“It’s raining,” Effie announced as if it hadn’t also rained before lunch and earlier in the morning and all of the damn last week. Sully turned back to stare at her. “If by some miracle you don’t get me killed, I’ll end up doing the job myself. The clue is in the name, Evelyn. Rainforest. Our default state of existence this week has just been varying degrees of dampness.”
“The forest is so lovely in the rain,” she continued cheerfully, as if she hadn’t heard him. She was about to remark on the pleasing plink plonk the raindrops made as they hit the broad leafed palms when Sully slammed her back against a tree, his hand clamped hard over her mouth and pressing her body flat with his.
Effie squeaked beneath his hand, panicking. He’d abandoned his flirting and suggestive advances since the day he’d learned of her rather virtuous state, so this took her somewhat by surprise. She cursed not listening to her father when he’d suggested taking a rape whistle - “there could be all sorts loitering in those shadowy library corners, Effie.”
But Sully’s eyes were moving quickly over the trees around them, and his hand relaxed over her mouth when he knew she was going to stay quiet. “I heard something,” he whispered, and Effie strained her ears trying to hear what he heard.