“I love this ankh.” She cradled the tiny cross with the looped top in her palm, the ubiquitous Egyptian symbol of life. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Let me buy it for you.”
She blinked in surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” He suddenly did, very much.
“A good choice,” the salesman approved. “The symbol of life.” A huge grin split his face beneath his prominent nose.
Donovan pulled out a credit card. “How much?”
“One hundred fifty.”
“Fifty,” he countered.
“Impossible! I lose money. But for the pretty lady, I will make it one hundred thirty.”
“Sixty.”
The salesman looked offended. “I cannot take so little, not for eighteen-karat gold.”
Jess peered closely at the back of the ankh. “Fourteen karat.”
“Ah, my mistake. One twenty, then. Very fair.”
“Seventy is very fair. I’ll give you eighty.”
He started to shake his head, and Jess dropped the ankh as if resigned to losing the sale, letting it swing from its tiny display hook. “Eighty,” the salesman agreed quickly, grabbing the credit card.
She smiled. “Thank you, Tyler, that’s very nice of you.”
“You need something to remind you of this trip.” And to remind you of me, he thought, because it was suddenly imperative that she remember him fondly.
The salesman released the necklace from its hook. “I will put it in a box for you.”
“No, please. I’d like to wear it.”
She held her hand out but Donovan snatched the necklace first, opening the chain to put it on her. She studied him with a smile as if she could read his mind, understood his sudden feeling of possession, and was amused by it.
When had the scared little rabbit become so confident?
Part of it had been today—he’d watched it happen. She’d slipped into her role of Mrs. Hassan, the privileged, confident wife of a wealthy businessman, and had owned the part. Her knowledge of ancient Egypt had allowed her to feel sure of herself, and she’d run with it. He’d been impressed, something he hadn’t even taken the time to tell her yet. Apparently he didn’t have to, she was obviously thrilled with what she’d accomplished.
But the other part of her confidence, the part he saw now, had nothing to do with her success in finding the vase. It was purely male-female, the innate knowledge of a woman who realizes she has a man under her spell. He didn’t even try to fool himself about that. She had him.
He’d watched that one develop, too. He’d seen it flicker in her eyes when he’d first kissed her, startling them both. She’d become more confident on the spot, although not as much as she had when he’d kissed her the second time, when she’d stitched him up. The memory was clear. At first he was out of his mind with pain, then she’d whipped off her shirt and bra and he’d been gripped by an equally consuming haze of lust. He still wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen and enjoyed a woman’s breasts before, and the pain should have been a major distraction. But there had been something about her taking a step beyond expectations—both hers and his—that he’d found admirable. And incredibly desirable.
Under pressure, the timid little rabbit had dug down deep and found a core of steel, and an instinct to fight her way through. She was tough and resourceful. It was incredibly hot.
That faintly amused look she gave him now said it all—she knew she had him if she wanted him. He didn’t care. He was up to the challenge.
She uncrossed the ends of the hijab, revealing her neck, and for a second he paused, holding out the necklace, aware of their cover story, even if the people around them weren’t. Putting the necklace on her, touching her skin, seemed suddenly intimate and improper. Somehow, that made it even more exciting.
The salesman was running his credit card, not paying attention to them in the corner of his shop. Stepping forward, he slipped his hands beneath her hijab and around her neck. He fumbled with the clasp, trying to hook it without seeing it, which was strangely more difficult than unclasping a bra. She watched him all the while, laughter in her eyes as she held perfectly still.
He felt the hook catch and pulled back, deliberately trailing a finger along the warm curve of her neck as he did. For an instant, her eyes closed and a tiny shiver ran over her skin. He smiled his satisfaction at the wordless reminder that he had power over her, too.
He took his credit card back as Luxor’s recorded call to prayer sang out from a nearby minaret. Most people around them seemed to ignore it, but several turned toward the mosque down the street. He ushered her through the heart of the crowd, turning east. “The house is nearly a mile away. I’ll get a cab.”