On the Move
noted that Xavier was outside the circle, and as the priest’s voice rose, and he shook the rattle with more force, Xavier stepped back even further, until he was almost hidden in shadows of the jungle.
    The rattling came to an abrupt halt, the old man’s words trailing off to a deep mumble. Then the boy helped him down, and he disappeared from her view and her thoughts.
    The men were still circling the platform, and now that the priest had left, their pace picked up, their feet stamping the ground in a slow rhythmic cadence. It was hypnotic, and she found herself lost in the colors of the feathers, the flash of dark eyes behind the masks, their skin already slicked with sweat beneath the midday sun.
    Addison realized her heart was beating in time with the sound of the men’s feet hitting the ground. It wasn’t an accident, she was certain. It was becoming harder and harder to control her emotions, knowing that these men were there because of her, and what this ritual symbolized.
    Belatedly, she thought of Griffin. He was one of those men now dancing in front of her. She shook her head. There was something in the oils; it was making her fuzzy-headed and that was the last thing she wanted.
    She focused on each man as he passed in front of her. They were moving faster now, spinning as they danced, moving with a fluid intensity, muscles flexing, skin shining in the sun. Their headdresses shook, the feathers dipping and dancing, catching the light. It was a show of strength, of endurance, of keeping pace with the next man.
    The men were breathing faster, and she could hear them. Then the wind shifted and she caught their rich, powerful, and deeply masculine scent, and whether it was the oils or not, she was suddenly and completely aroused.
    She realized the men were changing their dance, their moves becoming more deliberate, footfalls slowing. The dance was becoming something else, not a show of strength, but a show for her. For an insane moment, she remembered her cousin’s bachelorette party and the male stripper who had been hired. Daphne was right; rubbish did pop into your head at the oddest times.
    The men were moving in a slow circle now, knees bent, thigh muscles taut, hips rocking in a not-so-subtle way. It was arousing and it was having the desired effect on her. And, she thought, on the men.
    The dance had reached a fever pitch, the men swaying seductively, their upper bodies slick with sweat, hips thrusting forward. It was blatant, sexual, erotic. And she was enthralled by them.
    Something caught her attention, the movement of one of the dancers subtly different from the rest, and strangely familiar. She focused on him and it hit her: it was Griffin. She gasped, began to smile, and then remembered Ramos’s warning.
    Her eyes locked with his and he gave her the slightest nod. She had no way of knowing if he’d been part of the circle all along, or if he’d slipped in after the ritual started. But it didn’t matter. He was here.
    It took all her willpower, but before she gave his presence away, she pulled her eyes from his, looking at any other man. In the passing circle she thought she recognized Ramos’s lean form, and possibly Kade’s cocky strut. But there were too many men and she lost track of them.
    Griffin was out of her line of sight and she tried counting the men, guessing when he’d be in front of her again. But before she could find him, the boy and the priest broke through the circle to stand in front of her. He shouted and the men froze, straightening slowly, eyes locked on the small man.
    She didn’t understand the words, but she knew what he’d commanded. The men began removing headdresses, tossing them aside. Loin cloths began dropping, and it was clear the men were just as affected by the dance as she was. None of them showed the least bit of embarrassment, standing naked before her, their arousal very obvious.
    Beyond the circle, she saw Xavier step forward, guards hesitating behind him.
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