Page 19 of Hot Zone

He didn’t release her hand when she was vertical, though. He pulled her uncomfortably close to his chest and glared down at her. “You still want me.”

She didn’t deign to reply. She tugged at her hand, and he let it go. When he said nothing, she snapped, “What do you want?”

“You.”

She gulped. Managed to say glibly, “Since that’s not happening anytime soon, what else do you want?”

“What do you seek in this place?”

Interesting—and alarming—that he assumed she was looking for something. “I merely seek a way home.”

“Don’t we all?” he muttered with surprising bitterness. He glanced at her again. “Give me your hand.”

“You just had it. And besides, it’s mine.”

“Woman, you are as prickly as yon cactus. And more contrary, I vow.” He gestured toward a prickly pear clinging to the poor soil.

She shrugged. “You’re the one who hauled me up here.”

He turned away to gaze at the distant mountains. “Two days’ march from here lies the road to Athens. And the pass at Thermopylae. It is a highly defensible position, and with every hour the Greeks can delay Xerxes there, the more time they will have to prepare Athens for his assault. Know you what will happen when Xerxes’s army comes to the pass?”

Of course she knew. Three hundred Spartans, led by their king, Leonidas, and helped by a handful of Thebans and Thespians, would make a heroic and ultimately suicidal stand in the pass.

They would die to the last man, but they would buy the populace of Athens enough time to evacuate the city and avoid wholesale slaughter, thereby saving the Greek civilization and ensuring its influence on mankind for millennia to come.

The battle and the Spartans’ stand still resonated through history as one of the greatest acts of heroism ever accomplished.

“I’m no soldier,” she replied, “I have no idea what will happen at Thermopylae.”

He glanced down at her, perplexed. “Why do I hear untruth in your voice? Surely in your home women are not warriors?”

She forced a laugh. “The weaker sex? Why, we can barely lift a sword or shield, let alone wield both in battle.”

How in the heck had he heard untruth in her voice? If he was so perceptive, she might as well stop talking to him altogether. No way was she going to get through a conversation of any length in this place without lies, and lots of them.

“Thermopylae is a good place for the Greeks to make a stand. They will cost Xerxes many men and rob his army of its swagger.”

He sounded as if he already knew the outcome of the battle. He must be well versed in military strategy. “Will you fight in the battle?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Artemesia will not hear of it. I am her personal sorcerer.”

“She would keep an able-bodied warrior out of the fight to do parlor tricks at parties?” The military officer in Tessa was offended at the idea.

He laughed gently. “’Tis for the best. I have no wish to write history.”

She knew the feeling. “How soon will Xerxes march for Thermopylae?”

He shrugged. “A few days. A week, maybe. His men are almost whipped up to a sufficient pitch of battle fever.”

The sun was beating down mercilessly and Tessa feared for her fair skin. “Unless you wish to see me turn as red as a…pomegranate…I need to get out of this sun.”

He reached out to rub the pad of his thumb lightly across her cheekbone. “Indeed, you are a creature of snow and ice, far too fair for this clime.”

She really wished her breath would quit going all wobbly like that every time he touched her.

He continued in a husky murmur, “Is your heart likewise carved of ice?” He moved nearer, his dark eyes ablaze. “Nay. I think not. I think you but hide from the fire within. You fear it.”

“I fear nothing,” she retorted.

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