Authors: Arabian Nights
“That’s what you call accommodating, Doctor?” Dan interrupted cryptically.
“Of course,” Alex murmured impatiently, wondering why, when she once again wanted to strangle him, she was focusing on the dark hair that tufted across his broad chest rather than on his eyes. It was an attractive chest. She found that she was staring at its rise and fall, watching that slight ripple of muscle that went along with his breathing.
“I’ve been accommodating enough already. I don’t want a leech around my neck. Always with me, always a pain.”
Alex tore her eyes from his chest to laugh disdainfully. Cool your temper, she warned herself. Stop threatening; try to be reasonable. “Mr. D’Alesio, I assure you I will not be a leech. I have no interest in you. Until this all happened with—with Jim—I was planning on meeting my ex-husband in Luxor. That meeting has been delayed, but I’m still counting on its taking place. Look, all I want to do is be allowed to stay in the desert—”
She broke off as Dan suddenly stuck his cup beneath her nose. He smiled. “I’d like more coffee.”
Alex frowned. “It’s still half full.”
“One never finishes Arabian coffee. The bottom is all grounds.”
Cajole him, Alex reminded herself. She silently took the cup and got up to refill it. He accepted it from her when she returned, watching her with his dark eyes fathomlessly brilliant and a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. He drank the coffee quickly and solemnly handed her back the cup. Alex gritted her teeth and returned it to the tray. When she turned back to the bed, Dan was rolling over, taking half the sheet with him. Alex was treated to a view of a firmly molded back and the upper part of very firm, very nicely shaped buttocks.
“You really haven’t a shred of decency,” she snapped, forgetting about cajolery again for the unnerving moment.
“Hey, it’s my bed. You’re the one with the indecent habit of intruding upon a man’s privacy. Rub my back, will you? If you do, I’ll think about your request.”
The last was sweetly phrased; it was also a challenge and a warning. With his face turned from hers, Alex allowed herself to chew on her thumbnail nervously. What was she doing, anyway? Allowing him to play her along? Or was he seriously considering helping her? She remembered his mocking words about propositions the night before and semifroze, trembling in a way she didn’t quite understand and certainly didn’t like.
“Uh-hum.” Dan cleared his throat loudly. Alex bared her teeth behind his back and then clenched them tightly before gingerly taking a closer position and beginning to massage between his shoulder blades.
Why was she doing this? she wondered again through clenched teeth. Jim … Jim was why she was doing this. Because she loved him so very much. He had been more than her father. He had loved and cared for her alone, struggling through everything with a baby in diapers, staying up nights, being both mother and father because he would not give up his baby daughter. And all the years as she grew up, he was there with her, bringing her to Egypt, sharing with her the wonders of the ancient world, exulting in her quick mind and the appreciation she too could give all the things he loved.
She would sell her soul to the devil for him. And there probably wasn’t much difference between D’Alesio and the devil, she thought wryly as she allowed her frustration to make her massage an excellent one. Not that it was that difficult. His back held a fascination for her fingers. She could feel the tension and power within his muscular frame, the electric heat of his skin. He was a man in superb shape, and it was—scientifically—intriguing to feel the fine, exceptional tone of his strongly sculpted body.
“So … your ex-husband is running around Egypt,” Dan murmured, twisting slightly so that he could see her face from the corner of his eye. “Why isn’t he with you if you’re trying to reconcile?”
“I couldn’t find him.”
“No wonder,” Dan muttered. “He’s probably in deep hiding. Un-unh-unh!” he warned as Alex’s nails automatically curved over his flesh. “You want something from me, remember?”
Alex carefully untensed her fingers.
“Right shoulder. And go ahead, scratch—just do it gently!”
Alex scratched his shoulder blade.
“Down a little … ahh … toward my spine … good, good, you do have a few talents! Now down a little more. …”
She was already down to the small of his back. Another inch and she would be massaging a nicely shaped rear end.
“You really ought to rot in hell!” Alex exploded suddenly, jerking away and pulling the sheet higher up on his body. He rolled over again to smile at her. She didn’t return the smile.
“Will you tell Ali I can stay or not?” she demanded, the fire in her eyes sparking them to a sizzling gold.
His smile faded only slightly. His eyes were unreadable jet. “No.”
“Why, you—you never intended even to think about it!” Alex accused furiously. “You made me go through all that—”
“All what?” he exploded in return, dark eyes narrowing. “You try to threaten me and blackmail me. You want to become a thorn in my side and yet it’s a total imposition for you to scratch my back?”
“Go to hell!” Alex repeated. She spun about, momentarily defeated, tears threatening behind her eyes as she blindly stumbled for his tent flap. Without Dan, without Ali, she would be searching blindly, only able to pray that they would cover every possible clue.
“Alex, stop!”
The command in his voice was simply another insult added to injury. She kept walking.
“Alex!”
When the second thundering of his voice didn’t stop her, Dan shot out of the bed, a sudden surge of conflicting emotions exploding in turmoil in his mind.
He didn’t want to be involved with a woman, and God in heaven, he didn’t want this stunning blonde—Crosby’s daughter—running around the desert. He wanted her out of the UAE and he didn’t want her in Cairo; he wanted her home, out of reach of all possible danger. Antiquities were a big black market business in Cairo and throughout the world; such huge sums were involved that murder easily became part of business. If something had happened to Crosby, Alex could be in far more danger than that offered by a fat, licentious, neighboring sheikh. But this woman had a head like a brick wall. She was determined to stay, determined to find her father. In a way, he could understand how she could trust no one else with the task. She loved Jim Crosby as no one else could.
And Dan was suddenly aware that she had come to mean something to him—what, he wasn’t sure. Yes, he was. He wanted her, desired her with a craving unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He couldn’t trust himself. … Trust himself? Hell, what for? She was of age. And he was certain—absurdly certain, since he was also sure she would like to tie him to a tree and wield a bullwhip against him—that she felt it, too. She should be whipped like an obstinate child. She was as stubborn as a mule, headstrong.
Being near her unleashed a tumult in him. He was shaking with anger, driven from within to a whipped fury. If she would only go home. … Her courage and determination were admirable, but there were also certain realities to be faced.
He was a man who could be impatient and brusque, sometimes taunting and mocking but seldom, if ever, maliciously cruel. Yet now he caught her arm with a vengeance; jerking her around so hard that she literally spun into his arms. Her head snapped back as she brought her hands to his arms, struggling against his biceps. Her eyes, glittering with their mixture of lime and amber that could sizzle to pure gold, met his. They were hostile, furiously angry—and beginning to brim with tears.
“Damnit, D’Alesio!” she choked out. “Let me go!” The man was stark naked and he felt as hot and vibrant as an active volcano as she was forcibly crushed against him. He was making it almost impossible for her to fight the tears of frustration and anger and despair that welled beneath her lids.
He was making it difficult for her to think, to do anything other than feel his harsh steel strength and overwhelming heat. She felt as if she were gasping for air just to breathe, struggling against a massive wave of dizziness, combating the roaring that seemed to rush in her ears.
“D’Alesio!” she managed to hiss. “Haven’t you a shred of modesty?”
He hadn’t thought about his state of undress when he leaped from the bed, but now it seemed to him a further lever to shock her into dropping her insane ideas. Because if he couldn’t get her to leave, he would have to join in her insanity. Damn Ali! What was in his fool head that he thought she could be safe.
With her pressed so close against him that he could feel the furious pounding of her heart, the fullness of her breasts, even the hard-tipped peaks of her nipples despite her clothing, he realized vaguely that he was lost. He wanted to throttle her; he would never forgive himself if something happened to her. Somehow, though she was trouble, she was unique. A tumultuous dilemma, and God help him, he couldn’t control the desire that shot through him and manifested itself physically when he held her so, feeling that thundercloud, furious pace of her heart.
He laughed dryly, with no humor. “Doctor, you are a card. The joker, to be specific. You invade my privacy and then stand there spewing out how distasteful you find my nudity. Well, Doctor, I gave you your answers last night. You want something from me? Let’s lay it all on the line. You are a pain. Accommodating you is going to be a pain. I’ll put it this way, sweetheart—I did tell you how I don’t make deals that don’t offer me certain benefits. You want to stay—you get to stay. On my terms. And that means that you see a hell of a lot of nudity. …” He insinuatingly trailed a hand with wide splayed fingers down her spine, stopping at the small of her back to press her even closer to him, grinding her hips against his. “You’re an appealing female,” he said with casual bluntness. “I’ll handle your being here. I’ll be your token male protector. But I’ll expect the benefits of being that male.”
She didn’t blink; she didn’t look away. She didn’t redden; neither did a muscle within her aristocratic features twitch.
If it weren’t for the fact that the furious pounding of her heart skipped a beat, he would have been certain she hadn’t heard him. Now she could really tell him to go to hell, but she would also be forced to leave.
She was no longer pressing against him, but standing dead still. Her nails had curved inward slightly; he could feel them against his arms.
“Then you’ll do it?” she inquired blandly. “You’ll give Ali the okay?”
“Yes,” he told her, feeling a husky contraction in his throat. “But did you understand the price? Sell your soul to the devil—and you do pay up. You’ll be mine, Doctor, for the duration—till the bitter end.”
“Yes, D’Alesio, I understand you. I have no problems with comprehension. You want me to sleep with you.”
“Continually, while we’re together,” he warned her flatly.
“So I assumed.”
“You’re willing to accept that?” His hold on her slackened as he rigidly controlled his surprise from registering in his face.
“Whatever it takes, D’Alesio,” she said smoothly. “Whatever it takes. I
would
sell my soul to the devil at this point.”
D’Alesio laughed. “You only have to sleep with him.”
She slipped easily out of his loosened hold and turned once again for the tent flap, stopping as she reached it, her head slightly lowered. “I’m going to tell Ali that you’ve agreed.”
She was staying, he thought incredulously. He had attempted to call her bluff—but he now knew that there had been no bluff. He also knew that he had not been bluffing himself. They had sealed a pact. If he was going to be with her, he was going to have to have her.
She hesitated just a second, and her eyes flashed defiantly at his. “If it won’t trouble you too much, I would appreciate it if you don’t demand immediate payment. I do have to talk to Ali, and he is eager to get started for Haman’s.”
Turning once more with a haughty squaring of her shoulders, she slipped outside the tent.
Dan stared after her for several seconds, wondering whether to laugh or curse God, Allah and every deity that had ever ruled over the pharaohs of Egypt. He chose to laugh. What else was there, really, to do. If nothing else, his life would prove interesting, certainly more entertaining then he had allowed it to be for some time.
Was she assuming that he would give in, become a nice moral gentleman now that the point was made? He couldn’t if he wanted to. They had made a deal, and he intended to see that she lived up fully to her part of it. She had made her devil’s pact with her eyes wide open, and if he was the devil, he damned well was going to collect. He would have to, or drive himself crazy. And, he sobered at the thought, he would be going crazy enough trying to make sure that he did protect her when he didn’t even know from what direction danger could come.
Damn her! Damn her tenacious, temperamental soul and sweet, too-seductive form straight to hell!
UPI—July 24
EGYPTOLOGIST DISAPPEARS UPON BRINK OF DISCOVERY
Dr. James Crosby disappeared just days before he was due to start excavations in a remote sector of the Valley of the Kings.
Crosby’s daughter, Dr. Alexandria Randall, reported him missing to Egyptian authorities when he failed to meet her as scheduled at the Cairo airport on July 6. Dr. Crosby was also reported missing to authorities in Luxor when he failed to appear as scheduled in the Valley of the Kings.
The authorities have no leads in the case and admit that they are baffled by Dr. Crosby’s disappearance. They have been unable to determine if Crosby disappeared in the United Arab Emirates or in Egypt.
Therefore the dig has been canceled. Crosby guarded whatever information he had concerning the existence of Anelokep’s tomb. It is known, however, that he believed it existed within the realm of the known cliff and rock tombs where not only the pharaohs of the New Kingdom but many of the nobles of the time were buried as well.
Because of the phenomenal black market in Egyptian antiquities, it is feared that Dr. Crosby has met with foul play.
Neither Crosby’s daughter nor Dan D’Alesio, the journalist scheduled to record the find, can be reached for comment. Reputable sources state that both have entered the United Arab Emirates in hopes of gaining information from Sheikh Ali Sur Sheriff, the multimillionaire responsible for the expedition—and the last man known to have seen Crosby.
Dr. Wayne Randall, another Egyptologist of repute and the divorced husband of Alexandria Randall, was, however, available for comment. He had been doing independent research outside Luxor when he heard of James Crosby’s disappearance.
“I fully intend to do everything in my power to find Dr. Crosby. As soon as I am able to locate Dr. Alexandria Randall, we will solve this thing together. We were to have met here [Luxor] today for personal reasons; I know now that she is following any clue she can grasp in hopes of unraveling the mystery.”
In view of Crosby’s disappearance, scholars across the academic world are debating the possibility of Dr. Crosby’s daughter sharing his information.
When approached with this question, Dr. Wayne Randall replied, “I believe it is possible. I will know when I see my wife. If she does know her father’s secrets, I can promise you that we will, together, find that tomb against any odds, in honor of Dr. Crosby.”
Wayne Randall’s determination is not shared by all in the academic world; some noted Egyptologists and archaeologists are of the opinion that Alexandria Randall would be in grave danger were she to attempt to walk in her father’s footsteps.
Newspapers, tabloids and various other media are reviving the question so prominent in the 1920s when the tomb of Tutankhamen was opened: Is there truly a ‘Curse of the Pharaohs’? Tragedy did follow in the lives of many of the principal players in that expedition. The debate between the supernatural and the law of coincidence is being once again raised.