But the fear that had sent him running all those years ago—the fear of a life that demanded too much compromise—was now her own. She had built her life on independence, on ambition. She had come to Egypt to fulfill a destiny she had chosen, not one that had been chosen for her. If she gave herself fully to him, she risked the absolute annihilation of that self-constructed identity.
To choose him now meant inviting chaos into her carefully constructed life. If they allowed this depth of passion to continue, could she still be the focused scientist she needed to be? Could Max, a man defined by his freedom, accept a future that included the messy, complicated demands of a shared life? They had confessed their fear of abandonment, but the real terror was that their ambitions—the very things that had drawn them back together—would once again force them apart.
She carefully, painstakingly, shifted the weight of his arm off her. Max groaned softly, pulling her closer reflexively, burying his face in her hair. She froze, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. He was not just her partner; he was the greatest emotional risk she had ever taken. She loved him with a fierce, uncompromising certainty, but love had been their downfall before.
She waited until his breathing deepened again, then slid away inch by agonizing inch, the sudden coolness of the air on her skin a shocking contrast to his heat. She stood beside the bed, pulling her emerald dressing gown from the floor. It was slightly crumpled, smelling faintly of him. She slipped into it, tying the sash tightly, wrapping herself in a fragile layer of control.
She looked down at him for a long moment, memorizing the line of his jaw, the dark shadow of stubble, the strength of his bare chest. She loved the man who slept there, the one who didn’t run, who had finally fought for her. But the day was coming, and with the daylight came the duty to her expedition, to her own fierce need for professional success. She needed to reclaim the self she was before the heat of their reunion burned it all away.
She slipped through the doorway, letting the latch click softly back into place. The familiar contours of her own suite—the clean lines of her desk, the pristine counterpane of her untouched bed—offered a cold comfort. She walked to the window, watching the sun finally crest the rooftops, painting the city gold.
She had fought for him last night. Now, she had to fight to regain her focus. The passion they had shared had been beautiful and terrifying, and for the safety of the expedition and her own fragile heart, she had to leave it here in Cairo.
Chapter Sixteen
Max rose just after dawn. He’d been disappointed to find Eden gone when he’d awoken, but he knew she’d probably worried about Mrs. Carlisle finding her in his room.
Nerves clamored within him. The expedition wasn’t a lark. It was a well-funded, meticulously planned undertaking, but things could still go wrong, a fact that had weighed on him more heavily with each passing hour. The desert didn’t care for intellect or titles. It cared only for preparation and resilience, and he was terrified that the woman he loved—the woman who had slept in his arms—was about to meet her match.
She’d done well enough on their short trip to the Giza Plateau, but that had been a day trip. Now they faced the deep emptiness of the Western Desert. He was prepared to halt the trip the minute he sensed it was too much for her, but he knew she’d never forgive him if he did.
With a sigh, he finished lacing his boots and grabbed the small bag of items he was taking with him, then crossed the sitting room to tap on Eden’s door. He’d decided to let her sleep until the last possible moment, knowing sleep would be a luxury soon.
“Yes,” she called, her voice husky, a sound that pulled him straight back to the ecstasy he’d found in her arms a few hours ago.
“It’s time,” he replied, his voice deliberately flat, trying to keep the memory of her warm and pliable body from overriding his focus.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll be out in a moment.”
While he waited, he poured a glass of cold water from the pitcher on the sideboard, his mind racing through supply lists. When the door clicked behind him, he turned, and the practiced composure he had struggled to maintain all morning evaporated. The glass nearly slipped from his hand.
Eden stood in the doorway, wearing... breeches. Not the baggy, Turkish-style pants some Oriental women wore, but tailored, soft buff-colored fabric that clung to her ridiculously long legs and gave Max a visceral, immediate jolt of desire.
“What in God’s name are you wearing?” he asked, the question leaving his throat in a strangled, disbelieving rush.
She walked toward him, utterly unconcerned. “My friend Daphne, the one who was at the tavern? She designs clothing in her spare time and made these for me. They’re cotton twill and allow for a range of motion I don’t have in a tight riding habit.” She shrugged, lifting her chin. “The journey will be hard enough; it only makes sense that I should be comfortable and efficient.”
He raked his hand through his hair, frustration warring with a blinding wave of desire. He wanted to step behind her, pull those breeches down to her ankles, and take her from behind. “I don’t dispute the practicality. But the crew, the local officials, the men here—they won’t appreciate seeing you like this, Eden. It could cause more problems than it solves.”
She ignored him and went to the mirror by the entranceway, quickly twisting her glorious auburn hair into an updo and hiding it all beneath a jaunty, wide-brimmed hat. “Max,” she said, her voice calm and absolute, “we are traveling to a remote corner of the earth. I have no concern left for the local rules regarding hem lengths. I need to climb, dismount, and survive.”She met his eyes in the mirror. “We’ll only be in the city for a short while. Then we’ll be out in the desert with no one but a few trusted Bedouins.”
He stared at her and knew he was arguing a lost cause. He also knew that her disregard for society was one of the many things that drew him to her. “The crew we hired won’t like it,” he warned one last time.
“They work for me,” she said sharply, her tone brooking no argument. “They have no say in what I wear. They are there to make our trip easier, not harder.”
