One Hot Winter's Night (13 page)

“I’m looking at her.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” she demanded.

“I’m not. I couldn’t. You’re beautiful. And intelligent. And you make me laugh.”

She didn’t believe him. He was only saying it because she was the one in front of him. First port in a storm. Love the one you’re with.

He sighed, his left hand tightening into a fist on the tile beside hers, and only then did she realise how much he wanted her and how strong his self-control had been up until then.

He rested his right hand on her hip and thrust hard, deep inside her. “Oh fuck.”

She gasped. “Heath…”

Her muscles tightened around him, and at the same time he gave into the volcano building inside him. She’d never felt anything like it, but she was powerless to stop it—it was like lying on the beach and letting the surf sweep over her. She cried out with pleasure, Heath hot and hard inside her, the water warm on her skin, the tiles cool against her hands.

Chapter 16

Several hours later, Heath picked up his bag and took one last look at the sleeping beauty in his bed.

After they’d made love in the shower, they’d towelled each other dry and returned to bed where they’d lain for a few hours talking, mainly about archaeology, occasionally about science fiction, before he’d started teasing her again with his fingers. He’d played with her for several hours after that. Two condoms (his) and three orgasms (hers) later, she finally persuaded him they’d fitted in as many as she could cope with in one night, and she’d promptly dozed off.

Heath had lain awake for an hour, listening to her breathe, making sure she was in a deep sleep before he rose, got dressed and quietly packed away his things. Then he’d sat there for a further ten minutes trying to convince himself this really was the only option, the only way to make sure she’d see him again. Maybe even half hoping she’d wake up and stop him. But she hadn’t, and eventually he knew he had to go.

She was going to be mad at him in the morning. But if he didn’t go now, when the sun came up she would become the hedgehog again: all prickles and refusing to let him near her. She’d be unable to look him in the eye, awkward and embarrassed at the things they’d done the night before, ashamed at how she’d opened up to him. He didn’t think he could bear that.

Still, he hesitated. He wasn’t a cad—this wasn’t his style at all. But then Cat wasn’t your normal, everyday woman. If she had been, he would have been able to take her to dinner and the theatre, and tease the trust out of her like a whelk out of a shell. But if she wasn’t going to let him do that, and if she insisted on keeping the Black Cat mask on at all times, then he’d have to let the Silver Fox have his wicked way instead.

Alexander was going to kill him when he found out. Heath’s lips curved in the semi-darkness. Boy was he in for it when they eventually caught up to him. But then that was the point—this way they
would
come looking for him, and he’d get to see her again.

He let himself out of the room, and the door closed quietly.

As he walked along to the corridor to the lift, he thought about what she’d told him of Alexander and her past. Clearly, the old man thought of her as his daughter. He felt a tad guilty at how flippant he’d been to Alex, but equally he felt a twinge of jealousy—more than a twinge, in fact, at how close the two of them were. And yet, as with any father/daughter relationship, there had to come a point where the father let go, freeing the daughter and letting her live her own life. Alex had cared for Cat, saving her and protecting her, but he couldn’t do it forever. He couldn’t provide for all her needs. Someone else had to take on that responsibility.

And Heath had a pretty good idea who that was going to be.

Cat awoke from a deep sleep and lay there for a while in the early morning light without moving. She faced the window, the curtain still open where Heath had pulled it the night before, although she couldn’t see the pyramids from where she lay.

She’d been dreaming and could still recall it vividly. She’d been falling from a great height—a dream she had often—but this time it had been different. A hand had appeared to clutch hold of hers, and although he hadn’t quite pulled her to safety, he had stopped her from falling any further. Hmm. Now what was her brain trying to tell her? All the times she’d had this dream, and she’d never dreamed Alexander had saved her. Two nights with Heath and suddenly he was her great saviour?
I don’t think so.

She closed her eyes, memories of what they’d done the night before flickering through her mind. Making love in the shower had been an experience that had altered her forever—she couldn’t have reverted back to her previous self if her life had depended on it. It had been more than sex, so much more. And coming straight after—she winced at the pun—what he’d done to her in the bedroom, pleasuring her with his mouth…

She pressed her fingers to her lips. How could she have let herself experience something like that? How could she forget what he’d done, how he’d made her feel?

She had to get out of the room. Was he awake? Suddenly she became aware he hadn’t moved since she’d woken, and he wasn’t touching her, whereas before she’d fallen asleep he’d wrapped his arms around her.

She glanced over her shoulder.

The bed was empty.

Correction, almost empty. Her eyes fell on the little silver fox model sitting on the pillow.

Slowly, she pushed herself upright. Glancing around the room, she could see his clothes and bag were gone. Only her red dress remained hanging on the front of the wardrobe.

She gave a short, sharp laugh. So the Silver Fox had gone and taken Heath with him. Had Heath regretted being dragged out by the sneaky bastard, or had he gone willingly, glad to escape the awkwardness of the morning after?

Something nagged at the corner of Cat’s mind. What was it? A look on his face, something at the time she’d puzzled about but ignored, thinking she’d imagined it. Yes, that was it, in the lift, when she’d looked at his pocket, wondering what he’d bought in the shop. For a second he’d looked alarmed, almost guilty. Straight after he’d handled the figurine…

She leapt out of bed and pulled on her dress. She could only get the zipper up halfway, but she was past caring. Grabbing her handbag, shoes and the silver fox model, she left the room and ran along the corridor to the lift, cursing as it rose slowly before pinging open its doors. “Ground floor,” she barked to the attendant, who politely overlooked her ruffled hair and state of undress.

When the doors dinged open, she sprinted across the foyer, ignoring the raised eyebrows and hushed whispers of the few guests making their way to breakfast. She ran up to the front desk and asked to see the safe deposit box, showing them the key. After a few minutes, which she spent cursing the Fox and calling him every name she could think of, they showed her into the room, and the guard brought the box out for her.

She opened it with fumbling hands, revealing the wooden box inside, and opened that too. She stared. The figurine still lay there.

Digging her fingers into the velvet-covered foam, she lifted the cat out. Only then did she realise it was a plastic fake. Skilfully made, it resembled the original exactly, but it was light in her hands and down the back was a distinct join.

In fact, if she got her nail in the crack, it would probably open…

The two sides of the figurine came apart. Inside was a rolled up piece of paper. She unrolled it, heart pounding. The cheque read the exact amount she’d paid Sayed. From Te Papa Museum.

She stood there for a moment, hands on hips. How had he switched it? She hadn’t left him in the room on his own, and anyway, the guard had been present.

Well of course, he bought the guard off
, she scolded herself. Then she remembered. He’d asked her if part of the deal for the figurine had been herself.
I’d just like to know whether I need to order the chocolate sauce or not
, he’d said. Confused, she’d walked over to the door to think about it, and when she’d turned back, he was replacing the cat in the foam. He must have had the fake one in his pocket, which was why he’d looked alarmed when she glanced at it in the lift. The damn cat had been in his jacket all night, hanging over the back of the chair.

She looked at the guard, who watched her solemnly. He was a different one to the night before—the shifts had changed. She could complain, get the guard sacked for taking a bribe, cause all kinds of hoo-hah, speak to Te Papa, and get Heath in trouble.

But she wouldn’t. Because hadn’t she done exactly the same thing herself, in Sweden? And she hadn’t had the decency to leave him the money, either.

Retrieving the wooden box from the safety deposit, Cat thanked the guard and left the room. Oh well. No need to worry at least regarding how she would feel the morning after. She was mad, madder than a bear that’d been out on the razz and had a migraine-level headache to show for it.

How dare he! She wanted to stamp her foot. How dare he play her at her own game? Seducing her, completely taking her mind off the figurine before leaving her asleep in the middle of the night.

She sat on one of the benches in the foyer, looking at the fake cat. He’d obviously planned the whole thing, because he’d had the plastic model made. Probably by the young Egyptian he’d spoken to in the ballroom. He hadn’t even tried to make a deal with Sayed—he’d known all along that he’d switch it once she’d bought it. In fact, that was what he’d wanted—not the figurine itself so much, although that was obviously a nice by-product of the whole thing—but to get one over on her, to pay her back.

Was that all? She squeezed the Bastet statue so tightly it buckled in her hand. Had he meant anything he said the night before? Or had it all been an act? Was it just a way to dip his wick in the pretty blonde again, or had he truly wanted to be with her?

She couldn’t believe that Heath—the man who’d made love to her so slowly and tenderly in the shower—had meant to deceive her. But she could completely believe the Silver Fox had. And yet they were one and the same man. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She could not bring the two men together in her head. One she hated with a passion, the other… She slid her hands to her mouth at the memory of how he’d been unable to take his eyes off her, how he’d seemed to so enjoy kissing her, pleasuring her. Being with her.

I never lie in the bedroom. Or bathroom, for that matter.
His words sprang into her head.
Whatever else happens outside, no lies in the bedroom
. Had he been trying to forewarn her? To make her understand that no matter what the Silver Fox did, what he, Heath, did and said to her in the bedroom was honest and true?

They’re the same person!
She stood up, impatient and irritated with herself. She had to stop thinking about him as if he was schizophrenic. Heath had been very aware of his plans when he took her to bed the night before. He’d carried out it out coldly and methodically, taking what he wanted from her before making off with his loot. And the sooner she stopped thinking of the Silver Fox as his evil twin, the better.

Glancing up, she saw Alexander standing there, watching her. He had a newspaper under his arm, and had obviously been on his way to breakfast when he’d spotted her in the foyer.

She walked over to him and shoved the figurine into his hand. “Don’t say a word,” she warned, before marching off, trying not to be aware that he was staring at her unzipped dress and shoeless feet. She would go back to her room, have a shower, and get dressed.

Then she was going to sit down and plan her revenge.

Chapter 17

The business centre of the Xi’an Century Landscape Hotel in Xi’an, China, was packed with people. She slunk in quietly, Alexander right behind her, and they took a seat in the back row. It was a fair distance from the front of the room, and she crossed her fingers that when Heath took the podium, he wouldn’t be able to pick them out of the crowd. She pulled her baseball cap further down. She was determined he wouldn’t recognize her until she was ready.

She glanced at the program in her hand, dated December fifteenth. Eight days since Cairo. It had proved to be a busy month for archaeology, which often happened in the lead up to Christmas while museums sorted out their exhibits for the New Year. Te Papa Museum, Wellington, was the first museum making a bid for the newly-discovered batch of Terracotta Warriors with its magnificent bronze chariot and horses, excavated in the recently opened Pit 4 east of the Emperor Qin’s Mausoleum. The new warriors, unlike the seven thousand other excavated figures, exhibited much clearer paint fragments, and the British Museum was desperate to acquire them for its new exhibit. Its first exhibition of a selection of Warriors in 2007 had been hugely successful, and it was keen to repeat the event.

She was hopeful the British Museum would win the bid. Te Papa had just had a similar exhibit, and the British Museum had a higher profile with the Chinese than the Kiwi museum, to her glee. Dr Heath Roberts, speaking for Te Papa, was the first to speak, followed by two other speakers for museums in Italy and Germany, and then she would be last.

Alexander reached out and squeezed her hand, but didn’t say anything. She gave him a quick smile. He was worried about her. The lead up to Christmas was never a good time for her, but she was aware she’d been more withdrawn than normal that year. He’d guessed it was something to do with what happened in Cairo, but she wasn’t sure if he’d suspected the truth.

The fact was that although she was mad at Heath—and she
was
still mad at him—the emotion that had been forefront in her mind since returning from Egypt had not been anger.

It might have something to do with the two dozen red roses that had appeared on her doorstep the day after she got home from Cairo.

The doorbell had gone around ten in the morning. Cat had been working in the study, writing a paper for an archaeology magazine, and when Alexander had called out that he was nearest, she hadn’t quibbled. The next thing she knew, he stood at the door to the study swamped by the biggest bouquet she’d ever seen.