A white sun hung in the western sky. The late afternoon shadows were lengthening, and a breeze swept through the valley. It was still warm in the sun, but the chill of the shade hinted of the frosty night ahead.

Thomas stepped out of the shower block. An austere concrete building, painted mint-green, with insufficient cubicles and lukewarm water that dribbled from the nozzle. It had been pure bliss.

He yawned and pressed his thumb and forefinger into the hollows of his jaw, finding the pressure points, then ran his hand over his freshly shaven skin. Washed, and dressed in a clean pair of chinos and polo-shirt, he felt like a new man. He lifted the edge of the towel draped over his shoulders and rubbed his hair. The spicy aroma of cologne floated to his nostrils — much better than the tang of body odour. He smiled.

Ahead, rows of tents in a rainbow of colours dotted the terraced campsite, growing with the arrival of more porters.

The camp nestled at a lower altitude than the previous sites, surrounded by bright-green vegetation, dark soil and low-hanging clouds. Despite the coolness, the location had a balmy humidity reminiscent of a rainforest.

Thomas spotted his destination, a row of silver domes on the bottom terrace, and walked on, his laundry bag swinging a centimetre above the ground and his flip-flops slapping against his heels.

As his gaze fixed on the third tent in, his breath hitched, and his steps became inconsistent. His heartbeat changed from a steady thud to an erratic hammer. A cold sweat broke across his upper back, and his fingers tingled.

He wanted Nadia bad. So bad it scared the hell out of him.

When she'd fallen, he'd thought her dead. Bile rose with the memory — he shoved it down. The others had been shaken up by the incident, too. Genevieve had been hysterical, and Khai vomited — albeit after Thomas punched him in the nads. He sniggered inwardly. Nadia would appreciate the irony of that.

His mood darkened again. The event wasn't a laughing matter. The bastard almost killed her, and for a few short minutes, his world had crumbled around him.

He stopped at the thought and snorted. He barely knew her, and had kissed her, what — three times? Known her a whole two weeks, if that.

Such were the facts, the truth, and Thomas was hardly one to believe in love at first sight, or soulmates — no lawyer in their right mind would. And yet ...

He blinked up at the sun, gathering his thoughts. Sometimes, on rare occasions, he would meet a person and experience a subtle sensation. What was it? He wracked his brain, but couldn't quite put his finger on a descriptor. Comfort, perhaps? A sense that quickly neutralised the unease he experienced around most people.

Rarer still, the opportunity to continue the acquaintance presented itself and roots established themselves, cementing the relationship. Richard was one such person. Nadia was different — for obvious reasons.

He'd never felt like this. The rightness coursed through his veins, burrowed in his bones, flowed through his heart, and — he flushed — into his groin. His body tensed. She was right. So, so right, and so — he mentally groaned — uncomfortable.

Perhaps it was because he had never been so attracted to a woman before. He thought her stunning. Not airbrushed perfection like Beatrice, rather a series of adorable features slotting together in a way that made his heart race. Deep down, he knew there to be more. She may not be the one, but she damned well had the potential to be.

The thing was, if she turned him down, he couldn't stay friends with her. If he left that door open, it would spell trouble for both of them. Yet the thought of losing her terrified him.

Thomas gulped. A tingle moved down to his stomach, and he raked his hand through his hair. His mouth was parched. He needed a drink. No, he needed her. But liquid courage wouldn't hurt either. No help for it. He made for the tent and squatted down.

The zip whirred, and the nylon hissed across itself. He proceeded on hands and knees, stopped a moment to close the outer door, and opened the inner one. Damp patches formed on the knees of his trousers as he peered in.

Nadia perched on her mattress. Two rows of small, pointed teeth beamed at him. His heart caught. Damn, she was gorgeous.

He hesitated, uncertain how to proceed as his mind raced.

The expression on her face turned quizzical, and her head tilted to the side.

Thomas smiled shyly. Damn it, Waterhouse, move!

He paused to flick his flip-flops into the vestibule behind him, brushed his feet against each other to dislodge the dirt and pushed forwards. As he crawled in, his right foot tripped on the sill, and he fell to the floor.

A burst of laughter filled the small space, and arms pulled him up. Twinkling eyes stared down at him. Chuckling, he let her guide him to the bed.

"Wait." His mouth twitched before he reached for his sack, retrieved the remainder of the rum and joined her.

For a moment they sat side-by-side in silence. Thomas rolled the bottle between clammy hands, and she picked at a stray thread on her shirt.

Outside, a sudden gust blew through the clearing, whistling through the trees and causing the tent to flap. He recognised a familiar scent: the beginning of spring.

After a time, he darted his eyes to examine her: knees bent, arms resting between her legs, fingers restless. She seemed nervous. Just like him.

He cleared his throat and handed the rum over. "It's been a tough day." Static snapped over his skin as her hand brushed his. "Oh, one moment." He groped with the screw. "Damn it!" Another tinkle of laughter. "There you go, ladies first."

Her face scrunched up as she sipped.

"That good?"

"Bloody brilliant, actually," she said, the bottle raised in the air. "And just what nurse Sharon ordered."

Thomas took it and swigged. The warmth in his blood intensified. "She's certain you're okay?"

"Yes, Thomas." Her face became serious, and she placed her palm on the top of his thigh. Too high. "I swear, I am — oh!"

Her hand jerked away, and Thomas wanted to bury himself in the ground. Sometimes he hated being a male. He sculled more rum, and only stopped when he started to cough. Nadia beat his back.

"Thanks." Thomas passed the drink over and searched around for something diverting. He grabbed his towel and rubbed it briskly over her still-wet hair. "You'll get sick."

She giggled again, voice vibrating as she elbowed him away and said, "Thanks, Mum!"

When she was finished, a small dribble of liquid trickled down her bruised chin. He reached out and wiped it away. She stared back, her face framed by a halo of knots, and tried to comb out the snags with her fingers.

"Urgh, I frickin' hate my hair!"

Thomas held a lock between thumb and forefinger and traced the convoluted path to the golden split-ends. "I love it."

"Pfft."

"Mmm, I do." He took the finished bottle from her hands and rolled it away.

"Why?"

The back of his hand brushed against her cheek, and she shivered. "It's like your personality."

Her brows raised and a dimple appeared above the bridge of her nose.

"Split and snappy." Thomas grinned until he noted the narrowed eyes and swallowed. "Er ... I mean tempestuous and hard to tame." She started to pull away, but he held her chin. "I like that about you. The last part, I mean. The rest was a joke."

She worried her lip. "You do?"

"Oh, yes, I do." His head nodded as he drew near. She didn't move away or give any indication she wanted him to stop. He took this as permission to carry on. "I — I really like it," he said on a low breath a moment before his lips pressed against hers.

They were soft and tasted of cherry Blistex. He willed himself to be gentle, resisting the urge to grab her and crush her against him. Now was a time for tenderness. So, he flicked his tongue over her lips and moved to kiss the side of her mouth.

Nadia thought otherwise. Her fingers laced in his hair and yanked. A nip of her teeth caused his mouth to open in surprise. She deepened the contact on a moan, and their tongues met. Nails scraped down the back of his shirt, sending shivers down his spine. Eventually, she broke off to breathe.

One of his hands circled to her nape and the other her waist. He nibbled his way along her jawline to an earlobe, down her neck, to its junction with her shoulder and then to the swell of her chest. A tremor shook him. Last time this happened, she'd stopped him. But she was moaning now, and her hips writhed.

He caught her eyes. They swirled. Thomas found the base of her singlet, and she lifted her arms to help him yank it off. The action made her flinch.

"Oh hell, Nadia. I'm so sorry."

"No, don't be. It doesn't hurt that much. Plus, Jan gave me some hardcore meds." She held his face and kissed him, quick and hard. "Right now, I want to feel."

Thomas only needed a moment to consider. "Okay."

He reached behind her back, unhooked her bra and flung it away. When she made to cover herself, he blocked the movement and pulled her towards him, melting into her. Restless hands roamed across his back, bunching up his top, as if to say, 'Fair is fair'.

Thomas tugged it over his head and looked down at her, trailing his fingers down her face, neck and sternum, then veered right and cupped a breast. It was small and rounded, her nipple erect.

"You're perfect," he said. She reddened but didn't move away.

His mouth found the other breast, and she pulled him closer, groaning. Thomas squeezed twice, reminding her not to be too loud. They both froze. His focus diverted to the sounds about them: a tread here, a zip there, casual chatter telling them they were not alone. He didn't want to share this with anyone.

She squeezed back and her mouth bit into his shoulder, deadening the sound.

He sucked in at the pain. Underneath him, she started to undulate, and he moved a hand to cup between her legs, prodding against the material until it gave way.

"Oh! Shi —" she cut off the cry with a fresh bite. "Thomas, please ..."

His hands advanced to the edges of her track pants, and his fingers slid between cotton and skin. She let him. He pulled down on the material while pivoting her body, so she lay lengthwise on the mattress, then he shuffled on his knees to guide them off.

He gazed down at her battered body, pebbled in cuts and bruises. God, she was exquisite.

He leaned over her, arms landing on either side of her shoulders. Their noses touched in a brief Eskimo kiss, then her hands wrested his trousers, stiff and unyielding, working on the button and fly, slipping between and ...

"Oh, thank God," he moaned as she wrapped her hand around him.

His mouth returned to hers, kissing violently. The pressure built inside, and he grabbed her hand to stop her just in time.

A small humph of frustration escaped her mouth, making him chuckle as he resumed his own task, feeling and meeting her need until she stiffened on a jerk and slumped.

"Better?" he asked.

"Oh ... I guess."

A twinge of disappointment gripped in his guts. "You guess?"

Smouldering eyes opened, and she shrugged. "Well, you know ..." A shapely calf linked around his buttocks and pulled him against her heat. "I mean, it was missing something." She moved his hand to the tender skin of her inner-left arm, over a short, thin bar below the surface.

Thomas shook his head. "Are you sure?"

She bit her lip. "Yes."

"Just a moment."

She needed him now. But he was damned if he was going to take her like that. He pulled a white paper bag from his pack, dug into the box for a small foil packet, fumbling with it as his life depended on it. Positioning himself over her, he stared into her face, asking for final confirmation. Her smile almost broke him.

He entered her in an intoxicated fog and emerged to fall across her body in a euphoric, sweaty daze, well and truly lost.

Mine.

Images by Iswanto Arif and Marek Szturc on Unsplash.