She heard voices. Males voices, speaking a strange, foreign language. What language were they speaking? Where was she? Alex opened her eyes. Wherever she was, it was very dark.
Lights did glow, but they shed little illumination. And the voices had stopped.
Alex turned her head slightly and looked into a pair of long-lashed silver eyes. For a single moment she could not breathe. “Murad?”
The very handsome young man stared at her with grave concern. His jaw was flexed, his temples throbbing. “You fainted, madam. But you will be fine. Don’t try to sit up.Lowsamaht,”he added quickly. “How do you feel?” His English was flawless, but spoken with a clipped British accent.
Alex began to breathe normally again, but she could not tear her gaze from the young man’s. He was a striking boy of perhaps twenty. It was almost as if she knew him—except she was certain that they had never met before. “Better.”
The young man slipped his arm around her and helped her sit up. A moment later he had placed a paper cup to her lips and was helping her to drink. Alex leaned against him and drank greedily. When she had finished, their eyes met and Alex smiled. “I feel much better. Thank you.”
He stared at her, his gaze intense. His arm remained around her.
Alex realized then that she was practically on his lap. But it did not feel awkward or strange. She shifted and he released her. “Do I know you?”
“No.”
Alex hesitated; she wasn’t sure now that he was right. “I’m Alexandra Thornton.”
“Joseph.”
Alex started to rise. Immediately he had his arm around her and was lifting her to her feet. “Thank you,” she said again, thoroughly puzzled now. Too late, she realized they were speaking English, not French, but she did not feel any danger. She felt, in fact, incredibly safe.“Shukran,”she said, trying out one of the few Arabic words she had learned. It meant “thank you.”
He shrugged, jamming his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You’re welcome.” Then he smiled.“El-ah-foo.”
Alex turned to the older, bearded man. “I’m so sorry. I just arrived, and like a fool, decided to sightsee instead of rest and eat. I clearly overestimated myself.” “My father doesn’t speak English,” Joseph said. He offered her a small smile and rapidly translated.
Joseph’s father nodded enthusiastically and spoke again.
Alex gave Joseph a questioning glance. He smiled at her again, more naturally now. He had a perfect smile. It reached his silver-blue eyes. “He says he is only heartsick that you were so unwell. To have such beauty in his shop is a wonderful event. He hopes you will have the best of times here in Tripoli. And perhaps you might like to browse in his shop.” Joseph’s eyes never left hers.
“Tell your father thank you,” Alex said, blushing slightly. “And of course, I would love to browse.” Joseph and his father were so kind that she could not have refused; in fact, she intended to purchase something.
“You don’t have to buy anything,” Joseph said.
Alex jerked. She was so surprised that she stared at him before saying jokingly. “What are you? A mind reader?”
He smiled. “Your intentions were written all over your face. You are easy to read, Alex Thornton.”
Alex wondered if he was flirting with her and instantly dismissed the idea. He was three or four years younger than she—he was not yet a man, but hardly a boy. He was just a kind person who was very serious and very intense.
Then Alex realized that he had called her Alex.
She hesitated. Theyhadmet before. But Alex could not think where. Then she realized that Joseph’s father was gesturing proudly at his store. Looking around, Alex saw that it was filled to overflowing with colorful rugs, beautifully carved chairs, tables, and chests, with mirrors, vases, and urns. And the shop smelled wonderfully of some sweet yet tangy incense.
“Is there anything that you prefer?” Joseph asked.
“Something that is one hundred percent Tripoli—preferably from the early nineteenth century.”
“Why?”
Alex was already fingering a small box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. “I am partial to that period of history.”
“I see,” Joseph said, his tone strange. “That box is not very old. It is a jewelry box.”
Alex flashed him a smile and picked up a small glass ashtray. Tiny, exquisite shells had been set inside the translucent glass, which was multicolored. “This is beautiful.” “Do you smoke?”
“No, but it would still be perfect on a coffee table.” She set it down. Something metallic and blue caught her eye. And chills raced up and down Alex’s spine. “What is that?” She asked slowly.
