Theory Unproven

By Lillian Francis

Working with elephants in their natural habitat has always been Eric Phillips dream. Getting what he’s always desired introduces him to Tyaan Bouwer, the bush pilot that flies in his supplies, and Eric discovers the allure of South Africa goes beyond the wildlife and the scenery.

But in an area where bushveld prejudices and hatred bleed across the borders, realising their love will be a hard fought battle. Keeping hold of it might just kill them.

* * * * *
An unexpected job offer finds zoologist Eric Phillips transported from the elephant house at a zoo just outside London to the wildlife reserves in the South African bushveld. Being able to work with his own herd of elephants, and analysing their behaviour, more than makes up for the remote nature of the research station. The one bright spot on the horizon, quite literally if the sun hits it at the right angle, is the silver freight plane that brings his supplies and half an hour in the company of Tyaan, the gorgeous but taciturn pilot.

With wide open spaces and clear skies, Tyaan Bouwer is never be happier than when he’s flying over the bushveld, the landscape beneath him a changing vista of colour and texture. It’s that view and the freedom to be able to climb in his plane and fly that’s kept him in the small town where he was born and raised. South Africa might be a rainbow nation but in the northern regions where neighbouring countries are far from liberal minded, prejudices and hatred bleed across the borders. Tyaan’s not in the closet, not really. Get him to the city and with his strong, silent routine he can pull a guy without even trying. He’s fine with that as long as they don’t press him into trying to see them again. It’s not like he wants a relationship. And just maybe when he gets home he’s hovering in the doorway of that closet, but he’s never met anyone worth taking the risk for.

The day he’s sent to Limpopo to collect Eric that all changes. He tries to bury the feelings of want that Eric conjures in him, but he can’t resist the bonds of friendship that forms between them.

As a zoologist Eric likes to think that he’s adept at anticipating how a creature will react in any given situation, and they don’t come any more beautiful and skittish than Tyaan. Despite Tyaan’s jittery behaviour Eric has a theory they could be good together but when things go catastrophically wrong it appears their relationship will remain a theory unproven.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lillian Francis
• Release date: Jan 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370993987

Lillian Francis

Lillian Francis. Author of gay romance. Happy Endings guaranteed. Eventually.Lillian Francis is a self-confessed geek who likes nothing more than settling down with a comic or a good book, except maybe writing. Given a notepad, pen, her Kindle, and an infinite supply of chocolate Hob Nobs and she can lose herself for weeks. Romance was never her reading matter of choice, so it came as a great surprise to all concerned, including herself, to discover a romance was exactly what she’d written, and not the rollicking spy adventure or cosy murder mystery she always assumed she’d write.

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Copyright

Cover artist: Meredith Russell

Theory Unproven, 2nd edition © 2017 Lillian Francis

Published by Finally Love Press

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.

This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee. Such action is illegal and in violation of Copyright Law.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Warning

This book contains material that is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter One

A group of people clustered at the barrier, all jockeying for the best position to hold out their signs and welcome boards. Many of them appeared to be reps, their clipboards and overly made-up complexions giving them away, and Eric let his gaze move quickly past them as he scanned the crowd. He was not in Africa for a safari holiday on one of the game reserves. His stay was of a much more permanent nature.

ERIC PHILIPS.

Before the board boldly proclaiming his name registered with him on more than a subliminal level—enough to make his sweeping search of the crowd falter—Eric was engulfed by one of the tourist parties who had obviously identified their guide by her brightly coloured uniform. Eric stood his ground against the surging bodies and their luggage that bashed awkwardly at his calves and shins.

When the swarm of tourists cleared out from around him, Eric searched out his name once more. There it was, marked clearly on a board under the distinctive Foundation logo: turquoise lettering with paw marks where the Os should have been. A month ago he hadn’t even known this logo existed, yet now he saw it everywhere. It was embroidered on the breast pocket of all his work shirts, on the luggage labels hanging from his holdalls, plastered across every piece of paperwork in his document bag. And most importantly, it had been emblazoned across the front page of the five-year contract he had signed less than a fortnight ago.

Eric flashed a smile at the man holding his name card who nodded in response and waited for Eric to struggle over to the barrier. The man wore a brilliant-white short-sleeved shirt, blinding in contrast to the rich tone of his chestnut brown skin, and a turquoise and beige tie. As Eric got closer, the pattern on the tie morphed unsurprisingly into a repetition of The Foundation’s logo.

Eric Philips? Without waiting for a response, the man continued. Akibo Nakisa. Welcome to Limpopo.

Dropping one of his bags at his feet, Eric took the hand that was extended out to him. He’d been told he would be met at the airport, but the status of the man collecting him had been unclear. The confident grip implied this man was probably more than just a driver sent to meet Eric from the plane.

As they shook hands, Eric took the opportunity to study his colleague—he hadn’t met many people who worked for The Foundation, just the owner, Mr Cowdrey, and his assistant, really. A welcoming smile flashed a mouthful of white teeth and crinkled the skin around Akibo’s eyes. Or so Eric thought, but the fine lines remained even when the smile lessened, fanning either side of brown eyes that were a shade lighter than Akibo’s skin. All of this was topped off by a short, neat Afro.

Good flight? Akibo asked, reaching to take one of Eric’s bags from him.

Flights, Eric said. This was the second flight in his journey from London to the north-east of South Africa. I’m glad to finally be here. I’m exhausted.

I’m afraid you haven’t quite finished your journey yet, but I’ll be accompanying you the rest of the way. Akibo flashed him an apologetic smile before turning and striding toward the sliding doors of the terminal.

Stepping out of the air-conditioned building was like being wrapped in an electric blanket. When he’d left London, it had been damp, a light drizzle had been falling for hours and the sky had been grey and overcast. In contrast, here the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky and the heat smothered him. Taking his lead from Akibo, he slowed his pace, strolling casually until they stopped at a taxi rank.

Eric glanced around in surprise as his companion flagged down the first cab, ushering Eric into the back before putting his bags in the boot and then sliding in beside him.

No car?

As I said, your journey isn’t quite over. We have a short ride across town before we can start on the next part of your trip.

Suppressing the urge to groan—all he really wanted was a shower and some rest that didn’t involve sleeping upright—Eric turned his attention to his companion.

So… you work for The Foundation. Have you been with them for long? Maybe Akibo could throw some light onto the mysterious Mr Cowdrey.

About a year or so. Mr Cowdrey’s assistant, Benedict Brookes, approached me while I was working at one of the larger animal reserves.

Eric nodded, remembering the efficient young man he had first met in the elephant house of the zoological park where he’d been working. He’d appeared perfectly at home in among the piles of steaming elephant dung, despite being attired in a suit and tie.

Apparently they were impressed with my qualifications and my work ethic. I have a business degree and finished top in my class in the animal management course I took when I decided I wanted to work at one of the game parks.

Akibo’s experience appeared similar to his own, Eric noted absently, but he didn’t offer any contribution to what was currently a one-sided conversation.

I had an interview with Mr Brookes via Skype, and several days later I had a further interview with Mr Cowdrey. They sent a car for me and I was taken to the airport. He flew in on his private jet, I was taken air-side and we had a chat on board. I could barely call it an interview. I think Benedict had dealt with the important issues, and Mr Cowdrey was just ensuring that he— Akibo paused and considered his words. Even then, when he spoke, he sounded uncertain that he’d chosen correctly. —approved of me. He offered me the job, and they flew off again. I didn’t even have to work my notice at the reserve.

The same thing had happened at the zoo where Eric had been working. Within days he had gone from a recently qualified zoologist studying animal behaviour at an animal park just outside of London to The Foundation’s new elephant behavioural researcher in South Africa. Of course, his experience hadn’t included a trip to a private jet, but he had been invited to visit the headquarters of The Foundation in North Yorkshire.

That trip in itself had been an eye-opening experience. The initial office he had been instructed to arrive at—five storeys of chrome and glass—was little more than a modern-day gate house. It had taken a further ten-minute drive through wooded countryside to reach the ancient stone-turreted structure that housed the reclusive Mr Cowdrey.

Ah, we’ve arrived.

Akibo’s voice broke into Eric’s reverie, and he realized with a start that at some point in the journey and his musings, he had closed his eyes. It was possible he’d dropped off into a semi-conscious doze from the heavy feeling behind his eyelids. Blinking himself fully awake, Eric took in the view from the side window.

It appeared they’d arrived at another much smaller airfield, probably private, based on the sheer variety of planes that Eric could see as the taxi bounced over the uneven surface. A motley collection of ramshackle buildings were scattered in front of the chain-link fence in the farthest corner of the field.

Beneath their tyres, the ground smoothed out. Eric glanced out of the window, noticing the grass and mud had been replaced by asphalt, albeit with weeds growing through the cracks in the faded grey surface. They headed at speed toward a silver aircraft, larger than most, the taxi bouncing and skittering as it hit potholes and crevices. The cabbie showed no signs of slowing down, and for one quite long, ridiculous moment, Eric wondered if they were trying to take off. If this run-down car of indeterminate make was about to sprout wings and launch itself into the brilliant blue above them.

With a protesting whine of brake pads on discs or maybe even metal on metal, the car slammed to a halt. The cessation of their journey was unexpected, not just for the passengers but the car as well from the way it shuddered to completion and threw Eric forward in his seat, his shoulder taking a glancing blow off the side window. To his right Akibo muttered something under his breath. Eric couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he doubted it was anything complimentary.

Unperturbed by the discomfort in the rear of his taxi, the cab driver swivelled in his seat and beamed at them. Akibo ignored him, focusing his attention on Eric instead. He gestured to the silver plane Eric had seen from a distance thirty seconds ago and which they were now parked alongside. A freight plane, Eric assumed, since the rear cargo door was open and crates and sacks littered the tarmac between them and the aircraft.

This is our ride to the research station. You might want to get out and stretch your legs. Akibo threw a withering glare at the cab driver. I’ll sort him out and then get your stuff.

Stepping out of the taxi on unsteady legs, Eric leaned against the side of the vehicle and rested his arms on the roof. The smell of burning rubber and brake discs enveloped the vehicle, searing the inside of his nostrils. He’d hoped the next leg of his journey would be in a better-cared-for vehicle than the taxi had been. This close up, the plane looked… well, old would be the best word to describe it.

As he studied the outer skin of the fuselage for missing rivets and any other manner of unseen defects, a pair of dusty leather boots appeared on the cargo ramp. The measured stride they belonged to was solid and confident, and in no time at all, a man appeared. Tall and tanned, he stooped slightly to avoid any contact with the body of the aircraft, and then grabbing a clipboard from atop a box, he hunkered down in the midst of the crates.

As Eric watched, the man studied the labels and then made a mark on the paperwork attached to the clipboard. Blond hair peeked out from under his hat, fanning out on the collar of his shirt. At no point did he acknowledge the existence of the car, even though he couldn’t have failed to have heard its arrival.

Irrationally annoyed by the well-built blond and his off-putting manner, Eric pushed himself off the car and sauntered round to the other side of the vehicle, closer to the man who was busying himself with his work and ignoring Eric.

His shadow fell across the crates and the bowed head of the— Could this be the pilot? Eric could see no other people near the aircraft. The blond raised his head, a frown pulling the skin tight between his eyebrows.

The man’s gaze settled on Eric briefly before flicking over to the taxi. When he returned to look over Eric once more, the skin of his forehead had smoothed out, but still the man didn’t smile. He nodded in acknowledgement, just once, short and curt, and then dipped his head back to his work and turned slightly away from Eric. With the stranger squatting in the dust, Eric towered above him, the position giving him the perfect view of broad shoulders and a solid frame that Eric couldn’t resist studying.

Abruptly, the man stood and cleared his throat. He dropped the clipboard onto a nearby box, throwing a curious glance in Eric’s direction, and then disappeared back up the ramp. Eric blinked, self-conscious at having been caught blatantly staring, and ruffled a hand through his short dark hair. His embarrassment wasn’t sufficient to keep him from trailing after the man, though, stopping just short of following him into the aircraft to stand near the ramp in the shade of the fuselage.

Preparing to ask the stranger his name, Eric opened his mouth to speak, when he was interrupted by a doleful bleat. Startled, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the airfield expecting to find signs of a wayward sheep. The forlorn stuttering cry came again, and Eric whipped back round, suspiciously eyeing a crate that was securely strapped to the internal wall of the plane.

Goat, said the pilot—Eric had decided that’s what he was—as he came back down the ramp.

The deep timbre of that one word surprised Eric. It was rough and low, with an unfamiliar accent Eric’s subconscious demanded to hear more of. That wasn’t likely to happen, though, because the pilot was already surveying his cargo with his back to Eric. He bent to hoist a crate into his arms, leaving Eric to stare dry-mouthed at the enticing pull of khaki for several seconds. Then the pilot straightened and carried the crate into the plane.

Eric wondered if he should offer to help, but despite the ease with which the crate had been hefted into the air, Eric thought they would probably be too heavy and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. Not in front of this man.

The blond wore the almost obligatory light khaki bush clothes similar to his own uniform The Foundation had provided. Eric hadn’t noticed a logo on his shirt, but he could hope. If this man worked for The Foundation, Eric could at least enjoy the view, since it was unlikely he was gay. He hadn’t even looked twice at Eric. Not that Eric considered himself drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but he was used to getting his fair share of interest back home in England.

Eric caught a glimpse of Akibo gesticulating wildly at the cab driver. His holdalls were piled at Akibo’s feet, Eric noticed thankfully. At least if the altercation didn’t go well and the cab driver took off, he wouldn’t abscond with Eric’s luggage.

The hollow echo of footfalls on the ramp drew Eric’s attention back to the pilot. Tiredness was pulling on Eric’s nerves, leaving him out of sorts, and the lack of conversation was doing nothing to ease his irritability.

Taking the bull by the horns, Eric graced the pilot with the brightest smile he could muster. So, do you work for The Foundation too?

No. The man’s stride didn’t even falter as he continued toward the next crate.

Not chatty, then. Downright rude, in fact.

The firm slap of a hand on his back caught him just off centre, almost pitching him forward, and Akibo’s fingers curled over his shoulder and squeezed.

I see you’ve met Tyaan. Tyaan Bouwer. He’s the local freight pilot. He’ll run your supplies into the research station every week.

It was almost as if the pilot finally saw Eric as anything other than an annoyance for the first time. Tyaan stepped toward him, straightening to his full height, and Eric resisted the urge to check out the breadth of his chest, instead raising his gaze the few inches’ difference in their height to meet Tyaan’s eyes head-on.

"Tyaan, this is Eric. Eric Philips. He’s the new researcher out at olifant velde. Akibo turned back to Eric. That’s the local name for your part of the reserve. It means elephant fields."

"Howzit. Tyaan stuck out his hand. Eric extended his own automatically, and Tyaan pressed their palms together, enveloping Eric’s fingers in warmth. He gave Eric’s hand a short, sharp shake before releasing him from the firm grip. The elephant man, hey?"

Eric smiled. I know I’m no oil painting, but I hope I’m not that bad.

Tyaan’s top-to-toe appraisal was so fleeting that Eric thought he’d imagined it. An expression skittered across the pilot’s face. Interest, curiosity—Eric wasn’t sure. It manifested itself as a bright spark in his eyes and the faint quirk of his lips, as if he were biting the inside of his cheek. The look vanished before Eric could really work out what it meant, but the amber-coloured eyes still seemed to hold a welcome within them.

Tyaan’s a man of few words, but you won’t find a finer bush pilot. He’s reliable too. He’ll never leave you wanting.

Wanting. Despite the pilot’s brusque manner, Eric wasn’t surprised he already wanted to press Tyaan up against the shiny metal body of his plane.

I’m going up front, Akibo said, blissfully unaware of the thoughts rampaging through Eric’s head. At least Eric hoped that was the case, since he followed that statement with Coming, Eric?

In his dreams, maybe.

"It’s hot enough to fry boerewors in there. Tyaan shifted his attention away from Eric and addressed Akibo. Leave the doors open. I’ll only be a few more minutes."

Eric eyed the pile of sacks sitting in the dirt. More like half an hour. Tyaan’s shoulder and back muscles shifted beneath his shirt as he hefted a sack onto his shoulder and took another one in each hand. The tendons flexed and released in his bare forearms from where he grasped the corners of the sacks tightly.

Eric?

Realising he was being spoken to, Eric dragged his attention from the large vein that was running up from Tyaan’s wrist to elbow. No, I’ll stay out here for a moment. Not used to the heat yet.

Akibo nodded and, shifting his document bag to the other shoulder, headed toward the front of the plane, leaving Eric with the pilot and an awkward silence.

When Tyaan completed several trips into the plane and the silence had stretched on beyond what Eric could bear—although Tyaan didn’t appear bothered by it—Eric groped for something to say. He waited until Tyaan reached the top of the ramp, not wanting to startle him with his latest pile of precariously balanced sacks.

It’s an unusual name. Then Eric added as an afterthought, Tyaan.

Blithering idiot! As if the man didn’t know his own name.

Tyaan lowered the sack from his shoulder and placed it with the others. The pile outside the plane was already half the size it had been. Maybe the pilot had been right in his estimate. He pushed his hat back, swiped his arm across his brow and looked at Eric as if he’d just asked him whether he preferred to top or bottom.

It’s Afrikaans.

Oh. So, do you speak Afrikaans? A worrying thought started gnawing at Eric. Do they speak it in the town?

Sure. I had to, my grandfather refused to speak English. Most people speak English with the odd word thrown in. You’ll get used to it.

Tyaan returned to his sacks, the conversation obviously over. But Eric wasn’t ready to give up. He liked that gravel-edged sound that emanated from Tyaan’s lips. He could almost see the vibration beneath pale bristles on the pilot’s throat and itched to place his fingers there to feel the movement.

I like your plane. Eric cast his gaze over the large silver plane he was standing next to. "Looks like the one in that Indiana Jones movie. You know, the one where they fall out of the plane in the life raft. Temple of Doom, that’s the one…"

His voice trailed off as he became aware that Tyaan had stopped hefting sacks and was just staring, hands on his hips, his expression open and amused.

It’s not that old. That movie was set in 1935. This is a de Havilland DHC-4 Caribou. They didn’t start making these until 1958…

So that was how to get the reticent man talking, Eric realised as he allowed the low rumble to drift over him in a reassuring array of facts and figures. Get him on the subject of his plane. There was no question this aircraft was loved and well cared-for and Eric no longer had any qualms about climbing aboard.

…but you don’t really want to know all that. I’m just boring you.

No. I could listen to you talk all day long. It’s fascinating.

Evidently Tyaan had run out of words. He shrugged and turned his attention back to his cargo. It’s old, but you’re safe in my hands. I promise you that.

Eric didn’t doubt it; he just hoped one day he might get the chance to find out.

Chapter Two

Five days. Eric had been at the reserve for five days, and he didn’t think he’d ever been so tired. Not true. During his final exams for his zoology degree, he’d survived on coffee, just-add-water noodles, and sheer willpower. However, that had been a completely different type of tiredness.

He worked outside in the fresh air all day, only returning to the homestead when the sun dipped below the horizon and the insects started to nip. Then he would spend his evening reading his predecessor’s reports on the animals in his charge. Eric attributed this new routine as why he was demolishing foods he couldn’t recognise—or really wanted to know what he was eating—with a vigour he had never managed for his Gran’s shepherd’s pie. His body ached with a dull throb that left him physically tired after a long day but satisfied at all he’d achieved.

His remit was a simple one: the care and upkeep of The Foundation’s herd of African elephants, with free rein to study behaviour, herd movement, and anything else that took his fancy.

Mr Cowdrey, the Foundation’s owner, had made only one stipulation: that he update the herd records since his predecessor had let the paperwork slip after falling ill. Apparently, the man had done the best he could with his failing health, but hadn’t even managed to wait around to do a handover, having flown home two days prior to Eric’s arrival.

The records weren’t the only thing to have fallen by the wayside. Whilst the homestead was clean and tidy, there were a number of repairs that needed undertaking. Broken wooden shutters on some of the windows. Wonky boards on the veranda steps. A hole in the roof of one of the outbuildings. The overall impression was tired and shabby.

Luckily, The Foundation employed a handyman from the local village, so Eric wouldn’t be tied up with repair work around the house when he had more interesting and important jobs to focus on.

None of the jobs in the house were as important as repairing the fences that ran around the boundary of the Foundation’s land. He’d driven miles and miles over the last few days inspecting the entire perimeter, and some parts of the fence were too damaged to leave for much longer.

Eric slapped a hand against the side of the cumbersome monitor attached to the ancient desktop and sighed as it flickered back to life. The internet connection—apparently a rare and beautiful thing in these parts—had dropped out again. No wonder he’d been told all important communication would be carried via the radio set in the other room. Although that piece of equipment looked like a throwback to the war—he wasn’t even going to hazard a guess as to which one, but parts of it appeared to be made from Bakelite.

Quickly, he clicked the icon to save the report he’d been working on before the whole system crashed. He watched with a sense of trepidation as the fickle computer considered his request. In an effort to distract himself from events outside his control, Eric reached for his iced tea. The ice had melted away some time ago and the lukewarm drink failed to appeal any longer. Disgruntled, Eric returned his glass to the coaster.

He glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. Ten to eleven. That would explain the unappetising state of his drink. He’d been at his desk far too long.

With a supply drop scheduled for eleven, Eric had chosen to make a start on the reports rather than exploring the northern-most part of the reserve where, instead of a boundary fence, a high rocky crag served as a deterrent to predators and poachers.

The clearing where he would collect the delivery should take him about quarter of an hour by jeep, depending on the terrain. The maps of the reserve that Eric had pinned to the walls of his office showed a dirt road to the clearing, but not all of the tracks he had travelled down so far had been passable without a great deal of lifting. Hopefully, the need to collect supplies meant this track had been used on a regular basis.

There was no rush, but he didn’t want to leave the items in the clearing for too long. He couldn’t be certain how widespread the drop would leave his supplies—surely the pilot would have little control over their descent—and the more time they spent unattended, the higher chance the heat and inquisitive animals could leave him with nothing but a mess to clear up. A drive to the nearest town for more supplies would apparently take all day, and the likelihood was that he would find only a fraction of the items The Foundation would be sending.

Relieved to see the computer had deigned to save his report, Eric shut down the machine. Standing, his thighs muscles protested at the time spent in a seated position. His legs ached from all the walking he’d undertaken in the last few days, clambering over rough terrain where a vehicle couldn’t venture, but that was nothing compared to the constant throb in his shoulders and biceps from dragging brush and fighting the steering on the old cloth-topped jeep.

Of course, one advantage of being so physically tired was that at the end of the day, he’d crashed out despite the unfamiliar bed and the weird and wonderful array of noises outside his window. He’d barely be awake long enough to even think about having a wank before sliding into a deep sleep. The chance of reeling one off disappeared as his body reminded him he was just too knackered, even if the image of the rugged pilot who had delivered him safely to his new home came readily to mind. Eric could swear that Tyaan followed him into his somnolent state, in the whisper of a gravel-hewn voice and the flex of muscles on a solid torso. But he would wake totally refreshed and with no memory of what his dreams had done with that sensory input. Bloody typical!

The wall clock chimed the hour, reminding him he had places to be. Had Tyaan been the pilot to ferry his supplies today? Akibo had implied that Tyaan would be making all deliveries, but there had to be more than one pilot to cover the whole area.

Maybe he could head into town one day when things had settled down and accidentally run into the pilot. It would be good to see Tyaan again, if only for the visual stimulation. Grinning, he grabbed the keys for the jeep from his desk and headed out, formulating a plan for how he could initiate a chance encounter with a certain handsome blond.

* * * * *

Sooner than he thought. Apparently the gods were smiling on him, because a large silver plane and the man from his dreams waited for him at the clearing.

Tyaan, good to see you again. Eric stuck out a hand, hoping the pilot would be impressed he had taken the time to remember his name.

Tyaan’s gaze dropped to the outstretched hand, seemingly unmoved by Eric’s overtures of friendship. Instead of reaching out to complete the gesture, Tyaan tapped the top of the nearest crate.

You’re late.

I am? Eric asked in confusion. He tugged his hat from his head just to have something to do and swiped an arm across his forehead to collect the sweat that had formed there during the short journey in the jeep. He lowered his arm, his fingers finding the stiff brim of his hat and picking agitatedly at the heavy suede in an attempt to hide the embarrassment of his welcome gesture being so blatantly rebuffed. It didn’t help that just those two words in Tyaan’s gravelly tone made Eric want to lower other things. His trousers. To his knees. The possibilities were endless. Shame Tyaan had to act like a complete dickhead.

Eleven am delivery. Been that way since I’ve been doing the job. Unless somebody radios ahead to let you know otherwise. Normally me. Tyaan’s clipped delivery and angry glare gave the impression that he was barely holding his emotions in check.

Not willing to lose a client through an angry confrontation. Although Eric had to wonder how much influence he would have in getting Tyaan replaced if it came to that.

Tyaan’s gaze briefly dropped to the hand plucking at the stitching of Eric’s hat—Eric made a concerted effort to still his fidgeting fingers—and when the pilot looked back up, Eric caught a flicker of uncertainty in Tyaan’s features.

You did know about the delivery?

Sure, but in the information pack it said supply drop at eleven. I thought… Even as his brain formulated the words, he realised how stupid they would sound if he dared to say them out loud. He clamped his jaw shut, allowing nothing to escape except a soft—and telling—Oh.

Thought what? Tyaan obviously didn’t intend to let it go—even though Eric had turned an interesting shade of crimson if the heat on his cheeks was anything to go by—and barely concealed sarcasm dripped from Tyaan’s next words. That I put the plane on autopilot and pushed the crates out of the cargo hold door?

That was exactly what he had thought. Although, maybe he hadn’t considered the logistics of it when he envisioned the sight in his mind: crates floating to earth until they landed in the dusty earth with a soft thud, each cocooned in their own silk parachute by the time he found them dotted across the clearing. Okay, in hindsight that sounded ridiculously impractical, a highly romanticised version of life in the bushveld that would only ever happen in a work of fiction.

Eric refused to admit Tyaan had been right, though. Clueless outsider was hardly an image that would endear him to a hunky, gruff adventurer like Tyaan, although based on the pilot’s current attitude problem, Eric was no longer sure he wanted to get to know him better. Who didn’t shake a man’s hand when it was offered? Maybe what Eric had perceived as interest on their first meeting had simply been curiosity at being faced with a living breathing poofter—after all, there couldn’t be that many around here—and Tyaan didn’t want to touch Eric in case he caught cooties or something.

You did!

Tyaan’s outburst broke through Eric’s contemplation, and he refocused just in time to see the flash of teeth as the pilot grinned. The delighted expression was a fleeting one—and probably held a certain degree of mocking distain for Eric’s mental capacity—but when it disappeared, Tyaan’s eyes had lost the hint of anger they had carried before.

You’d be collecting scattered debris for miles if I did that. And I’d have no business to speak of. His voice still had the deep, rough quality that turned Eric’s legs to jelly and his cock… well, those thoughts had no place here, not with Tyaan standing close enough that Eric could reach out and touch. If he wanted to lose an arm, maybe. Although without the anger to give him a hard edge, Tyaan sounded less like a wounded bear. Do you know how much mess a crate dropped from flying height would make?

A rhetorical question for sure, but Eric couldn’t stop himself from snapping back. Do you?

Tyaan glared, all trace of his previous amusement driven away by Eric’s response. Your scientific supplies would be broken and most of your foodstuff would explode on impact. At least it would make a handsome meal for the hyenas.

Eric resisted the urge to sigh. Of all the ways he’d imagined meeting up with the rugged pilot again, this wasn’t how things had gone down in any of them. Not that anyone would be going down anywhere. Any chance of Tyaan being remotely interested were fading fast, and at this rate it was unlikely he’d even get a friend out of their interactions. Starting off on the wrong foot had the ability to cripple a relationship, no matter how hard you tried to fix things later. He might as well forget all attempts to impress and confess to the full extent of his misguided beliefs.

Parachute, he mumbled, directing the word to the hat in his hand.

Sorry? The word was swallowed up by a choked-off noise that could have been a chuckle and had Eric’s head snapping up, his gaze once more on the pilot.

A parachute? You thought they floated to earth, like fairies or butterflies?

They managed it with an elephant once. I thought… Eric trailed off. Before his very eyes, Tyaan’s face relaxed and the smile he sent in Eric’s direction even went so far as to deepen the lines that fanned from the corner of his eyes. There was a distinct possibility that the rest of Eric’s sentence was caught in his chest along with his breath. Beautiful.

A movie. Tyaan shook his head, but his amusement was still tangible in his tone and the crinkled skin around his eyes.

True story, Eric countered.

Were they flirting? It totally felt