Page 73

Constance snored softly in the other bed. Through the open windows of the hotel, Luxor was quiet. Ellie could hear only the trill of night birds and the distant, gentle creak of the wharves.

Her mind was troubled and restless, spinning with the remnants of unsettled dreams.

The light fabric of the curtains hung still, without so much as a ripple of a breeze. Constance let out a dreamy mumble.

“Never win… dastardly…” Constance rolled over, twisting in her sheets. “…Devilish kisses…”

Ellie was filled with the need to escape the room and feel open air on her skin. Throwing back the blankets, she swung her legs off the bed.

The concierge had left her and Constance a pair of the loose dark cloaks that Egyptian women typically wore to cover their regular clothes when they left home. Ellie slipped hers on over her galabeya and tiptoed out, pulling the door quietly shut behind her.

She found her way down to the veranda that ran along the front of the hotel, where she gave the twin statues of Sekhmet a commiserating glare. Leaving the stolen monuments behind, she moved to the end of the covered walkway, near to where the garden wall blocked her view of the black, still waters of the Nile.

She wished the wall was not there. She itched to go further, stealing up to the banks of the great river to sink her bare toes into its mud.

“Bad dreams?”

The voice rumbled softly from behind her. Ellie turned to see Adam leaning against the wall of the hotel, his lanky form swathed in shadows. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His feet were bare. The clothes he wore looked reasonably clean, which meant they had most likely been borrowed from someone else.

“What are you doing out here?” Her voice sounded hoarse—like a man in a desert who’d just spotted a drink of water.

Adam flashed her a slightly rueful smile and lifted his hand to reveal the orange ember of a cigar.

“Of course you are,” Ellie noted dryly. “And who is responsible for supplying you with those?”

“Hotel guy pointed me to the street with the shops,” Adam replied. “Probably because he could guess what the state of my socks would be in the morning without a swap. Might’ve happened to stumble across a tobacconist on my way to the socks.”

“Tripped right over it, I imagine.” Ellie’s gaze dropped to his exposed toes. “And where are the socks now?”

“My feet were hot.” Adam grinned at her.

The sight of that crooked, boyish smile sent a warm, heady feeling rushing through her. Ellie found herself exquisitely aware that they were alone together at an hour when they might remain uninterrupted and unobserved for quite some time. It invited notions that had her skin feeling hot despite the comfortable temperature of the night air—thoughts of how Adam’s lips would taste like cigar. Of what it would feel like for him to press her up against the wall of the hotel or make some wicked use of the sturdy wrought-iron table beside her.

The force of the desire rocked through her like lightning. Shewantedto feel it. She wanted to feelhim—every precious, infuriating inch of him.

“So I had a little… er,chatwith your brother back in Saqqara,” Adam offered awkwardly.

His words hit like a splash of cold water, breaking the dangerous spell that had been weaving around her.

“Fiddlesticks,” Ellie blurted.

“It wasn’tthatbad,” Adam countered.

“It wasn’t?” Ellie returned skeptically.

Adam shifted uncomfortably. “I mean… maybe it was a little bit that bad. But not… as bad as it could’ve been.” His expression firmed. “I did make it damned clear that none of this is your fault.”

A sense of exhaustion crept up around her like tendrils vining out from the paving stones.

“Adam, why are you using that word?” Ellie asked quietly.

“What word?” he pressed back, confused.

“Fault.”

He went still, the gold ember of the cigar continuing to burn in his hand. After a moment, he reached over to set it down on the ashtray that stood by the table. “I’m just trying to do the right thing, Ellie.”

“You said that before,” Ellie pointed out, even as the first silent wisps of fear tightened her throat. “But I don’t know what it means.”