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Jack’s body was made for loving. She gloried in the shape and feel of him, caressing his taut, broad shoulders, the lean length of his torso, the firm muscles in his hips, his rounded butt.
She felt like a girl discovering the world for the first time. Jack kissed her until she couldn’t think, and then he worked his way down her body, waking every place he kissed.
When he finally entered her, it was what she’d waited so long for. He’d been right: this, being together, was right. She remembered how she’d wanted him in Paris but had become nervous and shut down. She wasn’t nervous anymore. She loved him and needed him, and as he made love to her, she couldn’t believe they’d come full circle. Finally.
There was no faking this orgasm. Or the one two hours later. After the second orgasm, she fell asleep in his arms, draped across his chest, his hand stroking her hair. She was warm, still breathless. Tonight, being together, had been the best, most intense, most sensual experience of her life.
She couldn’t wait for it to happen again.
It was back to teaching the next day, and field research Tuesday, and then there were guest speakers Wednesday, ending with Jack’s friend, Dr. Kevin Kanumba, a Tanzanian professor who spoke passionately, eloquently, about the human impact on ecosystem dynamics, particularly in the Tanzanian national parks. At Jack’s request, Dr. Kanumba stayed for dinner, and his wife, Salma, a professor of education, joined them.
Salma sat next to Paige during dinner. Paige was fascinated by Salma’s work in education, and asked dozens of questions about Tanzania’s educational system. They were deep in conversation when a woman entered the room.
“Ah, Dr. Ormond,” Salma said, nodding. “I’d heard she was coming early.”
Paige glanced at Salma. “Camille Ormond?”
Salma nodded. “You know her?”
“Not yet.” Paige’s voice faltered. She forced a smile, even as she felt baffled and confused. What was Camille doing here? How did Salma Kanumba know? That must mean Jack knew. . . .
She watched as Jack rose and greeted Camille with a kiss on each cheek. If Jack was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. Camille spoke to him in French, slipping her hand into his, and he answered in French, still holding her hand. Paige, who barely remembered her high school Spanish, felt her heart clench with envy and fear.
Camille wasn’t anything like Paige pictured. For some reason she’d pictured the French Canadian professor as a beautiful brunette, someone like Andi McDermott in Orange University’s math department, with thick dark hair, high cheekbones, fine features. But no, Camille was a redhead, with long straight hair and wide green eyes. She was tall, too, slim like a Victoria’s Secret model, with endless legs and a wide, generous mouth.
Watching Jack and Camille together, the ache in Paige’s chest deepened. They were close, very close. Camille still loved him. It was evident in the way she smiled up into his face, her gaze locking with his, her expression so hopeful. Wistful.
Paige swallowed around the lump filling her throat, and for the first time, she wondered why Jack had never married Camille. Why did he not want to commit to her?
The answer came to her, hard, with a vengeance. Jack didn’t commit. Jack didn’t do forever. Jack loved his freedom and the idea of possibility. The idea of what could be was more appealing than what was.
Paige didn’t want to marry, but at the same time, if she loved someone, she wanted that person to love her back. She wanted that person to want her, and fight for her. She wanted to be protected and cherished, she wanted the love she hadn’t had in years.
Jack suddenly broke off and, switching to English, introduced Paige to Camille. Paige rose and forced a smile, hiding her chaotic emotions. She crossed to Camille, offering the Canadian scientist her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you,” Paige said. “It’s so nice to meet you at last.”
Camille shook Paige’s hand. “I’m not sure what Jack has said, but I hope it is good.”
“Very good,” Paige reassured her, stepping back.
A chair was brought out for Camille, and she sat down next to Jack and Kevin, and, feeling dismissed, Paige returned to her seat. She sipped her tea, aware that her hands shook. She hoped no one noticed. She didn’t want to appear jealous or petty, but she was shocked. Beyond shocked.
Why hadn’t Jack told her? Why hadn’t he mentioned Camille? His secrecy baffled her. What did he think would happen? That Camille would show up while Paige was on the trip with the students and then slip away, be gone before Paige and the students returned?
If he’d just told her, just prepared her, at least she wouldn’t have been so shaken.
As it was, she was heartsick. Who was this Jack? He’d become someone else, a stranger full of secrets.
Paige tried to focus on Salma but couldn’t. She excused herself to use the restroom, and when she emerged, Jack was waiting for her in the hall.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he said, catching her arm to stop her from returning.
Her eyes searched his face. “No. What does it look like?”
“I didn’t invite her. She’s not meant to be here. She came on her own. This was her idea.”
“Coming to dinner, or coming to Arusha?” Paige asked sharply, stomach knotting, cramping. She felt sick. Betrayed.
“She’s part of the conference this weekend.”
“This isn’t a surprise to you. You knew she’d be here.”
He swallowed. “In Arusha, yes. But not tonight, not here.”
“But you knew she’d be attending your conference at the convention center, while I go with the students on their three-day safari?”
“Yes.” A small muscle pulled in his jaw. “I know it looks bad—”
“Yes, Jack,” she interrupted tightly, “it does indeed.” She tugged her arm from his grasp and returned to the table, grateful for Salma, the arrival of dessert, and conversation.
In between bites of a caramelized banana custard, Salma shared about a program she’d developed, one focused on creating teachers, especially teachers for girls. “Despite government efforts, there are incongruities between education of our boys and girls. Girls still lag behind the boys academically. They have significantly lower attendance rates, higher drop-out rates, and poorer performance. My goal is to change that.”
“I’m a mother of three daughters. I believe in the potential of our girls,” Paige said.
“I have two daughters, and they will be some of the lucky ones, because we live in Arusha and there are good schools close by. But for girls in the villages, there are often no schools close, and then there is the issue of marrying young. It’s said that two out of five girls marry before they are eighteen, and once a girl is pregnant, it is forbidden for her to return to school. So marriage is a problem, as is pregnancy. I want to see more teachers in the villages, teachers dedicated to educating girls.”
“I admire your dedication. I support your efforts—”
“Do you? Then maybe you should come teach here,” Salma said, smiling. “We have many students who would love to learn math, to learn how to teach it, so our girls love math like you do. It’s a special thing when a woman finds math comfortable.”
Page was flattered. Moved. “I would hate to take an opportunity away from someone already here, hungry for work and opportunity.”
Salma shook her head. “There are not enough women teaching math and science here. Not enough female engineers. Not enough scientists. Not enough women who can do complex equations. Too often, our very brightest young women go overseas, and then stay. The pay is higher in the US, New Zealand, and the UK. The working conditions are better, and I don’t blame these young women who want to be able to provide for their families, but it means we are often losing our best talent, and we always look for great minds, and great hearts, to come here and work with our young people.”
“I’ll make you a deal; if you ever need me, I’ll arrange my schedule so I can come.” Paige couldn’t quite believe she’d said those words, but it was true. She needed to be needed. She wanted to be someplace where she could contribute in a significant, meaningful way. Even though this past semester had been an emotional roller coaster, it had opened her eyes to what she loved best, which was teaching.
“Do you mean that?” Salma asked. “Because if you do, I will remember.”
“I give you my word.”
* * *
