Me Tarzan, You Jewel

  ME TARZAN, YOU JEWEL

  An Ellora’s Cave Publication, January 2005

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

  1337 Commerce Drive, #13

  Stow, OH 44224

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0031-5

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  ME TARZAN, YOU JEWEL © 2005 TITANIA LADLEY

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Edited by Briana St. James

  Cover art by Christine Clavel.

  Warning:

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Me Tarzan, You Jewel has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  Me Tarzan, You Jewel

  Titania Ladley

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Tarzan: Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. Corporation

  Chapter One

  The buzz of the doorbell brought him to full awareness. Vince Santiago groaned and threw an arm across his brow. What right did anyone have to interrupt such bliss? he thought. Tucked into the curve of his body lay a voluptuous brunette…what was her name? Lucy…or Lacy? Behind him, with her small but tasty breasts pressed against his back, snuggled Katy…or was it Candy?

  He mentally shrugged. What difference did it make? Who the hell cared what their names were? He inhaled a long breath full of expensive perfume mixed dangerously with the wild scent of pussy.

  Ah, what a life he led!

  He startled, stirring the women, when a round of sharp raps on the apartment door interrupted his thoughts.

  “I’m coming, damn it!” With a sigh, he added, “Geez.”

  Gently untangling the various limbs from his person, Vince climbed off the foot of the bed. He glanced back at the pair and, in that one brief instant, his breath caught with a sudden slice to his heart. In slumber, the two cuddled together and let out soft moans of sleepy pleasure. Any red-blooded man would agree they made the perfect picture. Yet an image of her there in his bed flickered through his mind, making his pulse thud with a strange mixture of want and anger.

  He shook his head. Nope, Vince, you’re not going to ruin this fantasy. It’s been four freaking years. You never loved her anyway, so why the hell the sudden memory of her? Why the hell the flood of emotions?

  Narrowing his eyes on the slumbering angels, he forced himself to study the long, tanned limbs entwined like relentless vines. Clouds of straight, midnight hair melded with bright blonde waves. Curves fit into curves, interlocking in puzzle fashion. Warm, naked flesh merged together, welcoming, beckoning him. Their scent of female arousal buried beneath quiet contentment wafted up to him from his own skin. He rejoiced in the faintest stirring in his loins, and he focused on it, determined to banish this sick, unexpected obsession with a woman from his past he thought he’d forgotten long ago.

  And he’d be a fool to cut this wild, hedonistic weekend short because of one stubborn woman who’d walked out on him years ago without so much as a single word of explanation.

  Oh, yeah. It was time to bury her forever. So he’d christen that vow by getting rid of the rude son of a bitch pounding on his door. Then he’d crawl right back in bed between sugar and spice.

  He grinned, already feeling better. Throwing back his shoulders, he started for the living room. But something caught his eye. He slanted a look up and chuckled. Now, how had that gotten there? he mused. A silky red thong dangled from the light fixture of the ceiling fan. Another glance about the room revealed half a dozen empty bottles of beer on the bedside table, and two long-stemmed wineglasses, one marked with pink lipstick, the other with red. Somewhere in the mix, a thick black candle towered above the clutter, its dark, seductive scent traveling to him on a plume of smoke. The flame persevered, but it danced and quivered, threatening to extinguish itself.

  The fire suddenly split in two, three then four parts. His eyes crossed as he shook his head.

  Come, Vince Santiago. Come to me!

  The seductive voice echoed in his mind. He jerked his gaze back to the pair in his bed. Unless one of them had been talking in their sleep, it hadn’t come from them. So then, where?

  Chuckling, he raked a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Get a real grip, pal. Get a real one.”

  He stepped toward the door, but splashes of sexy debris littered his path. Beside his bare feet, a trail of clothing led from the bedroom door back to the bed. Vince stroked his heavily whiskered jaw. The garment heaps only contained silks and tiny feminine blouses and skirts. Where the hell were his clothes? He let out a smug snort and recalled last night’s escapades. They had him half naked before they’d even entered the apartment. Who knew? he thought with a shrug. The elevator probably contained a tie, a shirt—hell, probably his trousers and briefs too.

  He spied a pair of boxers on a nearby chair and snatched them up. With quick jerks, he jammed them on and moved out into the living room of his posh, high-rise bachelor’s pad. As he neared, another knock sounded at the door and he winced.

  “Jesus.” Damn, his head throbbed. The sharp rap sliced through to the core of his eyeballs, right down into his shoulder blades. He kneaded the back of his stiff neck with a groan. “I said I’m coming. Quit with the fucking drum, would you?”

  Yanking open the door, he stared out into the empty hall. Leaning out, he peered first to the left, then to the right. The long corridor, its plush, velvety blue carpeting spotless, sprawled still and empty before him.

  “Fuck me.” He ground his teeth together. What kind of sick joke was this, to interrupt his heaven for nothing?

  Vince. Vince. Vince.

  “What?”

  But something on the floor drew his attention, had him halting his planned retreat and subsequent slamming of the door. Slowly, his gaze fell downward toward his feet.

  Then he saw it.

  The bottle.

  As he swayed, a mesmerizing gold light winked at him, like the eye of an exotic island girl. Dizziness swam in his head. And of all things, he was getting a hard-on just looking at the bottle! He bent and scooped it up. It sat heavy and cold in his palm. Lifting his free hand, he trailed his fingertips over the outward curve of the deep purple glass, as if he caressed the flared hip of a woman. Energy zapped him, and the vase glowed in response to his touch.

  Pussy. I have to have pussy now, he suddenly thought.

  He s
hook his head. No, he’d gotten laid only an hour ago. So, why the sudden urge to screw? It made no sense. Despite his playboy pretense, he could never get it up more than once within a given twenty-four-hour period. Oh, he definitely wanted to, no doubt about that. There’d been a day years ago when one orgasm would be just the jump-start of his day. He let out a mental sigh, dousing the intruding memories, memories that hadn’t dragged themselves up in years. He supposed his thirty-year-old body could use a dose of libido-inducing drugs every now and then.

  Only this bottle seemed to be doing the trick quite nicely, he mused.

  Cocking a brow, he tilted the bottle and lifted it so that he could peer through the jeweled stopper.

  Come, Vince Santiago. You must come to Carnal Island.

  “What in the…?” His eyes crossed and fell to the narrowed column. He’d heard the subtle message, but he’d also seen the naked body of a woman in the tiny gold-encrusted window set directly below the neck—or had he?

  Aha! He knew precisely what was going on here. And understanding washed through him on a long wave of relief.

  “Rex? Where the hell are you, you son of a bitch?” he said with a wry grin. He glanced up and down the hallway and waited for a long, quiet moment as the urn pulsed in his hand. But his prankster of a buddy appeared to be nowhere in sight.

  Open me. Open me. Open me.

  With the tip of his pinky finger, he dug into his left ear. Had he heard that, or were age and stress playing tricks on his hearing, too?

  Open me. Open me now!

  Yes, he’d heard it all right. There was no fighting the pull, the seductive temptation as the sweet sultry voice chanted in his head. There must be a recorded voice box or something inside, he determined silently. With a lift of his shoulders, he gripped the thick stopper and pulled against the suction.

  Pop!

  A salt-scented wind whipped up and around him. Vince stumbled backward and fell against the doorjamb. His vision blurred, and every wall, every elegant picture in the corridor distorted until he could no longer tell where one line ended and another began. With a deep inhalation, he caught the sweet scent of hibiscus and oranges…and woman.

  Blessed, easy desire slammed into him, and at that very moment, a beautiful raven-haired female in a barely-there, pale blue, chiffon costume appeared before him. He pitched forward, fighting the drunken sensations that assaulted him. His surroundings spun around him, yet the woman remained steady as she floated slightly above him.

  “Vince. Vince Santiago,” she purred.

  He couldn’t help but blink. The carnal tone of her voice laced with the odd yet thrilling accent, zipped straight to his balls as they drew up in delight.

  “You’re quite the rogue, aren’t you?” Her rich hair fluttered in the breeze that stirred in the corridor.

  “Rogue?” Vince swallowed against the croak in his voice. “What?” He waited, but she merely levitated, studying him knowingly with those whiskey-colored eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

  It was a throaty chuckle she offered, a song of honey over sand. “I’m Jennie. You just released your genie from the bottle.”

  His face scrunched. In the distance, he thought he heard sea gulls cawing and the swishing tempo of the surf. And he damn well knew there were no beaches in Denver.

  “Jennie—in a bottle?” And it suddenly hit him. He was having a goddamn dream! He threw his head back and roared at his own stupidity. “Oh. Gotcha. You’re my genie. Three wishes, huh? Well, for starters…” he said, sliding a look over her rounded bosom and deep cleavage. “I sure wish you’d join me and Katy…or Lacy—or whoever they are—in my bed. I think I just might be able to get it up one more time.”

  She rolled her eyes and hovered closer so that her gaze leveled with his. He caught the subtle scent of hibiscus and coconut entwined with warm woman. In rapid delight, his pulse leaped and his boxers grew taut over his crotch.

  “Oh, give me strength, Xanthian queen, but he’s a cocky one.” A bored, disconcerting expression draped her lovely face.

  “Hey, cut the insults, babe,” he retorted, jamming his hands onto his hips. “This is my dream, right?”

  She cupped his jaw and the heat from her touch zapped his energy. His heart rate decelerated, his spinning head slowed and his libido relaxed into a less urgent state of need.

  “No, this is your sorry life, Vince Santiago, and it’s time to do something about it.” Her gaze rose and she narrowed her eyes like a spitting cat, focusing on a spot somewhere high in the sculpted ceiling. “Luke, honey, you picked a real winner here.”

  He attempted to back away and dislodge her hand from his face, but it was as if, even with the gentle contact, she had a hidden strength he couldn’t overcome. Shaking his head vigorously against her palm, he growled, “Sweetheart, there ain’t nobody here by the name of Luke. And my life isn’t sorry. It’s perfect. It’s…it’s fun and…”

  Her eyes darted back to stake him against the doorjamb. “Lonely?”

  The suggestion instantly combusted his blood and reignited the latent ire that always stayed locked in the empty abyss most people called a heart. “That’s a fucking lie. I’ve got every woman in the city making the rounds through my bed. How in the hell could I be lonely?”

  “You’ve been looking for love.” Her eyes stared deep and steady into his, warming him with kind yet firm affection. He couldn’t look away. The genie of his dreams, it seemed, possessed a strength that far surpassed that of his slumbering, stupid ass. Inhaling sharply, he delayed a response to her accusation. Okay, add an electrifying aura and delicious, enticing aroma to that strength, he reluctantly surmised. Her fragrance filled him so completely he could almost taste her.

  But her words were easily denied.

  He snorted with derision. “Love?” Vince shivered. “No thank you. I got all I need right here,” he drawled, and cupped his now soft cock. “The ladies love it and I love giving it to them—but I don’t love anyone, and I never will. You can count on that, Jennie in a bottle.”

  Her full lips twitched mockingly. “Is that your final word?”

  “Yes, goddamn it. Now I’m ready to wake up. If you’re not gonna grant me any wishes, then get the hell out of my dream. And my life, by the way, is just fine the way it is.”

  She sighed, a long drawn-out tune of wariness. Her hand slowly fell away from his face and the calm energy drained away along with it. “Then you leave me no choice.”

  “Choice? Who said anything about me giving you any choices?” He started to turn, but his feet seemed to be glued to the floor. Glancing down, he saw that they were bare, no surprise since he’d just come from his bed. But what lay sprawled beneath his feet perplexed him. The luxurious hallway carpeting had been replaced by gritty, white…sand? A balmy, grainy wetness cradled the soles of his feet. The tang of salty sea and exotic flowers slowly filled his nostrils, overriding the conglomeration of aromas in the apartment behind him. Inch by inch, his naked back warmed as if the sun had emerged and bathed him with its hot rays.

  He jerked his gaze up and nearly buckled to his knees at the sight that met his eyes. Jennie now floated nude above him, a brilliant blue sky behind her. He battled the drugging dizziness that rekindled in his head. A rush of fear and excitement filled him. Gold dust twinkled around her, and she threw her head back chanting in some odd language he’d never heard before. Her body glowed in absolute perfection. It tempted him beyond anything Adam must have endured. This Eve held her fingertips over tight nipples as energy swirled around her. And her words became familiar, clear.

  “Carnality be ever the goal of your Goddess, yet many more factors this man cannot guess.” Yellow beams shot from her breasts and electrocuted Vince with painful yet blissful power. They held him by the eyes. He couldn’t look away if his life solely depended on it. But he didn’t want to, even though it was fascinating and somewhat disconcerting at the same time.

  But despite the awe of it, an odd sense of foreboding sudden
ly stabbed him in the gut. “What is this all—?”

  Her voice, a force of sexuality and female power, cut him off. “To Carnal Island I take him, one, two, three, four,” she sang, and her arms shot upward. Her smooth body glimmered with tempting jewels and glistening skin that Vince itched to touch. “Away from the lure of this ho-hum and bore. Lead him, oh Xanthian powers that be,” she now roared as winds whipped and tossed her raven hair, “to a life and a love and a woman by the sea!”

  “A woman? But—” Then Vince did fall to his knees. A crack, followed by a sickening suction noise, filled his ears. He fought against a force that pulled him and sapped him of every ounce of strength. The sounds of sea gulls and surf and a tumultuous breeze intensified, tumbling around him. Citrus flavors burst in his mouth. The heat of the sun baked him while the coolness of water soothed him.

  And with one final indrawn breath, he inhaled the long-forgotten scent of a woman—a woman from his past.

  He’d been plagued by thoughts of her since climbing from that bed moments ago. But suddenly afflicted with amnesia, the face and the name attached to that sweet aroma now eluded him in the dream. He slipped into a black wall of unconsciousness before he could completely unearth the buried, long-dead memory of the face of heartless betrayal.

  * * * * *

  Jewel Dublin came awake with a start. Her heart went from calm and sleepily serene to sudden, pounding fear in a second’s time. She hadn’t moved a muscle, but her eyes now stared at the pink streaks of early morning sun on the ceiling. Slowing her breathing down, she drew in a long, audible gulp. Gradually, she turned her head toward the object that she’d instantly been aware of out of the corner of her eye.

  Stiff and unmoving, she surveyed the purple blotch that perched upon the old highboy in her small convent room. Narrowing her eyes, she struggled to bring it into focus. Fumbling at the bedside table, she located her glasses and jammed them on. A wine bottle? Shards of fear pricked her gut. It hadn’t been there when she’d gone to bed last night, and she’d not seen it before now. Which meant someone must have slipped into her room in the middle of the night as she slept. And for some unexplainable reason, felt it necessary to place the bottle on her dresser.