They pulled apart, the interruption a sharp jolt back to reality. Max squeezed her hand before letting it go, his expression a mixture of apology and regret.
“Shall we?” His voice was a study of practiced nonchalance.
“Of course.” She tried to match his tone, though the echo of what almost was thrummed insistently between them. What had he been about to say?
They walked back, side by side, their steps measured against the backdrop of the ancient stones, both aware of how easily time could slip through one’s grasp—and determined to hold it all the more fiercely for that knowledge.
The last light of the sun bled across the desert floor, painting the sky in a final, fiery display of oranges and purples before surrendering to the vast, star-strewn canvas of the night.
Their guide, a wiry man with a face weathered by the relentless sun, had proven to be as resourceful as he was taciturn. While Max and Eden had been mesmerized by the quiet majesty of the Sphinx and the pyramids, he had gone about the business of dinner.
Eden watched him now, squatting beside a small fire that threw dancing shadows across the sand. The air, crisp and cool, carried the rich, savory scent of meat cooking over the embers. She hugged her arms, a shiver running through her that had nothing to do with the temperature. Most of the tourists were long gone. The silence of the desert was punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and voices in the distance.
“He’s makingkofta,” Max said, his eyes on the guide. “Ground meat, heavily spiced. Simple, but satisfying.”
She thought it prudent not to ask what kind of meat.
A moment later, the guide approached, carrying a tray laden with food. He laid out a coarse cloth on the sand, setting down a woven basket of warm, flat bread, a bowl of tomato-and-cucumber salad, and two plates piled high with grilled meat kebabs. Thekoftawere dark and fragrant, their spices releasing a tantalizing aroma.
Eden picked up a skewer, the heat of the meat warming her fingers. She tore off a piece of the bread and used it to pinch a small portion of the kebab. The taste was an explosion of flavor—the smoky, grilled meat perfectly complemented by the pungent spices. She savored the richness, the stark contrast to the delicate tea sandwiches of London.
“This is wonderful,” she said, her voice soft in the quiet expanse.
Max, busy devouring his own portion, only grunted in agreement. He passed her the bowl of salad. “The lemon dressing cuts through the richness nicely.”
They ate in comfortable silence, the silence of two people who had known each other for a long time and did not need to fill every space with noise. Eden’s mind drifted to the journey ahead, the unknown that waited for them just beyond the horizon. The pyramids, now dark sentinels against the night sky, seemed to hold all the secrets of the past. The desert, with itsendless stars and silent expanse, held the promise of the future. She felt a profound sense of peace, a quiet contentment she couldn’t remember ever feeling before.
After they had finished, the guide poured them two glasses of hot tea. Eden cupped her hands around the glass, feeling the warmth seep into her bones. The moon rose, illuminating the desert with a soft, ethereal light. Max sat beside her, his gaze fixed on the stars. She had never seen him so quiet, so pensive.
“Do you think I’m ready for what lies ahead of us?” she asked, dreading his answer.
“It won’t be easy. But I think that you have enough passion and strength to see you through.” He met her gaze. “I won’t let any harm come to you, Eden. If things get too rough, we’ll turn back.”
She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Chapter Thirteen
The dinner jacket was so confining that Max felt like it was strangling him. He hadn’t worn anything that required a proper cravat—let alone one of this blinding, starched whiteness—in ages, and the stifling heat of the Cairo ballroom only intensified his discomfort. However, he must admit he was grateful to Lucas for suggesting he pack something formal.
He’d suggested that Eden come here tonight to ingratiate herself with the powers that be in Cairo to make getting their permits a little easier, but he hadn’t expected her to insist that he come as well. He’d thought she’d take Mrs. Carlisle—that was the entire reason the duchess had insisted she come, wasn’t it?—but Eden had balked at the thought, claiming the night would be tedious enough.
He’d been powerless to refuse her when he realized she actually wanted to spend time with him.
So now, he stood slightly apart from the throng of diplomats and wealthy travelers with their champagne and gossip. His dark, formal clothes were a sharp, jarring contrast to the practical, sun-faded linen he was used to. He felt acutely out of place, and the crowd, with its blinding jewels and loud, confident laughter, made his skin crawl, reminding him how little he belonged here.
