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)
“Monsieur?”
“Dr. Creighton.” He released my arm to rummage through his pockets. “Now where did I put my—oh, here we are.”
The professor pulled an ID from his pocket and spoke in French to the guard who examined the card, conferred something on his computer, then ushered us inside.
And just like that, I was in the fucking Louvre…via a secret entrance, no less.
I followed Alistair and the man through a narrow stone corridor. The guard bowed, gesturing for us to move ahead of him into a cavernous space filled with statues.
I whirled with my hands on my hips. “We’re in the museum.”
“We are. Antiquities wing, to be precise.”
“How did you do that?”
He shrugged. “I have credentials to come and go whenever I choose. Come along. I’ll show you the crypt.”
Did he know how to show a guy a good time or what?
I followed the professor through room after room, occasionally stopping for him to point out a few pieces, like the statues of Karomama and the goddess of Sekhmet, a reconstructed chapel with hieroglyphic inscriptions he said offered insight into planting and harvesting in the daily lives of rural ancients, and the Great Sphinx of Tanis.
We passed mummies and sarcophagi that looked interesting, but they were popular exhibits, surrounded by tourists snapping photos I’d bet my next paycheck they’d forget about the second they walked out the door.
We moved down a long staircase to the tomb of Ramses III, where he pointed out the red stone crypt with violent hieroglyphics. Alistair explained that the tomb had been placed on the lower level because of its size and weight before turning to a colorful statue in a loincloth and elaborate Egyptian cat eyes with marble-like pupils.
“Who’s he?” I asked, casting my gaze around the dimly lit room.
“This is the ‘Seated Scribe.’ The quality of this piece, from the materials used in the ink work, attention to detail, and the composition itself are extraordinary.” Alistair tapped the glass barrier. “He’s well fed and in good health, which means he was a person of great power—an influential officer or perhaps a relative of the pharaoh. He certainly didn’t do any physical labor.”
“Why isn’t he wearing clothes?”
“It was bloody hot in Egypt that day,” he deadpanned.
I spun on my heels and swatted his elbow. “That was a joke. Look at you showing your silly side in front of Egypt’s social media guru.”
Alistair’s lips twitched in amusement. “The scribe would have been more concerned with numbers and figures than entertainment. They were one of the few who were skilled at reading and writing. A pharaoh would want to be sure to take his scribe along with him to the next life to handle his affairs. This isn’t the only such statue. Many have been excavated over the past two centuries, but the detail on this one truly sets it apart.”
I clandestinely studied my companion. The professor suddenly seemed taller, more confident and imposing. This was his domain, and he was a true master. Obviously.
I mean, c’mon…he had a secret code and credentials to get into the freaking Louvre, for fuck’s sake. Color me impressed.
“Did you work on any of these artifacts?”
Alistair tilted his chin. “Yes and no. I gather information that helps archeologists and curators catalog their findings and collections. So yes, I’ve personally examined some of these artifacts, but I’m the middle man, if you will.”
“No, you’re the brains,” I corrected, stepping aside to give a tourist room to snap a pic. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. The archeologist finds the special rock, gives it to the museum, who gives it to you to do the intellectual legwork. You tell them why it’s significant, connect it with other pieces, and hand it over to the curator…who takes all the credit.”
“That last part is incorrect. I work with archeologists and curators, but I don’t take the place of either.”
“Hmm.” I gave him a thorough once-over. “You’re really, really smart, aren’t you?
“Well, I…” Alistair blushed, an honest-to-God, sexy-as-fuck blush.
“That was a statement. Nothing rectoral about it.”
“Rhetorical,” he supplied.
I pointed at him. “Yes! There’s that word again.”
We shared a smile and don’t quote me, but I think I was the one blushing now.
“Um, I’m happy to show you the antiquities rooms, but perhaps you’d like to see the more famous works, like the Mona Lisa and the Nike of Samothrace.”
I slipped my arm through his. “Show me everything, Professor. I’m all yours.”
4
ALISTAIR
If anyone had told me I’d spend a random weekday afternoon escorting a colorful American around the Louvre, I’d have thought they were mad. Mainly because I wasn’t in the habit of strolling through the museum for fun…or of leaving my desk while knee-deep in an important project.
This was Gerard’s fault.
All right, no, it was mine for letting his presence get to me. What the hell was he doing in Paris? Moreover, why hadn’t he contacted me now that he knew I was here? I’d checked my phone, expecting a message of some kind. Bonjour, I’m in town and heard you were too. Shall we have coffee? The silence was strange.