Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) (3 page)

“I agree,” Ella
said.

He looked at her
to see she was looking at him not with the admonishment one would give a charlatan,
but with the glowing pride of someone who just realized just how amazing her
spouse is.

The rest of the
dinner spun by in a good-natured evening of wine and laughter. Even Johnson
seemed to loosen up, Rowan thought, after Dunbar stopped slapping Rowan on the
back every other minute.

And as for Ella,
he was amazed to see the sparkle come back to her eyes and the smiles she gave
to everyone at the table were clearly genuine and unprompted by duty. He did
not know what had happened to cause this transformation but it was definitely
the cherry on his cake for the night.

Or so he thought.

After sharing an
open-air, horse-drawn carriage with Dunbar and Betsy for the ride back home, he
and Ella watched the pair safely up the steps to their newly remodeled
townhouse in the upper part of Cairo and then sank back into the cab’s leather
seats. Rowan felt the effects of the wine with a hazy glow and so he knew Ella
did too. He reached over to take her hand after giving the cab driver their
address. The Egyptian moon cut a swatch of light across the cab interior and
made her gown shimmer.

“What got into
you tonight?” he said, teasingly. “You acted like you were enjoying yourself.”

“I was,” she
said, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth. She lingered and then pushed her
tongue into his mouth. He responded immediately by drawing her to him to settle
in for the kiss but she pulled away.

“I loved seeing
how awesome you are in your work world,” she said, “and how that dweeb was so
green over what you did. You’re really something, Rowan.”

He ran a hand
down her hip, feeling the silk fabric slide through his fingers. It felt thin.
He could feel the curve of her bottom in his hand and his cock stirred again.

“I’ve decided to
come to London after all,” she said, pulling her drape from between them and
letting it drop to the floor of the cab.

“That’s great,
El! What made you change your mind?”

“It’s hard to put
my finger on it exactly,” she said as she undid the buttons on Rowan’s trousers
and slipped her hand into his pants.

He groaned and
glanced at the back of the head of their Egyptian driver.

“No, El. It’s
been too long. I won’t last five minutes if you start something.”

“Which is why I
intend to finish it, too,” she said as she slid a leg over his hip and, without
letting go of his very stiff cock, pulled her dress up and slipped him inside
her.

He gasped as she
positioned her hands on either side of his head and lifted her hips to thrust
down on him.

“Dear God, El…”
he panted. “I can’t…”

“Oh, yes you can,
Ro,” she said, tugging at the front of her gown, where her breasts sprang free.
He reached for her breasts with both hands and she sat straight up on him and threw
her head back. The ivory white of her shoulders shone in the moonlight as she
let the night air caress her. Her hips moved over him faster and faster, and
Rowan caught the glance of the driver as he watched them through the rear view
mirror. Ella’s dress covered her but there was no doubt what they were doing.

He grabbed her
hips as she arched her back. She was making that little sound that always drove
him crazy—the whimpering sound that said she was about to lose control
and he was the one doing it to her. He pulled the tip of one breast into his
mouth just as he felt her close. She gave a loud, “Uhhhhhh!” that lifted higher
and higher in the still evening as she rode him to her exquisite climax. Just
when he knew he’d taken her there, his own release exploded out of him. He
roared deep in his throat, both hands on her bottom, moving her, taking them
both hard to the finish.

She collapsed on
top of him, little whimpers still coming from her. He kissed her ear. “I think
we’re home, El,” he whispered. The cab had stopped in front of their townhouse.

 
“I know,” she said softly, still not
moving off him. “And that’s wherever you are.”

2

Cairo
1925

The next morning,
Ella lifted her head from her pillow to look at Rowan still asleep. She smiled
at the memory of their evening. She’d rocked his world twice last night.

Put that in your pipe, Julia. Boring, indeed.

Her epiphany had
come to her last night like an electric bolt from the blue. This man was
her
man. This was her family. Her life.
What he was doing here in Cairo was a fulfillment of a dream he never dared
imagine back home, let alone hope for. When she saw the envy and the pride in
the faces around the table at last night’s dinner, it struck her: Rowan was
special. And not just in his own time where, personally, she thought he kicked
butt as a US Deputy Marshal, but here where he was literally making history.

It suddenly
occurred to her that she’d be damned if
she
would be the windbreak for that. She felt a surge of shame at her
self-indulgence earlier. There was a time to wipe little noses and patiently
wait for small hands to tie their own shoes. There was a time to embrace that
and feel it. That time was now. There would be another time for her to work
again. That time would come and she could wait for it.

Right now was Tater’s
time…and Rowan’s. And when she finally realized that fact—like a slap
upside the head—it made all the difference in the world.

She could wait.
What she couldn’t do was lose either of them. Not for a day or even an hour.
And certainly not for three weeks. For the first time since Rowan suggested it,
the idea of going to London felt empowering and exciting. She wouldn’t be
separated from either of them and she wouldn’t make Rowan begin the first step
of his incredible career by himself. When he gave his presentation at the
British Museum—
the British
Museum!—
she would be there in the front row, her heart bursting with
pride and love for his achievement.

She watched him
shift in his half-sleep and felt a tingling of desire vibrate down her inner
thighs. She smiled as she reached for him, when there was a light tap on the
bedroom door.

“
Efendim
Pierce?”

Ella slipped out
of bed and tiptoed to the door. Sekhet, the little kitchen maid, stood in the
hall, her hands twisting the hem of her robe as if horrified to find herself
upstairs. Seeing the girl in her hallway instead of the kitchen jolted Ella
with an instant feeling of anxiety.

“Yes, Sekhet?
What is it?”

“
Efendim
Halima says you are to come to
the baby’s room. Quickly, please.”

***

Two weeks later,
as Rowan stood on the train platform waiting to board, he thought of the ship that
would take him to London from Port Said. The
SS Rajputana
was not your typical passenger ship, he mused,
flashing back to a documentary he saw which revealed that none other than
Lawrence of Arabia would take passage on the ship in about four years time.

How cool is that?

He scanned the
length of the train waiting at the station and felt the excitement build in his
shoulders and neck. He twisted his head to try to relieve some of the tension.
The sounds of the stationmaster calling for last boarders made him turn to Ella
beside him. She stood stiffly, her arms hugging her body in what looked like a
protective hold. Her face was wan and pinched from another late night with poor
Tater.

The baby had been
sick with malaria for the past two weeks. While the little fellow was clearly
on the mend, he and Ella both agreed that travel right now was out of the
question.

 
Rowan felt a twinge of guilt. He should
be focused on their goodbye, not imagining the ship he would have the leisure
to examine inch by inch over the next two weeks.

“Are you sure you
have everything?” she asked.

“I do,” he said,
reaching out to pull her near. “It kills me you two can’t come after all.”

“I know. Me,
too.”

“But I’ll be back
before you know it. Focus on that little art show you’re entering next month.
I’ll be in the front row to hear all the glowing praise for my very talented
wife.”

She made a face.
He knew he sounded patronizing.

“I just wish I
could be there to see
your
presentation,” she said.

“I know. And try
not to worry about Tater. The doctor says he’ll be fine. He’s such a sturdy
little guy.”

“I know. I just
hate…the three of us…”

He watched her
struggle to compose herself, as she’d tried on and off with varying success all
morning. He hated being separated, too. As excited as he was about the trip, he
hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to lose her two years ago. And now there was
Tater, too.

He pulled her
into his arms and felt her finally relax. It had been a long night for both of
them, but he had a four-hour train ride to nap through. She, on the other hand,
would be going back to take care of a sick child.

“It won’t be
long, El,” he whispered. “I’ll hate every minute of it but it won’t be
forever.”

She looked up at
him. He could see the tears glittering in her eyes, held back by force of will
and her long lashes. “I don’t want you to hate every minute of it,” she said.
“I want you to
remember
every minute
so you can tell me about it in detail when you’re home again. I’m so proud of
you, Rowan.”

He kissed her
gently, wishing for the thousandth time she had felt okay about making the trip
without Tater.

Knowing full well
why she couldn’t.

Ella forced
herself to stay on the platform baking in the midday sun until the train pulled
away and disappeared from sight. She watched as it got smaller and smaller on
the horizon. She could sense Rowan’s conflict when they parted. She knew he was
excited. She knew he hated to leave her. It would take him four hours to reach Port
Said, where he would board the steamer to London. That was four hours he’d use
to fret about leaving her and Tater.

When he wasn’t fantasizing about the fantastic adventure
before him.

Two weeks there, plus
four days in London, then he would be back on a ship heading back to her and
Egypt. Roughly five weeks.

As she settled
into the backseat of the car, she looked out the window as her driver headed
back to the townhouse. She shifted uncomfortably and felt under her thigh and
found the small leather-bound photo of her and Tater that Rowan packed in his
briefcase. Somehow it had gotten left in the car.

As she looked out
at the outer ring of Cairo, Ella realized it wasn’t the disappointment of
having to let Rowan go alone, although that had been massive. After allowing
herself to look forward to the trip, it was a jolt to adjust to being left
behind.

And she didn’t do
well with left behind.

 
No, it was something else. It was the
sour
foreboding
feeling that curled
up in the pit of her stomach and challenged her to ignore it. A feeling of
something coming, something that couldn’t be stopped—as surely as Rowan’s
train was eating up the mile after mile of ground that now separated them.

She glanced at
the leather portrait in her hand.

Something bad.

***

She was
magnificent. Eighty-seven hundred deadweight tons of steam-propelled,
jaw-dropping power and beauty. Brand spanking new this year. As Rowan stood on
the dock waiting to board he couldn’t help but ruminate on the fact that
fifteen years from now this magnificent ship—newly commissioned the
HMS Rajputana
—would be torpedoed
and sunk off the coast of Iceland during the Second World War. It was all he
could do not to pat his pocket for his smartphone—which he’d been without
for nearly three years now—in anticipation of snapping a picture of it.

Who would he show?

“She’s a beauty,
eh?”

Rowan turned to
smile at the older gentleman he’d seen on the train ride from Cairo. A bluff,
red-faced man, Rowan thought he had
Irishman
written all over him. His hair, though neatly combed, was long and touched the
top of his collar. For all that, he didn’t look unkempt. His eyes were sharp,
Rowan noticed.

“She certainly
is,” Rowan said. “This isn’t her maiden?”

The man shook his
head. “Nay. She was launched earlier this year. I was hoping we’d get a ride on
her. Tommy O’Faoilin.” He stuck out his hand and Rowan shook it.

“Rowan Pierce.”

“Ah, the
professor.”

“How did you…?”

“Oh, I got a
little gander at the passenger list earlier. Like to know me surroundings, ya
ken?”

Rowan smiled
pleasantly. He remembered the man traveled with a large party—a woman he
assumed was his wife, and three
 
men
who could be his sons or employees. Or even bodyguards.
 

“What brings you
out of Cairo, Professor?”

 
“I’m giving a lecture at the British
Museum.” Rowan couldn’t help enjoying the sounds of the words as he said them.

“My, that
is
posh. Good on you. One of those
archaeologist fellows?”

“Sort of. I teach
at the American University.”

“Sure, I pegged
you for a Yank straightaway. Told me wife, Beverly, ‘He’s got that
just-washed
look about him.’” Tommy
threw back his head and laughed at his own wit. Rowan noticed ‘Beverly’ glanced
over at the sound from where she stood with the three men.

Their eyes met
and she smiled, but there was something in her expression that bothered Rowan.
Something he could not place. Later, after an exhausting self-tour of the ship,
as he was dressing for dinner after a quick clean up in his tiny stateroom, it
came to him.

Fear.
What he had seen in her eyes was fear.

***

Ella rode back to
the townhouse wishing the Studebaker had air conditioning. Her clothes weren’t
designed to wick away moisture or do anything but absorb it and weigh her down.
Plus, whoever said cotton could breathe wasn’t wearing ten pounds of it in a
one hundred-plus degree Egyptian summer.

When she entered
the dining room, Halima was on the floor holding Tater. The baby’s face was
flushed and petulant but Ella could see by the wooden toys in front of them
that he was feeling better.

“Look, darling,” Halima
cooed, her face peaceful and loving with her cranky charge, “Mummy is home.”

Tater glanced at
Ella and arched his back. Immediately, he began to whine. Ella dropped her
purse on the dining table and knelt down. She put the back of her hand against
his forehead although he hadn’t had a fever.

“How’s he
feeling?” she asked.

“Better, I think.
He ate his lunch and napped.”

“That’s good.”

Ella reached for
Tater. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her neck. She breathed in
his little-boy scent and felt the weight that had pressed in on her the whole
ride back from the train station ease and then dissipate.

“Better than a
teddy bear,” she murmured into his neck, kissing his cheek.

“
Effendi
is safely off to Port Said?” Halima
said, standing up and straightening her skirt.

“Yep,” Ella said.
“It’s just us three again.”

“Musket-turds,”
Tater murmured, his eyes closing sleepily.

“That’s right,
Tater Tot,” Ella said, pleased to see he remembered and that he felt well
enough to try to say it. “The three Musketeers. That’s you and me and Daddy.”

Ella smiled at
him, the foreboding feeling gone now for as long as she held her child in her
arms.

***

Rowan barely had
time to notice the layout and style of the
Rajputana’s
formal dining room before he saw Tommy O’Faoilin waving to him from one of the center
tables. That was fine with Rowan. He’d have too many opportunities as it was
for dining alone.

As he approached
the couple—just Tommy and his wife—Rowan tugged on the cuffs of his
formal jacket. He hated the whole dress-for-dinner-bullshit but had long
resigned himself to playing the game for as long as he and Ella were in the
nineteen twenties. He noticed Tommy had played fast and loose with the dress
code. He wore a plain suit, his gut straining against the matching vest as he
sat at the table. Beverly, on the other hand, was stylish and classic in her
long evening dress. He could see now that she had once been a
beauty—could still qualify for one even at her age, which he guessed to
be early fifties.

Her hair was dark
gold and long, coiled and pinned up in the style of the time. Diamond earbobs
hung from her ears and her bright blue eyes sparkled with the champagne she’d
drunk.