Page 18 of Hot Zone

Four

“What in the high god’s name were you doing with Artemesia?” Rustam demanded under his breath, taking her none too gently by the arm. He waved off Malah with his free hand, and Tessa was dismayed to see the servant scuttle away.

She shook off his grip, or at least tried to. Unsuccessfully. “I have business to take care of, Rustam. Let me go. I’m not your plaything to drag around.”

“I will make you my plaything if I wish,” he muttered direly as he hauled her outside the temple and into the street.

The promise in his voice stole her breath away. “Where are we going?” she demanded.

“Some place private. To talk.”

“Is there any privacy in the middle of a million-man army?”

“’Tis closer to three hundred thousand. Maybe five hundred thousand if you count servants, artisans and other hangers-on.”

Well. That answered one of history’s great questions. Historians had debated forever whether Herodotus’s report of the million-man army was a gross exaggeration or not. Too bad Tessa would never be able to tell modern military historians the true figure.

She half-ran to keep up with Rustam as he propelled her through the streets of the Greek city and out into the sea of tents. It was a matter of pride not to ask him to slow down. Besides, she was in good enough shape to keep up with his long strides. The U.S. Army saw to that.

The men swarming around her looked rough. Mean. Eyed her in a way that made her want to crowd close against Rustam’s side. Wow. These steely, scarred men made the highly competent soldiers she served with back home seem like pampered sissies. Of course, these warriors had already survived a grueling march all the way from Central Asia and several major battles.

She and Rustam walked for more than a mile before the tents gave way to long rows of paddocks filled with elephants, then camels, and finally, horses. Rustam held his free hand out, and horses lined up by the dozens along the fences to nuzzle at his palm.

He made small sounds under his breath, and the animals arched their necks and nickered back. He was good with equines. Great with them, in fact. Of course, it was probably a required skill for macho warriors of this time period.

A rocky outcropping rose in front of them, and what had to be Mount Oeta loomed, blue and forbidding, in the distance. Rustam’s pace never slowed as he stormed up a narrow, winding path, apparently assuming she would follow along like an obedient dog.

Finally, she groused, “Slow down, already. I’ve got flimsy sandals on.”

He glanced down at her feet, which were dusty and scratched, then bent quickly and picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down!” She beat on his back to no avail. The man was a rock. A big, muscular, overwhelmingly male rock. Something in her gut went hot and liquid. Oh, for crying out loud. She did not melt around macho jerks.

The macho jerk in question stopped all of a sudden and dumped her in an unceremonious heap on the ground.

“Ouch!” She glared up at him. “You are such a…I could really learn to dislike you.”

“You lie,” he replied smoothly.

“I do not—”

He cut her off. “You want me. I can smell it.”

“Smell…? Excuse me?”

“Desire hangs on your skin like the flower petals you crushed in your fingers this morning.”

Whoa. He had a great sense of smell. “Okay, Tarzan. You dragged me up here on top of this rock to talk. So talk.”

“Tarzan?” His eyebrows drew together.

“Another character out of a story from my home.”

“You know too many stories.”

“And you’re still a…never mind.”

He held a hand down to her. Were she not hopelessly entangled in her skirts, she would have ignored it. But given the circumstances, she reluctantly grasped it and let him lift her easily to her feet.

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