by Black, Jaid
A very pretty blush rose up her neck and flushed her cheeks. She dropped her gaze, apparently trying to hide her bad manners.
Josef tightened his grip on her waist, just to see how she would react.
He almost laughed at her predictability. With strength surprising in such a petite body, she pushed against his chest and stepped back. But he had caught the slight intake of breath that signaled a very physical reaction to his closeness before she’d distanced herself.
Of course, she’d caused a bit of a physical reaction in him as well. His cock stirred in a most irritating way. Intriguing. He leaned against the doorjamb and watched her brush the hair from her eyes with an impatient gesture as she gathered her wits and sent a venomous glare in his direction.
Finally the woman tugged her jacket back into place and tossed her head, flinging that glorious hair over her shoulder and out of her face. “Thank you. I was just leaving.”
“So I see.” His gaze took in the smart business suit that did its best to hide the slim figure of the woman before him. Taking his time, he let his gaze wander down along the curve of her hip, over the graceful arc of a calf to the sensible pumps on her feet. The navy-blue hue of the suit did nothing to set off the beautiful blush of her cheeks or match the decidedly angry hazel eyes that flashed at him.
“Well, Ms. Braun, I promised Dr. DiPaolo that I would meet you, and you undoubtedly promised you would meet with me. Since we’ve now met, we can just part ways, having fulfilled our word, if you like.” A pang of regret took him by surprise even as he let her off the hook. He hadn’t expected Carla Braun to look so…intriguing.
Her chin came up. “She told me you had a story for me. You might as well tell me the basic facts. She’ll quiz us both and you know it.”
Josef nodded. “She will. But I’d get around her.”
The way he said it rankled. Carla doubted very much that Dr. Anderson got his way as often as he thought he did. More likely Angie got her way and simply made it seem as if it were his idea.
The archeologist stepped aside and gestured for her to leave, inviting her to end the meeting. But Carla’s stubborn streak rose. Who was he to dismiss her? How dare he assume she wasn’t interested in following up on this story!
Okay, so she wasn’t. But she wasn’t going to let him know that.
“I’d love to hear the story you have to tell, Dr. Anderson.” With a deliberate smirk, she marched back to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down.
He followed her with barely concealed reluctance. His slow steps gave Carla an opportunity to take a longer look at the archeologist. Angie hadn’t been kidding. He was gorgeous. With shoulders a linebacker would envy, the sculpted, straight lines of Nordic heritage and tarnished blond hair that hung in a ponytail to the middle of his back, he personified the image of some ancient Viking raider come to shore to wreak havoc.
Right now, however, his gray eyes glittered with irritation. Good. Why should she be the only one put out?
“Ms. Braun, you need to know I’m against Dr. DiPaolo’s desire to romanticize this story. Quite honestly, I don’t believe in letting people like you exploit the past to create fictional stories about real people. Sorry, but this is science and history, not some throbbing romance novel with heaving bosoms and men with rippling muscles.”
“Ha! A lot you know about romance novels. When’s the last time you read one?” She wasn’t about to admit she was a sucker for those rippling muscles, especially if accompanied by a good, hard, six-pack abdomen.
Her glance fell to Dr. Anderson’s chest, hidden under a plain white shirt, dark tie and rumpled gray suit. She had felt the strength in that chest when she fell into him in the doorway. Now that she had recovered from her shock, the memory of the firm muscles under that shirt momentarily distracted her.
“It doesn’t matter, they’re all the same. She doesn’t need to be dragged through some torrid descriptions of her love affairs. The princess deserves better than that.”
“Hmmm…a princess? Angie didn’t mention that.” Carla gestured to the only other chair in the small room. “Might as well make yourself comfortable, Dr. Anderson. You’re going to have to tell me the story now.”
Josef gritted his teeth. The meeting with the museum director had already taken up more time than he’d expected and now this slip of a woman wanted more. He checked his watch. Damn and damn again—he still hadn’t set it to New York time. When did that next flight for Egypt leave? Spending the night in this damnable city didn’t thrill him one bit.
Unless he had someone to spend it with…
He let his gaze travel over Carla again, wondering what she’d look like tied for his pleasure. Something Angie had told him about her friend niggled at the back of his brain, but he couldn’t quite recall it.
Dismissing the thought as unimportant, he gave an exaggerated bow as he pulled out a chair and turned it backward, straddling the seat and resting his hands along the back just to watch the annoyance cross her face at his cavalier attitude. He wasn’t disappointed. Needling her and watching her blush gave him a rush. Affecting insolence, he started the story.
“Once upon a time, there was a rich princess who… Don’t you want to take notes or something?”
“Be as obnoxious as you like, Dr. Anderson. I’m just here to listen. If the story has as much merit as Angie seems to think, then I’ll read the nonfiction report the two of you have written and go from there. Pray continue with your fascinating account.”
She certainly could hold her own. And surprisingly, he enjoyed their verbal sparring, finding the woman before him…engaging. Without changing his demeanor, he kept his tone nonchalant and related the tale of the Bedouin princess.
“She lived several centuries ago, part of a nomadic tribe of Bedouins. We only know her as Princess M, daughter of a sheikh. The find is remarkable in that the tribe wasn’t very large, nor was it important. Yet the embroidery on the scraps of clothing that survived show an intricacy we’ve seen today only in the larger families. The rich blue and purple dyes used, the silk material of her robes, tell us a great deal about her family’s position, however. As do the pottery pieces.”
Carla leaned forward and Josef resisted the urge to grin. In spite of her reluctance, the story intrigued her. A strand of hair slipped off her shoulder and she unconsciously tucked it behind her ear, cocking her head to the side and narrowing those hazel eyes. He continued.
“The find was also remarkable in that it even came to light. We estimate the tent and its occupant have been buried under the sand for over a thousand years.”
“I know the desert is dry, but I would have thought everything would’ve rotted or worn away after all that time.”
Josef nodded. “There is extensive decay of the clothing and tenting material. But once this tent was buried, it stayed buried…deep. Preserving the rest. It’s hard to measure the sands of the Sahara; the wind is constantly changing its shape. But the sandstorm that buried the princess must’ve put her over five hundred feet below the surface for most of the intervening millennium. We only found her now thanks to another storm and a lost sheep. The shepherd boy who found the remains of the tent thought at first that it was poachers. He ran back to get his father and uncles and they came with guns drawn.”
“And what did they find?”
“A black tent called a bayt, partitioned into two spaces, not so different from their own except the inside was filled with sand. At first they dug it out, thinking there was someone who needed rescuing. The front half of the tent, however, was empty. When one of them unearthed an ancient pot just behind the center curtain, they finally realized this wasn’t a case of poachers caught out in a storm.”
Josef snorted. “Thankfully one of the men understood the significance of the find. They stopped digging before they did any real damage, knowing that museums around the world would pay good money to excavate it. Dr. DiPaolo and I were lucky enough to get the dig. We found the skeleton only after several
weeks of sand removal.”
When he didn’t continue, Carla prodded him. “So is that it? Some kid finds a black tent rising out of the desert like a mirage, only this one is real and comes complete with skeleton? There must be something more.”
Josef nodded. “Very perceptive. While that alone is certainly a good find, it’s not what has your friend all excited.”
“What else did you find there?”
“Beside the woman was a trunk. Inside were several lengths of cloth in excellent condition, some with the same embroidered pattern that we found on the remnants of the princess’s robes. There was also a man’s shirt, same pattern. You should know, these patterns were often handed down from one generation to the next. Woven into them were family identification and status. The better a woman was with her needle, the better the pattern. The better the pattern, the better the status. This woman was magnificent.”
“How do you know she embroidered them?”
“Because below the layers of clothing, we found her letters.”
“Letters? How long ago was this?”
“Writing’s been around for more than a thousand years, you know.”
Carla hastened to explain. “I know. I’m just surprised at a Bedouin woman writing letters. Seems out of character.”
“It is. That’s what makes this not just a good find, but a great one. She’s unique. The letters were written in a form of Arabic with smatterings of Old French.”
“Old French? What on earth was a Frenchman doing in the Sahara Desert a thousand years ago?”
Josef watched the wheels turn and gave her time. She twirled a strand of her hair and an errant thought popped into his head—what would that silkiness feel like draped over his cock?
An image of her bending over him, teasing him with her hair, came to mind.
She slapped the table and he jerked, giving a small cough to cover the fact that his mind had gone off on a sensual tangent. A shift of his chair also allowed him to stealthily readjust his cock, which had decided to weigh in on the alluring nature of the woman across from him.
“Got it. A Frenchman in the Sahara a thousand years ago? Had to have been the Crusades.”
“Yes. The Crusades.”
“So you’re saying a Muslim Bedouin princess fell in love with a Christian French knight?”
Josef nodded.
Carla sat back and rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This plot’s been done to death! I can tell you six Hollywood movies using the same device off the top of my head. Next you’ll be telling me you found a mummy nearby complete with hieroglyphics and a curse.”
“I figured you wouldn’t take this seriously.” Josef slid his chair back and stood up. Too bad. He had almost decided another night in New York could be just what he needed.
She stood as well. “I am taking you seriously, Dr. Anderson. So seriously that I’ll read your dry report as soon as you hand me the copy Angie said you’d give me. But I’m not writing a story that’s already hackneyed, no matter how truthful it might be, and I’m not wasting any more of my time. Good day.”
Carla held out her hand. Josef knew full well what she wanted and deliberately misunderstood. Instead of fetching the report, currently tucked in the bag he’d left behind the receptionist’s desk, he reached forward to take her proffered hand in his and give it a good shake.
She instinctively tried to pull her hand back, but he didn’t let go. The woman needed to have her comfort zone invaded. What was it about her that made him want to do just that? Hell, made him want to toss her onto the table and make love to her? She did nothing but annoy him, yet something pulled him in.
“I don’t want you to write a story about the princess,” he murmured, catching another whiff of her spicy perfume. He steeled himself against it and stared into those wide hazel eyes. “I don’t want to give you my report, either.”
“Angie said… If you don’t, Dr. DiPaolo will make life difficult for you.”
“Is that a threat?” Josef noted she made no attempt to step back, despite the fact that she was flustered. Her cheeks had turned a delightful shade of pink and her gaze refused to meet his.
“It’s a simple statement of the truth.” Now she did make a move backward. He didn’t relinquish his hold on her hand, pulling it closer to his chest.
“May I have my hand back, please?” She still didn’t look at him, but he could hear exasperation building in her voice. Why was he having such fun baiting her? She was nothing to him but a coworker’s distracting friend. He should be on his way back to the airport already.
“Why is keeping your friend happy so important to you? She’s thousands of miles away and won’t know if I give you the report or not, if you don’t tell her.”
She yanked and he let go. Her arm flew back and now she did meet his gaze, her eyes blazing.
“Angie’s a friend. Friends don’t lie to each other. Just give me the damn report and we can call this quits.”
“Have dinner with me tonight and I’ll give it to you then.”
She eyed him in confusion. “Why can’t you give it to me now?”
“Because I want to give it to you after dinner.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
Josef couldn’t quite believe it himself. The invitation had flown out his mouth before he’d realized he’d even thought the thought. But once spoken, he liked the idea.
“Apparently, I am.”
Carla briefly thought of Angie’s penchant for setting up blind dates. Had she been suckered again? Her friend didn’t understand how Carla could go through life without a boyfriend on the end of a leash at all times.
What Angie couldn’t get through her head was that Carla didn’t want to hold the leash—she wanted her leash held.
Pursing her lips to keep from smiling at the thought, Carla turned to gaze at an artifact under glass on the side of the room, pretending to consider his offer. Did he know what she wrote? Or that her own sexual predilections were reflected in all her heroines?
Despite his dismissive behavior earlier, she did like the way his gray eyes had lit up when speaking about the princess. Passion flared under that rumpled suit and brusque demeanor. She was sure of it. Turning, she held out her hand once more.
“I accept.”
“You do?”
The disbelief made her chuckle. “Yes, Dr. Anderson. I do. I haven’t been in the city in a while,” she gestured around the room as if it included the entire island, “I might as well make use of the time. Day’s shot for getting any decent writing done, anyway.”
“Gee, I’m so glad you’re deigning to spend some time with me.”
His dry tone didn’t fool her. “You’re playing me, Dr. Anderson. I’ll have dinner with you tonight, you’ll tell me a little more about this Bedouin princess, hand me the report and we’ll go our merry ways. Then you can go back and tell Dr. DiPaolo you went through with your blind date and she’ll be suitably upset with both of us that we didn’t fall into the sack with each other, madly in love with plans to live happily ever after.”
For a moment he just frowned, as if he didn’t know what she meant. Then the light dawned and she liked the way his brow smoothed. What would he look like with his hair down? Probably a wild Viking. She could just picture him with Thor’s hammer in his fist, hair blown back by the winds of Valhalla or wherever it was Norse gods lived. He’d stride up to her, enfold her in his arm, his corded muscles holding her tight…
Carla hefted her purse over her shoulder and turned away quickly, lest her eyes give away her suddenly naughty thoughts.
Josef waited at the door, his hand on the knob. “I don’t know the city very well. What would be a good place for dinner?”
Carla hesitated only a second, still not making eye contact. “Maxwell’s. Down in the Village.”
“Seven o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
He opened the door and stepped aside to let her though first. As she
passed him, his hand rested briefly on the small of her back, giving her a shiver. He took her hand and touched a kiss to the back in an old-fashioned gesture of civility. “’Til tonight,” he murmured.
Her heart beating hard, Carla merely nodded and stepped out of the office with as much dignity as she could muster when her knees felt like jelly.
Josef watched her go through the glass door and down the hall, very impressed with the view. A small cough brought him back. The secretary wagged her finger at him with a knowing smile.
“You’re a very bad man, Dr. Josef. You are too good with the ladies.”
“Oh, Annalie, if only you were single…”
“Go on with you now. I suppose you need me to make a reservation for the night?”
“Some place called Maxwell’s?” Josef shrugged. “Down in the Village, if that helps.”
“I can do that. But I meant for a hotel.”
Josef laughed. “You have an evil mind, Annalie. I have no intention of taking the lovely Ms. Braun to bed with me tonight.”
The secretary’s look informed him she didn’t believe one word of it. “But you are staying the night, yes? In the city you say you hate so much.”
The raised eyebrow indicated she knew exactly where Dr. Josef’s thoughts had gone as he’d watched the young woman walk down the corridor. Josef chuckled. “Yes, Annalie. I need reservations for dinner—and a hotel.”
“Yes, Dr. Josef.”
With a grin, he retrieved his leather bag from behind her desk, pausing to plant a kiss on the woman’s cheek before sauntering out the glass door himself, wondering where in this city he could find some good stout rope.
Chapter Two
Carla left her car in an all-day parking lot. Driving to Manhattan was fun, driving in Manhattan was not. Taking the subway, she first made her way to Macy’s department store. The business suit said everything she’d wanted it to say and it hadn’t made one bit of difference to Dr. Josef Anderson. Whatever had possessed them, he’d asked her on a date and she’d accepted.