She sensed his presence even before she heard the plane. When the low drone of the biplane's engine rumbled across the Ngorogoro Mountains her heart lurched in her chest, beating painfully against her ribs, and she threw herself in the saddle without a second thought. The hoofbeats of the horse beneath her echoed the rapid jackhammer of her heart as she galloped full out, tracking the plane's shadow to a nearby field. His eyes lit when he saw her, a joy she knew was mirrored in her own.
"Where did you get it?" she bellowed over the sputtering propellers.
"Mombassa!" he answered her just as loudly, "get in!" He handed her a pair of goggles and assisted her to the passenger's seat. She didn't hesitate, but she did have to ask, after all.
"When did you learn to fly?"
"Yesterday!" he replied cheerfully, and she whirled around, stunned, and shot him a horrified look, but he was smiling that damn smile again and his blue, blue eyes were warm and sparkling with humor and whatever sharp reply she should have made dissolved like dew in the morning sun under his gaze.
Any objections that may have remained vanished in an instant as she saw the world spread out beneath her. This is how God sees His world, she thought, and the realization brought tears to her eyes. She gasped in wonder and awe at the glory of the Kenyan Highlands below, the Ngong Hills and Kikuyu villages, rolling savannas and lunging lions and herds on the move. And when she saw the flamingoes, thousands of them rising from the deep blue lake, she couldn't resist a whimper of sheer wonderment. This was her beloved Africa in all its glory. And, she realized, this flight was the manifestation of her time with Denys, completing what had begun years ago with the two tusks of ivory loaded onto a train crossing the plains. He had set her free, opened her eyes, shown her worlds she didn't know existed, and this, her Africa, was so inextricably twined with him that they had become impossible to separate. He gave her the world, and now he had given her the skies. As that connection swamped her, as they flew into the clouds, she reached back, and his hand joined hers as they soared together.
He'd never known how thoroughly just watching her face could arouse him, He'd never thought of any woman arousing him for more than a night or two of pleasure. But somehow Baroness Karen Dinesen von Blixen-Finecke had found the chink in his armor. She was unlike any woman he'd ever known; she could handle a gun and take a supply train across some of the most dangerous terrain in the world and she could tell stories like Scheherazade herself, and yet she melted like butter in his arms. She was all contrasts, silk and fire, satin and heat and light, molten glass that could morph into tempered steel, and she excited him past sanity, past reason and thought, so every time he drew a breath he caught her scent.
Watching her now, he could only see one side of her face, but he heard her gasps of delight, saw her eyes widen in wonder, and knew he had never wanted – loved – anyone more. And when her hand reached back for his, his breath caught in his throat and he clutched her fingers tightly. For him, it was a promise… no matter what, he could never let go again. There would be no turning back.
The plane touched down just outside the Kikuyu village where her car was parked. He couldn't wait anymore – he reached up as she climbed out and pulled her into his arms, fastening his lips on hers with an almost primal desperation. Her arms tangled around his neck, his hands wound themselves into her hair, and they clung together, shaking with the giddy freedom of flight and the realization of love that had been there all along.
The drive home was agony for them both. He would kiss her fingers, she the exposed skin of his neck, and the agony would build even more. He could hear her whimpers, half-pain half-pleasure; meanwhile, it was all he could do to even think about his driving. Five or six times he nearly pulled the car over to have her right there. Through sheer willpower he made it back to her house, and then they were in her bedroom and oh God it was all flash and fire and silk lightning, and how in the hell had he held on this long??
It was too much; if he didn't love her then he'd explode, and he finally, finally slipped inside her.
Her eyes flew open, cloudy and green-blue.
The ache was unbearable. He'd thought it couldn't get any more intense when he felt her hips shift, and he almost exploded right then; it was all he could do to lock eyes with her and rasp, "Don't move." The connection between them, its intensity, pulsed so sweet and strong he couldn't breathe. Her eyes clouded even more, and she murmured hoarsely, "I want to move…"
Her scent rose around him; it was the scent of summer on the savanna combined with the earthy smells of the horses and land she loved so dearly. And yet, there was something else too, an underscent of cold Scandinavian winters. Even her scent held contrasts, and he wanted to drink it in. So despite the intoxicating rasp of her voice, begging to move, he held her still and inhaled the sight and sound and scent of her. Her chest heaved and her cheeks were flushed; she was whimpering anxiously and the cloud of scent that defined her rose around him like perfume, and he could feel their hearts beat as one as he rasped, "Don't. Move." He bent his head and kissed her and the world exploded.
His vision went white as he lost himself in her, and somehow, it was more intense than it had ever been… but then, there was really no mystery. They had flown together.
Much later they lay together, heartbeats still in time, and he couldn't hold back the words anymore. He stroked her hair and murmured roughly, "I love you." His words were totally uncharacteristic and she obviously knew it, judging by her startled gasp. She rolled to lock eyes with him, lowered her mouth to his, and he let his kiss say all that he never could – that he loved her more than life, that he needed her more than air, that she was his soul and his heartbeat and the air he breathed, that she filled his thoughts and dreams on his lonely nights.
When he let her lips go she gazed at him with teary eyes and wet cheeks, her lashes dark against her skin. He wasn't surprised to find tears in her eyes. What surprised him was that, when she reached up to touch his face, he realized his own cheeks were damp too.