God! Why did my voice have to sound like that? Why?