by Meg Ripley
“Yes.”
“I should take no offense to your sudden need to depart?”
“You’re welcome to take offense if you’d like, but I do believe it would be less of a blow to your ego if we agree we’re both rather in a rush this morning. Don’t you agree?”
Her smile remained intact, though it wasn’t a scathing one; it was light and teasing. And if he was paying less attention, he’d probably chalk it up to a polite brush-off.
But he was paying attention. Sure, even he could admit it was possible a woman might not be interested.
But not this woman.
The pulse in the slender column of her neck had sped up since he’d sat down, her pupils had begun to dilate, and though he was certain she wasn’t aware of it, she was leaning toward him more every minute. And oh god, her scent; she wasn’t just interested, she was aroused, and the scent of her had him fighting against a raging hard-on. And yet, despite her attraction to him, she was still eager to send him on his way.
Maybe that was part of her allure; part of the reason he wasn’t ready to get up and walk away. It was clear she wasn’t the type of woman to fawn over the rich and famous, and that made her a challenge: a woman he would have to win all on his own merit. And wouldn’t the payoff be all the sweeter for it? An image of that payoff flashed through his mind and he gritted his teeth against the rush of arousal that crashed over him.
“I’ll tell you what; I’ll get out of here on one condition.”
“Oh, and what condition is that, if I may ask?”
How the hell could a woman look and sound so prim and proper, and yet seem so damn seductive at the same time? he pondered. “You agree to join me this evening for dinner.”
“In order to part company now and avoid a few moments of awkward conversation, you expect me to spend the evening with you?”
“That’s the gist of it.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I just got up and walked away?”
“Perhaps. But you won’t.”
Sure, it was a bit cocky of him, but true, nonetheless. He could feel it.
“Oh, I won’t?” Her smile grew even brighter, making it apparent he wasn’t the only one who liked a challenge. “Good day, Mr. Hunter,” she bid him as she gathered her scalloped-shaped bag in one hand, stood up and started toward the sidewalk, her hips swaying enticingly with every step.
Damn. He hadn’t been expecting that. In fact, he’d been so caught up in her body’s response to him that he hadn’t even thought about what he’d do if she turned him down. Of course, no contingency plan he could have thought up would have involved him standing up and rushing to follow in her wake—which was precisely what he was in the midst of doing. What the hell was wrong with him?
He caught up to her quickly, his long, determined strides overtaking hers. “I’m going to take a stab in the dark and guess you’re not in Las Vegas on a pleasure jaunt.”
“Why is that? Because I’m not falling at your feet as so many other women do? Certainly, any woman with pleasure on her mind must jump at the opportunity to spend the night with the infamous Noah Hunter.”
“But I’m not wrong, am I?”
“No, you’re not wrong; I’m here on…business. You’re also stalking me, Mr. Hunter.”
“I’m walking beside you, not behind you. Remember? Not stalking.”
“Well, thank goodness for the clarification. Tell me, are you always this persistent?”
That brought him up short. The fact was no, he wasn’t. Then again, no one had ever appealed to him on so many levels, from the innate to the intellectual. Still, if he was using the least bit of common sense, he’d be getting far away from this woman who seemed to possess some strange sway over him.
“What business are you in, Claire?” he asked, not wanting to think about why the hell he wasn’t putting an end to this foolish pursuit, and needing to think about something other than the way her glossy lips glistened in the sun; how the rise and fall of her chest pressed her breasts enticingly against the V-cut bodice of her dress.
“I don’t see why it’s relevant, but if you must know, I’m an archaeologist.”
Suddenly, it clicked. He knew he’d heard her name before, when he’d made a hefty purchase from the British Museum a year prior. But when he’d heard the name back then, he’d never imagined Claire Thomas would be a twenty-something beauty who got more interesting by the minute. “You’re a rather accomplished woman for someone so young, are you not?”
Her steps slowed as suspicion flickered in her eyes, but she covered it up quickly. “Oh well, when other children were playing with dolls and building blocks, I was exploring Megalithic temples and deciphering stone tablets.”
“Sounds like you had an interesting childhood.”
She was silent then, and he was beginning to think he’d turned down the wrong conversation road. He really should accept that he was sunk and abandon this ship, but he wasn’t going to do that. He wanted her, not just her body—though he certainly had every intention of getting his hands on that—but something more, something that had never mattered to him before.
As long as they were two consenting adults having a good time, ‘something more’ had never made a difference to him, but it did now. He wanted the woman beneath this cool exterior because she was more than just a nice set of tits and a pair of great legs. He had a feeling Claire Thomas was unforgettable, worth every bit of effort it took to get her.
“Look, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I think it would be a shame to miss out on an opportunity to get to know one another. I would very much like the chance to get to know you, Claire. Have dinner with me this evening.”
She stopped walking altogether and looked up at him. He wasn’t even going to guess at what she was thinking, given how wrong he’d been up to this point. He was never wrong like this. After spending so much time amongst them, he could read them almost as clearly as if they spoke their thoughts aloud. And yet this woman was an enigma that had him guessing wrong at every turn.
“Alright, Noah, one dinner; but only if you agree to find some other toy with which to amuse yourself thereafter.”
She was a very well-spoken woman for one from a generation that seemed to spend more time texting in acronyms and emoji than speaking in polished English. Why that mattered to him, he didn’t know, but he found he liked that this beauty was an intelligent woman.
“I think any man who thought of you as nothing more than a toy is a fool. But alright, if you want nothing to do with me after, I won’t bother you again.”
“Fair enough,” she conceded.
He reached out and clasped her hand in agreement, more for an excuse to touch her in some way than to formally seal the deal. But he’d barely felt the soft skin of the palm of her hand when she pulled away abruptly, though not before he’d seen blatant lust blaze hot in her eyes.
Or had he felt it? Strange, but he’d swear it wasn’t only his own desire that had coursed through his veins, it was hers.
And fear; her fear. A fear of her own response to him?
How it was possible for him to feel what she felt, he didn’t know. But as irrational as it was, it left him without a doubt in his mind that Claire Thomas wanted him as much as he wanted her, so much that it scared her. If he could get her to let her guard down just a little that night, the result would be cataclysmic.
“I’ll see you this evening, Noah. Eight-o-clock?” she asked a little breathlessly, though she had already taken a step in the opposite direction.
“Seven, and I’ll meet you outside your lobby.”
She nodded, but before he could say anything else, she turned and started down the street, fumbling in her bag and pulling out a pair of gloves, which she tugged onto her hands with jagged movements.
Was that why she’d recoiled from him? Was she a germaphobe? No, that couldn’t be it. She’d had her bare hands on a coffee cup from the café when he’d first spotted her. And she placed her hands on the table in fron
t of her when she’d stood.
Damn, could the woman possibly be more of a conundrum?
Well, he was going to find out—unless she reneged on their agreement and he wound up alone outside her hotel lobby. He’d think it unlikely, but had learned in the space of a few minutes that there was no point in speculating what the exquisite Claire Thomas would or wouldn’t do.
Chapter 3
The day passed far more quickly than Claire would have liked. It always happened that way; time slowed to a crawl when one wished for it to fly, and it rushed headlong when one would sacrifice a great deal to make it sluggish. She stood now in front of her hotel room’s mirror, turning this way and that, merely delaying the inevitable. The dress looked fine; it clung to her midriff and hips, and fell beautifully just past her knees—a shortened replica of Jean Harlow’s signature gown.
Some people no doubt found her odd, swathing herself in clothes from the 1930s and 40s, but they didn’t know how rightly the fashion suited her. She could still remember the first time her uncle had taken her to see Miss Harlow star in Hell’s Angels, a wholly inappropriate film for a fourteen-year-old girl at the time. Uncle William might not always have been the most responsible parental figure—at least, according to some.
She turned abruptly away from the mirror, well aware of what she was doing. She was letting her mind wander down memory lane rather than facing the inevitable evening that lay ahead. What on Earth had she been thinking? Agreeing to a dinner date with that man? He was a rich, cocky Don Juan with a color about him that she couldn’t remember ever experiencing before.
And yet, beyond his physical appeal, there had been something about him that drew her nearer despite her better judgment; something as unique to him as the aura that clung to him. But the moment he’d taken her hand, she felt it, with a clarity and congruity she’d never known. Combined with his desire, the heat coursing through her body threatened to overwhelm her. She’d never felt fire so hot in her veins and the unfamiliarity had scared her, making her flee as quickly as possible.
Now she was about to walk right back to him? She could always back out and leave him standing in the hotel lobby until he realized she wasn’t coming, but she wasn’t going to do that. As confused as she was by what she saw in him and what he’d made her feel, she was also curious what it was that was so different about this man.
And there was only one way to find out.
She left her hotel room and arrived in the front lobby at exactly five minutes to seven. Despite the people and traffic milling about, it only took her two seconds to spot Noah. It bothered her that it wasn’t only her eyes that had found him without difficulty; she’d felt him, the dark and alluring aura that clung to him standing out even more than his almost six-foot, four-inch frame. He was dressed in the same impeccable style as he’d been in at the variety show, leaning casually against what she was certain was the most expensive car she’d ever seen.
He found her then, picking her out of the crowd as easily as she’d spotted him. And two minutes later, they were speeding away from the hotel, though she couldn’t help thinking the whole time that this was a bad idea. A horrible idea, in fact, because nothing had ever felt so right.
***
“It seems we’ve missed the party,” she observed dryly, wondering what he was up to after he’d parked in the empty lot of the Las Vegas Natural History Museum. It wasn’t unusual for a museum to close so early in the evening, but it did make her wonder why they were walking toward the empty building. Thanks to her research the other night, she knew that Noah was supposed to be hosting a charity dinner at his hotel this evening. That was the ‘dinner date’ she’d been anticipating.
“Not at all. We’re right on time.”
At that precise moment, the door to the museum opened wide and a uniformed man stepped out, holding the door for them. Peering inside, there were no more people inside the museum than there were outside of it. So, it didn’t appear that the event had been moved to the museum.
“Aren’t you expected somewhere else this evening?” She eyed him dubiously, waiting for an explanation.
“I told you I wanted to get to know you, Claire, and that would hardly be possible if there were throngs of people milling about. And since I have no doubt every man around would be salivating over you, I’d likely spend the whole evening vying for your attention.”
He really was a smooth talker. She could easily see why the man had a different woman on his arm every night. Even without the money and public persona, she imagined he wouldn’t have any difficulty in that department. Which then begged the question, why was he so interested in her? He’d been persistent this afternoon, as if she was his last hope for snagging a date to the big event, but she knew that wasn’t true. He could have had his pick of hundreds of women without having to lift a finger.
“Why am I here, Noah?” There was no point in beating around the bush, and she wasn’t the kind of woman to do it even if there was. Enough of her life was shrouded in secrets that she preferred to keep as little in the dark as possible.
“You’re an intriguing and attractive woman,” he replied matter-of-factly, no differently than if she’d asked him the time or the weather.
“But you could have had any number of intriguing and attractive women. Why would you have gone to the effort when I obviously wasn’t making it easy on you?”
“Because I have a feeling there isn’t a woman in all the world quite like you, Claire Thomas.” He smiled then, a boyish grin that almost made her forget that the plan was to get out of there as quickly as possible.
“So, tell me about yourself,” he said as he offered her his arm and drew her with him into the museum’s lobby.
She took it hesitantly, now not entirely certain the thin fabric between them would be enough to keep from feeling what she had when he’d touched her earlier, but it was. She wrapped her hand around his arm and felt a tingle of awareness ripple through her body, making a small part of her wish for things that couldn’t be. At least she was certain it was only her own response she was feeling.
“There isn’t really much to tell, I’m afraid,” she started into the cover story she’d regurgitated hundreds of times. “I was raised by my great-uncle, an archaeologist, and I followed in his footsteps.”
“And from what I understand, you’re well on your way to exceeding his fame in the profession already.”
“That’s very kind of you to say.” But what he’d said made her pause, knowing it was true and reminding her that she’d allowed herself to continue in the field for far too long already. It had been a difficult balance; her accomplishments had opened the doors to professional courtesies that had helped her in her search, but they had also put a definitive time limit on how long she could make use of them. Before too much longer, she would have to disappear again, and she wouldn’t have the ability to start over in the same field because of her reputation.
The stark, cold truth was she was running out of time.
“But there’s more to you, certainly,” he goaded as he brought them to a stop in front of an Egyptian sarcophagus.
This piece was authentic, she could tell by the worn state of the carvings in the stone. Next to it, the Golden Shrine, which she knew was a recreation but it was beautiful nonetheless, inlaid with gold and decorated with Isis’s tyet-knot amulets and hieroglyphs of Osiris. She fought back the rush of emotion that brought tears to her eyes. She’d spent a good many years excavating and examining alongside her uncle, but the Egyptians were his favorite.
“There really isn’t much to tell,” she insisted, ignoring the lump in her throat and forcing her mind back to Noah’s question. She felt the prickle of apprehension that tickled the back of her neck whenever someone tried to pry beyond her professional façade. “I happen to be one of those odd people who enjoys my work, and it occupies a great deal of my time.”
He eyed her suspiciously, and though he looked about ready to pry further, he seemed to aban
don it at the last moment. “So, tell me about your work then.”
“Well, I specialize in ethnoarchaeology and cognitive archaeology…”
“And those are?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Basically, I study the material remains, and the ideologies and belief systems of previous civilizations.”
“Interesting. So, you want to know not just how people lived, but why they lived that way.”
“Exactly.” She was pleased he understood that. It took most people a lot longer to piece together what she did. She smiled up at him, but immediately regretted it. His eyes, filled with a smoldering heat that was even more captivating than the emerald color of his irises, heated every inch of her body from the inside, out, and made her forget about everything but the man in front of her.
This was foolish, stupid…and pointless. She couldn’t give in to what her body so desperately wanted. She just couldn’t. But damn it, she couldn’t bring herself to walk away either.
“It’s your turn,” she said, needing to focus on something other than the fire that was threatening to consume her. “Tell me all about Noah Hunter.”
“Actually, Claire, you told me about your job, not about you, but I think that probably told me more than you expected, so I’ll reciprocate.”
“Did it now?” She hoped not.
“Yes, actually. I know that you thought very highly of your uncle; he was probably the most positive influence in your life, which made it only natural for you to follow in his footsteps. But I bet his subspecialty differed from yours. You’re like him, yes, but you’re also your own person, and found you could express that in the area you chose to pursue. But I would also guess that you take a great deal of pride in what you do.”
Well, most of what he said was true enough, and since he hadn’t touched upon anything that might send off warning signals, she smiled, nodding in appreciation of his analysis.
“Alright, now you were going to reciprocate, weren’t you?”
And he did as they passed by the next exhibit, though she felt like he was choosing his words carefully, not revealing any more of himself than he wished for her to know.
