I never lie in the bedroom. Or bathroom, for that matter. His words sprang into her head. Whatever else happens outside, no lies in the bedroom. Had he been trying to forewarn her? To make her understand that no matter what the Silver Fox did, what he, Heath, did and said to her in the bedroom was honest and true?
They’re the same person! She stood up, impatient and irritated with herself. She had to stop thinking about him as if he was schizophrenic. Heath had been very aware of his plans when he took her to bed the night before. He’d carried out it out coldly and methodically, taking what he wanted from her before making off with his loot. And the sooner she stopped thinking of the Silver Fox as his evil twin, the better.
Glancing up, she saw Alexander standing there, watching her. He had a newspaper under his arm, and had obviously been on his way to breakfast when he’d spotted her in the foyer.
She walked over to him and shoved the figurine into his hand. “Don’t say a word,” she warned, before marching off, trying not to be aware that he was staring at her unzipped dress and shoeless feet. She would go back to her room, have a shower, and get dressed.
Then she was going to sit down and plan her revenge.
Chapter 17
The business centre of the Xi’an Century Landscape Hotel in Xi’an, China, was packed with people. She slunk in quietly, Alexander right behind her, and they took a seat in the back row. It was a fair distance from the front of the room, and she crossed her fingers that when Heath took the podium, he wouldn’t be able to pick them out of the crowd. She pulled her baseball cap further down. She was determined he wouldn’t recognize her until she was ready.
She glanced at the program in her hand, dated December fifteenth. Eight days since Cairo. It had proved to be a busy month for archaeology, which often happened in the lead up to Christmas while museums sorted out their exhibits for the New Year. Te Papa Museum, Wellington, was the first museum making a bid for the newly-discovered batch of Terracotta Warriors with its magnificent bronze chariot and horses, excavated in the recently opened Pit 4 east of the Emperor Qin’s Mausoleum. The new warriors, unlike the seven thousand other excavated figures, exhibited much clearer paint fragments, and the British Museum was desperate to acquire them for its new exhibit. Its first exhibition of a selection of Warriors in 2007 had been hugely successful, and it was keen to repeat the event.
She was hopeful the British Museum would win the bid. Te Papa had just had a similar exhibit, and the British Museum had a higher profile with the Chinese than the Kiwi museum, to her glee. Dr Heath Roberts, speaking for Te Papa, was the first to speak, followed by two other speakers for museums in Italy and Germany, and then she would be last.
Alexander reached out and squeezed her hand, but didn’t say anything. She gave him a quick smile. He was worried about her. The lead up to Christmas was never a good time for her, but she was aware she’d been more withdrawn than normal that year. He’d guessed it was something to do with what happened in Cairo, but she wasn’t sure if he’d suspected the truth.
The fact was that although she was mad at Heath—and she was still mad at him—the emotion that had been forefront in her mind since returning from Egypt had not been anger.
It might have something to do with the two dozen red roses that had appeared on her doorstep the day after she got home from Cairo.
The doorbell had gone around ten in the morning. Cat had been working in the study, writing a paper for an archaeology magazine, and when Alexander had called out that he was nearest, she hadn’t quibbled. The next thing she knew, he stood at the door to the study swamped by the biggest bouquet she’d ever seen.
Her original thought was that Alexander had ordered them himself. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d bought her flowers—every year on her birthday he bought her some, and occasionally on a special occasion, such as when she’d got her PhD. But never for Christmas. He knew she hated that time of year.
She could also tell by the look on his face that he hadn’t sent them.
“Who are they from?” she asked, already knowing.
In reply, he handed her the card, plonked the roses on her desk, gave her a look that said You’ve got to be kidding me, and walked out of the room.
She sat there and looked at the tiny envelope for a while before opening it, but eventually slit it open and read the card inside.
Someone once advised me, ‘But he that dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose’, so here I am, grasping the thorn and contacting you when I promised I wouldn’t. Merry Christmas, Catherine. You are ‘always, always in my mind’. H x
She propped the card up on her desk and sat staring at it with her hands over her mouth. Her heart pounded so hard she thought she might pass out. After a while, however, she returned to her laptop and typed the second phrase he’d quoted into the search engine. “You are always, always in my mind.” What had he been referring to?
There were several possibilities. One was a country music song recorded by Elvis, amongst many others, called “Always on my Mind”. But he hadn’t written on my mind, he’d written in my mind, and he’d repeated “always” twice. She knew she didn’t have the right reference.
After several minutes of thought, inspiration struck. She typed in the phrase again, adding “Catherine” at the end. This time a quote by Emily Brontë popped up, something Catherine Earnshaw had said to the housekeeper, about Heathcliff being always, always in her mind.
A shiver slid down her spine. She sat back and pulled up her knees, wrapping her arms around them. What was he trying to say? That he missed her—that she was always in his mind? Or was he teasing her that he was always in her mind? And if so, how the hell did he know she couldn’t stop thinking about him? And was he implying he didn’t want to be apart from her? That he wanted to see her again?
Damn the man! How dare he be so romantic and charming after walking out on her in Cairo? And stealing her beautiful Bastet figurine! She’d been tempted to throw the roses away to prove he meant nothing to her, but after she spent several hours of putting them in the bin and getting them out again, Alexander had finally found her a vase and told her the flowers hadn’t done anything wrong and would she please stop torturing them. For the next week they’d sat on her desk, the card propped by the vase. Alexander had read it and listened as she told him about the quote from Wuthering Heights. She’d added that his real name was Heathcliff. Alexander had just given a short, humourless laugh before walking out of the room, and he hadn’t mentioned it again.
Now, halfway across the world, the thought of the words on the card still caused her to shiver, even as they made her eyes narrow. Heath had to stop doing this, stop chasing her. The only reason she’d agreed to go to bed with him in Cairo was that he’d assured her she’d never hear from him again. Well, that and the guarantee of multiple orgasms, but that was beside the point. He’d broken his promise, lied to her, again.
And that was what had brought her to China. When she’d heard the British Museum wanted a representative to put forward its case for the new Terracotta Warriors and that someone from Te Papa was also going to be there, Cat had jumped at the chance. She’d asked Alexander to come along for company, as well as for moral support. He was mad at Heath for both leaving her and taking the statue, and she could only imagine what he was going to do, or say, when he eventually met the younger man face-to-face. But then Heath deserved it.
Rustling began at the front of the room, and a Chinese official took the microphone from the podium. He said something in Chinese first, and then he welcomed everyone to the hotel in English and explained briefly the order of events. Finally, he introduced the first speaker, Dr Heath Roberts from the New Zealand museum.
Cat slumped a little lower in her seat as Heath walked out. In the week they’d been apart, she’d forgotten what a physical affect his mere appearance could have on her. As she looked him up and down, her heart rate increased and her cheeks grew hot. Alexander glanced at her, but
she didn’t look back at him.
Heath wore a dark grey, three-piece suit, a light blue shirt, and a blue-and-grey tie, which complemented his silver hair perfectly. He towered over the tiny Chinese translator standing next to him, once again reminding Cat of his tall and powerful frame – something she didn’t tend to notice ordinarily because of his quiet, unassuming manner.
He was also, surprisingly, wearing glasses. Did that mean he’d been wearing lenses when she’d seen him before? The frames were modern, black and rectangular, and made him look very professorial.
Briefly, he ran his gaze over the crowd. He would be aware she was there somewhere because her name was also on the program, but he didn’t have time to search properly, and his eyes didn’t alight on her. He smiled at the crowd and began to speak, pausing every couple of sentences for his words to be translated into Chinese. He made a great case for Te Papa, speaking clearly and with conviction, obviously passionate about the subject, sounding authoritative on the Warriors and the other artefacts uncovered at the site.
When he’d finished, he waited politely for the translator to stop and then asked the crowd if anyone had a question. A couple of people asked for more details on various aspects of Te Papa and its exhibits. Cat waited until they’d finished. Finally, she removed her baseball cap and shook out her blonde hair. Then she stood, raising her hand.
Chapter 18
Heath looked over at her. His eyebrows shot up, and a big smile spread across his face. Cat squished the feeling of pleasure his look gave her and surveyed him coolly.
He grinned. “Dr Livingstone!”
“Good afternoon, Dr Roberts. That was a very convincing case you made there.”
“Thank you.” He studied her for a moment, his eyes warm, prompting a ripple of whispers across the room. “You have a question?”
“I do.” She cleared her throat. “You mentioned the expertise of Te Papa’s treatment bay. You are aware a steady temperature is necessary to make sure some of these exhibits don’t crack? Only I’ve heard you’re having trouble with some of your processes cooling too rapidly. Going from nought to sixty in three and a half seconds isn’t always a good thing.”
She’d thrown him, on more than one level, she could see, watching as he brushed a speck of dirt from the podium, the corner of his mouth twitching. A contact at Te Papa had tipped off Alexander that the museum had experienced problems in its treatment bay.
He raised his gaze back to Cat as the man next to him finished translating her question. She’d wondered if he would be annoyed, but he smiled, and when he spoke his voice was warm. “The problem you’re mentioning, Dr Livingstone, is a very minor one; something we would fix before the Terracotta Warrior exhibit arrives. Our technicians are very skilled, and none of our exhibits has experienced any damage as a result of temperature changes. We are very careful to keep a close eye on the condition of our artefacts.”
He tipped his head, his gaze challenging and amused. “You, of all people, should know that to keep everything in working order you need regular servicing.”
Cat’s cheeks burned. Regular servicing indeed!
“Do you have any other questions?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” she mumbled, and sat down. Alexander looked at her out of the corner of his eye, but she still refused to turn and look at him.
Heath answered one more question from the crowd and then the translator thanked him and everyone clapped as he left the room. Cat stood and headed for the door as the Italian speaker came forward to take the podium.
In the corridor outside, she turned and saw she’d guessed correctly—Heath was heading toward her, smiling. “Well, good afternoon,” he said, stopping in front of her. “That was a sneaky shot. I’m guessing that was Alex’s doing.”
“We have contacts.” She lifted her chin, trying to look him in the eye. She was wearing high-heeled boots under her navy trousers because it was so cold in Xi’an, but she still wasn’t anywhere near his height.
He reached up and slipped off his glasses. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Oh no.” She shook her head. “Put them back on.”
“What?” He looked puzzled.
“I don’t want to speak to you—I want to speak to the Silver Fox. Put them back on.”
Heath stared at her, blinking once or twice, then gradually started to smile. “Lois Lane, I have to remind you, we’re one and the same—”
“Yada, yada, put the damn glasses back on. I can’t concentrate when you’re looking at me like that.”
Giving a short laugh, he slid the black frames on and folded his arms. “There. Better?”
“Yes.” She glared at him. “I’m so furious with you I could punch you into next week.”
“You’d hit a man wearing glasses?”
“Heath…”
“I’m not Heath, I’m the Silver Fox, remember?”
She rubbed her forehead. “You stole my figurine.”
“Well you stole my necklace.”
“What are you, twelve?”
“At least I paid for mine,” he reminded her.
“I tore up the cheque.”
“Well that’s nothing to do with me.” He fixed her with a determined stare. “You started it, remember? Back in Sweden. I didn’t even know who you were.”
“I know. You were just out to seduce some young, vulnerable female.”
“Seduce?” He looked at her over the top of his glasses. “I don’t think you can give me a lecture on seduction.”
She glared at him, annoyed that his warm hazel eyes could still send a frisson of delight through her. “You deserved everything you got.”
He smiled lazily. “Oh, yeah.”
She flushed again. “And what did you mean, ‘to keep everything in working order you need regular servicing’?”
He laughed outright at that. “I was referring to the treatment bay.”
“Of course you were.” A couple of people were walking down the corridor and she stepped closer to him to get out of their way. Up close, she could smell his aftershave, warmed by his body, and see the very slight hint of stubble on his chin. She could remember vividly the rasp of that stubble on her thigh.
He smiled. “Did you get the flowers?”
She shook her hair back. “Yes. I put them straight in the bin.”
“Oh.” For a fleeting second, he looked disappointed.
Feeling a twinge of guilt at the fib, she said, “You promised you wouldn’t contact me. That was part of the deal.”
“I lied.”
“So I see. The Silver Fox doesn’t seem to have many scruples.”
“As few as the Black Cat, I believe.”
“Touché.” She looked deep into his eyes. She had to ask. “Was it all a lie? Everything you said?” Her voice came out as a whisper.
He lowered his arms and slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Which of us are you talking to now?”
Reaching up, she removed his glasses carefully, revealing his hazel eyes, filled with warmth. They studied each other for a moment. This close up, she could remember being in the shower with him, his muscled arms and chest shining from the water, him sliding inside her so slowly and sensually she’d been in a sexual haze. Her heart pounding, she closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, his eyes held tenderness, and the merest hint of desire.
“I don’t lie in the bedroom,” he murmured. “Remember?” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m crazy about you, Cat, can’t you tell? I’m sorry if the roses upset you. I just wanted you to know, you really are always, always, in my mind.”
She bit her lip. “Don’t chase me, Heath. I’m not good for you.”
His hand lingered on her neck, stroking her hair. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“I’m damaged goods,” she whispered. “You should keep away.”
A frown flickered across his forehead. In answer, he slipped his hand behind he
r head and lowered his mouth to hers.
She didn’t move, fighting back tears. His lips were soft, and he kissed her very gently, light kisses, intending to comfort, console. It was she who opened her mouth, stepped closer, and deepened the kiss, bringing her arms around his neck, and she sighed as he slid his around her tightly. Oblivious to anyone else in the corridor, they kissed for a long moment, until eventually she drew back, breathing heavily.
She pressed trembling fingers to his lips. “Don’t fall for me, Heath. It won’t end well.”
“Too late.” He kissed her hand and smiled.
A movement from behind them caught his attention, and she looked around to see Alexander watching them from the doorway. Heath nodded toward the room. “You’re up in a minute. You should go.”
She cursed under her breath, aware of Alexander’s glare. Damn it. She was going to get it in the ear later. She straightened her jacket and handed Heath back his glasses, then turned and walked away to the other entrance to the business centre.
Heath watched her go, noting her smart navy pants suit and her black high-heeled boots with approval before turning his gaze back to Alexander. The old man had come into the corridor, leaning on his cane. He walked up to Heath now, his face filled with dislike.
“If I were a younger man, I’d knock you flat on your back right now,” he snapped.
Heath slid his glasses back on. “I’m guessing I have you to thank for that dig about the treatment centre?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Alexander’s eyes could have stripped paint. “How dare you think you can shoehorn yourself back into her life after what you did to her in Cairo?”
Heath narrowed his eyes. “I’m guessing she didn’t tell you about what happened in Jukkasjärvi?”
“I know you began your little seduction game in Sweden.”
Heath laughed. “I didn’t think so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Heath folded his arms. “Let’s just say the Bastet figurine was taken in payment for the necklace.”
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