Stolen Heat Part 3

Boy, this was an exciting job, wasn't it? She loved the digging and research, but the catering to the public stuff really grated on her nerves. Now and then was fine. Days in a row? No, thank you.

She hated to admit it, but as much as she enjoyed being a part of the project, she was really looking forward to getting everything she needed and getting gone. Especially lately. Tensions were high on the dig. Several pieces they'd excavated over the last few months had mysteriously disappeared. Consensus among the crew was they'd simply been miscataloged, but Kat wasn't so sure.

She let out a deep breath, wiped the dust from her forehead, and told herself not to worry about it so much. There wasn't a lot she could do without proof, and as her colleague Sawil had told her repeatedly, it wasn't her responsibility. Especially since she really was nothing more than a grunt. What she wanted most was to finish her dissertation. And she wanted to go home for a few weeks and see her mother. It'd been too long already.

Knowing that was several months off at least, she blew out a long breath and smashed her hat down on her head, then turned toward the group of tourists fifty yards off waiting for their guide. And just like Shannon had pointed out, there was the s.e.xy American again, hanging at the back of the group like he'd been every other time for the past four-correction, five-days.

He was the kind of guy a girl would have to be blind to miss. Tall, blond, deliriously handsome. With eyes that were a strange color of gray. Today he was dressed in a white camp s.h.i.+rt and khaki pants, with scuffed boots that looked like they'd been around and back a few times.

He wasn't a tourist, she'd bet her grad school tuition on that. Though he had the necessary gear-spiffy new hat, s.h.i.+ny camera and a map of the Valley in his back pocket-the shoes were a dead giveaway. As was the confidence and calculating calmness about him. He rarely spoke to anyone, always kept to the back of the group, watched everything with eagle eyes she doubted missed a thing. And she knew, too, because while he'd been studying everything else, she'd been watching him. Closely.

Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but this guy was after something. Something specific, like Kat had told Shannon only moments before. Only she was sure it wasn't her.

Today she intended to find out just what that was.

She came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. "I'd like a moment with you if you don't mind."

He turned her way, and the surprise she'd hoped to see on his face was anything but present.

Dammit, he'd been expecting her.

"Dr. Meyer. It's nice to finally meet you in person."

"I'm sure it is. Look, Mr.-"

"Kauffman. Peter Kauffman. But my friends call me Pete."

"Right. Mr. Kauffman, like I was saying. I'm sure you could give this tour yourself." She paused to take a breath, only when he turned the full force of those eyes on her she realized they weren't just gray, they were a rolling smoky blue-gray that reminded her of the Caribbean during a hurricane. And just as crazy, they made her think of a lounge chair on a swirling, sandy beach with the guy in front of her catering to every one of her fantasies.

Those mesmerizing eyes swept the length of her body. Lingered on her sweat-dampened s.h.i.+rt, clinging to her already overheated skin. The blood rus.h.i.+ng from her head at his obvious admiration was a clear reminder that even in the sweltering heat she was a woman, not just a scientist.

Which, right now, was a bad thing to have click into her brain.

His brows slowly lifted. "Are you offering me a job, Dr. Meyer?"

She swallowed at the s.e.xy sound of his voice. Smooth and deep and way better than she'd expected. Dammit. That voice was only going to fuel her already out of control fantasies.

She gave herself a mental slap. "No, actually, I wasn't. And it's not 'doctor.' Not yet, anyway. I was simply going to point out there's nothing new at this site you can learn, so your time would be better served back in Cairo. The tours of the Pyramids are astound-"

"I've taken the tours. They're not nearly as interesting as this one. Trust me."

Oh, man. Just the way he looked at her with that twinkle in his eyes and that sultry half grin made her think of s.e.x. Which was a very bad thing to be thinking of right now.

Remember, he's not a tourist.

"Mr.-"

"Pete." He took her right hand before she could protest, ran his fingers over her palm and looked down at where he held her. "Your skin is soft. Way softer than I expected considering the hours you must spend out here."

"I..." What was he doing? Though it was nine gazillion degrees, a s.h.i.+ver ran down her spine. "I use a lot of moisturizer," she managed before she realized how stupid she sounded. "You know, working...out here."

Whatever. Now she sounded like a complete moron. Now she sounded like a complete moron.

"I'd like to hear all about it."

Irritated with herself, she looked up into his eyes to let him have it, then stalled out when she felt that pull. The same one she'd felt every time he'd looked at her over the past few days. The one that made her stomach flop all over the place and her heart kick up in her chest to the beat of a marching band.

"You already did," she managed. "You've heard about it every day this week."

He smiled then, a slow and easy curve of his lips that highlighted the deep dimple in his left cheek.

Oh, boy. The man had dimples. She was in deep trouble here.

His finger traced a lazy circle against her palm. The tiny movement shot electricity up her arm, straight to her belly. "I want to hear more about you."

"I don't think that's such a good-"

"Trust me." He glanced at her name tag, then back to her face. "Katherine."

She swallowed, unable to pull her hand away or move back when he took a step closer. People were watching them, but part of her didn't care. d.a.m.n, he smelled good, too. Clean, fresh. A hint of leather and something spicy. She fought to keep from closing her eyes and drawing in a deep whiff.

"I generally go by Kat." Why was she telling him this? "To my friends. Not to, you know. Everyone."

Dear G.o.d, she was losing it.

"Kat. Yeah, that's better. Fits you." He moved closer still. "But I like Kit-Kat more."

Why did that insane nickname sound so d.a.m.n s.e.xy coming from his lips?

"Look, Pete. Um. Mr. Kauffman." Wow. She liked how his first name sounded way too much. "You seem like a nice guy." Oh, Lord. She was going to h.e.l.l for lying. He seemed like a s.e.x G.o.d, not in any way, shape or form a nice guy. "And I'm flattered. Really. But, um, I think you have the wrong idea about me."

"What idea would that be, Ms. Meyer?"

The twinkle in his eye said he was baiting her, and part of her wanted to go on playing. But common sense took control. "I'm working here."

He studied her a long moment. "I'll tell you what. It's clear I'm distracting you and that you'd prefer I quit hanging around your tomb, right?"

She nodded slowly, not entirely sure where he was headed.

"I'll make you a deal then." He smiled again, let go of her hand, and d.a.m.n if that dimple didn't wink at her. "Have dinner with me tonight."

"What?"

"Dinner. With me. Tonight. I pick the place. If you do, I'll stop bugging you. If you say no, well then..." He shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. "I'll just have to keep taking this tour until you change your mind."

The man was insane. He was willing to suffer through her boring tour and this sweltering heat just to get her attention? That was what he was doing here?

Shannon had been right.

"Well?"

She reached up to touch the chain that ran around her neck and disappeared beneath her s.h.i.+rt as she stared into those mesmerizing eyes. She should say no, but any guy who was willing to go through all that deserved to have a bone thrown his way. And it was only dinner, after all.

It wasn't like one meal would change her life.

Present day Cairo, Egypt Omar Kamil wasn't happy with the interruption.

He leaned across Rehema's long, naked body and reached for his cell phone, the one he'd left sitting on the nightstand just in case something urgent came up. He didn't bother to glance at the number, instead flipped it open and growled, "Matha?"

"We've got movement."

The heavily accented voice speaking English on the other end of the line drew his immediate attention, and he sat up.

Busir.

"Tell me," he said in English as well.

"She came out of hiding at the auction. You were right."

It was about d.a.m.n time.

Omar let out a long breath and leaned back against the ornately carved headboard in the Nile suite at the Cairo Four Seasons. Out the window across the bedroom, palm trees framed a view of soaring high-rises across the river, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Minutes before he could have cared less about the view. Now it was the most gorgeous picture he'd ever seen.

Six f.u.c.king years he'd been waiting for this call.

Rehema slid her hand across his abdomen, smiled a l.u.s.ty grin and pressed her lips to his belly b.u.t.ton. When she eased away as if to give him s.p.a.ce for his conversation, he threaded his fingers into her long black hair and pulled her head back to his stomach. She wasn't getting away now, not when he felt like celebrating. Especially not when she didn't understand a lick of English.

Knowing what he wanted, she slid lower and took him into her mouth. The breath that slipped from his lips was pure victory.

"Where are you keeping her?" he asked in a relaxed voice.

"We're not."

He lurched up. "What?"

Rehema gagged and fell backward against the mattress. A series of coughs racked her body, but Omar barely noticed. He leapt out of the bed and strode naked to the window. "What kind of idiot are you? She finally shows up and you lose her? Of all the G.o.dd.a.m.ned-"

"We had a...situation. The limo she's driving has a GPS tracking device, though. The service is paranoid about security. We've already got someone on it and have narrowed down her location. It's only a matter of hours before we apprehend her."

Omar could feel the blood pounding in his brain. His hand wavered as he ran it over his brow, mopped up sweat that had popped out on his forehead. The tightness in his chest made it hard to get air, so he focused on breathing deep. Slow. One, two, three. One, two, three.

He couldn't afford another heart attack over this. Not after he'd finally changed his diet and started exercising. He'd lost twenty f.u.c.king pounds from his beefy frame as a result, but weight loss hadn't been his goal. Staying alive was. He'd worked too long and hard to throw it all away now.

When he was sure his voice was calm, he said, "Explain to me how you lost her in a limousine, in downtown New York City. She's one woman in a car the size of a G.o.dd.a.m.ned boat!"

So much for calm. He took another deep breath.

"There was a...rush after the auction. We lost her in traffic. But we know where she is."

He was dealing with imbeciles. Didn't matter their affiliation or who they took their orders from. They were imbeciles just the same.

He rubbed a hand over his balding head in utter frustration. "You've mentioned that already. If that's the case why are you jabbering to me about it instead of going after her?"

"A nor'easter moved through the region. Roads are closed and power's out over a large chunk of the area. She's hunkered down to wait out the storm, but we've got her. We'll have her and the boyfriend within twenty-four hours."

The boyfriend.

Omar stared out at the city he'd grown up in, but hated with every fiber of his being. Keeping tabs on Peter Kauffman had finally paid off, just like he'd predicted. Did the man know she'd been in hiding all this time? Or had he been in on it with her right from start? Anything was possible, but one thing was certain. Keeping the antiquities dealer alive in the hopes that one day he'd serve as bait had been a stroke of sheer genius.

A wicked smile spread across his face.

Twenty-four hours. One day, and then he'd be free.

Once Katherine Meyer was safely back in Egypt, he could dispose of her as he'd fantasized for six long years.

The only question left was who would do it. Should he let Minyawi have his way with her first? Or would he do the deed himself?

A thousand different scenarios ran through his mind. And all sent his adrenaline surging.

Northern Pennsylvania The bitter cold woke him.

A s.h.i.+ver ran through Pete, rousing him from sleep. He blinked, opened his eyes and peered into utter darkness. For a moment he didn't know which way was up. Then he registered the frigid leather beneath his cheek and the dead weight of his arm pinned beneath his body.

He pushed up slowly and immediately regretted the movement. The dull throb he'd felt behind his eyes when he'd been lying down kicked up to the roar of a Dolphins game when he moved upright, and he closed his eyes again. He rubbed frozen fingers against his temples to abate the pounding in his skull and cringed as pain sliced through his skin.

What the...

He pulled his hand back, tried to squint to see what the wetness was on his fingers. It felt sticky and cold. Blood?

Okay, drinking himself into oblivion had been a really dumb idea, although he couldn't remember drinking anything after dropping Maria off at her apartment. He must have fallen somehow and hit his head. Regardless, a thirty-eight-year-old man should know better.

When he felt certain he wasn't going to black out, he opened his eyes and quickly realized something else wasn't right.

He was still in the limo. He could feel the cold Italian leather cradling his body, the hard floor at his feet. Around him was a blanket of some kind. He reached a hand out to test his surroundings and met vinyl and wood surrounding the wet bar.

He paused and listened, tried to figure out what was going on. The limo wasn't moving, the engine wasn't on, and there were no voices or even sounds for that matter.

Where was he? In an underground garage? If so, then where was the driver? Why had he been left in here all alone? And who had put this blanket on him?

His adrenaline shot up, and he moved closer to the window, cupped a hand against the gla.s.s and peered outside. Nothing. A black void met his eyes.

Slowly, and with cautious movements because his stomach was rebelling with every s.h.i.+ft, he moved to the other side of the vehicle and did the same. Through the tinted gla.s.s, he could just make out what looked like a dim light coming from a distance away. A door? It looked like it, cracked open a few inches. If so, he was definitely in some kind of garage or building.

He pushed toward the Mercedes' back door, caught the handle and gave it a shove. The exertion sent the pounding in his head up another notch, and he groaned. As he eased out of the vehicle, he wondered if staying inside hadn't been the smarter choice. It was f.u.c.king freezing out here.

He wrapped his arms around himself, pulled the tux jacket tight against his body to conserve heat, and took slow steps toward the door ahead. The light was soft, as if from a lamp, and warmth radiated from the room before he even reached the threshold.

Heat was good. No matter what was on the other side of that door, it was better than staying out here and freezing his nuts off.