had many compounds constructed. In many areas of the world. All underground. Hidden. Where it is safest. We are going to the one near the fortress my great-grandfather built . As you already know, Buhen is underwater. Not my compound. I built into the hills far from the fortress. But thanks to humanity and the Aswan Dam, I now have what is, in essence, waterfront property.”
Geena giggled. And then stilled. She never giggled. There wasn’t much in life worth it. Her eyes probably would have widened if they didn’t feel so leaden. Her body so flexible. Pliable. Warm.
“Just don’t go putting me in any harem, Sokar. That would be unforgiveable. Okay?”
“Oh. Habibi. Never. You have my word.”
Sokar was an immense man. Solid. Comforting. Perching on his lap, gazing into his eyes was beyond addictive. It was compulsory. His arms had encircled her with his massage. He tightened them now and pulled her close. Geena should struggle. Strike out. Defend. Anything other than snuggle. There was no way he was a vampire. He was so warm. So alive. She could hear his heart pounding, beating in tandem with hers. It soothed. Protected. Reassured.
This was despicable. Underhanded. And absolutely perfect.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“All right. This is beyond ridiculous. Where do you shop, a Moroccan bazaar?”
Sokar’s eyes went to the arched doorway where Geena stood. The doorway was twenty feet high, gloriously inset with mosaic to look like a view of the Nile. When the fields were lush and green after an inundation had settled. Flocks of birds filled the skies. Boats plied the waves. The design was vividly colored and overly ornate, but that could be said of this entire compound. He’d been in one of his art phases. Learning and then using construction techniques and visual arts had helped with the passage of years. He’d been a willing pupil with decades to master any craft. Compound Buhen was one result. The entire place was a mixture of architectural styles and designs. He hadn’t realized just how flamboyant it had become. And yet, right now...with her standing at the base of it, that doorway was the perfect frame.
This compound didn’t have a harem, but the apartments he’d set aside for his mate were a close second to that description. The rooms were crafted entirely of stone, but the amount of decorations and furnishings muted any coldness. As did the lighting he’d wired during the last century. There was even a pool in the center to bathe in.
Geena had been sleeping soundly when they landed. She’d barely moved as he settled her on a cushioned platform, placed a picnic basket on the floor beside her. It contained two pre-packaged meals, fresh fruit, an assortment of cheeses and baked goods, a bottle of water, another of wine. This basket was from the pilot, Stanislaw. The man was well worth his pay. The fellow kept the plane’s pantry stocked, and he knew what sorts of delicacies a human would like. Good man.
Sokar had left her with everything she should need. That had been this morning. It was now approaching evening. She’d obviously rested, used the pool, partaken of her feast, found her wardrobe, and yet did not sound pleased.
He wondered why.
She’d dressed in a teal-colored floor-length caftan, weighted slightly in the front by the amount of gold and silver thread embellishment the seamstresses had used. She was using a sunset-hued length of silk for a belt. Her dark hair was pulled back. She hadn’t covered it. She didn’t appear to be wearing any cosmetics. They were unnecessary. He had never seen anything as beautiful.
Ever.
His jaw dropped. His fingers stalled on the keyboard. A line consisting of the letter “e” started across the screen before he lifted his hands.
“Well?” She raised the skirt with one hand and sent him an unreadable look.
“Apologies, habibi. You—. I—.” Sokar’s voice stopped. He stood. Wiped his hands down his thighs. Looked across at her. Since she was still in
Geena giggled. And then stilled. She never giggled. There wasn’t much in life worth it. Her eyes probably would have widened if they didn’t feel so leaden. Her body so flexible. Pliable. Warm.
“Just don’t go putting me in any harem, Sokar. That would be unforgiveable. Okay?”
“Oh. Habibi. Never. You have my word.”
Sokar was an immense man. Solid. Comforting. Perching on his lap, gazing into his eyes was beyond addictive. It was compulsory. His arms had encircled her with his massage. He tightened them now and pulled her close. Geena should struggle. Strike out. Defend. Anything other than snuggle. There was no way he was a vampire. He was so warm. So alive. She could hear his heart pounding, beating in tandem with hers. It soothed. Protected. Reassured.
This was despicable. Underhanded. And absolutely perfect.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“All right. This is beyond ridiculous. Where do you shop, a Moroccan bazaar?”
Sokar’s eyes went to the arched doorway where Geena stood. The doorway was twenty feet high, gloriously inset with mosaic to look like a view of the Nile. When the fields were lush and green after an inundation had settled. Flocks of birds filled the skies. Boats plied the waves. The design was vividly colored and overly ornate, but that could be said of this entire compound. He’d been in one of his art phases. Learning and then using construction techniques and visual arts had helped with the passage of years. He’d been a willing pupil with decades to master any craft. Compound Buhen was one result. The entire place was a mixture of architectural styles and designs. He hadn’t realized just how flamboyant it had become. And yet, right now...with her standing at the base of it, that doorway was the perfect frame.
This compound didn’t have a harem, but the apartments he’d set aside for his mate were a close second to that description. The rooms were crafted entirely of stone, but the amount of decorations and furnishings muted any coldness. As did the lighting he’d wired during the last century. There was even a pool in the center to bathe in.
Geena had been sleeping soundly when they landed. She’d barely moved as he settled her on a cushioned platform, placed a picnic basket on the floor beside her. It contained two pre-packaged meals, fresh fruit, an assortment of cheeses and baked goods, a bottle of water, another of wine. This basket was from the pilot, Stanislaw. The man was well worth his pay. The fellow kept the plane’s pantry stocked, and he knew what sorts of delicacies a human would like. Good man.
Sokar had left her with everything she should need. That had been this morning. It was now approaching evening. She’d obviously rested, used the pool, partaken of her feast, found her wardrobe, and yet did not sound pleased.
He wondered why.
She’d dressed in a teal-colored floor-length caftan, weighted slightly in the front by the amount of gold and silver thread embellishment the seamstresses had used. She was using a sunset-hued length of silk for a belt. Her dark hair was pulled back. She hadn’t covered it. She didn’t appear to be wearing any cosmetics. They were unnecessary. He had never seen anything as beautiful.
Ever.
His jaw dropped. His fingers stalled on the keyboard. A line consisting of the letter “e” started across the screen before he lifted his hands.
“Well?” She raised the skirt with one hand and sent him an unreadable look.
“Apologies, habibi. You—. I—.” Sokar’s voice stopped. He stood. Wiped his hands down his thighs. Looked across at her. Since she was still in
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