Authors: Cheryl Holt
“I’m trying to imagine how you would know such a thing.”
“How do you think I know? I’m a scoundrel.”
She was fumbling with her buttons, but couldn’t manage them herself. Obviously she’d never buttoned her own clothing, and his curiosity spiraled.
He pushed her away, and with a few flicks of his wrist, he had the jacket tugged off. She had a sleeveless gown underneath, so instantly she was freer and less restricted. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much.”
There was a pitcher of water on a stand next to her bed. He poured some into a bowl, dipped a cloth and laid it on her neck. He didn’t wring it out, but held it there, letting the cool water drip down her back. He dipped it again and swabbed it across her forehead and cheeks, across her throat and the bit of bosom that was exposed. Then he knelt down.
“You should purchase a new wardrobe,” he said.
“I had planned on it in Cairo, but we departed so rapidly there wasn’t time.”
“We can find you garments that are modest enough to suit your European sensibilities. If nothing else, we can get you into other fabrics. If you keep on in these heavy woolens, you’ll never survive.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I noticed a native woman talking to the porters. She was attired quite fashionably. I’ll have her meet with you. We’ll see what she recommends.”
“When I fled Par…” She halted and began again. “When I left home, I never considered the change of climate.”
“And when
I
left home, I was given twenty pages of what to bring and what not.”
“Did you follow the list?”
“No. I didn’t have the funds for most of it, and I viewed myself as being very manly and tough. I traveled light to prove I could live off the land.”
“Could you?”
“With how our boat sank on those rapids, I would have lost it all anyway, so it’s just as well I didn’t have much.”
She laughed, and he liked watching how the merriment climbed into her eyes, how dimples curved her cheeks.
“Oh, you are so good for me,” she murmured.
“Of course I am.”
“You treat me as if I’m a normal person.”
He scowled. “I won’t try to figure out what that means.”
She waved away her odd comment. “Don’t mind me. I’m overwrought.”
“And you’re not
normal
. Not even close.”
He dipped the cloth yet again, laid it on her neck again. She was relaxing, her temper and exasperation fading.
“What did your uncle tell you?” he asked. “From how you were frowning when you stomped out of his tent, I could see you were angry.”
“I had written to inform him we were coming, but he wrote back to say we shouldn’t. I never received his letter.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Cedric doesn’t feel we should stay.”
“Why not?”
“He claims this camp isn’t appropriate for a woman or children.”
“Well, perhaps not for you and Isabelle, but Nicholas is very excited to be here.”
“Cedric suggested we rent a house in Cairo.”
“It’s probably best, but then what?”
“I have no idea. I was hoping he’d give me some advice, but he simply barked and scolded.”
She looked so dejected, and her woe ignited his masculine instincts so he yearned to protect and shelter and take care of her forever. Yet he had no ability to do any of those things, and even if he had he suspected she wouldn’t be interested.
She was a mysterious female who was pursing goals she couldn’t admit and chasing endings that would never include him. Yet he was overcome by the worst desire to make her happy. He’d like to march up to Cedric Webster and pound him into the ground for upsetting her.
He wondered if she’d feared deep down that she wouldn’t be welcomed by her uncle. Hadn’t she confessed to having no friends or support? Mr. Webster had proved himself as being no different than any of her other scurrilous acquaintances.
“Will you remain with me and help me?” she suddenly asked.
“Where? In Cairo?”
“Yes, and my next destination too—once I decide where to go.”
He nearly refused, nearly insisted he was heading to England as soon as he could. But he had no emergency luring him back.
His sole genuine tie was to his sister, but she was newly wed and busy with her own life and husband. So there was no rush to leave, and he relished the notion of Kat being a damsel in distress and his having learned the fighting skills to be her knight in shining armor.
“Yes, I’ll remain—for as long as you need me.” He couldn’t guess if that would turn out to be true, but it sounded grand and chivalrous.
“Thank you. You’re correct about our becoming friends.”
“I’d say I’m your
only
friend these days.”
“I have Pippa too.”
Pippa was much too busy with Chase for Bryce’s liking, but he didn’t voice the remark. “In the end, I’ll be much higher on the list than Miss Clementi. Just you wait and see.”
“You could be right about that.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her as he’d been dying to do after their embrace three nights earlier on the boat. Since then, she’d kept her distance, had arranged her schedule so she was never alone with him, so there hadn’t been a subsequent chance. But he had a chance now, and again he speculated as to what he was getting himself into with her.
He’d agreed to stay by her side, to be her ally and confidante, but they had a potent physical attraction. If he had his way, and he was sure he would, they’d grow intimately close.
She’d be paying him for his services, but they would gradually comprise more duties than protecting her from miscreants. He’d be her knight and her…what? If he’d been a woman, he’d know precisely what to call himself. There was an unsavory term for a man who was considering what he was considering with his employer, but just that moment he couldn’t remember what it was.
Without a doubt, he shouldn’t enter into such a seedy alliance. There was no benefit to it, but more and more, he was finding he didn’t want to exercise caution. She’d begged him to remain with her and that was exactly what he intended, unless and until fate or circumstances forced him away.
He eased her onto the mattress so she was on her back, and he was kneeling between her legs, her thighs spread, her skirt bunched up so he could press his loins to hers. As had happened when he’d kissed her previously, he was swiftly pitched into a fervor of unruly lust.
He was eager to proceed to acts he had no business attempting, and he drew away.
“Why are you kissing me,” she asked, “and why did we stop?”
“I’m kissing you because I can’t resist.”
“Why do I suppose you say that to every female you encounter?”
“Because it’s a cad’s favorite lie—but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“
I
am irresistible?”
“Yes, and you make me ponder all sorts of conduct I shouldn’t be pondering.”
“Which indicates we should go up on the deck.”
“Not just yet.”
“Why not?”
“We’re not finished.”
“Someone might come on board. They might see us.”
“We’ll hear them in plenty of time.”
“Plenty of time to what?”
“To pretend we’re not misbehaving.”
He crushed his lips to hers again, moaning with pleasure at how sweet it was, how arousing it was. He stroked his hands over her shapely hips, up her belly, to her lush breasts, and he massaged them in slow circles. Her nipples responded, growing taut and poking at the front of her dress, and he nibbled a trail down her neck, her bosom, to bite and nuzzle them through the fabric of her bodice.
She was laced into her corset, but in the hot, sultry air, how could she breathe? He’d like to yank off the blasted garment, but he didn’t imagine she was ready for such a drastic move.
He slid a palm under the material, for an instant caressing bare skin. She frowned and grabbed his wrist, and she skittered across the mattress. The space was very small though, so she couldn’t go far.
“What was that?” she said. “You were touching my…my…”
“Yes, I was kissing you and touching you. It’s what men and women do when they’re together. It’s enjoyable.”
“My heart is pounding so fiercely, I feel as if it might burst out of my chest.”
“Your pulse will decrease. Just relax.”
“I don’t have much experience with amour.”
“I can tell that about you.”
“When you start in on me, I don’t want to stop.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t know passion could be like this. I didn’t realize it could be so exhilarating.”
“It can quickly spin out of control though. It’s the reason maidens have chaperones. So they can’t have too much fun.”
She snorted with amusement. “But it can’t lead anywhere. You understand that, don’t you? If you were expecting we might court or woo or wed, I must inform you that I—”
“Hush, Katarina. It’s not courting, it’s not wooing. It’s just kissing.”
“More than that too.”
“I’d like it to be more, but we’ll never do what you don’t wish to do.”
“I like kissing you.” She looked shocked, as if she’d admitted to a great and unforgiveable sin.
“I believe I’ve told you that you
should
like it. We’re adults, and we’re alone in Egypt. Live a little.”
“I’m predicting—with scant effort—you’ll convince me to see things your way.”
“I should hope so, or we have some very boring months ahead of us.”
“Will you entertain me with kissing?”
“Whenever you desire it, my lady.”
“You can obviously provide services beyond being a bodyguard.”
He grinned his devil’s grin. “Some very interesting services.”
“I’m glad I was smart enough to hire you.”
“I am too.”
She smiled, and the most potent wave of affection swirled between them. It felt as if they were connected, as if they belonged together, as if they’d always been meant to find each another. Fate had brought them down the Nile at the same moment.
Any wild deed might have occurred, but the boat rocked slightly, someone coming on board up on the deck. Ultimately her sister called, “Katarina? Where are you?”
Bryce chuckled. “It seems your sister is to be your moral compass.”
“A good thing too. If she hadn’t arrived, I can’t guess what I might have done with you.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, next time I’ll push harder to get what I want.”
He stood and went to the ladder. “We’re down here, Miss Isabelle.”
“Mr. Blair?”
“Yes. Your sister was overheated, so she’s resting where it’s cooler.”
Isabelle appeared and stared down at him. “Is she all right?”
“She’s perfect,” Bryce said. “Absolutely perfect.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“You are so naughty, Chase Hubbard.”
“I try to be.”
“You succeed at it spectacularly.”
Chase grinned at Pippa and linked their fingers, hurrying her toward the bathing ponds.
Cedric Webster might be dodgy and mad as a hatter, but he’d had the good sense to build a series of pools that brought drinking water into his small tent village but also provided a fine means for washing. Considering the heat, grit, and sweat that accumulated during the day, it was a welcome relief.
Palm trees and ferns had been planted, paths graveled and groomed, and benches discreetly arranged. It was the perfect spot for an assignation, and once he’d pointed it out, they’d decided to use it as often as they could.
It was late, any sane person asleep. Mr. Webster ran the place like an army camp, everyone up at dawn and working like slaves—actually there were slaves on the property—until the sun set in the west. Mr. Webster claimed the slaves weren’t his, but who else could be their owner?
They weren’t treated badly, being fed, clothed, and housed. They simply had to toil away like…well…slaves. If he’d have been one of them, he’d have stolen away long ago, although that was probably harder than it sounded.
On one side, they were surrounded by thousands of miles of desert. On the other, there was the river, which should have been an escape route, but the poor creatures had inked tattoos that marked them, so even if they’d made it to Cairo, they’d have been captured and dragged back.
Chase didn’t have moral qualms about many things, but he liked to suppose acceptance of slavery was beyond the pale—even for someone of his low character. Yet apparently it wasn’t. The females were very beautiful. They did his laundry and cooked his food and, while he hadn’t requested more unsavory services, he’d certainly received the impression that they’d be delighted to supply those too.
How had he stumbled into such a bizarre situation? He definitely understood why Cedric Webster stayed year after year with no archeological triumphs to show for his efforts. If Chase could have created the ideal life for himself, he’d have selected one similar to Webster’s.
Chase thought it must be grand to be so wealthy. Webster loafed and pursued his hobby, but never had to worry about money.
Pippa stopped and maneuvered him over to a pond. There were seven or eight of them, and she’d snooped about earlier in the afternoon and chosen her favorite.
They’d sneaked off twice since they’d met, but he was beginning to wonder if she was worth the bother. She talked a good story and pretended to be loose, but she really wasn’t, and Chase never wasted energy on women who teased him. There were too many willing doxies who were happy to deliver what he sought, and doxies were more fun anyway. They didn’t require wooing or cajoling.
With her blond hair and blue eyes, her plump figure and feminine curves, Pippa would be accustomed to men panting after her. The idiots in her country probably tagged after her like dogs on a leash, but Chase wouldn’t much longer. Not unless something interesting happened.
She halted at the pool’s edge. “Isn’t this lovely?”
“It’s very nice.”
“Let’s take off our shoes and wade in the water.”
“Forget your bloody shoes. Let’s get naked and swim.”
“Naked! Are you mad?”
“No. Why shouldn’t we? It’s late and there’s no one to see.”
“I’m not taking off my clothes.”