Mirage

by Monica Burns

  “True, but you’ve never shown this much concern for a Ferengi before.”

  “And you appear quite sensitive about the woman whenever I mention her.” Medjuel sent him a probing look. “What does she mean to you?”

  “I made a commitment to Alex’s father, and I agreed to honor that commitment with her. It’s my responsibility to see to her safety.”

  “Then see to it she doesn’t get herself or anyone else hurt while she continues with this excavation.”

  Altair studied him for a long moment before nodding. His cousin seemed satisfied with the response as he gathered up the reins of his horse. “I should return to camp—I have a dispute to settle between two mothers and their children.”

  “The work of Sheikh el Mazir is never done.”

  Medjuel mounted his horse. A tight smile that resembled more of a grimace curved his lips. “So it would seem.”

  Watching his cousin ride off, Altair frowned. In all the years he’d known Medjuel, there had never been this cold distance between them. His cousin said all the right things, but something lay just beneath the surface to create a tension between them. Had he unknowingly done something to incur Medjuel’s wrath? Why didn’t his cousin confront him about it? Whatever was causing the tension between them, it was becoming more evident with each passing day. Something told him it was only going to get worse, but even more chilling was the idea that Alex’s presence might somehow be part of the discord between him and Medjuel.

  Chapter Fifteen

  With a vicious swipe of her hand, Alex wiped the worktable clean of her notebooks and tools. What an arrogant fool she was. Three more weeks lost because she’d miscalculated. She’d thought for certain Ramesses Palace would be where they’d been digging. But she’d been wrong. Just like she’d been wrong about everything else on this excavation. Two months of searching and they were still empty-handed.

  She wanted to scream—break something. It was hopeless. No matter what she did, it was always the wrong choice. If there was anything of value buried at Khatana-Qantir, it was doubtful they’d find it with a woman in charge. That’s what Merrick and his cronies would be thinking if they were here. They’d be right. She couldn’t find an open barn door to save her life. Not that she really cared anymore. She hadn’t really cared about anything since the day she’d fought with Altair.

  Dejected, she sank down into her chair and stared at the mess she’d made of the work tent. It resembled her life. Since their fight, Altair only spoke to her when necessary and in a voice that always lowered the temperature around her considerably. She kept telling herself it didn’t matter, but it was a lie. It did matter.

  The days following their argument had been emotionally draining. His cold, impassive attitude toward her had deepened the wounds he’d inflicted during their fight. Perhaps his chilly behavior would have been easier to bear if she didn’t care for him. She didn’t want to, but she did. How was it possible she loved a man she didn’t trust? Not even logic could answer that question. She loved him. Simply and completely.

  Even his mother had unknowingly added to her pain. The tribe’s second evening at Khatana-Qantir had brought Altair’s mother to her tent. Gameela had been gracious about Alex’s failure to visit the first night, but had demanded penance in the form of eating dinner with them at least once a week.

  Part of her had hoped Altair would eat with his family, but he was always absent on the evenings she came to dinner. She told herself it was a relief not to see him in his mother’s tent; but it was easy to lie to herself. What wasn’t easy to ignore was the way she listened for the sound of his voice in hopes he would join them.

  Rising from her chair, she began the task of cleaning up the mess she’d made. If only it were as simple to straighten out her own life. She shook her head. No, she’d made a mess of things with her inability to trust Altair. Instead of thinking through the problem, she’d impulsively leapt to the conclusion that his lies meant he would break his word to her. And she’d allowed that ridiculous warning from Uncle Jeffrey to add to her fear.

  And for what? The Museum had yet to appear on the horizon and Altair hadn’t tried to hurt her. If anything, he stayed as far away from her as he could. He’d made his disgust for her perfectly clear. It was something she felt keenly every time he was near.

  One knee pressed into the sand, she gathered several sheets of paper from the ground and shuffled them into a neat stack. Pausing in her chore, she closed her eyes and wished she were home. At least there, only her memories of father and Uncle Jeffrey would haunt her. Here, everywhere she turned there was something to remind her of Altair. A light breeze stirred the damp curls at her neck as she stood up and arched her sore back.

  “What happened here?” Altair’s deep voice washed over her. The coldness she was accustomed to had changed to concern. Without looking at him, she returned to picking up the papers strewn all over the sandy floor.

  “I had a temper tantrum.”

  “I see.”

  For the first time in weeks, she heard a thread of humor lacing his voice. Slowly she turned to look up at him. His sensual mouth held the beginnings of a smile, but as his eyes met hers, it died. Turning away from her, he bent and retrieved several notebooks from the ground. Together they worked in silence, and as the last piece of paper settled on the desk, Altair sent her a penetrating look.

  “I understand your frustration, Alex, but excavating a site requires great patience and time.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?”

  “Sometimes I wonder. It’s as if you think it’s going to be as easy as marking off so many paces to the spot where you think something is buried.”

  The truth in his statement made her wince. He was right. Patience had never been one of her virtues. Father had warned her the excavation would be time-consuming and tedious. But she wanted to see results. She wanted to see them this very minute.

  She’d found the city in honor of her father. Now, she wanted to find something specific and concrete to show those stodgy, conservative jackasses at the British Museum. The look on their faces when she showed up with her ancient treasure trove would be worth every ounce of heartache she was suffering right now.

  But would it really? Ignoring the internal question, she darted a glance in Altair’s direction. For a brief instant, she could have sworn there was warmth in his gaze. It disappeared the moment their eyes met. Unable to keep from flinching at the inscrutable expression on his face, she grimaced.

  “I guess I did think it would be as easy as walking off distances from the city’s wall. I just feel like I’m wasting my time.”

  “That I don’t believe. In all honesty, you’ve achieved a great deal in a relatively short time.” The gentle note in his voice nearly undid her. Once again she shot him a glance. She was afraid to believe it, but it seemed as though there was a thawing in the icy look he normally bestowed on her. Was he actually offering her encouragement? Had he experienced a change of heart where she was concerned? No, that was simply wishful thinking on her part. She shrugged.

  “I suppose. It doesn’t really matter anymore.”

  “This lack of determination is something I’ve not seen in you before.” He fiddled with the stack of papers he’d returned to her desk.

  Biting her lip, she didn’t answer. Instead, she relished the opportunity to drink in the strength of his jaw line and the way his dark brown hair brushed his shoulders. The need to thread her fingers through the silky waves made her tremble. That train of thought was a dangerous one. She shifted her attention down to his sun-drenched hand. As her gaze lingered on his tapered fingers, she watched them draw up into a tight fist.

  “What the hell is this?” he growled.

  Startled by the fierce question, she shook her head. “What?”

  “This.” His fingers scrunched one edge of the paper he waved at her. “Trust not t
he Mazir who lies?”

  Tense with anger, he turned the paper around so she could see the Coptic writing. He wanted to throttle her. She’d kept a vital piece of information from him. Did she think the danger had passed just because there had been no other attempts on her life in the past few weeks?

  “My uncle wrote that after his vision of Nourbese.”

  “You’ve known about it all this time, and you didn’t think it important enough to tell me about it?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she snapped.

  “Damn it, Alex, when are you going to start trusting me?”

  The stubborn set of her mouth made him clench his fist. Damm Gahannam, the woman had to be the most exasperating creature he’d ever met. One minute he wanted to shake some sense into her and the next he wanted to bed her.

  Instead of answering his question, she turned to begin sorting and reordering her notes. It was easy to see she didn’t intend to discuss the topic. Inhaling a deep breath of frustration, he watched her work. Over the past three weeks, he’d seen flashes of her vulnerability. With each small setback in her search for Ramesses’ palace, the fire in her eyes had dimmed just a little bit more.

  Seeing her disappointment and fear of failure, he’d wanted to comfort her, but he was certain she wouldn’t welcome his consolations. He’d kept his distance from her, but it had been difficult. The nights had been agonizing without her warmth curled into his side. Now he was beginning to realize how wide the chasm was between them because of his deception.

  He’d been a fool to lie to her. For the first time, he’d met a woman who was more than capable of surviving the harshness of the desert. If she could do that, she could most certainly survive the rigors of London society. As always the voice in his head mocked him. She might have the ability to survive his nomadic lifestyle, but she was like all the other women he’d met. Unwilling to see beyond his Bedouin blood to the man he truly was.

  No. He couldn’t believe that. That one night of passion they’d shared had been too intense an experience. She’d given herself to him and held nothing back. That wasn’t the sign of a woman who wanted only one night with a Bedouin sheikh. Something else had driven this wedge between them.

  The paper in his hand crackled as he clenched his fist tighter. Glancing down at the note once more, he read it again. It didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t she told him about the warning? Hadn’t she recognized the importance of it?

  “You should have told me about this, Alex.”

  “Tell me why I should have?”

  Damn her stubbornness. If it took the rest of the afternoon, he was going to find out why she didn’t trust him with information that could keep her safe from harm. He glared at her, determined to wring the truth out of her if he had to shake some sense into her. With a grunt of frustration he shoved his fingers through his hair.

  “You want me to tell you why?” he growled. “Let me think, at least three attempts on your life that we’re aware of, and who knows how many others. It says right here death and destruction to those in his—”

  The paper in his grasp scorched his palm. Trust not the Mazir who lies. Narrowing his eyes, he studied her closely. The silence stretched taut between them, and he watched her try to suppress a shudder.

  With a deliberate movement, he replaced the paper on the desk. He smoothed out the wrinkles with his hands, his head bent as if reading the words again. Then with the speed of a leopard, his hand lashed out and captured her wrist. Yanking her toward him, he glared down at her.

  “Explain why you didn’t tell me about the warning.”

  “Because I didn’t want to,” she snapped.

  Despite her crisp retort, her eyes were wide in her face. She was lying. It glimmered in the fear darkening her hazel eyes. An icy calm washed over him as he glared at her.

  “You think I’m the Mazir in this warning, don’t you?” When she didn’t answer him, he suppressed the urge to reach out and shake her. “Answer me, Alex.”

  She jumped at the sharp command and glared up at him. “Yes!” she exclaimed angrily. “What else am I suppose to think? You’ve done nothing but lie to me since we first met, and every time someone’s tried to kill me, you’ve been close by. Do you expect me to take your word as the gospel?”

  The sharp reminder of his duplicity made him shove her aside. Moving to the edge of the work tent, he wrapped his hand around a wood pole.

  “I should have told you from the beginning who I was. It’s a mistake I’ve paid for ten times over.” He gritted his teeth as he realized how harsh that payment had been.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Her quiet question made him turn around to face her. “I couldn’t afford to lose your trust once we set out for Khatana-Qantir. I had to keep you safe.”

  “But don’t you see? It’s your lies that made me not trust you.” Disappointment glimmered in her hazel eyes, and the sight of it sent tension streaking through him. He was responsible for her disillusion, and it twisted his insides with regret.

  “And is that the only reason why you’ve refused to have anything to do with me for these past several weeks?”

  “Yes.”

  For a moment, he wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly. He simply stood there and absorbed the significance of her response. His Bedouin ancestry didn’t matter to her. She hadn’t rejected him for that reason. Slowly, he moved to stand directly in front of her. Jasmine.

  The scent she’d taken to using since their arrival in Khatana-Qantir. He breathed in the fragrance, his body already attuned to hers.

  “Do you trust me now?”

  “No…yes…I don’t know.” She sighed with confusion.

  His mouth curled slightly as he brushed a strand of brown hair behind her ear. She trembled at the touch, but didn’t resist as he pulled her into his arms. As he folded her into his embrace, she fought to control the emotions raging inside her. It was impossible to do.

  Hard, sinewy muscles pressed pleasurably into her back, while beneath her fingers she could feel the strength of his heart beating against his solid chest. The sensation made her pulse rate double in speed, making it difficult to breathe.

  “Answer me this, ana anide emîra. What Mazir has done everything in his power to protect you? Keep you safe?” His husky voice rasped over her skin, and the intoxicating sound made her drag in a ragged breath.

  “Y…you have.”

  “And who has done everything he could to help you grant your father’s last wish?” The pad of his thumb rubbed across her bottom lip. It made her want to plead with him for a kiss.

  “You.”

  “Correct, and I’m the last Mazir who would ever think to harm you. Do you want to know why?”

  She swallowed quickly and nodded.

  The corners of his mouth tipped upward slightly, and his brown eyes glowed with a possessive gleam. “Because my body craves you like the desert craves water. I can’t forget the feel of you, your scent or the intense pleasure I experience when I’m buried deep inside you. Because if something happened to you, my body would find existing unbearable.”

  Her legs wobbled under her. Dear Lord, with just a few softly spoken words the man had made her slick with desire. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, and he sucked in a quick breath. A second later, his mouth captured hers.

  The heat of his kiss parted her lips in a small gasp, and his tongue swept into her mouth, swirling around hers. Desire simmered in her veins as she slid her hands into his thick hair. Oh God, how she’d missed the taste of him.

  He smelled wonderful. The spicy masculine scent of him pitched her desire to a new level of intensity. God she wanted him. She’d missed his touch, the hardness of his body beneath her hands.

  Arms wrapped around his neck, she clung to him in a wanton state of arousal. Hunger crashed through her, and she thrust her hips agains
t him, pressing into him with a gentle swivel of her body. His phallus hardened beneath the seductive move. The groan rumbling in his throat sent a shudder through her, and she slid her hands to his chest, then downward to where her fingers could lightly brush over the hard length of him.

  Another groan ripped through him as his mouth frantically sought hers in a kiss that burned her lips. Beyond thought or care, she stroked him again with a demanding touch. His lips broke away from hers to sear fire across her cheek and then neck.

  “I want you.” The moment her words whispered between them, he froze. Lifting his head, he cupped her face in his hands, his eyes dark with need.

  “And you shall have me, emîra, but not now. Tonight, when I can take my time with your beautiful body.” His hot gaze swept over her, and she clung to him for fear of falling. “For now, I need to get back to the men. I only came to find out if you wanted them to begin digging in another section since they’ve not had any luck where they are at the moment.”

  Brushing his lips across hers in a quick kiss, he pushed her away from him. She struggled to keep from swaying as his strong arms left her bereft of support. The logical part of her brain was screaming in outrage at her traitorous body’s desire to throw herself back into his arms. It demanded to know how she could let a few heady kisses erase the lies he’d told her.

  She shut off the protests in her head. For once she was going to let her heart rule her head. She loved him. His reaction to Uncle Jeffrey’s warning told her enough. He’d been angry because she’d kept the note from him. Concern for her safety had driven his anger, not deception. She darted a glance up at him, flushing at the tender amusement on his face. He stroked her cheek with one finger.

  “Where shall we look now, emîra?”

  “Umm, yes. Let me look at my chart.” Cursing her earlier temper tantrum, she sifted through paperwork, looking for her excavation grid. As she pulled the meticulously prepared drawing out from under one of the paper stacks, a faint cry went up behind them.

  Altair turned toward the sound and walked to the edge of the tent. Below them on the plateau, under which Per-Ramesses lay, a man stood waving his arms madly. Stepping out into the sunlight, Altair answered the man with a wave of his own.