Rose of the Desert Read Online Free Page B

evening, Mr. Whitman," with a sideways glance at Julie. "As you requested I am keeping an eye on Miss Lambert."
    "Professionally, of course," Clay drawled sarcastically. He nodded towards the oil fields. "There 's a man out there with a gashed leg. Rig three. Get someone to drive you."
    The doctor departed with a pained sigh and Clay took Julie's arm. She noticed the roughness of his grasp and murmured,
    "We're almost there. I can find my own way if you have other things to do."
    "I'm through for today. What were you two talking about?"
    Julie looked up at Clay's profile as he stared straight ahead. She shrugged.
    "Nothing much. I was wondering why Doctor Rahmid stays if he doesn't like it here."
    He stared down at her. The brown eyes held a flicker of annoyance.
    "So he's been selling you the old line, has he? Don't waste your sympathy on him—he tries it on all of us. Dr. Rahmid is the type who is happiest when he's miserable. He's free to pull out whenever he likes."
    "Well, you might try at least to understand him."
    "Like you do?" His smile was twisted as they stopped outside her door. He let his arm drop, but made no effort to move away. "Do you think Moore would approve of you shining your bluebell eyes on the doctor?"
    "Why shouldn't he?" Julie replied, determined not to get ruffled.
    "No reason." He leaned a broad arm on the doorway. "But if I had gone to the trouble of getting a girl fixed up in my father's Mediterranean offices and paid for her to stay at the plushiest hotel, I would expect to have some claim on her myself."
    "No doubt you would, but as Alan and I are just friends he's not likely to think on those lines, is he?"
    "No? I bet he'll be peeved as hell to find you're not in Tripoli when he arrives."
    She saw the dark gleam in his eyes and her breath quickened angrily. "You always insist on reading nastiness into everything, don't you?"
    "No, but I know Moore."
    "And so do I."
    He gave her a long look and shrugged, "Either you're charmingly naive or you don't mind."
    "Sometimes you're ..." Furious, she raised a hand to strike him, but he caught her wrist with a harsh laugh. "Don't waste your energy. You'll need it for young Moore."
    Crimson, she had to suffer her wrist in his grasp and his face mocking above hers, but she managed to say steadily, "I don't suppose his unpopularity out here has anything to do with the fact that Alan is the son of Sir Giles Moore, the chairman of the company ?"
    He released her roughly and pushed the door of the bungalow open with a sudden jerk. "Let's wait and see, shall we?"
    Julie entered, expecting Clay to leave, but he hung around at the door, staring up at the stars as though allowing tempers to cool. Presently he strolled inside, casting a lazy glance at the feminine touches to the room.
    "Are you comfortable here ?"
    She nodded. "There's no need to send your man over to keep it clean. It would take no time at all to dust round in the evening."
    He shook his head, eyeing with disdain the cluster of desert flowers flowing from a glass on the windowsill.
    "You've got enough to do. By the way," he looked up at her, "Steve tells me you're almost clear in the office. You've done a good job."
    "I'm glad I could help," she said politely, waiting for him to go.
    "You can."
    It was a rather obscure reply and she looked to him for enlightenment. He grinned down at his overalls. "Give me time to get cleaned up and we'll have a drink. I want to talk to you." He nodded to the streak of oil along her shoulder which must have rubbed off from his sleeve. "Funny, the smudge on your shirt makes no difference at all. You still look as if you've stepped out of a bandbox."
    Julie gazed down with a half smile at her white shirt and linen skirt, and then around the room. "You can hardly call this the rougher side of life."
    "It could get rougher."
    Amidst the confusion of a wildly beating heart she thought he moved a pace closer. The brown eyes curiously flecked with green met and locked