forehead oozed blood.
He gave her an idea how horrible she must look.
She didn't care. She was alive.
She leaned her head back against the stone. The air smelled good, like the ocean . . . and the earth. The rocks dug into her back, and the discomfort told her she was alive. Dirt filled her boots, and pebbles had worked their way between her toes, and that was good, too.
"You afraid of heights?" Rurik asked.
"Nope." Far below, the waves pounded the rocks. "Just the dark."
He nodded. "I can't believe you made it out with that backpack."
She looked down. While she'd waited for Rurik at the entrance of the tunnel, she'd placed the backpack on her front, tightened the straps as much as she could. "Camera," she said.
He chuckled a little. "Figures." And, "Is it okay?"
She unzipped the main flap, pulled out the Nikon, and examined it. Her waterproof, dirt-proof, ripstop, padded backpack had come through. "Looks good."
"Good girl." He chuckled again.
Tenderly, she put her beloved camera back away.
Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he opened it. Dirt showered out. "Shit." The screen was cracked.
He shook it, pushed talk, put it to his ear. "Shit," he said again. "It wasn't built for a cave-in." He put it back in his pocket. "Have you got one?"
"In my backpack," she said vaguely. "It's off, though. Who's going to call me?"
"I don't know. Your mother? Your father?"
She gazed across the ocean. A thin, pale gray line crept up from the horizon, swallowing the blue sky. "My parents are dead."
"Your other lover?"
"He's busy," she said without missing a beat.
"Are you trying to make me jealous?"
"No."
"No. Of course not. To do that, you would have to care."
Do you really want to talk about this now? But she didn't ask. He did want to talk, anytime, anywhere. And she wanted to avoid that confrontation at all costs. She started to unzip the backpack. "Do you want to call your family? Because when news of the explosion hits, they're going to worry."
He placed his hand over hers to stop her. "They won't worry, not for a few days, anyway. I have a way of landing smoothly. No, keep your phone off for now."
She knew why. Pointing up at the top of the cliff, she asked, "Are we in danger here?"
"No. Those boys never knew we were in the tomb. They certainly don't know we escaped."
"I knew the legend was overrated," she said with satisfaction.
He rolled his head toward her. "What legend?"
"I'll tell you when we're off this island."
His eyes narrowed. He started to speak. Changed his mind. Spoke anyway. "What are you holding?"
She would bet that wasn't what he'd been about to say.
She looked down at her hand. She gripped a piece of dirty, rust-encrusted metal about eight inches long and narrow as a blade. "I don't know. A knife of some kind. It sort of found me white you were pulling me out."
"Keep it. We'll examine it later."
She unzipped the pocket in her backpack, the one on the outside for the water bottle she never carried, and dropped the ancient thing inside.
Rurik watched her, and disappointment turned his mouth into a thin line. "That knife may be the only thing left from the excavation."
"I'm sorry." She put her hand on his arm. "I know what that tomb meant to you."
He considered her hand. Looked up at her. And his eyes were savage. Almost. . . frightening, with a red flame deep inside.
She caught her breath. She yanked her hand away.
"As long as you're alive, the tomb is nothing."
She'd expected him to hit on her, grab her, kiss her. Not say that. And to say it in such a serious tone . . . "I've been in danger before."
"Not like this. Not because of me."
He could be so irritating—and powerful, and se ductive. He made her put up all her defenses, because he made her feel safe from the world—and in peril from him. If she gave in to him, leaned on him, trusted him, she would be the biggest fool in the history of the world. She kept her voice brisk and unwelcoming. "You give yourself too much
He gave her an idea how horrible she must look.
She didn't care. She was alive.
She leaned her head back against the stone. The air smelled good, like the ocean . . . and the earth. The rocks dug into her back, and the discomfort told her she was alive. Dirt filled her boots, and pebbles had worked their way between her toes, and that was good, too.
"You afraid of heights?" Rurik asked.
"Nope." Far below, the waves pounded the rocks. "Just the dark."
He nodded. "I can't believe you made it out with that backpack."
She looked down. While she'd waited for Rurik at the entrance of the tunnel, she'd placed the backpack on her front, tightened the straps as much as she could. "Camera," she said.
He chuckled a little. "Figures." And, "Is it okay?"
She unzipped the main flap, pulled out the Nikon, and examined it. Her waterproof, dirt-proof, ripstop, padded backpack had come through. "Looks good."
"Good girl." He chuckled again.
Tenderly, she put her beloved camera back away.
Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he opened it. Dirt showered out. "Shit." The screen was cracked.
He shook it, pushed talk, put it to his ear. "Shit," he said again. "It wasn't built for a cave-in." He put it back in his pocket. "Have you got one?"
"In my backpack," she said vaguely. "It's off, though. Who's going to call me?"
"I don't know. Your mother? Your father?"
She gazed across the ocean. A thin, pale gray line crept up from the horizon, swallowing the blue sky. "My parents are dead."
"Your other lover?"
"He's busy," she said without missing a beat.
"Are you trying to make me jealous?"
"No."
"No. Of course not. To do that, you would have to care."
Do you really want to talk about this now? But she didn't ask. He did want to talk, anytime, anywhere. And she wanted to avoid that confrontation at all costs. She started to unzip the backpack. "Do you want to call your family? Because when news of the explosion hits, they're going to worry."
He placed his hand over hers to stop her. "They won't worry, not for a few days, anyway. I have a way of landing smoothly. No, keep your phone off for now."
She knew why. Pointing up at the top of the cliff, she asked, "Are we in danger here?"
"No. Those boys never knew we were in the tomb. They certainly don't know we escaped."
"I knew the legend was overrated," she said with satisfaction.
He rolled his head toward her. "What legend?"
"I'll tell you when we're off this island."
His eyes narrowed. He started to speak. Changed his mind. Spoke anyway. "What are you holding?"
She would bet that wasn't what he'd been about to say.
She looked down at her hand. She gripped a piece of dirty, rust-encrusted metal about eight inches long and narrow as a blade. "I don't know. A knife of some kind. It sort of found me white you were pulling me out."
"Keep it. We'll examine it later."
She unzipped the pocket in her backpack, the one on the outside for the water bottle she never carried, and dropped the ancient thing inside.
Rurik watched her, and disappointment turned his mouth into a thin line. "That knife may be the only thing left from the excavation."
"I'm sorry." She put her hand on his arm. "I know what that tomb meant to you."
He considered her hand. Looked up at her. And his eyes were savage. Almost. . . frightening, with a red flame deep inside.
She caught her breath. She yanked her hand away.
"As long as you're alive, the tomb is nothing."
She'd expected him to hit on her, grab her, kiss her. Not say that. And to say it in such a serious tone . . . "I've been in danger before."
"Not like this. Not because of me."
He could be so irritating—and powerful, and se ductive. He made her put up all her defenses, because he made her feel safe from the world—and in peril from him. If she gave in to him, leaned on him, trusted him, she would be the biggest fool in the history of the world. She kept her voice brisk and unwelcoming. "You give yourself too much
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