Page 4 of Afraid to Hope

“Sir,” Natasha answered, extending her hand. “I look forward to working with you.” She appraised him. Trim, her height or just a bit under. Late fifties to early sixties, short white hair, cornflower-blue eyes that missed nothing, and wrinkles that looked as if they sagged from all the world’s worries. His English accent indicated he was a member of the United Kingdom’s upper classes.

“How was your flight, Doctor?”

“Long.”

“You didn’t sleep?”

“Off and on. Sleep has been difficult, sir. I expect Assistant Deputy Drummond informed you about what occurred in Guatemala?”

“Right. The damnedest thing.”

“It was,” she said, her face breaking into a large smile, standing taller, feeling pride down to her toes. “But we got him, sir. So you—”

Something shifted behind her. Natasha whipped around.

A mountain of a man rose from the sofa in the shadowed corner and stepped into the rays of light. He dwarfed her five foot ten by a good six inches. He moved forward with easy grace, invading her personal space.

Natasha’s eyes had a mind of their own, and she was helpless as they traveled his lean, powerful body at a record rate. He was the most beautiful, unabashedly male, exquisite man she’d ever laid eyes on. Rugged. Ripped. Devilishly handsome.

Confidence and raw sexual energy buffeted her, but Natasha refused to step back, to surrender her space. Wavy, dark brown hair tapered to a short fade, resembling a week’s growth of beard. Heavy, dark brows framed expressive hazel eyes—bedroom eyes—that had a keen interest in her.Jesus.Natasha couldn’t look away.She snapped her mouth shut to keep herself from drooling.What in hell was I doing while I was blatantly staring?

His eyes twinkled and his crow’s-feet deepened. His mouth drew up in a crooked, sexy smirk with a hint of dimples, and he spoke so softly that she doubted Director Cantrell could hear him. Every word he uttered in his deep timbre vibrated within her, setting off delicious, hot sparks. “You can look, Dr. Jordaan.” His smirk broke into a devastating white smile. “I’m even more impressive naked.”

American.A tinge of a Southern accent. Natasha didn’t dare break eye contact, but she backed up abruptly, stunned by his brashness. She glared at the man and her posture stiffened, disdain pouring from her eyes. “Excuse me? Since you’re here, I assume you’re more than just eye candy.” Turning to the director, she cleared her throat. “Sir?”

“Bane. Knock it off,” grumbled the director.

Deep laughter erupted behind her. “Sorry, Emmet. Eye candy. That’s a good one.” He chuckled. “I’ve never been equated with eye candy, but whatever floats your boat, Doctor, is fine with me.”

Who the hell was he, calling the director by his first name?

“Dr. Jordaan, please sit.” Director Cantrell pointed to the chairs in front of his desk. “Bane, you too.” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before sighing heavily and amending his demand. “Please.”

Bane seemed to accidentally graze his leg against Natasha’s as he folded his large frame into a chair that was too small for him. He regarded Natasha with eyes that hinted at a melting pot of ancestry and danced with mischief and humor even though the man was not smiling.

“Well. I guess I should start over.” He held out his large hand, his eyes looking deeply into hers. “Bane Rua.”

Never one to let anyone get something over her, Natasha extended her hand even though her body was already humming from being grazed by his leg. He clasped her hand, softly stroking the palm with one of his fingers. All reason evaporated as electricity shot through her system again. Appalled by what he was doing and her reaction, she squeezed his hand harder, fighting like mad to get ahold of herself, calling on her training to slow her heart rate.

“Dr. Jordaan,” she said, her voice cracking with irritation.

A cocky grin and a glimpse of his straight white teeth flashed again. He nodded perceptibly. “You’re strong. I like that. Since we’re going to be working together, don’t you think we can be on a first-name basis?”

Working together? Oh no. She could not work with him. She would not. Natasha shook her head in disbelief and pulled her hand from his.

Bane leaned in, his smile open and confident. “You don’t want to work with me? Oh, Doctor, you might want to rethink that.” His voice was teasing, sexy.

Natasha grappled with the embarrassment flooding her, disconcerted that he had been able to read her. His scent—clean male, sandalwood, and spice wafted over her. It was heady, seductive, and she had lost control of her emotions, which she normally had a firm grip on. With little effort, he had stripped Natasha of her long-useful defenses, and in front of Director Cantrell.

“Enough, Bane.” The director cleared his throat. “Dr. Jordaan, you do not have a choice in the matter. I called this meeting to acquaint you with each other. We require particular expertise, experience, and skills for this assignment. Bane is former special ops and, like you, fluent in French and Arabic. One of the best specialists we work with. Granted, his methods”—he ran his hand through his hair and replaced his glasses, his tired blue eyes scrutinizing Bane—“and humor can be a bit taxing.”

The director came around between them and leaned back on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms in front of his chest and one ankle over the other. “Well, let us jump to it. Water?”

Natasha was suddenly parched. “Please.”

“I’m good.” A ghost of a smile lit Bane’s features.

The director poured water from a glass pitcher etched with a gold-and-teal design. He handed a matching glass to Natasha. “Doctor, I’ll keep this meeting brief in light of your long travel day. The three of us will reconvene tomorrow morning and go over the assignment in more detail. Plan on a full day. Bane, Dr. Jordaan is a classical archaeologist specializing in archaeometry, which means she excels at the archaeological details such as dating and authentication that are essential for accurate identification. We require the doctor’s skills in addition to her field training and your specialties.” His eyes moved back and forth between them. “Inasmuch as the focus is in Morocco, repatriating looted items, the scope of the assignment impacts the world. INTERPOL and AFRIPOL, specifically you as our representatives, are tasked with recovering recently discovered treasures. Of note, there’s a codex that went missing from Ouarzazate, suspected of being similar in age to the Codex Sinaiticus, which was written in the fourth century. The other treasure is human remains,Homo sapiens,believed to date back some three hundred thousand years, excavated from a newer pit in Jebel Irhoud. Again, the authenticity and ages of these discoveries are unconfirmed. If verified, they will be considered priceless, possibly revealing astonishing scientific and historical significance.”

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