Page 15 of Wet and Welder
“It’s Nazarian,” she tells me, taking it from my hands.
“I wasn’t gonna steal it,” I reply with raised eyebrows, but she only laughs at me.
“I’m more worried about it getting damaged, big guy,” Mallory counters with a wink that makes me feel lighter. Maybe she’s not gonna fight me anymore.
“What makes you so sure you’re not gonna break anything?” I joke.
“Because I’m a professional. My parents raised me on dig sites. Not that some of these artifacts aren’t already broken, but I do know how to handle them.”
“Your parents were archaeologists?” I ask her tentatively. Parents are a touchy subject and she’s not exactly been open and friendly with me so far.
“Yep. The very ones who found these.”
“Wow. That’s impressive. Makes a lot of sense that you’re leading this particular mission then,” I say, hoping she’ll fill in the blanks.
“Yeah. It’s an honor. Granted, they’ve been dead for a decade but that’s about how long it’s taken to find this ship. After digging up the ancient city, with permission from the Egyptian government, mind you, they loaded it all up, just to be gunned down.”
The room grows solemn, and I’m still reeling from the pain in her voice. It’s ridiculous, but I wish I could take it away for her. My parents are still alive and well, and although we’re not as close as we used to be, I would be torn up if anything like that happened to them.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mallory. No one told me what happened, and I was dumb enough to take the job without asking. You’re really brave for coming after their legacy and leading the damn thing.”
My words bring a smile to her face. Full and wide, right up to her eyes, which seem to sparkle in the lamp light. She’s set up a few more now, and there’s a clearing on the tilted floor where she must want to examine the pieces, so I reach for another.
“Mind if I help? Well, I’m not exactly askin’. I’m going to help you,” I tell her with a wink, setting a small, wrapped piece in the center of the room.
Mallory only nods and goes to find another. In my search, I find a small green pen covered in dried mud and possibly clay. I decide to pocket it and clean it up more later so I might read what’s engraved. I won’t keep it forever, but for now, it’s safer in my pocket. Mallory seems to be picking the bigger items anyway. It may not have any importance at all.
We work side by side for a while. Once we get a good pile going, she sits, so I follow her lead, handing over a muddy sack.
“Thanks,” she says and gives me that smile again. Damn, a man could get used to this calm and sexy version of her.
Inside the sack, she finds a sculpture of a woman kneeling as if in worship.
“That’s cool.” Is my less-than-stellar reply.
“Right. Handmade over a thousand years ago.”
I hand her a clean, if not a little damp, rag from my pack, and she thanks me. Cleaning off the doll, she sets it in a tackle box which I assume she’ll bring up to the Omega. A few more are unwrapped and packed back up when the strangest thing happens.
“Thank you for what you said last night. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it. I am sorry about the cold shoulder. It’s more me than you, if you can believe it. This job has been harder than I anticipated, and the men working for me don’t want to listen to me. Getting any kind of respect here has been challenging, and I worry that if they knew about the night we shared, I’d lose what little bit I’ve gained. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen how they push your buttons. It must suck.”
“It does. And it comes so easily for you. I think some jealousy got the better of me. Anyway, I’m sorry. Can we start over?”
“Absolutely.” I nod with a smile, and she laughs lightly. The mood seems to brighten along with the lamps, and we spend the next hour in friendly conversation as we unpack her parent’s treasures. She tells me all about the trips they took when she was a kid, and she listens with interest when I tell her about my apprenticeship on this ship and building the very room we were in. It’s nice, but still, I feel our unspoken attraction burning between us. Whether we’re arguing or joking, our desire for each other is still fighting to pull us together.
Will it win, or will this still be just a job I’ll have to walk away from when she’s done with me?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MALLORY
“It’s getting late,” I say after looking at the late hour on my watch. “We should probably get this stuff out of here and call it a day.”
The funny thing is I don’t feel like moving an inch. Mic is sitting closer now, his thick thigh brushing mine as he tucks away the script we were attempting to read together. It is blotched and muddy from the water reaching inside the crate, but it’s still a treasure.
“Ah, you’re probably right. Never thought I’d have such a good time looking through this stuff.”