“Done what again? Had sex? You weren’t a virgin, were you? I’m not an expert, but you seemed to know what you were doing—”

“No, not that.” I tried to explain, but couldn’t find the words. “It’s just… I’m sorry.”

“I have a horrible feeling that this is the part of the evening where you say the words, ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ and I will end up returning to my room to sit by myself and wonder what the hell happened.”

I looked at him, really looked at him sitting there with his adorable mussed-up curls, and his chin that I just wanted to bite again, and that glorious naked chest, and I wondered what on earth I’d done. It wasn’t like me to meet a man and suddenly fall under his spell… except that’s just what had happened with Jian.

It wasn’t like me to want to touch a man I’d just met, and enjoy being with him, and think long, lengthy thoughts about his mouth, and what I’d like to do it, and what I’d like it to do to me.

Except with Jian. I’d wanted to kiss him the first day I met him, too.

I was an independent woman, one who didn’t need a man in her life to be happy. Just because I started to squirrel away thoughts with the intention of sharing them with Rowan didn’t mean I was smitten with him. Women didn’t become emotionally attached to men after just a day.

And yet, that’s exactly how long it had taken me to want to be with Jian forever.

Oh, dear heaven, I was doing it again—I was falling in love with a man who was going to sweep me off my feet (in this case, literally)—and then after a mad whirl of a courtship, he’d leave me alone and grieving and empty inside again.

“Ack!” I leaped from the bed, and gathering up my pants and shirt, made a dash for the bathroom.

A minute later there was a polite tap at the door. “I’m going to guess I’ve made a huge error by assuming you were as into this as I was, and will take myself away so you don’t have to hide in the bathroom to avoid looking at me.”

I opened the door, grabbed his head, and kissed him with everything I had in me.

“Or not,” he said when I released him. He looked as confused as I felt. “Would you like to tell me what’s going on?”

“If you die in the next day, I’m never going to forgive you,” I told him.

He looked like he was thinking about that for a few seconds, then gave me another of those sexy bows. “Very well. I accept your terms.”

I smiled. I just couldn’t help myself. “You do make me happy. I’m just… I don’t have the best luck with men who make me happy. They tend to get run down in the street.”

“I promise I’ll look both ways. Do you want me to help you find Mrs. P?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I know where she is.”

He nodded and turned to leave. I followed him to the door to the hallway. “Rowan?”

“Yes?” He glanced back at me.

Dammit, I wanted to kiss the quirky corner of his mouth again. And the rest of it, come to think of it. “Thank you for helping with Mr. Kim and his buddy. As seriously awesome as my dragon’s mate self is, I’m not sure I could have handled both of them.”

He smiled and started to turn away, then suddenly pulled me up against his chest, bent me backward, and kissed the breath from my lungs. His tongue did a sinuous dance that had my legs melting from underneath me. By the time he was done, I was just a giant puddle of desire. He propped me up against the door, and said, “I think you’re much more awesome than you give yourself credit for. Just don’t underestimate Kim and his ilk. They are more dangerous than you know.”

I watched him walk to the doorway that led to the stairs before sliding down the door to the floor, fanning myself for a minute. “Hoo, boy. I think you’re the one I ought to be worried about.”

I ran Mrs. P to earth twenty minutes later, after I had a quick wash and bribed the desk clerk to give me Edvard’s room number.

“I want to talk to you in the morning,” I told her when I forcibly removed her from his room, where she was currently doing what she called the Dance of the Seven Towels. “We have a few things to chat about, not the least of which is why people have such an interest in your jewelry.”

“You’re too serious,” she told me, humming to herself as she entered her room. “Why isn’t your man here? He should be taking care of you, not leaving you to fend for yourself.”

I smiled a secret smile to myself, wondering if there was any chance in the world that I’d have a future with Rowan, or if our budding relationship was doomed from the beginning.

“Now that smile is much more hopeful,” she said, closing the door in my face.

I returned to my bed with the memory of Rowan’s body beneath mine, and erotic thoughts fighting with a good dozen or so questions for active brain time.

It didn’t occur to me until hours later that he never answered my question about what he was doing in Mrs. P’s room.

Seven

Stepping out of the Cairo airport was like going from a madhouse to a madhouse located in an oven.

I clutched Mrs. P’s arm and said under my breath, “Thank god for Akbar One. I couldn’t cope with this on my own.”

The man in question must have heard me despite the din of taxis, people, and what seemed like a bazillion cars all crammed into an extremely small strip of road. “Yes, yes, I take good care of you,” Akbar said with a flash of very white teeth. He was a young man of probably early twenties, and introduced us when we arrived in Cairo by explaining that we’d see a lot of Akbars around (and we did—there were at least three others holding up signs reading Akbar followed by a number), but that he was the best. “You follow me, I take care of you. Very nice car will drive you to your hotel. I show you pyramids, yes? You want to see pyramids?”

“Right now what I want most is a cold shower,” I answered, plucking my shirt from where it was stuck to my sweaty self.

“Hotel first, yes, then pyramids,” Akbar agreed with an amiable smile, and continued to force his way through the great herds of people that swarmed the taxi and pickup zone.

“I wouldn’t mind a good stiff drink,” a voice said behind me.

I made a face at the owner of the voice. “This is a Muslim country, Rowan.”