He wrapped his arms around her, spun, and pushed her through a wall of fabric. Somewhere nearby, a shopkeeper squawked. Dec kept going until he had her pressed up against a stone wall, his body pinning hers there so she couldn’t use her knee.
She still fought, though, wriggling and twisting.
“Stop, before you hurt yourself,” he growled.
She kept fighting.
“Dr. Rush, I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stilled, her mutinous gaze meeting his. “Let me go.”
He ignored her and lifted the tiny thing in his hand. His eyebrows shot upward, embarrassment flooding him. “Lipstick? You pretended you were going to shoot me with lipstick?”
She sniffed. “It’s lip gloss. And I never said I was going to shoot you. I said I didn’t want to hurt you.” She frowned. “I’m rapidly thinking about changing my mind, though.”
Dec shook his head with reluctant admiration. “Dr. Rush, you can try, but I don’t recommend it.”
Her frown deepened, and he realized she had really full lips that were at odds with the rest of her face, with its sharp cheekbones and pointed chin. Pressed up against her, he felt tightly-packed curves and full breasts. His cock stirred and he cursed mentally.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Declan Ward. Treasure Hunter Security.”
Her eyes widened. “The new security specialist.” She pushed at his chest.
Dec stepped back, and for a second, missed the warmth of her.
“Why the hell were you stalking me?” she snapped.
“I was checking you out. It’s part of my job.”
Now her eyebrows rose, disappearing under her bangs. “You think I have something to do with the theft of my artifacts?”
Yep, she was smart. He saw the intelligence glittering in those fascinating hazel eyes of hers. Large flecks of gold glimmered against the deep green.
Her voice rose. “You think I did this to myself?” She waved at her cheek.
The ugly bruise made his gut harden. In the photo, he’d noted her clear, almost-translucent skin. Up close, on her right cheek, that skin was even more attractive. He could even make out the delicate blue veins beneath her skin. The skin of her left cheek, however, was marred by a bruise that was an ugly reminder that someone had hurt her.
That Ian Anders had hurt her.
“Look Mr. Ward, I don’t know who the hell you think you are.” She poked him in the center of his chest. “But I have dedicated my life to my career. To finding, safeguarding, and studying history and its artifacts. I am in charge of this dig, and I have a hell of a lot riding on it. I wouldn’t jeopardize the biggest opportunity of my career, not to mention my personal integrity, to sell off antiquities.”
There was passion in Dr. Rush. He saw it burning in her eyes, heard it overflowing in her voice as she talked about her work.
God, when had he felt anything like that? Most days, he felt nothing.
Focus, Ward. “I’m doing my job, Dr. Rush. You want your artifacts back? You want to make sure no more go missing?”
Her tight shoulders sagged. “Yes.”
“Then I’m going to leave no stone unturned. I investigate everyone, until I know every little thing about them. Where they live, how much money they have in the bank, who their friends are, hell, even what color their panties are.”
Her lips pressed into a straight line. “Okay, I guess we’re on the same page, then.”
“And the same team.”
“I’ll save you some work.” She tucked her hair back behind her ears. “I live in Rhodes, Massachusetts, I have fifty-seven thousand dollars in savings in the bank but more than that in stocks and retirement savings. I don’t have a lot of time for socializing, so my friends are the people I work with. My underwear is not up for discussion.”
“You mean you keep an apartment near the university that you barely use, you have sixty-two thousand in stocks and 401K, and you’re closest to your assistant Piper Ross.” He couldn’t resist a small smile. “And you prefer black lace underwear.”
Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or to hit you.”
“How about we go somewhere where we can talk?” He glanced around. There were too many people here, and while no one appeared to be paying them any attention, he didn’t want someone to overhear what he had to say.
She nodded. “There’s a small café around the corner where I go a lot.”
Moments later, they’d found seats in a crowded café. Wooden chairs and tables were packed close together in the small space. The butter-colored walls were filled with carved wooden decorations and mirrors. Most of the clientele were locals, wearing regular clothes, but a few were dressed in simple, light-colored robes, and many sat, sucking on the end of the shisha pipes popular in Egypt. The tall, elegant glass waterpipes for smoking flavored tobacco sat on the floor beside each table.