Tender Savage (Siren Publishing Allure) Read online

  Tender Savage

  An exotic jungle, a supermodel, and an all-action hero! Is this the stuff dreams are made of?

  Surviving a plane crash, Eleanor Courtney-Vance climbs dazed and bloodied from the wreckage. A life of catwalks and photo shoots has not prepared her for an exhausting trek through the jungle, but all-action hero Abraham Savage gives her no quarter and relentlessly pushes her on. Hating him one moment and loving him the next, Eleanor is confused as to her feelings for her rescuer, but nights spent in Abraham’s arms convince her that it’s not just lust she feels, but deep, abiding love. But, what of Abraham—is she really just an itch he needed to scratch?

  Erotic days and steamy nights locked in each other’s arms with dangers all around—will they survive? And will lust turn to love?

  Genre: Contemporary

  Length: 38,818 words

  TENDER SAVAGE

  Rosemary J. Anderson

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  TENDER SAVAGE

  Copyright © 2013 by Rosemary J. Anderson

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-854-0

  First E-book Publication: May 2013

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Tender Savage by Rosemary J. Anderson from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Rosemary J. Anderson’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Anderson’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  For Sumo

  This book is dedicated to my very dear friend Dr. Esme Miskimmin and my sister Maureen Mourini who not only read but buy everything I write. Thank you for your support and confidence in me.

  TENDER SAVAGE

  ROSEMARY J. ANDERSON

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  Eleanor Courtney-Vance crawled dazedly from the wreckage that was once a small twelve-seater aircraft. Her shoulder hurt, and every muscle in her body screamed with pain. Pushing the hair from her face, she leant back against the trunk of a tree and, through tears of shock and pain, gazed around her at the debris. What had happened? One minute she’d been enjoying a creamy cup of coffee, and the next…

  The world around her grew hazy, and she closed her eyes against the pain in her head. Slipping slightly into unconsciousness, her mind went back to those last few terrible moments. She recalled the stewardess, the smell of coffee, and the gentle buzz of conversation…

  * * * *

  Gently placing a tray of coffee on the table next to her, the stewardess offered a pillow and smilingly indicated the pile of magazines. With a murmured word of thanks, Eleanor gave a slight nod of dismissal before pouring herself a cup of the rich, aromatic brew. Only three other passengers were aboard, an official-looking businessman engrossed in his laptop and a couple obviously in love as they gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. Staring at them enviously, she wished for a time when she could find “that special someone.” Lifting her cup, she took a reviving sip. It had been a manic few weeks, a fashion show in London followed by a magazine interview, and now, a bikini shoot at the Amazon capital, Manaus, a place she knew little about except for what she had read, and that was little enough. She had for once been interested enough to look it up and had discovered that it was a sprawling city located on the north bank of the Rio Negro, that it had many ports and was as cosmopolitan as the most modern of European cities she had visited. She was looking forward to seeing the sights, never having been to Brazil or the rain forest before, so when the job was done, she was going to take a few days respite, basking in the sun, for once, not watching her figure and indulging in her favourite dessert, delicious chocolate ice cream.

  Flicking open her powder compact, she examined her face. God she was tired, only twenty-three, yet she felt fifty-three. She peered deeper, convinced that there were yet more lines fanning out from the corner of her eyes. She didn’t have many more years doing the job she did. Who wanted an old and sagging model parading around in skimpy underwear so fine that it didn’t leave much to the imagination?

  Snapping the compact closed, she sighed. Just a few more jobs and then she’d have enough money to keep her sick brother to the end of his days. No more stripping off for the camera and no more selling herself to the highest bidder. Picking up a magazine, she glanced desultorily through the pages, stopping when a picture of herself caught her eye. Examining it closely, she was not especially pleased at what she saw. Pouting prettily at the camera, a suggestive look in her eyes, she was the epitome of sensuality. Her hair was a golden halo about her head thanks to the aid of a large fan, and her lips were a flash of colour against the creamy, pure skin of her face. The underwear she was modelling was designer and was almost translucent. The bra cut so low her breasts spilled out the top of it, and it was so transparent the darker shadowing of her nipples enticed the reader. The briefs—she momentarily closed her eyes—well, she might as well have not been wearing any. They were so completely see-through it was a good thing she’d had a wax treatment the day before the shoot. Tossing the magazine aside in disgust, she picked up another, hoping to distract her thoughts, but she sighed deeply and wearily closed her eyes, the glossy gliding idly from her fingers to the floor.

&
nbsp; Moments later, a plane-rocking bang shook the aircraft, and a rush of heat as flames surged from the toilet area behind her. Her eyes snapped open. Jolted violently forward and hitting her head on the seat in front left her dazed and bloody, her teeth biting involuntarily into her full lower lip. A cacophony of sound followed, stinging her ears, the crackling of fire, screaming, shouting, and the jarring grind of twisting metal. Frightened and disorientated, she glanced out of the window expecting to see violent arrows of lightning, but instead, the sky was serene, clear, and blue. The plane dropped suddenly, and with her eyes feeling as big as saucers, she took in the scene unfolding before her. The trees, looking like grotesque contortions of wood, battered the windows, causing her to flinch. Flocks of birds rose noisily into the air, the bright colours of their wings blurring into one, and then, the sudden merging of the blue sky into the dense green of the canopy. Terrifyingly, the narrow crack across the wing began to expand, and above the commotion going on inside the cabin, she could hear her own heavy, thudding heartbeat mingling with the loud noise of metal tearing as the wing was ripped away and fell rapidly toward the ground.

  * * * *

  Catching her breath, Eleanor came back to the present. Tears rushed into her eyes, distorting the wreckage, turning it misty, softening the jagged edges of the broken trees, and merging the colours of the forest, making it all seem surreal. Her lashes, heavy and wet with tears, lowered once again, shutting out the aftermath of the accident. Unfortunately, her turbulent mind refused to rest. Her thoughts, chaotic and painful, returned relentlessly to the crash.

  * * * *

  Smoke was filling the air. Panic-stricken, she screamed in fear, her fingers clutching tightly onto the armrest, the nails breaking as they tore into the plastic covering.

  The plane skewered to one side and, with a brain-searing screech, nose-dived toward the ground. Pressing back against the seat, she dug her feet into the carpet, emulating a breaking action, convinced in a moment of panic that she could slow down the impetus. In the cabin, everything that was loose began falling higgledy-piggledy to the floor. Papers flew around the cabin, and small pieces of luggage tumbled from overhead lockers, hitting the passengers on their heads before dropping to the carpet.

  Fumbling with trembling fingers for her seat belt, she eventually managed to secure it, catching the skin on her finger in the process. Her terrified eyes met those of the businessman who was clutching his briefcase, quiet but shaking, then moved compellingly on to the couple who were clasped in each other’s arms, screaming at the top of their voices. Coming to her senses, she shouted above the noise, begging them to do up their seat belts, but no one seemed to hear her. The stewardess was prone on the floor, surrounded by coffee spilling out of the overturned pot and distressingly had an ugly gash on her head, blood pouring from the wound.

  * * * *

  Fleetingly coming back to the present once again had her crying pitifully, her chest heaving and her fingers tearing at the foliage under her. However, her thoughts refused to be subdued and reluctantly returned to the aircraft’s last moments.

  She recollected, repeating mechanically over and over again that it wasn’t her time to die. She also remembered praying, something she was ashamed to admit she did rarely. In her prayers she asked for forgiveness, promising to go to church, vowing to change her life and help out at soup kitchens. In fact, she remembered promising anything and everything if only she be allowed to live. Reliving the sounds and smells had her squeezing her eyes tightly shut. The acrid smell of burning, of rubber melting, and of spilt coffee was still in her nose. Then, there were the sounds. She wanted to put her hands over her ears and shut it all out. The crashing of pots and china from the galley, and the crackling of flames, like firecrackers at Chinese New Year, but most of all the terrified screams as the side of the plane fell away, exposing them to the air and the thrashing branches of trees.

  She caught back a hysterical sob as vaguely she remembered wishing that the person screaming would shut up and remembered looking around wanting to tell whoever it was to stay calm, and only then realising that it was her that was screaming. She recalled closing her eyes, squeezing them tightly shut as the high-pitched whining of the engines increased and the pull of the wind indicated that the plane was gathering speed, racing like a missile to the ground, and it was at that moment that she realised this was it—the end.

  Chapter Two

  Abraham Savage turned from contemplating the view outside, the light as he moved catching the ragged scar that ran the length of one cheek.

  “What time did the plane go down?”

  “Fifteen hundred hours was the last we heard from the pilot. He managed to get off a mayday call just before it crashed, indicating he suspected a bomb.”

  Strolling across the room, his demeanour one of absolute control, Abe grasped the back of a chair and, turning it, straddled the seat. Folding his arms across the top, he appeared unhurried and relaxed, with a tensile strength that reminded the general of a tightly coiled spring, ready and waiting, never to be caught off guard.

  Abe’s piercing green gaze locked with the general’s, pinning the aging man facing him to his seat.

  “Are you sure the pilot mentioned a bomb? There’s been lightning around those parts lately. Perhaps the crash was accidental.”

  “No, a bomb was reported for sure. Therefore, time is of the essence. Those discs are important, and in the wrong hands—well, you know better than I the consequences.”

  Abraham was quiet. The man opposite waited, knowing that when he had something to say, the silence would be broken. Not much for small talk, Abe spoke only when absolutely necessary.

  “What’s the importance of these discs?”

  “I’m bound by a certain amount of secrecy, but surfeit to say, that if those discs are not recovered by us, then the consequences could have a wide-reaching effect, an effect that could bring down the government of more than one country.”

  Abraham’s eyes looked glacial, deep pools of emerald green. His voice, soft but clipped, efficient, was lacking in emotion and compassion.

  “Then why the hell were they being transported on a small aircraft without any security to speak of?”

  “That’s not for us to question Abe. We’re here to obey orders and nothing else.”

  “You may have to obey orders, Branston, but I don’t. I’m my own man now.”

  He glanced at the general in disgust. Then as the silence stretched, he raked a hand through his hair.

  “Okay, let’s move on.” He sighed.”It’s a remote part where the plane reportedly went down. Most of it is not easy to get at, two million square miles of unexplored jungle.” He paused for a second, his eyes locking again with those of the general’s. “So, I take it that you’re sure of the coordinates?”

  “I’m certain. The plane is there, give or take a few miles for fragmentation.”

  “I doubt there are any survivors.” Abe continued, “And if there are, then I don’t hold out much hope for them, not considering the terrain and whoever else may be on the trail of those discs.”

  Clearing his throat, the general, breaking eye contact, prioritised the recovery of the information.

  “If there are survivors, Savage, then the decision must be yours. However, nothing must interfere with the safe return of those discs.”

  Tension infiltrated the room, a tension that was almost palpable and, as the silence stretched, had the general shifting restlessly in his seat.

  “So, Savage, I take it you’re in?

  Receiving a perceptible nod in return, the general breathed an audible sigh in relief.

  “How long will it take you to prepare?”

  Abe checked his watch, a wide leather band encircling his broad wrist, and mentally calculated the time—17.30 hours. Already the hours were ticking away.

  “I’ll be ready in an hour. I’ll get to Lima by midnight, and I’ll move from there at daylight. The terrain’s far too treacherous to
travel at night.”

  “Will you be taking your team?”

  “Negative.” Abe shook his head. “I’ll parachute in. Too many people blundering around the jungle will be seen and heard for miles. This one I’ll undertake alone.”

  General Bramston remained silent, fully aware of the dangers Abe was about to face. A man who walked alone, proud and powerful like a wolf, his instincts finely hewn and his brain analysing and dissecting, decorated for bravery, a good man to have one’s back, however, a fearsome enemy should one get on the wrong side of him. He looked at his friend’s head as he bent over a selection of maps. Dark hair followed Abe’s skull lovingly to his nape, the severity of the cut broken only by a stray lock which fell across his forehead just above his eyes. With high cheekbones and firm lips, his was a ruggedly handsome face only marred by the jagged scar that ran the length of his cheek, from just under his left eye to his chiselled jaw. Thirty-two, six foot six, broad shouldered, and slim hipped, his physique was masculine and commanding. They had been friends for many years, having met in the SAS, Britain’s “Special Air Services” unit, and Bramston knew with absolute certainty that Abe was a true professional and would do whatever was necessary to get the job done. Compassion and kindness bearing little importance to the task, highly trained and powerfully driven, he was as cold as his emerald eyes.