The Wallamba campsite nestled in a small meadow of bright-green grass overlooking a dry valley. Thomas and Nadia arrived first. By then, the sky had darkened several shades, saturating the colours of the world about them.

Miguel's second in command hustled them into the duty of erecting their tents. Reluctant to use nature as a necessary, Thomas saw to more immediate needs first. Nadia, who'd had no qualms about ducking behind a bush by the side of the trail earlier, started setting up their tent alone.

When he returned from the toilet block, he took in the leggy figures of Rob and Trent prowling about her. She stood over the silver material of their tent, a pole in each hand, apparently perplexed about how to proceed.

Rob stopped beside a neighbouring pile of camping gear and angled toward her. "Need a real man to help you, love?"

"Huh! A real man?" Nadia transferred the poles into her left hand and turned about, right hand over her eyes like a visor as she scanned her surrounds intently. "I don't see any real men here."

Thomas, clasping his arms behind his back, trudged into the clearing and cleared his throat.

Nadia caught sight of him and beamed, brushing back her frizzy hair, now a tangled matt. A finger became stuck, and she yanked, her mouth opening in a silent 'Ow'. She shook her wrist as she spoke. "Ah! Now here is a real man."

Rob held his hands over his heart and leaned back. "You're killing me, woman!"

Trent, mimicking the gesture, flicked away an imaginary tear.

The fine hairs on Thomas' arms prickled. He knew this flirting was in jest and — he darted a glance at Trent's tiny blue shorts — Nadia could have no interest whatsoever, but a small spark had ignited in his stomach. He stopped next to Nadia and drew her close, letting her hair tickle his nose as he inhaled her scent.

"Mate," said Rob, shaking his head. "That hurts!"

Thomas smiled, warmth spreading through the rest of his body. "Sorry, gentlemen, but the lady is spoken for."

He felt Nadia tremble beside him.

"Do you know the best thing about having a real man?" she said, looking pointedly at Rob and Trent as they procrastinated over their own tent.

"Nup," said Trent.

Rob shook his head. "I'm stumped."

"He always insists on organising the accommodation." Nadia handed Thomas the poles, which he instinctively took, blinking his eyes.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked, smiling coquettishly. "I could do with a moment."

Gentlemanly manners kicked in. "Oh ... Why, of course."

"Thanks." She turned on her heels, rucksack hitched over one shoulder and started to leave.

"Sucker," snickered Trent. Rob snorted.

The poles fell from Thomas' hands and clattered to the ground. A tingling began at the nape of his neck, and his chest clenched. He didn't want to be treated like her lackey — particularly not in public. Hell, he'd had enough of that in his lifetime. Enough was enough. He had his dignity to hold on to — and a sudden urge to act.

Nadia had not moved far away. A simple thing to reach out and catch her hand, pull her back, and using the momentum of the movement, bring her up against him, the palms of her hands cupping his chest, swirling grey eyes staring into his, lips parted — ready for him.

Both of his hands moved to rest lightly, but firmly, on the small of her back as he grinned down at her. He took her chin between thumb and forefinger and pressed. "I didn't say I would do it for free."

Her eyes rounded, and she sucked in a breath, her mouth primed for a smart retort.

Before he allowed himself to think any further, he descended, mouth lowering possessively, demonstrating to his audience — but most importantly to her — he was not a pushover.

Her body stiffened, and for a moment she squirmed.

Intuitively, he pushed her teeth open with his tongue, taking more. If he knew one thing, it was kissing, and he gave the action his all. Sure enough, it took only a second. As she thawed, he plundered deeper, giving her an appetiser of what he could provide. Their bodies started to grow hot, the familiar, liquid fervour pooled down from his heart and into his...

He checked himself. If alone — well she wouldn't be wearing a stitch by now. But that wasn't his purpose — not yet. And she was his lady, so he needed to treat her like one. He stopped abruptly, reluctantly sliding his hands to the tops of her arms and lifting her, as if she weighed nothing, deposited her an arms-length away.

She gazed up at him tipsily.

Leaning toward her, he used his thumb to wipe the moisture from around his lips, and biting down on the lower one, let it slowly unfurl from his teeth. "That," he said, whispering loud enough for the others to hear, "was just the deposit."

Her face scrunched into a scowl. "Go fuck yourself, Thomas!" She crossed her arms, stamped a foot and stormed off.

"Mate," said Trent, "nice work!"

Thomas turned and with gratification noted the awe in both men's eyes.

Rob was rubbing his hands together. "She was like putty in your hands."

The corner of Thomas' mouth quirked, in spite of the cold growing in his chest. "Oh — er — well as you see, we Englishmen know a thing or two." Though we have the habit of not knowing when enough is enough, and so lose empires.

The men raised their hands above their heads, lowering them in mock bows, then turned back to the silvery pile at their feet.

Thomas looked down at his own, raked his hand through his hair, and squatted down to start the task at hand. In the background, he registered the sound of more group members descending toward the lawn, and Rob muttering to Trent, "The bloke's too bloody charming for his own good."

Image by Rishabd Pandoh on Unsplash