Rowan talked occasionally about buying their own place, but Marvel, a wealthy American heiress, insisted she didn’t need the townhouse and was never in Cairo long enough to use it anyway. Besides, she and her new husband, Josh, were always either on safari or archaeological dig. Ella had to admit it was a convenient situation for everyone.
“Ella? Is that you?” Halima called up to her from the dining room. Ella could hear the muted rumbling of Tater’s chatter in the same room. “Are you ready to go to the park this morning? Or do you have a painting lesson?”
Ella’s stomach muscles clenched. What is wrong with me?
“Nope, I’m ready,” she said, forcing her voice to sound light. “Just let me grab a cup of coffee and we’ll be off.” She descended the stairs toward her two dearest ones, watching the dust motes dance lazily in the air before her.
Halima sat at the breakfast table feeding a biscuit to the toddler. She looked up when Ella entered. “Effendi Rowan has already eaten and gone,” she said.
“I figured.”
Ella sat next to Tater and pulled him onto her lap. “Hello, muffin boy,” she said, kissing his ear. He squealed with laughter but turned back to Halima, who held his cookie.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Halima said.
Ella poured a coffee for herself and sighed. “What’s to say? Rowan’s excited about going to London and I’m trying to be supportive, but just between you and me I don’t want him to go. He said we’d never be separated again.”
“Then go with him.”
“Does the word Titanic mean anything to you? Just last week Emily Swanson’s lady’s maid went back home for her father’s funeral and the whole boat sank. It doesn’t matter that they were all rescued,” Ella said hurriedly before Halima could say it. “Emily said it was horrible.”
Tater knocked over his milk cup and Ella grabbed a napkin and mopped up the spill. “I can’t believe ship travel is still so dangerous in 1925. For crap’s sake, you people need to work out the kinks.”
“Well,” Halima said, smiling at her, “you know Tater will be perfectly safe here with me, and it would be a lovely second honeymoon for you—”
“Have you been talking to Rowan?” Ella narrowed her eyes.
Halima laughed. “I have not but it does seem like a logical suggestion.”
“I’m not leaving Tater,” Ella said firmly.
***
Rowan jerked his tie out of its knot and squinted into the bedroom mirror. Normally he hated these kinds of work dinners—especially with Ella in the kind of mood she’d been in lately. But tonight he found he was actually looking forward to it. He glanced over at her as she sat at her dressing table. She’d done something with her hair for a change, he noticed. That was good. It didn’t do to be too different in 1925.
He watched her fasten a string of pearls around her neck. His eyes were instantly drawn to the ample cleavage that now set the necklace off. Ella’s complexion was flawless, and that complexion went all the way down to her pretty little toes. He felt a stirring below the belt and dragged his attention away from her. First, they didn’t have time, he reminded himself. And second, well, they didn’t have time.
“Do you need help with that?”
He looked up to see she was watching him now. He put his hand to his tie and turned back to the mirror. “I’ll get it,” he said. “You look beautiful by the way.”
“Thanks.”
He watched her through the mirror as she moved to the bed to gather her wrap and her clutch. He felt his cock take control again as his eyes watched her hips and bottom in that dress—dark lavender silk that moved over her curves and hugged her snugly where it counted. When she leaned over to pick up her bag, he caught his breath to see the fullness of her creamy white breasts straining against the low bodice.
Surely they had fifteen minutes to spare?
A light tap at the door ended that thought, accompanied by a silent groan from Rowan.
“You okay?” Ella stood next to him, frowning. She had enveloped herself in her matching silk wrap, looking once more only a mere goddess and no longer the lush succubus he couldn’t resist.
“Never better,” he said as he finished knotting his tie. “I assume that’s Mohammed alerting us the car’s here.” He held out his elbow. “Milady?”
She took his arm and he breathed in her scent. It wasn’t French. Knowing Ella, it was probably something she picked up at the bazaar. Something bewitching and foreign, just like her.
***
The night could not have gone better.
Normally, Ella didn’t love these evenings out with his colleagues and their wives, he knew. It was a testimony to her love for him that she endured them and performed so believably for his sake. They dined at Shepheard Hotel, where else?
Rowan’s boss, Matthew Dunbar, and his wife, Betsy, were good people. Older than him and Ella and so a little on the paternalistic side, but that was fine. They were from the Midwest. They’d raised their kids back in the States and then bolted for their first love—Egypt. Well, at least, Dunbar’s first love. Betsy was clearly just along for the ride although she came stoically. Rowan couldn’t help but wonder if the constantly wistful look in her eyes was for the children and grandchildren who lived an ocean away.
Benjamin Johnson and his wife, Cynthia, and Hector Davis and his fiancé, Lydia, filled out the group. Rowan had worked with them both for two years now. Johnson, who might have been a close friend, regarded Rowan with suspicion and outright competitive malice. Davis was pleasant but insipid. Rowan had tried on several occasions to advance the friendship but was constantly thwarted by the man’s insecurity and shyness. If there was a way to penetrate his reserve, he hadn’t found it.
The minute the three couples were seated in Shepheard’s grand dining hall, Dunbar lifted a glass of champagne in Rowan’s direction.
“To Rowan, for giving all Americans in Egypt the honor of his accomplishment with this invitation from the British Museum.”
“Hear, hear,” Davis said automatically.
Rowan noticed although Johnson reached for his glass, he remained silent. Everyone drank and Rowan felt an instant flush of satisfaction. Being lauded by his boss in front of their wives—and Johnson—was great stuff in itself. But the fact was, he had yet to come down from his high over the accomplishment himself.
During what historians will certainly call one of the most exciting times in British-Egyptian history, he, Rowan Pierce from Sandy Springs, Georgia, was being recognized as contributing something extraordinary.
Out-fucking-standing.
Dunbar turned to Ella. “I hope you know how amazing this feat is,” he said. “What your husband has done is single-handedly open up the possibility for a coordinated effort in the sharing of the subject of Egyptology that puts the Americans front and center. For a change.”
“I’m very proud of him.”
“As well you should be. He’s our up-and-coming young Turk, is Rowan.” Dunbar laughed and leaned over to squeeze his wife’s shoulders. Betsy smiled on cue, but Rowan noticed her face relaxed back into an expressionless stare as soon as the conversation and attention moved away from her.
“There’ll be no stopping us now,” Dunbar continued. “With this invitation—and the book, of course, following soon after—we’ll be uniquely placed to influence attitude and styles of thought in relation to antiquities going forward. And I see that as everything from their discovery to their display. I’ve already received a request from The Field Museum in Chicago to see if we can help coordinate a possible loan of artifacts for a tour there. Very exciting stuff.”
“Well, we all worked to make this happen,” Rowan said, flapping his napkin out across his lap.
“Nonsense,” Dunbar said. “It was your idea for this book that did it. Pure and simple. Total genius, Pierce. That’s what it is.”
Rowan forced himself not to look at Ella. He knew the total genius of his in-depth knowledge of 1925 arch
aeology methodology after the King Tut find had more to do with a marathon session in front of the Discovery channel a few years back than any brainchild on his part. And while he could hardly pretend to not know what he knew, neither was he a hundred percent comfortable with taking credit for it.
“I agree,” Ella said.
He looked at her to see she was looking at him not with the admonishment one would give a charlatan, but with the glowing pride of someone who just realized just how amazing her spouse is.
The rest of the dinner spun by in a good-natured evening of wine and laughter. Even Johnson seemed to loosen up, Rowan thought, after Dunbar stopped slapping Rowan on the back every other minute.
And as for Ella, he was amazed to see the sparkle come back to her eyes and the smiles she gave to everyone at the table were clearly genuine and unprompted by duty. He did not know what had happened to cause this transformation but it was definitely the cherry on his cake for the night.
Or so he thought.
After sharing an open-air, horse-drawn carriage with Dunbar and Betsy for the ride back home, he and Ella watched the pair safely up the steps to their newly remodeled townhouse in the upper part of Cairo and then sank back into the cab’s leather seats. Rowan felt the effects of the wine with a hazy glow and so he knew Ella did too. He reached over to take her hand after giving the cab driver their address. The Egyptian moon cut a swatch of light across the cab interior and made her gown shimmer.
“What got into you tonight?” he said, teasingly. “You acted like you were enjoying yourself.”
“I was,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth. She lingered and then pushed her tongue into his mouth. He responded immediately by drawing her to him to settle in for the kiss but she pulled away.
“I loved seeing how awesome you are in your work world,” she said, “and how that dweeb was so green over what you did. You’re really something, Rowan.”
He ran a hand down her hip, feeling the silk fabric slide through his fingers. It felt thin. He could feel the curve of her bottom in his hand and his cock stirred again.
“I’ve decided to come to London after all,” she said, pulling her drape from between them and letting it drop to the floor of the cab.
“That’s great, El! What made you change your mind?”
“It’s hard to put my finger on it exactly,” she said as she undid the buttons on Rowan’s trousers and slipped her hand into his pants.
He groaned and glanced at the back of the head of their Egyptian driver.
“No, El. It’s been too long. I won’t last five minutes if you start something.”
“Which is why I intend to finish it, too,” she said as she slid a leg over his hip and, without letting go of his very stiff cock, pulled her dress up and slipped him inside her.
He gasped as she positioned her hands on either side of his head and lifted her hips to thrust down on him.
“Dear God, El…” he panted. “I can’t…”
“Oh, yes you can, Ro,” she said, tugging at the front of her gown, where her breasts sprang free. He reached for her breasts with both hands and she sat straight up on him and threw her head back. The ivory white of her shoulders shone in the moonlight as she let the night air caress her. Her hips moved over him faster and faster, and Rowan caught the glance of the driver as he watched them through the rear view mirror. Ella’s dress covered her but there was no doubt what they were doing.
He grabbed her hips as she arched her back. She was making that little sound that always drove him crazy—the whimpering sound that said she was about to lose control and he was the one doing it to her. He pulled the tip of one breast into his mouth just as he felt her close. She gave a loud, “Uhhhhhh!” that lifted higher and higher in the still evening as she rode him to her exquisite climax. Just when he knew he’d taken her there, his own release exploded out of him. He roared deep in his throat, both hands on her bottom, moving her, taking them both hard to the finish.
She collapsed on top of him, little whimpers still coming from her. He kissed her ear. “I think we’re home, El,” he whispered. The cab had stopped in front of their townhouse.
“I know,” she said softly, still not moving off him. “And that’s wherever you are.”
2
Cairo 1925
The next morning, Ella lifted her head from her pillow to look at Rowan still asleep. She smiled at the memory of their evening. She’d rocked his world twice last night.
Put that in your pipe, Julia. Boring, indeed.
Her epiphany had come to her last night like an electric bolt from the blue. This man was her man. This was her family. Her life. What he was doing here in Cairo was a fulfillment of a dream he never dared imagine back home, let alone hope for. When she saw the envy and the pride in the faces around the table at last night’s dinner, it struck her: Rowan was special. And not just in his own time where, personally, she thought he kicked butt as a US Deputy Marshal, but here where he was literally making history.
It suddenly occurred to her that she’d be damned if she would be the windbreak for that. She felt a surge of shame at her self-indulgence earlier. There was a time to wipe little noses and patiently wait for small hands to tie their own shoes. There was a time to embrace that and feel it. That time was now. There would be another time for her to work again. That time would come and she could wait for it.
Right now was Tater’s time…and Rowan’s. And when she finally realized that fact—like a slap upside the head—it made all the difference in the world.
She could wait. What she couldn’t do was lose either of them. Not for a day or even an hour. And certainly not for three weeks. For the first time since Rowan suggested it, the idea of going to London felt empowering and exciting. She wouldn’t be separated from either of them and she wouldn’t make Rowan begin the first step of his incredible career by himself. When he gave his presentation at the British Museum—the British Museum!—she would be there in the front row, her heart bursting with pride and love for his achievement.
She watched him shift in his half-sleep and felt a tingling of desire vibrate down her inner thighs. She smiled as she reached for him, when there was a light tap on the bedroom door.
“Efendim Pierce?”
Ella slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door. Sekhet, the little kitchen maid, stood in the hall, her hands twisting the hem of her robe as if horrified to find herself upstairs. Seeing the girl in her hallway instead of the kitchen jolted Ella with an instant feeling of anxiety.
“Yes, Sekhet? What is it?”
“Efendim Halima says you are to come to the baby’s room. Quickly, please.”
***
Two weeks later, as Rowan stood on the train platform waiting to board, he thought of the ship that would take him to London from Port Said. The SS Rajputana was not your typical passenger ship, he mused, flashing back to a documentary he saw which revealed that none other than Lawrence of Arabia would take passage on the ship in about four years time.
How cool is that?
He scanned the length of the train waiting at the station and felt the excitement build in his shoulders and neck. He twisted his head to try to relieve some of the tension. The sounds of the stationmaster calling for last boarders made him turn to Ella beside him. She stood stiffly, her arms hugging her body in what looked like a protective hold. Her face was wan and pinched from another late night with poor Tater.
The baby had been sick with malaria for the past two weeks. While the little fellow was clearly on the mend, he and Ella both agreed that travel right now was out of the question.
Rowan felt a twinge of guilt. He should be focused on their goodbye, not imagining the ship he would have the leisure to examine inch by inch over the next two weeks.
“Are you sure you have everything?” she asked.
“I do,” he said, reaching out to pull her near. “It kills me you two can’t come after all.”
“I know. Me, too.”
She made a face. He knew he sounded patronizing.
“I just wish I could be there to see your presentation,” she said.
“I know. And try not to worry about Tater. The doctor says he’ll be fine. He’s such a sturdy little guy.”
“I know. I just hate…the three of us…”
He watched her struggle to compose herself, as she’d tried on and off with varying success all morning. He hated being separated, too. As excited as he was about the trip, he hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to lose her two years ago. And now there was Tater, too.
He pulled her into his arms and felt her finally relax. It had been a long night for both of them, but he had a four-hour train ride to nap through. She, on the other hand, would be going back to take care of a sick child.
“It won’t be long, El,” he whispered. “I’ll hate every minute of it but it won’t be forever.”
She looked up at him. He could see the tears glittering in her eyes, held back by force of will and her long lashes. “I don’t want you to hate every minute of it,” she said. “I want you to remember every minute so you can tell me about it in detail when you’re home again. I’m so proud of you, Rowan.”
He kissed her gently, wishing for the thousandth time she had felt okay about making the trip without Tater.
Knowing full well why she couldn’t.
Ella forced herself to stay on the platform baking in the midday sun until the train pulled away and disappeared from sight. She watched as it got smaller and smaller on the horizon. She could sense Rowan’s conflict when they parted. She knew he was excited. She knew he hated to leave her. It would take him four hours to reach Port Said, where he would board the steamer to London. That was four hours he’d use to fret about leaving her and Tater.
Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) Page 2