Demon Bound (30 page)

“Yep.” He slid his toothpick into the corner of his mouth, worked it with his tongue for a moment—and Alice wanted to close her eyes. She didn't. “Considering that it's the luckiest tub that ever existed, it deserves an official name.”

“And you chose
Onan
?”

“Hey, I'm from the Bible Belt. You don't just go blind for stroking one out, you die. So Onan's a hero—a martyr for the fourteen-year-old-male cause.” He continued over her laughter. “So you were straddling me in the water, and I was sucking on your nipples. Are they like blackberries? Because that's how I've been picturing them, and I'd hate to be wrong.”

Alice pushed her gaze to the horizon again, controlled her breathing. Jake thought about her nipples more often than she did. But she was aware of them now, tight beneath the silk of her bodice.

She needed to turn this conversation, somehow. “How in heaven's name did you go from not thinking about sex with me at all, to this?”

Dear God. That had been as ill-considered as her original question. It was not a turn at all, but a leap in the same direction.

“It was your bargain,” he said, which was just as frustrating as the “I don't know” he'd given after kissing her in Caelum—because she couldn't make sense of how her bargain was an attraction. “Anyway, you shouldn't bring that up. It was a stupid thing to say; I admitted it, and apologized for it. You accepted the apology, and should be telling me how sexy you think
I
am.”

He was teasing, but she grabbed hold of her frustration, and pulled it close. “No,” she countered. “The apology I accepted was over your assertion that I wasn't a real woman. I was not upset by the other. Why would I have cared whether you found me attractive?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, but his tone was still light. “Why indeed? You don't care what anyone thinks.”

Frowning, she came to a halt, crossed her arms over her breasts. “That is not true. There are people I love whose opinions I care about very much. But why should I care for the opinions of people who don't matter to me? Do you?”

“No.” His gaze had hardened, and she hoped that would end it—but he didn't let it go. “So if the right guy comes along, and you care about whether he wants you, you'd start parading around in little skirts?”

She clenched her teeth, but the idea was so disgusting she couldn't prevent herself from answering. “No. I have no desire to let anyone look as they please.” Only as
she
pleased.

“What, a little skirt isn't modest enough for your Victorian sensibilities?”

She forced herself to move again. He was deliberately goading her, but her resentment overrode her discretion. “I do not allow liberties to all and sundry,” she said coldly as she passed him. “And I will never expose myself unless I believe he has as much interest in my pleasure as his own.”

It was a miracle that she did not stumble when his answer came after her, as solemn as a vow.

“I would.”

“I will keep that in mind,” she managed stiffly. It would not be difficult. Instead, it was an effort
not
to keep it in mind.

She blinked away the image of his hands in her hair, the hot sand at her back.

“Drifter's one of them.”

Alice spun around, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What a ridiculous notion. Ethan and I have never—!”

“No.” Jake was grinning again, and she realized her reaction had been exactly what he'd intended. “One of those whose opinions matter.”

“Well, yes—of course. He is one of my dearest friends.”

“Yeah. He's so close to you, but you haven't told him about your history? Right.”

This time, she did not let herself be provoked. “You are mistaken. He knows my history.”

“You were worried I'd told him about the bargain.”

“I may have left out
portions
of my history.”

His brow creased. “Why? Do you think he wouldn't help you? That he'd threaten you?” He was shaking his head, as if discarding the idea even as he spoke it.

“Oh, no,” Alice said lightly. “I expect that of others.”

“Irena?”

He didn't miss anything, she thought. And there was no point in denying it. “Only if I follow through on the bargain. And, no—I know Ethan wouldn't.”

“Then why not tell him?”

Surely Jake knew—surely he'd realized the moment he'd learned what her bargain entailed. “I do not want him to know what a coward I am.” She laughed without humor. “Too much of a coward, even, to tell him that I am one.”

“A coward.” Jake stared at her strangely. “I don't see it.”

Her smile was faint. “You are too kind.”

“Or missing a big chunk of the picture. Care to fill me in?” When she didn't reply, he gave her a wry look. “No? I didn't think you would. All right. So, you got pissed because of the ‘real woman' thing?”

Now they would head back there? She sighed. “Yes.”

“That was even a stupider thing to say than the not-sexy thing.”

“On that, we are in agreement.”

“Yeah, but if you didn't care for my opinion about one, then why get pissy over the other?”

“I believe anyone would find it offensive to be told that their value as a woman—as a person—resides in how attractive someone finds them. And I can't imagine that you cared for my opinion of
you
, but tell me: Did my response about learning to be a real man sting?”

He grimaced. “Point taken.”

She was not done. “And I also find it offensive that I have only become a real woman to you because you now find me sexually appealing.”

“Hey, just flippin' hold on a minute.” He stopped walking, a frown darkening his face. “You're all backwards there. I started thinking about banging you
after
I noticed you weren't just a creepy, mechanical, spider-loving freak—Ah, fuck.”

“I see.” She concealed her smile as she passed him and collected the five dollars he held out. After several minutes, during which his psychic scent ran from the heat of self-directed fury to the bitterness of remorse, she said, “They
are
like blackberries.”

She heard the breath he sucked in, the hitch in his stride. “Jesus. You're not just creepy. You're evil, too.”

Her sound of agreement was met with a deep chuckle, and he caught up to her, resumed his backward-walking vigil.

She glanced at him sidelong. “Perhaps we ought to return to our safe zones. What manner of temple was I sketching?” At his puzzled expression, she added, “When you ravished me.”

He groaned and linked his hands behind his neck, his elbows angled up toward the sky. She took a moment to blatantly admire the way his shirt stretched over his chest, how the raised hem revealed the tanned skin above his waistband, and the line of short dark hair that trailed down from his navel.

And she reveled in how the simple touch of her gaze stirred him to obvious arousal—and that he didn't attempt to hide it.

“You're killing me, Alice.”

She cackled, and he burst into laughter.

Finally, he shook his head, gave her a narrowed look. “Okay, the temple. Jesus. In '74 or '75, I found a journal in the library. It had notes and sketches by one of the archaeologists at el-Amarna in the 1880s. I kept it for about a year, reading through it. So I based it on those.”

“So
that
was where it had gone. I could strangle you,” Alice said. “I had heart palpitations when it went missing from the Archives.”

Jake made binoculars of his hands and peered at her through them. “Observe the Black Widow in her natural habitat—fierce, territorial.”

The amusement in her psychic scent undercut her withering stare. “It was my father's,” she told him. “Hugh found it and brought it to Caelum.”

“No shit? Huh. And the sketches—were they yours?”

“Yes.”

“Hot damn.” He grinned as if she'd announced some significant accomplishment. “Don't take this the wrong way, but being a girl—being a girl back then—how'd you manage that?”

“I had more freedoms than most of the girls I knew.” When she'd been with the British and American families, her Egyptian side had been blamed for her unconventional and graceless behavior. Egyptians had attributed it to her American upbringing. And her parents had simply spoiled her. “My mother was my father's second wife. Not at the same time,” she hastened to clarify. “He was a widower before they married, and I was born late—my early years were spent on different sites. When I was thirteen, I convinced him that I had better eyes and a steadier hand than he did, and that I'd be invaluable as his assistant. Granted, he and my mother tried to prevent me at first, but . . . Well, it may come as a surprise to you, but I was rather obstinate when I was young. Quite insufferable, actually, until they allowed me to help.”

“Nope,” Jake said. “I'm not surprised at all.”

She resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at him.

“What about your husband? Did you meet him in Egypt?”

Her gaze left his to skim the horizon. What should she say now? Should she admit that she'd seen Henry and had immediately loved him? That she'd dressed in sweet English gowns and curled her hair? That Henry never saw her dusty and perspiring, because he was like a golden prince from one of Scheherazade's tales, and she could never let him see her be anything less than well behaved and smiling?

Oh, how she'd wanted to be that for him. Wanted to be the ideal wife, and his intellectual partner.

“Yes,” she finally said. “I met him at the site.”

Why did she bother to flatten her tone, to try to dissuade further questions? Jake would ask anyway.

“So you worked with him after you married?”

“No. We traveled to England for the wedding. My parents returned to Egypt immediately afterward; Henry and I were to return later, but . . .” Henry had lost his passion for Egyptology. Had wanted to concentrate on making a perfect life with his delicate flower of a wife. Had been certain that by remaining in England, his family would grow to accept her and love her. “We did not.”

“Because of Teqon?”

“Yes, in part.” She increased her pace, her heart pounding. “I don't wish to speak of this.”

Jake's disappointment was clear. This hadn't been idle curiosity or prying, she realized; he was genuinely interested in
her
.

What a coward she was. She'd been so foolish, all those years ago; now she was so afraid that Jake would know it.

Surely
that
was foolish.

“All right,” Jake said. “Back to el-Amarna, then. Were you there when they found the—”

“Never compare me to a flower.”

If he was taken aback, he didn't show it. His gaze was steady on her face. “Okay.”

“I loved Henry. He was kind and generous. Intelligent and humorous. Always trying to please everyone, to think the best of them, to care for them.”

His jaw clenched. “A paragon, I get it.”

“Yes. Yes, he was.” She took a deep breath. “And I was terribly unhappy.”

Oh, dear God, how wonderful it felt to say that. Like Sisyphus, dropping his boulder and letting it roll. Despite knowing that it wouldn't change anything, for a brief moment the relief of its missing weight overwhelmed the compulsion to bear it.

“You want me to kill him?”

“He's dead.”

Jake spread his hands. “Look where we are.”

He could make her smile so easily. “I hope no one ends up here just for being weak.”

“Weak? So you rode over him.”

“No. As I said, he was very caring and intelligent. And he was quite certain that he knew exactly what was best for everyone—particularly me. He knew better than I what would make me happy.” She sighed. “And it hurt him so when I was not.”

Jake's voice seemed very flat and controlled. “So it was your own fault that you weren't happy. And your fault that he was hurt by it.”

“Yes. Because I did not—could not—do as he thought best, do what he asked me.”

Oh, and she had asked far too much of him. When she had expressed her disappointment in the marriage bed, he'd explained that he loved her far too much to degrade her in that way—and that he was shocked by the carelessness of her parents, that she'd even known of such things. And when she'd screamed her frustration at him, he'd beg her to stop—wondering why she couldn't see that he only wanted what was best for them, that he only lived to serve her and to make her happy.

And at the beginning, though they had regarded her with disdain, his family had not been so terrible. They kept their distance, and she hadn't minded. She was quite capable of keeping herself occupied.

But then they had begun to remark upon her strangeness, to advise Henry to curb her reading and studying, her correspondence. Such activities were too taxing, they argued—and Henry would follow their direction. How Alice had grown to hate that mix of subservience and condescension in him. Despised how he could never admit that they or he might be wrong.

Then she'd miscarried, and he'd been convinced it had proved him right. And they'd tried again.

Oh, so gently.

Jake's voice broke in on her simmering thoughts. “You know what a load of—”

“Yes. Yes, of course I do. Now.” She shook her head. “No, that is a lie. I knew then, too. I tried to leave—to return to Egypt.”

“You ran off by yourself?”