style="font-size:15px;"> Chapter Three
How is it possible that someone who looks as if she was dropped straight from heaven can spoil one of the finest meals I’ve eaten in months? That delicious sea bass, which Harad ordered with only a tiny hint of prodding on my part, is rumbling around in my stomach now because Madame Taurus has given me indigestion. I’m going to call her Madame Taurus because she must have been born under the sign of the bull.
Amelia Corbet, for all of her blond hair and blue eyes, can curdle cream. That woman is so stubborn, if she drowned they’d have to search for her upstream. And I can see the look in her eyes. She’s going to insist on going into the desert. She’s going to hire a guide and take off across the sand like it’s some kind of picnic.
The more Harad argues with her, the more determined she’s going to become. He finally caught on to that—he just zipped his lip and walked away. Washed his hands of the whole situation, I dare say.
So that leaves me to look out for Madame Taurus. Boy, I’ve worked with some strong women in my time, but I don’t think a single one of them could hold a candle to Amelia Corbet. Darth Vader would consider backing up from her.
All of this might be amusing, except I see a terrible picture in my future. It involves a horse, sand, sun, thirst and a lot of other unpleasant things. Most of the time, I feel my black suit is the purrfect attire for any occasion. There is one place, though, for which I am not properly dressed, and that is the dang-blasted desert.
I have no choice but to go. Eleanor and Peter are going to be fried at me. They’ve warned me that they won’t wait for me. I know that isn’t true, but I’m also a realist. How long can they wait? Harad said a two-week excursion. Something tells me I’d better get my name and address sewn into my underfur. I’m going to be on my own.
Thanks to all this tension, my tummy feels like World War II is being replayed inside. I need an Alka-Seltzer. Oh, this is not my idea of fun, and I’m not even getting paid for all this worry.
Time to get moving. Amelia is headed up to her room, and I’d better keep an eye on her. She’s trouble on two very lovely legs. This is going to be a long, long night.
THE EVENING had turned slightly cool, and Harad was thankful for the sea breeze against his heated face. He’d been so angry at Amelia that he had walked away before he said something he would regret. There were plenty of things he’d wanted to say—things about her stupidity and arrogance and stubbornness. But those were things best left unvoiced. For all her tough business experience, Amelia was a pampered American. It would take only a day or two in the desert to make her change her mind.
At the thought of her tired and sore from the rolling git of a camel, he found a glimmer of satisfaction. A bit of hardship might soften her tough attitude. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to see that Amelia Corbet was a woman used to the finer things in life.
She’d been so perfectly turned out at dinner. The coral of the dress was matched by her lipstick and nail polish. The hint of eye shadow had brightened the crystal blue of her eyes. That moment, when she’d leaned forward, caught up in his story, he’d caught a glimpse of cleavage, and the ivory sheen of her skin had made him want to press his lips there. He could still smell the delicate perfume she wore, warmed by her body heat. Even the memory of it was powerful enough to make him close his eyes for a moment.
At the thought of kissing her, his blood grew more heated, and he forced himself to walk. The last thing he needed was to stand around on a street corner and fantasize about a spoiled American woman who was girding her loins to make his next two weeks a living misery.
He thought briefly of finding a local guide to take her, but there was no one he trusted. There were many good guides, but none who would have the fortitude to lead Amelia to the conclusion she needed to draw—Paris was where she ought to be. He found himself caught on the horns of a dilemma. Though Beth would surely want to see her sister, especially when she and Omar celebrated their wedding, Harad wasn’t certain that Amelia could be trusted with the secret location of the lost City of Con. It would be best for all if Amelia came to visit when Beth and Omar returned to Alexandria.
Omar had decided to risk that knowledge with Beth, but Harad was not willing to do the same with Amelia. He’d put his heritage and his people in second place once before, when he’d refused the role of leader. He would not do it a second time.
The immediate problem was the desert trip. He would have to trick Amelia into accepting him as a guide. She trusted him less than he trusted her—and he smiled at that thought.
How to convince her? Amelia was far too smart to simply sign on to the idea that he’d changed his mind and decided to follow her orders. Circumstances would have to be such that when he appeared at her campsite, it would be as her rescuer. At the thought of her, blue eyes filled with gratitude, he increased the pace of his walking. That would be a first for Amelia Corbet. He’d be willing to wager a large sum that she’d never been grateful to a man for a single thing in her life.
It was time to change that.
There was little time for bemoaning what had to be done, so he used his cell phone to call his car and driver and began to make preparations for the trip.
In the center of town was a man who provided camels and equipment for excursions into the desert. Harad had done business with him before and knew the animals he leased were healthy and well cared for. Though it was not regular business hours, Harad had his driver go there. He would also need tents and supplies—and he would keep the receipts. Somewhere along the way, Amelia Corbet had to learn that her hardheadedness was a costly vice.
CHEEKS STILL red with righteous indignation, Amelia closed the door of her suite none too gently. She saw the swinging door barely miss the black cat’s tail as he darted into her room. The creature had followed her from the restaurant and had plopped himself in the middle of her bed, as if it was his right.
“I’m not a pushover like the Egyptians,” she warned him.
The black cat stared her right in the eyes and used his back legs to push her suitcase onto the floor. The leather case hit the floor with an impressive smack.
“Hey!” She started walking toward him with the intention of picking him up and putting him out of the room. His tail flicked once as he reclined, watching her. When she reached out to pick him up, she heard a low, deadly growl. The sound halted her in her tracks. She’d never heard anything more adamant.
Amelia turned abruptly and reached for the telephone. Just as she started to dial the front desk for assistance with cat removal, Familiar sprang to his feet and caught the rotary dial with his sharp claws. He gave a low growl of warning.
Very slowly Amelia lowered the phone back into its cradle. She stared into the cat’s golden gaze. “I don’t know what you want, but you can’t sleep on the bed.”
The cat walked back across the bed, turned in a circle once and then settled into a ball. In what seemed like seconds, he was sound asleep and purring.
Amelia sat on the edge of the bed and examined the feline. She’d never met an animal with such presence. J.J. was a sweet and lovable mutt, but he bent over backward to please her. This cat was another matter. She had the distinct impression that he had it fully in mind to bend her to his will.
“We’ll see about that,” she whispered softly. The cat’s whiskers twitched and he opened his eyes. His golden-green gaze was calm, and then he yawned.
Amelia
