“Mm?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay. For what?”
But she said nothing else, and he realised she’d fallen asleep.
He lay awake for a while looking up at the carved stars while he ran the stones of the necklace between his fingers where it lay around her neck, thinking he couldn’t believe that he was feeling what he was feeling when he’d only known her for a night.
He supposed there may have been some men out there who would be exasperated or annoyed to take a girl to bed only to find she was completely inexperienced, but the thought that he’d been her first thrilled him. Why on earth had she never had a lover before? Twenty-eight was quite some age to reach without ever having slept with anyone. There must have been a good reason why she’d stayed a virgin so long—but then why had she agreed to go to bed with him?
He felt puzzled and flattered, and as he looked down at her breathing slowly and evenly, affection surged through him. He’d only planned for one night, but he surprised himself by wanting more.
When they got up in the morning, he’d take her for breakfast, and then maybe he’d be able to find out a bit more about her and discover whether she’d be interested in developing this further.
Conscious of her body soft against his, he fell asleep and dreamed about driving down a long, winding road at night, green cats’ eyes glistening in the dark.
When he awoke, he had no idea of the time. The bedroom still looked the same, aglow with blue and gold lights, although he sensed instinctively it was morning. He checked his watch: nearly six thirty. Only as he lowered his arm back onto the bed did he realise she’d gone.
He sat up, the cold air wrapping around him, but he hardly noticed it. Had she nipped to the bathroom? He glanced over at the table. She’d folded his clothes neatly in a pile. Hers had vanished.
The necklace! He turned and looked at the pillow next to his. There was no sign of it, but there was an object there, a tiny animal made out of baked clay, hand-painted, its eyes inlaid with tiny green stones. He’d seen it before—he actually had several of them, left at the sites of the archaeological artefacts he hadn’t been quick enough to reach first. It was a black cat.
His first, crazy thought was that the dark-haired, fat female Schwarzenegger had snuck in during the night and kidnapped his blonde temptress along with the necklace.
Then he remembered her softly whispered apology before he’d dozed off, and realised the truth.
Cursing, he leaped out of bed, nearly froze on the spot, and dressed hurriedly in his pants and sweater, stuffing his feet into his boots. Leaving the quiet bedroom, he ran down the corridor, sliding into the wall at the far end before turning the corner and dashing past reception. Ignoring the alarmed look on the receptionist’s face, he thrust aside the reindeer skins and pushed open the wooden doors to the outside world.
The first thing he saw as looked up at the permanently dark sky were the amazing blue and green swirls of the Aurora Borealis painted across the midnight-blue canvas, temporarily taking his breath away.
He glanced around the courtyard. It was empty and quiet, the only movement from a delivery driver moving boxes at the far end. She was long gone, probably soon after he’d fallen asleep.
He stood there, hands on hips, shivering without the warmth of his thermals, and cursed his own stupidity. Julia. Hah! It probably wasn’t even her real name.
He should have known she wasn’t an ordinary university graduate. He’d been puzzled as to why she seemed older than she intimated—clearly, her archaeological knowledge meant she held a Masters at least. He groaned and closed his eyes as he thought of how he’d patiently explained the origins of the necklace to her. God, she must have been laughing inside. She must have felt so patronized, but she’d hidden it well, playing the innocent, newly-qualified graduate with aplomb. No wonder she’d said archaeological talk turned her on. Clearly she was as committed to her job as he was.
He shook his head, opened his eyes, and glared up at the green lights. She was beautiful, seductive and dangerous, like a flower that, once it had attracted you to its enticing inner pollen, stung you with poison.
He was a prize idiot, and she’d duped him easily. He’d even put the necklace on her for Christ’s sake! He stood there, fuming at his idiocy, unable to believe how naïve he’d been.
And what about the fact that she’d been a virgin? Was it all an act? Something she’d invented to get him to feel affection for her, to take his mind off the necklace? He felt used and violated, and not in a good way. Jeez. How many different ways could a guy get screwed in one night?
Then he remembered the way she hadn’t been able to look at him when he made her come with his fingers, and how she’d tightened involuntarily when he’d first thrust inside her. He was as certain as a man could be that she hadn’t faked her virginity. And anyway, why would she have bothered to go through the hassle of pretending it was her first time? The very fact that they’d slept together would have been enough to distract him. There were a hundred things she could have done in bed to take his mind off the necklace—in fact once he’d put it on her, she could have said she was going to the bathroom and escaped. But she hadn’t—she’d looked up at him with those wide, silvery-green eyes and welcomed him inside her.
And what had she said at the end? Oh my God, you’re gorgeous…bastard. She might have gone to his room to try to get the necklace, but she’d been attracted to him, in spite of herself. That was why she’d slept with him.
His lips began to curve. And it was at that moment, that very moment when he stood there in the Arctic air with the Northern Lights blurring above him, that Dr Heath Roberts realised he was in love.
Chapter 8
Cat contorted herself into what must surely have been an advanced yoga position to do up the back of her dress, then stood in front of the hotel mirror and stared at her reflection. The strapless, beautifully-shaped bodice continued into a scarlet sheath that clung to her curvy figure before flaring out at the knee, leaving very little to the imagination and making her wince as she realised everyone in the ballroom would be aware of her lack of underwear.
Her blonde hair hung past her shoulders in loose curls, and a gold chain bearing a pendant in the shape of the Eye of Horus graced her long, slender neck, befitting her current location in Cairo, Egypt. For once, the wedding ring she usually wore remained in her purse.
A knock sounded at her door, and she sighed and walked over, opening it and shooting a look that said, don’t you dare say a thing at the man who stood there. “Come in.”
Alexander Holland raised an eyebrow and followed her into the room, leaning heavily on his cane. “Do you think maybe you should have bought a dress a few sizes bigger?”
“Don’t start. You want me to make this deal, don’t you?”
He stopped in the middle of the room and frowned at her. Once upon a time, that frown—framed by his thick, bushy, grey moustache and beard—would have scared her. Now when he said, “How many times have I told you? You don’t need to use yourself like this to get what you want,” she just rolled her eyes.
“Oh, keep your knickers on. It’s not like I’m walking in naked or anything.”
He looked pointedly at her backside. “Speaking of knickers, you are wearing Victorian-style underwear under that dress, then?”
She turned from inserting an earring and came over to kiss him on the cheek. “Darling Alex. Please don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”
He said nothing, and she sighed. Alexander Holland was the only man in the whole world Cat trusted, and the last thing she wanted to do was upset him. “I’m sorry about the dress. But when you have certain…talents, it seems a shame to waste them. It’s like being marooned on a desert island with Jamie Oliver and getting him to build the shelter while you try to make dinner out of crab and coconuts.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “You look divine. I know men can’t keep their eyes off you, and one day I’m going to lose you to
one of them. That’s going to be very hard for me.”
“It’ll be a cold winter in hell before that happens.”
As soon as she spoke, her brain conjured up a clear vision of the icy December evening three days before and of sliding beneath a thermal sleeping bag with a tall, silver-haired man. She cursed under her breath. “Come on, let’s get this done. You know how I hate social gatherings like this.”
Alexander laughed, offering his arm as they made their way out of the door and along the corridor. “Only you would be discontent with the idea of going to such an expensive and prestigious dinner event, my dear.”
She poked her tongue out at him. “I’m only doing this because of the Bastet figurine.”
“Well, if anyone can persuade Sayed to sell, it’s you, my darling.”
They went into the lift and descended to the first floor. The Four Seasons Hotel was exclusive and sumptuous, and when they exited the lift and walked to the Banquet Room, the scene took Cat’s breath away. The room was huge and hung with crystal chandeliers, the floor covered with thick brown and cream carpets. Circular tables draped with cream cloths and topped with vases of white flowers filled two-thirds of the room. In the centre at the front was a wooden dance floor, the band already playing as people began taking their seats. It was the Four Seasons’ Christmas Charity Ball, and, as had often happened in the past, Cat’s spirits sank at the thought of taking part in a social event with lots of people..
The urge to escape rose inside her. “Alex…”
“Come on, Cat, we’ve been through this. You’ve as much right to be here as Cleopatra herself.”
She nodded, swallowing down her melancholia, and gave him a brief smile, and together they walked into the room.
For about fifteen minutes, they circled the room talking to guests, Cat taking regular deep breaths in between giving dazzling smiles at the elegantly dressed people. Inside her head, however, she went over the details of etiquette Alexander had taught her. Let the waiter pull out your chair when you sit, remember? And with cutlery it’s work from the outside in. And ask for white wine with chicken, red wine with steak. And no elbows on the table.
Please God, remind me not to dip my bread roll in my soup.
Gradually, however, she started to relax. She accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter and scanned the room. “No sign of Sayed yet?”
“He should be here soon. Keep your eyes open.”
She sipped her champagne. Alexander stood talking to three or four men from the Egyptian Museum while their wives gossiped amongst themselves. She tried to concentrate on what the women were saying, but she knew nothing about fashion or celebrities and couldn’t think what to add to the conversation.
After a while she gave up and ran her gaze around the room, looking over her shoulder to make sure the Egyptian hadn’t come into the ballroom while she was facing the other way. And then she saw him. Not Sayed, but the man who had haunted her every waking moment since she ran out on him.
Silver-haired, dressed to kill in a black tuxedo and bow tie, Dr Heath Roberts stood talking to a couple of Egyptian gentlemen, but his gaze was fixed entirely and completely on her.
“Fuck,” she said aloud and with vehemence.
Everyone within hearing turned and stared at her, and Alexander’s eyebrows rose several inches. “Something wrong, my dear?” His tone dripped with disapproval.
She closed her eyes, wishing she was in Star Trek and Scotty could beam her up. Would Heath yell at her in front of everyone?
She heard slow footsteps behind her and then his deep voice say, “Dr Livingstone, I presume?”
She opened her eyes, seeing Alexander frown before she turned. “Yeah, like I’ve never heard that before.” She pretended to be surprised as she saw Heath. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were a waiter. Another glass of champagne, please.”
He grinned. “I’ll have you know I had to fight off three men to get to this tux. I don’t think there’s a suit left in the city.”
“Perhaps you should have taken that as an omen that you weren’t supposed to come.”
He said nothing, his eyes filled with amusement, and the double entendre of her words sunk in. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she snapped. “This isn’t a 1970s comedy movie.”
He gave a small laugh and stepped a bit closer to her. “Hello, Julia.”
“It wasn’t a complete lie,” she protested. “It’s my middle name.” Why was she defending herself?
“Can I call you Catherine?” he murmured, now only inches away from her, his gaze resting on her lips as if there was nobody else in the room.
“Nobody calls me that,” she whispered, her heart thumping.
“There’s a first time for everything.” His lips curved, and she knew he was thinking about being under the thermal sleeping bag, his fingers touching her lightly, or maybe that moment when he’d slid inside her, looking down at her with such surprise and affection when he realised he was her first.
She blushed, remembering the surprise of the moment, how she’d felt while he made love to her, how tender he’d been. His smile widened. Before she could move, he lowered his head and, shocked and flustered, she stood frozen as he kissed her. It was little more than a brush of his mouth on hers, but one of the women in the group gasped, and a scatter of whispers spread like butterflies.
When he raised his head, she blinked at him several times. “What the…?”
He looked up, and she followed his gaze. Someone had tied a sprig of mistletoe to the chandelier. “Merry Christmas,” he said.
She met his eyes. They were full of amusement. He wasn’t angry with her. Far from it. He looked like he wanted to rip off all her clothes and give himself an early Christmas present.
Beside her, Alexander coughed discreetly, and she suddenly remembered where she was. She cleared her throat nervously. “Heath, this is Professor Alexander Holland, retired university lecturer and an expert in Egyptology amongst many other things. Alex, this is Dr Heath Roberts. He works for Te Papa Museum in Wellington.”
Alexander stared at Heath. His eyes went to the younger man’s silver hair. “Ah. So you’re the Silver Fox. Clearly that’s why the two of you want to tear each other’s throats out.”
Cat could have died on the spot. She hadn’t told Alexander everything that had happened in Sweden. Crap. That was going to come back and bite her in the arse.
She met Heath’s eyes, and before he could illuminate Alexander, she gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head and an imploring look. It was a risky request. She hardly knew the man. Maybe he would think it funny to enlighten Alexander with the gory details of their meeting as payback for what she’d done.
Heath caught the look and studied her with interest. He gave her a small smile, however, and her panic died down. He turned to Alexander and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Professor Holland. Yes, I had the pleasure of making Catherine’s acquaintance in Jukkasjärvi.” He glanced over at her. “I believe you may have inadvertently taken something that belonged to me, Dr Livingstone.”
She blew a raspberry at him. “Which you acquired by pretending to work for the British Museum, so you can get off your high horse about that.”
“I did pay for the item,” he reminded her.
“I believe I reimbursed you for that.” The words were out before she could stop them, and she waited for Alexander to question what she meant, but he was talking to a man standing behind them. She turned to see Dr Sayed Mahmoud Kamel shaking Alexander’s hand.
The tall, slim Egyptian nodded his head at Alexander, but he was already looking over at her, his dark eyes warm. She walked over and accepted his handshake, giving him her most dazzling smile. “Sayed, it’s wonderful to see you again.”
“The pleasure is all mine, my dear.” He stepped forward and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. “You look breath-taking—but then you always do.”
“What a creep.”
Cat ignored Heat
h’s murmured words and looked down coyly before smiling up at the Egyptian. “Thank you, Sayed. You are too kind.”
“I speak only the truth, which is that you are like an Egyptian goddess.” He indicated the dance floor. “Would you care to dance with me?”
“I would be honoured.”
He took her hand and led her toward the half a dozen couples swaying in time to the music. She walked past Heath, not looking up at him. Concentrate, she told herself. She was here to make a purchase—that was all. She had to forget about the handsome archaeologist and what had happened beneath the reindeer furs.
They reached the wooden dance floor and Sayed turned her to face him, sliding his right hand around her. His warm palm rested slightly lower than she would have liked on her hip, but hey, whatever closed the deal.
They began to move with the music. He was an elegant man, and many eyes in the room were on the two of them at that moment—including Heath’s. A touch mischievously, she pressed herself closer to Sayed, looking up into his eyes.
His dark orbs studied hers. “It has been a while.”
“Too long, Sayed.”
“Yes.” His hand slid half an inch lower onto her butt. “You never called me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You never called me either.”
“You told me not to.”
“Do you always do what you’re told?”
He smiled lazily. “No.”
He was very handsome, in a harsh, slightly scary sort of way. Although not much taller than her, his jet black hair, swarthy skin and dark eyes gave him an imposing, rather daunting presence. Her heart pounded, and not in a good way, as she remembered the last time they’d met over two years before when she was chasing down some artefact he owned. She’d led him on a little, flirted and promised more, although she’d left once he gave in and sold her the item. But she was determined to act as if that had been a mistake. If Heath’s eyes hadn’t been burning into the back of her head, she might have kissed him.
“You know why I’m here,” she said.
“The Bastet figurine.”
One Hot Winter's Night Page 5