Mission: Irresistible Page 2

  But Dr. Adam Grayfield had beaten Standoffish to the punch. Harrison had to be irked over Dr. Grayfield’s coup d’état. Perhaps that was why he was so pissy.

  Standoffish was younger than she had expected. His youthful face placed him in his early thirties, but still, he seemed much older. Stodgy. Set in his ways.

  And Cassie was stuck with him.

  He was the sole reason the Egyptian government had allowed the exhibit into the United States. The Kimbell had gotten lucky because Standish was a Fort Worth native, and he’d chosen to host the exhibit in his hometown.

  Cassie and the obstinate Egyptologist had had several heated disagreements over the publicity of the star-crossed lovers. She’d had to remind him on more than one occasion of the politics of economics. If he wanted more grant money for his digs, then, like it or not, Harrison would have to play footsie with both the media and the museum’s benevolent benefactors. You’d think after so many years in the archaeology game, the guy would have already bought a clue or two.

  They’d also argued over his refusal to wear a costume for the masquerade party.

  The spoilsport.

  Cassie might have won the publicity war, but Standish had triumphed in the costume department. As usual, his dark hair was disheveled, looking as if he’d combed the unruly locks with a tuning fork.

  He was attired in his quintessential nerdy professor clothes. Rumpled orange-and-white-striped shirt, hideous purple tweed jacket with worn leather elbow patches, a god-awful chartreuse bow tie, and five-pocket, pleated, baggy khaki Dockers. Hadn’t anyone ever told him that pleats were out, out, out?

  And omigosh!

  She just now noticed he was wearing one brown tasseled loafer and one black one. The clueless guy had to be either color-blind or severely fashion-impaired.

  Or both.

  What a geek.

  Cringing, Cassie rolled her eyes and prayed that no one else had noticed. He was destroying the exotic atmosphere of ancient Egypt she’d worked so hard to recreate.

  His gaze held hers, and Cassie forced herself not to glance away. She didn’t exactly know why, but something about the man made her jittery. Maybe it was the way he habitually handled that toy of his. Or perhaps it was because he seemed immune to her charms. She was accustomed to batting her eyelashes, crooking her little finger, and having men fall at her feet.

  But not this dude. He just kept scowling and tossing that stupid artifact reproduction.

  Did he want a staring contest? Was that the deal? Oh, he had sure picked the wrong gal for that. She was the master of the staredown. The only one who could trump her was Maddie.

  Let’s have a go at it, Poindexter. Cassie narrowed her eyes and sank her hands onto her hips.

  He didn’t blink.

  Neither did Cassie.

  She’d heard Standish was known as old Poker Face around the digs, but she wasn’t intimidated. The game was on.

  He narrowed his eyes.

  She responded in kind.

  One minute passed.

  Two.

  Then three.

  Okay, now she’d see how he responded under pressure. She stuck out her tongue.

  Real mature. He cabled the message with his eyes and didn’t crack a smile. Apparently he wasn’t going to let the sight of her tongue unnerve him.

  She laughed, flipped her straight dark wig over her shoulder, and gave him a quick flash of her natural blonde hair beneath. The peekaboo was no accident. His face flushed as if he was having thoughts he had no business entertaining.

  “Ahem.” Phyllis Lambert cleared her throat. The middle-aged curator was also dressed as Cleopatra, but Phyllis didn’t possess the pizzazz to pull it off.

  “Uh-huh,” Cassie mumbled without glancing over at her boss. She didn’t want to break eye contact with Standoffish and default the game.

  “If you’re all done exchanging meaningful glances with Dr. Standish, might I have a word with you, Cassandra?”

  Meaningful glances? As if!

  First off, she wouldn’t be caught dead flirting with a pointy-headed intellectual like Einstein Poindexter Standoffish. Second, before Cassie could ever successfully flirt with him, he would have to read the comprehensive volume of Flirting for Dummies cover to cover.

  Twice.

  From what she had seen of Standoffish so far, the dude possessed few social skills and zero talent for coquetry.

  “Cassandra,” Lambert repeated.

  No one except the annoying curator ever called her by her given name. Not even her own mother when she was displeased with her.

  Cassie directed her gaze to the potato-chip-thin woman who wore too much makeup and not enough clothing. Powder foundation had settled into the numerous wrinkles lining her disapproving mouth. The air-conditioning was cranked a couple of degrees too low, providing indisputable evidence that the fifty-something Lambert wasn’t wearing a bra under her flimsy white gown.

  Not that her “girls” needed a harness, but barf, this was a classy event. At the very least, a couple of strategically placed Band-Aids were in order.

  Be nice. Lambert has the power to make all your dreams come true.

  Or crush them into dust.

  Cassie forced a smile and ignored both the curator’s comment about exchanging meaningful glances with Dr. Standish and her unbound ta-tas.

  “How may I help you, Phyllis?”

  Lambert pursed her lips and tapped the face of her wristwatch. “The presentation starts at eight o’clock. It’s now fifteen minutes until the hour, and there’s no sign of Dr. Grayfield. Have you heard from him?”

  Seven-forty-five. Really? Time flew when you were being shadowed by a mysterious mummy.

  Cassie frowned. Where was Adam?

  He had called her from New York the previous afternoon, promising that he and Solen would arrive at the Kimbell with plenty of time to set up for the reunification ceremony. Even if Dr. Grayfield appeared right now, fifteen minutes wasn’t nearly enough time to get things set up and rolling.

  She had offered to send a car and an assistant to help him unload the crate at DFW Airport, but Adam had refused. For the sake of secrecy, he’d insisted on handling the details himself. Because she was a big fan of the dramatic, Cassie had acquiesced. In retrospect, it wasn’t such a hot idea.

  Had something happened to him? Could he have been robbed? Accosted? Worse?

  Anxiety clutched her, but then she blew out her breath and brushed her fears aside. Her twin sister, Maddie, was the worrywart, not she.

  Everything would be fine.

  Adam would show. No doubt he just wanted to make a grand entrance. And who could blame him? He had a big surprise in store. Imagine being the first person ever to decipher the hieroglyphs of the ancient Minoans, on top of discovering the lost tomb of Kiya’s beloved Solen.

  Cassie felt especially honored because she was the only one Adam had told about the hieroglyphs. He’d said it was on a need-to-know basis, and because she was in charge of the party, she was the only one who needed to know in advance that he had an addition to the program. He’d sworn her to secrecy. Which wasn’t a problem. She liked being in on secrets.

  From over Phyllis’s shoulder, Cassie spied the mummy again. He was waving, trying to get her attention. When his dark, enigmatic eyes met hers, he inclined his head toward the exit door leading to the garden courtyard. Was he telling her to meet him outside?

  A sudden thought occurred. Could Adam Grayfield be the mummy? He’d told her he would be wearing a special costume. Was he playing flirtatious games with her? Or did he have an urgent message to relay?

  “Well?” Phyllis demanded.

  “Hmm?”

  “Have you heard from Dr. Grayfield or not?”

  No point putting the woman in a snit before there was something to snit about. “I heard from Adam.” Last night, Cassie mentally added. “Everything is on schedule.”

  “He better be here by eight.” Phyllis tapped her watch again. “Becau
se if anything goes wrong tonight—”

  “Nothing,” Cassie interrupted the curator, “is going to go wrong.”

  “Then do me a favor and put my mind at ease. Locate Dr. Grayfield.”

  “Okay, fine.”

  Jeez Louise, don’t get your panties in a bunch.

  “Go. Now.” Phyllis made shooing motions.

  “I’m going, I’m going.”

  Cassie started after her purse, where she’d stashed her address book. She had taken only a couple of steps before Lambert dropped the nuclear bomb.

  “Oh, and Cassandra,” Phyllis called after her.

  Cassie forced herself not to sigh. She turned around and plastered a perky smile on her face. “Yes, Phyllis?”

  “If you return without Dr. Grayfield and the remainder of the exhibit, you can kiss your coveted recommendation to the Smithsonian good-bye.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Dr. Harrison Standish hated parties.

  No, hated was too mild a word. He loathed them, despised them, abhorred them. He would rather have a root canal, a major tax audit, and a prostate exam—all on the same morning—than attend one of these exorbitantly expensive, butt-kissing cultural affairs.

  He’d already scoped out every exit so he could make a quick and clean getaway as soon as feasibly possible. He never went anywhere without an escape route mapped out.

  Worst of all, it was a masquerade party. How pathetic—a group of grown people dressing up in silly costumes, pretending to be some ridiculous characters from history or literature. And as the icing on the cake, there in the center of the room, glomming on to attention, was the flamboyant Cassie Cooper. Looking as if she owned the world in her regal Cleopatra costume, heavy eyeliner, and thick dark wig. The kohl made her big eyes look even wider than they were, emphasizing that compellingly innocent-yet-naughty quality of hers.

  Harrison was irritated with himself because each time she sashayed by, every intelligent thought bounced right out of his head, to be replaced by a drooling, Cro-Magnon, monosyllabic beat.

  Me want.

  This wasn’t like him at all, dammit. But whenever Cassie appeared he could not seem to stop himself from fantasizing about her. And he hated his unexpected weakness almost as much as he hated this party.

  He had to stop thinking about her because she was, quite frankly, the most mesmerizing yet infuriating woman he had ever met. He could not afford the luxury of falling under her spell. However, it was far more than her fair complexion, light-colored eyes, and voluptuous figure that drove him around the bend.

  Her scattered thought processes made no rational sense. Just when he thought he had her figured out, she would do something totally illogical. Harrison suspected the woman possessed a serious case of adult attention deficit disorder.

  She strutted across the room, hips swaying with primal rhythm. In his head he heard the hissing whispery sound of metallic brushes whisking over brass cymbals, reverberating with each roll of her fabulous ass. Tss-tta-tss-tta-tss.

  A guy could get whiplash from watching her.

  The woman was nimble. He would give her that. She was Lepidoptera Danaus plexippus, flashy, colorful, flitting from flower to flower. Here, there, everywhere. Never lingering in one place, always on the move.

  Working with her over the course of the past nine days had been a royal pain in the butt. Whenever she wanted to get her way on an issue, she would ply her womanly wiles. Flirting, teasing, cajoling.

  Harrison had pretended to be underwhelmed by her charms, even though he was as bedazzled as the stammering college students helping them set up the exhibit. But he refused to let her know the extent of her power over him. He’d learned from hard experience you couldn’t trust lust.

  Face it, Standish, it’s just been too long since you’ve had sex.

  The pressure of celibacy, that’s all this was. Because he and Cassie were total opposites in every way imaginable. She was a bubbly optimist. He was an eternal pessimist. She was sensual. He was cerebral. She was a romantic. He was a cynic. She was laid-back. He was tense. She sought the silver lining. He was always waiting for the other shoe to fall. And whenever he looked into her eyes, he could tell exactly what she was thinking.

  Nerd. Dork. Geek.

  Harrison knew, without a word being said, what kind of man she normally went for. Suave, debonair, charming dudes with expensive sports cars, ostentatious wardrobes, and toothpaste-commercial smiles.

  Guys like his devilish half brother, Adam. Who upstaged him at every turn. The way she had gone on and on and on all week, chattering about how excited she was that Dr. Grayfield was coming to the Kimbell, really stuck in his craw. What was he? Chop suey? He was so irritated by her obvious adoration of Adam that he hadn’t even told her they were brothers.

  Harrison ground his teeth. He was trying to suck up his disappointment and be the bigger person. So what if Cassie seemed enamored of his half brother? So what if Adam had found Solen before he did? No big deal. Adam and his gregarious personality had been able to raise the financial backing while introverted Harrison had not.

  Story of his life.

  But he was suspicious of his brother’s financial support. Although Adam’s father, Ambassador Tom Grayfield, was rich, Adam, forever the rebel, raised his own money so he wouldn’t have to do things his father’s way. In the past, Adam hadn’t been too choosy about where he got his funding, often running afoul of loan sharks and other unsavory characters.

  Harrison would hate to see his younger brother in trouble again. Because as much as they disagreed, they did share an unbreakable bond. They’d both survived a nomadic childhood with Diana Standish.

  Besides, he didn’t care about the fame that came with finding Solen. The discovery was what mattered. Not their sibling rivalry.

  Where was his brother, by the way?

  He glanced around the room. Adam should be making his grand entrance anytime now. He was all about grand entrances and grand gestures and grand romances that flared hot but never lasted.

  All style and no substance. Come to think of it, Adam was essentially a masculine version of Cassie Cooper.

  Harrison snorted. What a spectacular pair those two would make.

  The yin and yang of glitz and flash. If Adam and Cassie ever hooked up, it would be like spring break, New Year’s Eve, and Mardi Gras all rolled into one. Of course, when reality reared its inevitable head, bye-bye hot tryst. Neither one of them had the staying power for cleanup after the party was over.

  “Excuse me, young man,” said an elderly woman with an Isis headdress. She was peering at the display of an ancient Egyptian battery found in Kiya’s tomb. “Do you know what this is?”

  “It’s called a tet or a djed.” He pointed to the label mounted on a plaque above the display. “A wireless battery.”

  “They had batteries in ancient Egypt?”

  “Yes, ma’am, they did.”

  “What did they use them for?”

  “We don’t know for sure, although there’s a lot of speculation. Some believe it was for religious rituals, others think it was used for medicinal purposes.”

  “Really?”

  Harrison’s personal theory was that the ancient Egyptians used the djed as a transmitter of electromagnetic waves. He’d been very excited about finding one in Kiya’s tomb and had even constructed a miniature replica of his own so he could test his theories. “Would you like to see a reproduction?”

  “Why, yes.” The aged Isis peered at him curiously as Harrison placed his homemade djed in her hand.

  “It has a bit of a phallic appearance, doesn’t it?” Isis ran her hand along the tube.

  “Uh, yes, ma’am.”

  The woman gave it back to him and winked. “Very interesting.”

  He pocketed the djed and decided to move away from the exhibit to forestall future questioning. He strolled over to the central display, eyeing Kiya’s sarcophagus and the amulet. Ahmose Akvar, exalted son of a former Egyptian prime minister
and himself a high-ranking official with the Ministry of Antiquities, moved to stand beside him.

  Ahmose wasn’t much older than Harrison, and while they possessed similar olive-toned complexions and were about the same height and build, the resemblance ended there. The Egyptian’s features were much more patrician than Harrison’s, and he wore tailor-made silk suits and expensive Italian shoes. Ahmose was there to make certain nothing happened to Kiya. Over the years, many precious relics had been stolen from the Valley of the Kings, and the Ministry of Antiquities took their artifacts very seriously.

  Ahmose shook his head. “You know, Dr. Standish, I am worried about the lax security.”

  “Lax security? There are armed security guards posted at every exit.”

  “Yes, but I did not realize the amulet would be displayed right out in the open. It should be in a locked case.”

  Harrison had similar reservations concerning the display, but Cassie had insisted that the guests, who had paid an excessive amount of money to attend the event, would demand to see the amulet without the restriction of a locked case. Against his better judgment, he’d allowed her to have her way, simply so he wouldn’t have to watch her lips plump up in a pout. Those pouty lips clouded his reason every single time.

  God, he was a fool.

  “As you know,” Ahmose said, “I’ve never approved of reuniting the star-crossed lovers. What if something unexpected occurs?” The Egyptian’s English was flawless. He held a bachelor’s degree from Harvard and a master’s from Oxford.

  “Don’t worry. It’s just a myth. There’s no magic, no charm, no curse. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  The furrow in Ahmose’s otherwise smooth brow deepened the longer he stared at Kiya’s sarcophagus. “There are more things in heaven and earth than mortal man understands, my friend.”

  Terrific, here was another gullible believer in that idiotic star-crossed lovers legend. “I didn’t realize you were such a sentimentalist, Ahmose.”

  “You do not know everything there is to know about me, Dr. Standish.”

  Apparently not. Harrison had presumed that Ahmose was a man of science. Instead, he had just discovered he was as susceptible to the ludicrous fairy tale as everyone else.