Mission: Irresistible (17 page)

He was smart and quite obviously grasped concepts she would never understand. Half the things he said whizzed right over her head. She’d never been with a man more in touch with his mind than his body. He was brilliant. She could never keep up with him. He thrived on intellectual challenges.

And she was not a scholar.

She should forget all about what had
not
happened here tonight. She should ignore her body, still flushed from the excitement of kissing him. She should deny the ache low in her belly.

Frustrated, Cassie dug her fingernails into her palms.
Just go to sleep.

But she couldn’t.

She flipped. She flopped. She couldn’t stand the torture. If she was going to get any sleep at all, she needed something to take the edge off.

Heave-ho went the covers. Her feet hit the floor. She retrieved her backpack and dug around inside until she found what she was looking for.

Ah, yes. Sweet relief.

Harrison couldn’t sleep.

Instead of mellowing him out, the peppermint schnapps had revved him up. Although he was probably giving too much credit to the peppermint liqueur and not nearly enough to Cassie’s inherent sexiness.

It was easier to blame the schnapps.

After twenty minutes of fighting the sleeping bag, he decided to get up and take a crack at trying to decipher the scroll. Just one problem. The scroll was still locked in the glove compartment of the Volvo. He would have to creep through the living room, tiptoeing past Cassie snoozing on his couch.

Knowing her, she probably slept in the buff. Without the benefit of covers.

He lay in the darkness a little while longer, but then curiosity got the better of him. He had to take another look at those hieroglyphics. If his brother—who was not the sharpest trowel at the dig site—had been able to decipher the Minoan hieroglyphics, there was no reason he shouldn’t be able to figure them out too.

Except that ancient Egypt had been Harrison’s only field of focus, whereas fickle Adam went on jags. He pursued whatever subject interested him at the moment. He had dabbled in everything from Egyptian to Greek to Mayan cultures. Grudgingly, Harrison had to admit his brother’s versatility might have given him an advantage. Or maybe Adam’s modern sensibility, his very edginess, had lent him the edge.

And, speaking of edgy.

Harrison felt as if he was hiking way too close to a steep canyon drop-off whenever he thought about Cassie. There was something compelling about her. Maybe it was her indomitable optimism that countered his natural pessimism. Even in the face of her ransacked apartment she had quickly rebounded. He wished he possessed such an elastic temperament.

I thought her exuberance got on your nerves.

Well, maybe he’d judged her a little harshly. Harrison had discovered his opinions often mellowed when he was in private. Maybe it was from growing up with a strong, domineering mother; maybe it was his instinctive loner tendencies; maybe it was just that when he got off by himself he really had time to contemplate. But it seemed his real enjoyment of being with other people came when he was alone. When he had adequate time to sit back and reflect on the interactions.

Alone, he could match up his memory with the feelings and try them on without the confusion and clutter of being expected to react in a certain way.

He thought of Cassie’s winning smile, her saucy wink, the sexy sway of her hips, and he got a soft, warm feeling in the dead center of his chest.

Okay, stop thinking about her. Focus on what’s important.

Resolutely, he turned his mind to the enigmatic hieroglyphics and his missing brother in order to keep it off his lovely houseguest.

But his resolution didn’t last long. Cassie was the most—and he was being crude here, but no other word truly fit—
doable
woman he’d ever had the pleasure to kiss.

Which was exactly the quandary.

He wanted her. He couldn’t have her. She was all wrong for him, and he was all wrong for her. He didn’t do runaway lust, and she didn’t do commitment.

He was just experiencing a physical reaction. Chemistry. It meant nothing.

You have a brain, Standish. Use it, for godsake, and keep your dick in your pants.

His dick, however, had a whole other agenda.

He tried to tell himself it was purely an intellectual pursuit that drove him from the sleeping bag, and not the insistent throbbing in his penis. He bought into his own line of bull. He would simply sneak into the kitchen without turning on a light, slip out the door, retrieve the scroll from the glove compartment of his car, and hightail it back to his office. He would not, under any circumstances, even glance over to see if Cassie did indeed sleep au naturel.

Two steps down the hallway and then he heard a soft, feminine moan.

Was Cassie dreaming? Or having a nightmare?

What if she was awake?

He almost pivoted on his heel and fled back to his office, but then she moaned again. It was a low, helpless sound.

Was she in pain? What if she needed his help?

He took a step forward but stopped, not sure what to do next. If she was asleep, he didn’t want to wake her; but then again, if she was having a nightmare, she might appreciate being awakened

The moaning deepened, grew more frantic.

She had to be in distress.

Then he heard another sound. It was odd, out of place. A strange buzzing rattle. A shiver played down his spine like fingers on a keyboard. He’d heard that sound before.

On a dig. In the desert.

Rattlesnake.

But how could a rattlesnake have found its way into his apartment?

Harrison froze. His mind spun. He thought of Cleopatra and Cassie. Of asps and rattlesnakes. Of regal women and poisonous vipers.

The rattling buzz grabbed him by the ears and shook violently. Trouble. Danger. Someone had stabbed a guy in a mummy suit. His brother was missing, an ancient amulet stolen, an enigmatic papyrus found. Someone had ransacked Cassie’s place. That same someone could have dumped a deadly serpent in his apartment.

“Harry.” Cassie called his name in a rough, achy whisper. “Harry, Harry, Harry.”

Had she already been bitten?

She must have heard him in the hallway. She was snakebit and calling out to him for help.

Galvanized, he rushed into the living room and flicked on the light.

And that’s when he learned that Cassie was neither sleeping nor bitten by a snake.

She was in the middle of his bed, murmuring his name as she pleasured herself with the most sophisticated rattling, buzzing sex toy he’d ever seen.

“Cassie!” Harrison’s scandalized voice broke through the sweet fog of her solo sexual adventure.

What? He had never seen a woman masturbating before? From the shocked expression hanging on his face, she deduced probably not.

“Good God, woman!” he exploded. “Have you no sense of personal decorum?”

Truthfully, Cassie was mortified to have been caught playing with the Rattler, but she wasn’t about to let Harrison know that she was anything but honest, open, and straightforward about her sexuality. She tugged the covers over her waist and blinked at him in the bright light.

Oh God, this was the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to her.

“Well,” she said matter-of-factly, totally ignoring that her body was burning up with embarrassment. “What did you expect? You turned me down.”

The Rattler buzzed and vibrated beneath the sheets, and Harrison’s gaze was fixed on the spot where it danced. “I . . . I . . . ,” he stammered.

Cassie blew out her breath. It wasn’t the first time she’d left a guy speechless, but it was the first time she’d ever had so much trouble collecting her thoughts. There was only one way to deal with this obloquy—turn it back on him.

“Come on, Harry. We’re both adults here. It’s okay to tell the truth—didn’t seeing me like that turn you on?”

“No!” he denied, but when his gaze, quick and furtive, fell below her waist, she knew he was lying.

Buzz, buzz, buzz
, went the Rattler.

“Could you . . . er . . . um . . .” He waved a hand at her sex toy slowly vibrating its way across the mattress. “Could you turn that thing off?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, trying her best to look casual and totally in control of the entire situation when she was anything but. Swallowing hard, she slipped a hand beneath the covers and pulled the vibrator out into the open.

Embarrass him. Make him feel uncomfortable. Can’t let him know you’re not as sexually liberated as you let on.

“See.” Cassie winked, hoping against hope that he didn’t notice how her hand was shaking and call her on it. “It’s called the Rattler. It’s got these little button heads that shimmy and shake and . . .”

His face was beet red. No fear that he was going to notice her own telltale flush. He cupped his hands over his ears and averted his eyes.

“That’s way more information than I need. Thanks.”

“Who knows? You never can tell,” Cassie teased, while at the same time she imagined the earth cracking open and sucking her down inside and then slamming shut on her, forever keeping her safe and sound from the undignified backfire of her own audacity. “Someday you may end up with a woman who’s just dying for a good rattle.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

She waved the vibrator. “Aw, come on, you’re a man of science. You keep toying with that djed thing. This should interest you. Look: here’s where you turn it on. And here’s where you adjust the speed. The faster it goes, the louder it rattles.”

She was pushing him too far but couldn’t seem to stop herself. If Harry had any clue exactly how unnerved she really was, he would quickly figure out she was not as candid about sex as she professed.

“Okay, okay.”

She jacked up the dial. Now it sounded as if there were three dozen rattlesnakes in the room. “You ought to feel this sucker.”

“No, that’s all right. It’s mechanics. I’m an archaeologist. Totally different sciences. Now put that thing away.”

“Prude,” she muttered under her breath, but it was only for effect. In reality she was extremely glad to stuff the thing into her backpack and out of sight.

They both simultaneously exhaled their relief.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Harrison exclaimed, shaking his head.

She forced herself to grin impishly, when what she wanted to do was flee into the dark of night, never to face him again. “Is that a good thing?”

“Hell if I know.”

He ran a hand through his hair and finally met her gaze. She did spy lust shining in those dark pools. She could also see that he was scared of his earthier impulses.

Right this moment, what she wanted more than anything was to pull him in bed on top of her. But the look on his face told Cassie that if she dared to do anything so bold, he would likely have a coronary on the spot. Never mind that he was young and in good shape. He obviously had no experience with daring women who knew their way around their own bodies.

“You flummox me, Cassie. I can’t understand how you can be so . . . so . . .”

She tilted her head and studied him. He didn’t seem judgmental. Not in the least. In fact, below his obvious embarrassment, he’d seemed quite curious about what she’d been doing.

“How can I be so what?”

“Uninhibited about your body,” he finished.

“Hey, babe, I’m a
Cosmo
girl,” she said saucily, finally regaining her natural sass. “Never miss an issue.”

“I’ve gotta start reading that magazine.” He grinned.

“You know,” she said. “The two of us would make a spectacular hookup.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at it this way. I’m into romance, but I don’t do commitment. You’re into commitment, but without the romance-colored glasses. We’ve got sizzling sexual chemistry, although mentally we’re polar opposites. Yet it’s the perfect recipe for a lusty fling. Sorta like cinnamon ice cream—sounds like a bad idea, but it tastes really great. Say yes, and I’ll give up the Rattler so fast it’ll make your sperm swim.”

He looked at her speculatively. “I’d have to be out of my mind to agree.”

“That’s the point, Harry. To get you out of your mind and into your body,” she whispered.

He leaned down. Was he going to kiss her? Cassie’s heart thumped. Please, oh, please, yes. She raised her chin, pursed her lips, and waited.

His lips hovered just out of reach; he wanted to. She could see it in his face.

“That’s it,” she egged him on. “For once in your life, let go. Do something wild and reckless and irresponsible. Ask yourself, What would Adam do?”

It was the wrong thing to say.

He pulled back so quickly that he stumbled over the coffee table and fell squarely on his butt. “My brother would cause chaos. Just as he’s already done.”

“Okay, scratch the Adam thing,” she said. “Forget all about Adam.”

But it was too late. Harrison picked himself up off the floor and gave her a wry smile.

“While your offer of a wild sexual fling is tempting, here’s the reality. We’re running out of time. Adam is MIA, whether by choice or not we don’t know for sure. Someone trashed your apartment. My livelihood is hanging in the balance and you’re this close”—he measured off an inch with his forefinger and thumb—“to ending up in jail. This might not be the most prudent time to start an affair.”

CHAPTER 13

N
ot long after dawn, the perky sound of Cassie’s cell phone playing the digitalized notes of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” dragged her from a very frisky dream about Dr. Harrison Standish.

In her dream, she’d been systematically dismantling his every sexual inhibition and enjoying herself immensely in the process. In reality, she cracked open one eye to discover she had a pounding headache. She fumbled for the phone and ended up rolling off Harry’s couch, sheets tangled around her legs as she clobbered the floor with her hip.

And the cell kept ringing, taunting her.

Give it a rest, Cyndi Lauper.

She finally got the phone freed from her purse and flipped it open. When she saw whose number was on the caller ID, Cassie groaned. She depressed the talk button and, in the same tone Jerry Seinfeld used whenever he greeted his nemesis Newman, said, “Hello, Phyllis.”