Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“In Paris,” I clarified.
“Non, I live in Dijon. It’s an easy express train ride away, but I have business in the city and a conference to prepare for.”
“Conferences seem to be all the rage. What’s yours about?” I asked for no particular reason. I was just trying to be friendly and it was an innocent enough question.
“Ancient Egypt.”
I came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the bustling hotel lobby, mouth open. “Do you know Alistair Creighton?”
Monsieur Silver Fox’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Yes, of course. Dr. Creighton is a preeminent Egyptologist.”
“So he’s an expert?”
“Of course. He is one of the most dedicated scholars in the field…a tireless researcher. And a friend. Are you acquainted?”
“Uh…yes. We just met recently.”
Okay, yes, I was hedging…for a good reason. See, the professor had been on my mind for the past three days. As we’d established, I’d been given a job and wasn’t working at all, and Raine wasn’t an easy text away at the moment. But an unbiased opinion might offer better clues about the elusive professor anyway.
He cocked his head curiously. “You met him here…in Paris?”
“We actually met in London, but yes, in Paris too. He’s here…staying at the hotel.”
“Really?”
“I’m Winnie Rodriguez, by the way,” I said, offering my hand.
“Gerard Poitier.”
Okay, I was officially a puddle of lusty goo. That accent, that firm grip…mmm.
“Nice to meet you,” I choked out.
“Are you interested in ancient Egyptian studies?” he asked.
“God, no!” was the honest answer, but in this case, a little white lie wouldn’t hurt.
“Yes, specifically Professor Creighton’s work.”
Gerard nodded as if that made perfect sense. “I understand. He’s a brilliant man. His insights into the daily life of ordinary civilians in the ancient world have opened a fascinating new line of research. Many archeologists directly deposit their newest findings onto the professor’s desk for review. Myself among them.”
“You’re an archeologist?”
“Oui.”
I grinned. “Wow, I’ve never met a real live archeologist.”
“Voilà!” He opened his arms wide. “Here I am.”
“So you’re the guy who digs up mummies and buried treasure?”
“If I’m lucky…yes. There are many—how do you say…factions?—involved. Governments, land owners, museums. It’s a relief to collaborate with researchers like Creighton. I’ve never met anyone who works as hard as him. The professor has been known to sequester himself for days on end in his office when he’s not teaching.” Gerard narrowed his eyes. “I was sure he would not be in Paris until later this month. Are you certain Alistair Creighton is here?”
“Yes, I’m his assistant.”
He blinked in barely disguised surprise. “That is interesting news.”
If I wasn’t suddenly anxious as hell, I might have given more details, but I was legit worried now.
Sequestered for days on end…
Oh, no.
I swallowed hard as I reached into my pocket for the key card to my room. “Yes, yes, definitely. I should get going.”
“Bon.” Gerard bowed gallantly. “Au revoir, Winnie. It was nice to meet you.”
I stared after him for a beat, then raced for the elevators and stabbed the button for the fifth floor.
Yes, I was occasionally guilty of overreacting. Shocker! Perhaps this was one of those times, but something wasn’t quite right about being holed up in a hotel room for days on end with a “Do Not Disturb” sign barring even the housekeeping service.
The mental snapshot of a bedraggled professor with Einstein-esque hair yesterday freaked me the hell out. I had to make sure he was okay, and I wasn’t taking no for an answer.
I decided to stage my attack from the inside, knocking gently before pounding on the door. “Professor? It’s Winnie. Good morning, are you there? Professor, are you—”
The door flung open and there stood a half-naked, wet man, clinging to the corners of the tiny white towel wrapped around his waist.
“Is something wrong, Winnie?”
Uh…good question.
But I needed a second before I attempted words, ’cause holy crap, the professor was a dream.
Sidebar: I know what you’re thinking. I’d just had a starry-eyed moment over a random stranger, and now this. Yes, I was a horny, sex-deprived beast, but seriously…I was unprepared for this level of professorial bear hotness.
Alistair was a hunk of thick masculinity. Water dripped from his messy damp hair onto his broad shoulders and down his thick, hairy torso. My gaze caught on the rivulet cascading over his left nipple. I tried to look away, but the tattoo across his pecs and along his side had my full attention. I could claim to be suddenly curious about hieroglyphic translations, but I was way more interested in the ripple of muscles in his forearms and the trail of hair under his navel pointing south.
So the professor was a little soft in the middle—not overly fit, no six-pack, no bulging muscles, or veiny biceps. So what? There was something incredibly attractive about a naturally sexy man who didn’t seem to have a clue that he was legit…hot.