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Harley extracted herself from her parents’ arms, wiped her fingers across her cheeks, and smoothed her form-fitted black pants which made her ass look spectacular. “I will go through the box, and you can tell me more about them later. But for now, I want to eat dinner with my mama and papa.”
Margery patted her cheeks with the soggy tissue. “Did you cook something, dear?”
Harley swiped at her own tears. “Goodness, no. Brak cooked. Tonight’s his Italian special. Pasta, meatballs, garlic bread, and homemade cannoli. Can you believe it?”
“Not really.” Her mother, sniffling, took Harley’s arm to stroll toward the kitchen while looking slightly relieved her daughter hadn’t prepped the meal. Brak understood her worry. He had tasted his female’s cooking.
Her father hung back but snagged Brak’s shoulder with a firm grip. “What is this thing between you two?”
Brak heard female laughter drift from the kitchen. “I think I’ll let Harley field that one, sir.”
“Hmm. What are your intentions?”
“Once I tell Harley, I’ll be happy to share them with you. She comes first.”
He slapped Brak on the shoulder. “Good man. Just make sure you treat her well. I see how you look at her and how she looks at you. But my reach is long. I have powerful friends among your kind, and she’s my baby girl.”
“Message received, sir. I would never hurt Harley, but not because you have friends in high places or because they could make me walk with a limp.”
“So, I hear all Blood Coven descendants exhibit a gift. What is Harley’s? Something great, I bet. That girl could move mountains. Let me tell you about the time in high school when…”
“I hear you, Papa. No telling Brak stories about me.”
“He wants to know. Don’t you, son?”
Brak grinned, catching Harley’s eye. “Yes, sir. And maybe some photos from when she was little. Did she always wear glasses? I love her glasses.”
Harley’s glare, her spectacles pushed roughly onto her nose, almost burned a hole in his shirt. Damn. She was sexy.
Chapter Seventeen
Indigo’s ass was sore. Riding a camel wasn’t as fun as it looked in travel videos. The caravan was Lynretta’s idea, agreed to by Roark to appease the succubus historian. Damn her and her love of everything except portals. Or, apparently, cars.
Roark had claimed a happy helper was a successful helper. So they traveled like Arabs but without a spectacular thaub or thobe or thawb, whatever the robe was called. Instead, Indigo wore a long-sleeve cotton shirt, dusty cargoes, boots, a sunhat, sunglasses, and a thick layer of sunscreen. And sweat rolled from her boobs to her crotch. Score one for the slutty succubus weapons expert.
Yuck.
Yesterday, they had caravanned to two Ptolemaic temples. Earlier this morning, the third had been a bust. Now, they headed for the fourth on their grand tour of sand dunes and ruins around Alexandria to search for a specific bas relief of Cleopatra.
Roark rode in front of her, appearing born to the desert. Cool. No perspiration under his armpits. The irritating bastard. Despite her resolve to get him out of her system by hooking up with him only once, last night he had again made her cry out in pleasure. Numerous times. But never again.
Sure. Like I’m gonna stick to that decision. And why should I?
Indigo swayed when her unfriendly, spitting camel dropped forward onto its front knees. It fell onto its back ones. Using the saddle posts to lift herself, she swung a leg over the hump before she slid off the beast. With both feet on solid earth, she stretched her spine side to side. Snatching off her hat, she whacked it against her thigh, dusting the air. The same floating grit coated her lungs along with her skin.
Having dismounted, Roark strode her way, his loose-hipped gait mesmerizing, a smile quirking his mouth. “Just like the old days. Of course, I could have flown faster.”
“That would be a sight for the humans. A small Cessna-size raven in the sky.”
“Their minds are easily wiped.”
“How was I supposed to get here if you flew?”
“You’re an independent female.” He leaned toward her, his lips feathering hers, the sexy male seemingly unconcerned about stares from their companions. “Hmm. The gritty taste of desert. Lovely, my Indy.”
“I am not your Indy. Indigo.”
“Could have fooled me. We seemed pretty close last night. I thought I might have to fight you off to get any sleep.”
