Stolen Heat

by Elisabeth Naughton

  He was the kind of guy a girl would have to be blind to miss. Tall, blond, deliriously handsome. With eyes that were a strange color of gray. Today he was dressed in a white camp shirt and khaki pants, with scuffed boots that looked like they’d been around and back a few times.

  He wasn’t a tourist, she’d bet her grad school tuition on that. Though he had the necessary gear—spiffy new hat, shiny camera and a map of the Valley in his back pocket—the shoes were a dead giveaway. As was the confidence and calculating calmness about him. He rarely spoke to anyone, always kept to the back of the group, watched everything with eagle eyes she doubted missed a thing. And she knew, too, because while he’d been studying everything else, she’d been watching him. Closely.

  Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but this guy was after something. Something specific, like Kat had told Shannon only moments before. Only she was sure it wasn’t her.

  Today she intended to find out just what that was.

  She came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “I’d like a moment with you if you don’t mind.”

  He turned her way, and the surprise she’d hoped to see on his face was anything but present.

  Dammit, he’d been expecting her.

  “Dr. Meyer. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

  “I’m sure it is. Look, Mr.—”

  “Kauffman. Peter Kauffman. But my friends call me Pete.”

  “Right. Mr. Kauffman, like I was saying. I’m sure you could give this tour yourself.” She paused to take a breath, only when he turned the full force of those eyes on her she realized they weren’t just gray, they were a rolling smoky blue-gray that reminded her of the Caribbean during a hurricane. And just as crazy, they made her think of a lounge chair on a swirling, sandy beach with the guy in front of her catering to every one of her fantasies.

  Those mesmerizing eyes swept the length of her body. Lingered on her sweat-dampened shirt, clinging to her already overheated skin. The blood rushing from her head at his obvious admiration was a clear reminder that even in the sweltering heat she was a woman, not just a scientist.

  Which, right now, was a bad thing to have click into her brain.

  His brows slowly lifted. “Are you offering me a job, Dr. Meyer?”

  She swallowed at the sexy sound of his voice. Smooth and deep and way better than she’d expected. Dammit. That voice was only going to fuel her already out of control fantasies.

  She gave herself a mental slap. “No, actually, I wasn’t. And it’s not ‘doctor.’ Not yet, anyway. I was simply going to point out there’s nothing new at this site you can learn, so your time would be better served back in Cairo. The tours of the Pyramids are astound—”

  “I’ve taken the tours. They’re not nearly as interesting as this one. Trust me.”

  Oh, man. Just the way he looked at her with that twinkle in his eyes and that sultry half grin made her think of sex. Which was a very bad thing to be thinking of right now.

  Remember, he’s not a tourist.

  “Mr.—”

  “Pete.” He took her right hand before she could protest, ran his fingers over her palm and looked down at where he held her. “Your skin is soft. Way softer than I expected considering the hours you must spend out here.”

  “I…” What was he doing? Though it was nine gazillion degrees, a shiver ran down her spine. “I use a lot of moisturizer,” she managed before she realized how stupid she sounded. “You know, working…out here.”

  Whatever. Now she sounded like a complete moron.

  “I’d like to hear all about it.”

  Irritated with herself, she looked up into his eyes to let him have it, then stalled out when she felt that pull. The same one she’d felt every time he’d looked at her over the past few days. The one that made her stomach flop all over the place and her heart kick up in her chest to the beat of a marching band.

  “You already did,” she managed. “You’ve heard about it every day this week.”

  He smiled then, a slow and easy curve of his lips that highlighted the deep dimple in his left cheek.

  Oh, boy. The man had dimples. She was in deep trouble here.

  His finger traced a lazy circle against her palm. The tiny movement shot electricity up her arm, straight to her belly. “I want to hear more about you.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good—”

  “Trust me.” He glanced at her name tag, then back to her face. “Katherine.”

  She swallowed, unable to pull her hand away or move back when he took a step closer. People were watching them, but part of her didn’t care. Damn, he smelled good, too. Clean, fresh. A hint of leather and something spicy. She fought to keep from closing her eyes and drawing in a deep whiff.

  “I generally go by Kat.” Why was she telling him this? “To my friends. Not to, you know. Everyone.”

  Dear God, she was losing it.

  “Kat. Yeah, that’s better. Fits you.” He moved closer still. “But I like Kit-Kat more.”

  Why did that insane nickname sound so damn sexy coming from his lips?

  “Look, Pete. Um. Mr. Kauffman.” Wow. She liked how his first name sounded way too much. “You seem like a nice guy.” Oh, Lord. She was going to hell for lying. He seemed like a sex god, not in any way, shape or form a nice guy. “And I’m flattered. Really. But, um, I think you have the wrong idea about me.”

  “What idea would that be, Ms. Meyer?”

  The twinkle in his eye said he was baiting her, and part of her wanted to go on playing. But common sense took control. “I’m working here.”

  He studied her a long moment. “I’ll tell you what. It’s clear I’m distracting you and that you’d prefer I quit hanging around your tomb, right?”

  She nodded slowly, not entirely sure where he was headed.

  “I’ll make you a deal then.” He smiled again, let go of her hand, and damn if that dimple didn’t wink at her. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  “What?”

  “Dinner. With me. Tonight. I pick the place. If you do, I’ll stop bugging you. If you say no, well then…” He shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. “I’ll just have to keep taking this tour until you change your mind.”

  The man was insane. He was willing to suffer through her boring tour and this sweltering heat just to get her attention? That was what he was doing here?

  Shannon had been right.

  “Well?”

  She reached up to touch the chain that ran around her neck and disappeared beneath her shirt as she stared into those mesmerizing eyes. She should say no, but any guy who was willing to go through all that deserved to have a bone thrown his way. And it was only dinner, after all.

  It wasn’t like one meal would change her life.

  Present day

  Cairo, Egypt

  Omar Kamil wasn’t happy with the interruption.

  He leaned across Rehema’s long, naked body and reached for his cell phone, the one he’d left sitting on the nightstand just in case something urgent came up. He didn’t bother to glance at the number, instead flipped it open and growled, “Matha?”

  “We’ve got movement.”

  The heavily accented voice speaking English on the other end of the line drew his immediate attention, and he sat up.

  Busir.

  “Tell me,” he said in English as well.

  “She came out of hiding at the auction. You were right.”

  It was about damn time.

  Omar let out a long breath and leaned back against the ornately carved headboard in the Nile suite at the Cairo Four Seasons. Out the window across the bedroom, palm trees framed a view of soaring high-rises across the river, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Minutes before he could have cared less about the view. Now it was the most gorgeous picture he’d ever seen.

  Six fucking years he’d been waiting for this call.

  Rehema slid her hand across his abdomen, smiled a lusty grin and pressed her lips to his belly
button. When she eased away as if to give him space for his conversation, he threaded his fingers into her long black hair and pulled her head back to his stomach. She wasn’t getting away now, not when he felt like celebrating. Especially not when she didn’t understand a lick of English.

  Knowing what he wanted, she slid lower and took him into her mouth. The breath that slipped from his lips was pure victory.

  “Where are you keeping her?” he asked in a relaxed voice.

  “We’re not.”

  He lurched up. “What?”

  Rehema gagged and fell backward against the mattress. A series of coughs racked her body, but Omar barely noticed. He leapt out of the bed and strode naked to the window. “What kind of idiot are you? She finally shows up and you lose her? Of all the goddamned—”

  “We had a…situation. The limo she’s driving has a GPS tracking device, though. The service is paranoid about security. We’ve already got someone on it and have narrowed down her location. It’s only a matter of hours before we apprehend her.”

  Omar could feel the blood pounding in his brain. His hand wavered as he ran it over his brow, mopped up sweat that had popped out on his forehead. The tightness in his chest made it hard to get air, so he focused on breathing deep. Slow. One, two, three.

  He couldn’t afford another heart attack over this. Not after he’d finally changed his diet and started exercising. He’d lost twenty fucking pounds from his beefy frame as a result, but weight loss hadn’t been his goal. Staying alive was. He’d worked too long and hard to throw it all away now.

  When he was sure his voice was calm, he said, “Explain to me how you lost her in a limousine, in downtown New York City. She’s one woman in a car the size of a goddamned boat!”

  So much for calm. He took another deep breath.

  “There was a…rush after the auction. We lost her in traffic. But we know where she is.”

  He was dealing with imbeciles. Didn’t matter their affiliation or who they took their orders from. They were imbeciles just the same.

  He rubbed a hand over his balding head in utter frustration. “You’ve mentioned that already. If that’s the case why are you jabbering to me about it instead of going after her?”

  “A nor’easter moved through the region. Roads are closed and power’s out over a large chunk of the area. She’s hunkered down to wait out the storm, but we’ve got her. We’ll have her and the boyfriend within twenty-four hours.”

  The boyfriend.

  Omar stared out at the city he’d grown up in, but hated with every fiber of his being. Keeping tabs on Peter Kauffman had finally paid off, just like he’d predicted. Did the man know she’d been in hiding all this time? Or had he been in on it with her right from start? Anything was possible, but one thing was certain. Keeping the antiquities dealer alive in the hopes that one day he’d serve as bait had been a stroke of sheer genius.

  A wicked smile spread across his face.

  Twenty-four hours. One day, and then he’d be free.

  Once Katherine Meyer was safely back in Egypt, he could dispose of her as he’d fantasized for six long years.

  The only question left was who would do it. Should he let Minyawi have his way with her first? Or would he do the deed himself?

  A thousand different scenarios ran through his mind. And all sent his adrenaline surging.

  Northern Pennsylvania

  The bitter cold woke him.

  A shiver ran through Pete, rousing him from sleep. He blinked, opened his eyes and peered into utter darkness. For a moment he didn’t know which way was up. Then he registered the frigid leather beneath his cheek and the dead weight of his arm pinned beneath his body.

  He pushed up slowly and immediately regretted the movement. The dull throb he’d felt behind his eyes when he’d been lying down kicked up to the roar of a Dolphins game when he moved upright, and he closed his eyes again. He rubbed frozen fingers against his temples to abate the pounding in his skull and cringed as pain sliced through his skin.

  What the…

  He pulled his hand back, tried to squint to see what the wetness was on his fingers. It felt sticky and cold. Blood?

  Okay, drinking himself into oblivion had been a really dumb idea, although he couldn’t remember drinking anything after dropping Maria off at her apartment. He must have fallen somehow and hit his head. Regardless, a thirty-eight-year-old man should know better.

  When he felt certain he wasn’t going to black out, he opened his eyes and quickly realized something else wasn’t right.

  He was still in the limo. He could feel the cold Italian leather cradling his body, the hard floor at his feet. Around him was a blanket of some kind. He reached a hand out to test his surroundings and met vinyl and wood surrounding the wet bar.

  He paused and listened, tried to figure out what was going on. The limo wasn’t moving, the engine wasn’t on, and there were no voices or even sounds for that matter.

  Where was he? In an underground garage? If so, then where was the driver? Why had he been left in here all alone? And who had put this blanket on him?

  His adrenaline shot up, and he moved closer to the window, cupped a hand against the glass and peered outside. Nothing. A black void met his eyes.

  Slowly, and with cautious movements because his stomach was rebelling with every shift, he moved to the other side of the vehicle and did the same. Through the tinted glass, he could just make out what looked like a dim light coming from a distance away. A door? It looked like it, cracked open a few inches. If so, he was definitely in some kind of garage or building.

  He pushed toward the Mercedes’ back door, caught the handle and gave it a shove. The exertion sent the pounding in his head up another notch, and he groaned. As he eased out of the vehicle, he wondered if staying inside hadn’t been the smarter choice. It was fucking freezing out here.

  He wrapped his arms around himself, pulled the tux jacket tight against his body to conserve heat, and took slow steps toward the door ahead. The light was soft, as if from a lamp, and warmth radiated from the room before he even reached the threshold.

  Heat was good. No matter what was on the other side of that door, it was better than staying out here and freezing his nuts off.

  He placed one hand on the solid wood, more to steady himself than anything else, and pushed.

  It was an apartment of some kind. The room stopped churning long enough so he could make out a TV in the far corner. Beat-up furniture filled the space. His wobbly gaze landed on the figure curled up in a ball on the sofa.

  “Hey,” he said in a raspy voice he barely recognized. He cleared his throat as the figure stirred. He’d tear off some-one’s head if he didn’t get the hell out of here and back to his suite at the Waldorf pronto. There was an Alka-Seltzer there with his name on it. “What the hell is going—”

  The figure sat bolt upright, blinked several times and stared at him with big, brown, stunned eyes. And suddenly he couldn’t remember just what he’d wanted to know in the first place.

  “Oh, shit,” he whispered.

  The blood rushed from his head and went due south, leaving him lightheaded and shaky. No way this was happening. He was still drunk. That was the only explanation. He was tripped out on some seriously bad champagne and hallucinating because this wasn’t real. He wasn’t staring at Katherine Meyer alive and in the flesh because she was dead.

  She rose slowly from the couch.

  Stunned into silence, all he could do was stare as she rubbed her hands against her thighs and took a cautious step toward him.

  It looked like Kat. A variation anyway. This woman’s hair was nearly black and cut short as a boy’s. But the face—holy hell—the face was the same. The same wide doe eyes, the same pouty lips, the same dark mole on the upper right side of her mouth.

  “Pete. You startled me. I…are you okay?”

  It sounded like her, too. His eyes widened in disbelief.

  Her gaze darted over his face. “You look
a little better. How do you feel?”

  How did he feel? Like he’d just been hit by a bulldozer, head-on.

  He barely managed to catch the door handle for support before his legs gave out. His mouth dropped open, a thousand questions fired off in his brain, and though he tried to form words, he couldn’t get his lips to work.

  Hallucinating. You’re hallucinating, man. That’s the only explanation.

  “I tried to move you, but you were like dead weight, and I, well, I’m a little tired after everything else. So I got you a blanket and left the door open. I know it was cold out there…”

  Her words trailed off. And she closed her mouth quickly at what he knew had to be his stunned expression. Then sank her top teeth into her bottom lip the way Kat always had when she’d been shy or uncertain about something. “I guess you’re ready to chat. I think it’s safe to say you look a little surprised.”

  Surprised?

  No fucking way.

  The room jackknifed. He knew he was going under like a class-A pansy, but he couldn’t stop it. His vision blurred and darkened until the only thing left was utter blackness and the sound of a voice he’d never been able to forget.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Pete. Oh, Pete. Please wake up.”

  He knew that voice.

  Through a fog, Pete struggled to consciousness. He’d been here before. Knew he was dreaming. Knew it was stupid to let himself get sucked in again because he’d invariably wake up feeling ten times worse than he did now.

  But her scent was strong. Clean, fresh, reminiscent of the night-blooming jasmine she’d always loved. Yet some-how…bolder, spicier, more her. Before he could stop himself, he reached out to wrap his fingers around her arms and draw her close.

  Her skin was as silky soft as he remembered, her heat warming the coldest space deep in his chest. His eyes drifted open, and through a haze he saw her face. Her perfect, familiar face.

  Okay, dumb, but…even if it was a dream, it was still her.

  “Kat.” He slid his hand around her nape and pulled her mouth to his.

  Then groaned at the first touch.

  She hesitated. He felt it, then pushed the thought right out of his head as he tightened his arms around her. Her soft purr as she melted against him spurred him on. He kissed her again, fell back onto the floor and brought her with him.