Free Her Royal Protector (a Johari Crown Novel) (Entangled Indulgence) by Alexandra Sellers Page B

Can you hold this, please? Don’t step on the nest.”
    And with that she shoved the end of the tape measure into his grip, pushed his hand into position above the center of a rough circle of marks in the sand, and set off for the nearest large upthrust of black rock. He stood bemused, watching as she knelt in the sand to make notes, then got up again, called out, “Stay there,” and headed off in another direction.
    When she had measured three different trajectories, she returned to him, drawing the tape measure into itself as she approached. “Thanks,” she said briefly, before bending over her backpack again.
    Allah , that butt. Baggy as her clothes were, her rump was well outlined when she bent over, and proved to be a much more female shape than her general demeanor would suggest. As Aly dug purposefully into the canvas backpack, Arif had to push his own hands into his pockets to resist the urge to grab those tilted hips and pull her back into his groin. She would not be so dismissive of him if he did.
    He would not be such a fool.
    Fortunately, after a few seconds of tossing things onto the sand, she straightened. In one hand she held a short stake. Now she squatted down, set the stake a few inches away from the little mound that marked the center of the nest, and gently worked it into the sand. With a practiced twist she reached into a pocket of her backpack and pulled out a rectangle of stiff red-and-white plastic. This she slid into a slot on the stake.
    “The eggs are underneath the sand there?”
    “That’s right,” she said, without looking up.
    “Won’t the stake damage them?” he asked.
    “They’re down well below this, don’t worry.”
    She had planted a little red-and-white flag. As she glided to her feet, the contrast between her smooth-flowing expertise here and her gauche awkwardness on the night of the banquet was almost like looking at two different women.
    “And what’s this for?” he asked idly, bending to pick up a little metal broom that lay on the sand.
    “That’s my Disappearing Broom.” She smiled and took it from him, then went down one line of turtle tracks, obliterating them with quick strokes all the way down to the sea and back up the return track. Now nothing remained in the way of evidence save the little flag. When he looked closer, Arif saw that the white marking was a number: A1.
    “Right,” Aly said in satisfaction, and began packing her equipment into the backpack again.
    “Why do you wipe the marks from the sand?”
    A curious expression crossed her face, but she only shrugged. “So I won’t be distracted by them next time I walk this beach,” she said.
    …
    Aly saw the seagulls as soon as they rounded the point. Swooping and diving and calling. Her heart twisted with certain knowledge, and she snatched her backpack from Arif’s hand and began to run.
    “ Get out! Get out of there,” she screamed. She was too far away. She tried to dig out her broom, but the backpack was banging against her legs, slowing her down. It was more important to get there. She dropped the pack and cranked up her speed.
    Behind her Arif called something, but she had no time for explanations. She was too busy screaming at the gulls. “Get away from them, get away.” Her heart was beating ten times too fast already, but she didn’t dare stop.
    A gull swooped down with terrible precision, all the way to the sand, and rose again with something in its mouth, and knives of anguish ripped at her gut. “ Off! Piss off, all of you!” she screamed in helpless fury. She was waving her arms like a living scarecrow, running and staggering over the sand, but it was another twenty yards before the gulls began to take notice of her. As she got closer they cruised higher up, but none of them actually flew off.
    She arrived at the nest and saw the flurry of tiny markings in the white sand. But not one hatchling. Her heart contracted to a tight hard knot of grief. Not one little black shape