The sun was at his back. The fresh air filled his lungs. He moved swiftly along the road, his long stride challenging the upward slope of the island.
Yet as he approached the mound, he met his men walking away.
What the hell . . . ? He stopped and waited until Connell and Tony reached him. ‘‘This isn’t time for the guard to change.’’
Connell pointed. "MacNachtan’s still up there with his rifle.’’
The grim villager stood on a cluster of rocks, silhouetted against the sky, and he sent Rurik a sharp salute.
‘‘We couldn’t see any sense in all of us being here.’’ Tony’s hair stood on end—he’d probably slept through his whole shift.
‘‘All of us?’’ Rurik asked.
‘‘Hunni said you’d be along soon,’’ Connell said.
‘‘Hunni?’’ Rurik stared at the grass blowing in the ocean breeze, at the tomb, patient and menacing. ‘‘Tasya Hunnicutt is here?’’
‘‘Yeah, she said you wanted her to start photographing the entrance.’’ Tony grinned at him, that infatuated grin of a man who’d a moment ago had his dreams fulfilled by a woman’s smile and a few flirtatious words. ‘‘You know, boss, it’s great to have her here from National Antiquities. She’s got a real case of the hots for the stuff in there. She could be an archeologist—she totally gets it.’’
‘‘She is amazing.’’ In more ways than one. Rurik watched the guys as they walked away.
The dumb shits. It never occurred to them Tasya might be lying, that she might have an ulterior motive. Using archeologists to guard the tomb was like using puppies to protect a fire hydrant.
Of course, it had never occurred to him that Tasya would get up earlier than he did to check out the tomb. So who was the dumb shit now?
He walked down the stone ramp to the tomb’s entrance, taking care that Tasya didn’t hear him.
He’d always thought she knew too much, was too interested, had reasons of her own for following the excavation so closely. Now he intended to interrogate her—and he would enjoy every minute.
Light leaked from inside the tomb. She had some source of illumination set up, and he could hear her camera as she took picture after picture. Taking care not to alert her to his presence, he eased around to peer inside.
There she was, dressed in a camouflage T-shirt tucked into her glorious tight jeans.
No wonder his guys believed every word she said. The woman had a shape that made a man want to throw that football through that tire. Repeatedly.
She wore black work boots, and her khaki backpack rested on the floor beside her. One might suppose she’d come dressed for the dust in the tomb . . . or if one was suspicious, one might believe she’d worn camouflage for the same reason he had. So she wouldn’t be easily seen.
She knelt at the wall behind the shelf where the treasure chest had been placed. Carvings covered the stone, and she leaned close, macro-lens on her camera, to capture each panel.
How fascinating. She worked exactly the wall he intended to examine.
Why would she be interested in the carvings when the interior of the tomb might contain more gold? More jewels?
What was she looking for?
Right now, he didn’t care.
Because they were alone. Just as he promised her, he had her cornered, and she had nowhere to run.
Deliberately, he loomed in the entrance, blocking the sunlight that reached inside, touching the wall . . . touching her.
As she swung around, she crouched into a fighting position.
‘‘You’re nervous.’’ He ducked down and entered the tomb. ‘‘Why? Are you guilty?’’
‘‘Rurik. What are you doing here?’’ She looked him right in the eyes.
‘‘According to what you told my guys, I’m supposed to meet you here.’’
‘‘Yeah. Well.’’ She put her camera around her neck and fussed with the settings.
Yep. She was guilty.
‘‘I couldn’t wait to see what’s inside the tomb,’’ she said.
‘‘But you’re not inside. You’re concentrating on the wall carvings in the entrance. Why would that be?’’
‘‘I’m the National Antiquities photographer. I need to record each piece of this tomb.’’ Her black hair curled riotously, as if she’d done no more this morning than run her fingers through the strands.
Rurik reached out.
She tried to dodge, then consciously stood still.
Was she trying to convince him that she didn’t care if he touched her? Good luck.
He tucked a curl behind one ear.
She chewed her lip.
Smart girl. She should be apprehensive.
Sliding his hand behind her neck, he pulled her toward him.
‘‘No.’’ She put up her fists.
‘‘Try and stop me.’’ He smiled a toothy smile. ‘‘I would really like it if you fought.’’
‘‘Why? What are you going to do? Force me to kiss you?’’ She sounded scornful as only an independent woman could sound.
‘‘I don’t have to force you to do anything.’’ He whispered in her ear, ‘‘I’m going to get you so hot, we’ll melt together, and you’ll never know where I end and you begin.’’
The way she caught her breath did wonders for his temperament.
Turning his head, he kissed her cheek. ‘‘But later.’’ Later, when he had toyed with her, kept her off balance, threatened hell and promised heaven.
He couldn’t make her love him, he couldn’t make her stay with him, but by God, if she ran again, she would remember him.
Scent of Darkness Page 28