No Rules(77)
When they turned onto a busier street he wove through traffic as aggressively as a native, using the horn freely and obeying traffic laws only when there was a policeman directing traffic. The main roads still hummed busily at ten p.m. with the lifeblood of Luxor—cars, buses, and caleches carrying tourists.
Donovan headed northwest with apparent purpose, which didn’t surprise her. She imagined he’d simply gone to Plan B—what to do when ambushed by murderers in your house. “Where are we going?”
“You’re going to get your wish, Cinderella—you’re going to the palace. The Winter Palace hotel.”
She’d seen it in tourist brochures—a five-star luxury hotel near the Karnak temple. “Don’t you think we need a reservation?”
“Money talks.”
It did, and quickly. She wandered the beautiful lobby as he checked them in, admiring the heavy draperies, chandeliers, and colonial-era-style furnishings. The stately architecture of The Winter Palace had brought the elegance of Victorian England to the summer residence of the pharaohs. She ran her hand lovingly over the delicate painted china of a lamp, wondering about all the dignitaries and royalty who might have done the same thing over the decades.
“Would you like to go to your room?” Donovan spoke softly at her shoulder. “I’m sending the bags up, and I’ll join you later. I told the team where we are, and now I need to dispose of the car.”
A momentary queasiness hit her at the thought of being separated from him. He made her feel safe, and Luxor had turned into a dangerous place. But she imagined this hotel had a bathtub to make her sigh with pleasure and enough aromatic toiletries to make her forget the street smells of food, exhaust, animals, and sweat. “The room sounds good,” she said, smiling.
He accompanied her upstairs, along with the bellhop. The duffle bags that had originally struck her as utilitarian now looked plain ratty in these luxurious surroundings. If the bellhop noticed, he was too polite to give any indication, and in fact smiled warmly at his generous tip.
Jess barely remembered to thank him before rushing past the elegant sitting area to the large window leading to a balcony with a view of the Nile. From the nighttime street below, cars and motor bikes revved their engines and honked horns, but the dark Nile was peaceful. Lines of feluccas bobbed at anchor near the shore, sails down and single masts arrowing upward toward the stars, while a large tour boat motored by, lights reflecting off the water in twinkling majesty. Across the river, floodlights from the Valley of the Kings cast a low glow in the sky.
She turned away reluctantly to survey the rest of the room and found it as impressive as the view—thick carpets, heavy red drapes, Victorian-style furniture, and through an open door, a glimpse of a beautifully tiled bath with a tub.
Also, one large bed. Donovan hadn’t bothered to consult her about sleeping arrangements. Dr. Epstein would find that pushy and presumptive. Jess approved.
Donovan stood with one hand on the doorknob, looking reluctant to leave. “I have to leave the car some distance away, so I might be forty-five minutes, an hour tops. Lock the door behind me. And stay in the room.”
“Don’t worry, I plan to be in the bathtub the whole time.”
His gaze heated. “Half an hour,” he said, revising on the spot. He left abruptly.
She went directly to the bathroom. It wasn’t large, but included a bidet and a small washer and dryer, which excited her far more than the flat-screen TV she’d noticed in the sitting area. As expected, the hotel supplied a wonderful assortment of toiletries that she opened and sniffed as she ran her bath water. Lining them up on the edge of the tub along with her razor, she slipped into the hot water and sighed. Perfection.
Tension seeped from her muscles, wiping away the last residual fear from the attack. They were safe; it was something she could rely on Donovan to ensure. The relief of not worrying was a luxury she could get used to. She lay back in the water, blissfully limp.
Jess considered whether she had time to wash and dry her hair before Donovan got back and decided that she probably didn’t, but that she wasn’t going to have sex with him with her scalp smelling like stale sweat. And they were definitely going to have sex. Holding her breath, she dipped beneath the water, letting it saturate every millimeter of skin and hair. Then she reached for the shampoo.
…
She was barefoot and wrapped in a fluffy hotel robe when the bathroom door opened. She turned the hair dryer off as she met Donovan’s gaze in the mirror.
“Thirty-five minutes,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Where did you leave the car?”