TEN
Claiming that the tiny room was an apartment was a stretch. Barely five hundred square feet, it held an aging sofa bed, an armchair, a hot plate, and a minibar-sized refrigerator. It smelled strongly of insect repellent and cleaning products.
Isis placed her camera bag on the table beside an antiquated boxy nineteen-inch TV as she looked around. “At least it’s clean and varmint free—”
Thorne grabbed her upper arm, spinning her around and into his arms. Off balance, she fell neatly against his chest, her hands coming to rest over his heart. Her eyes widened as he slid off her glasses and stuck them in his back pocket. He took her mouth. She tasted of orange Fanta and hot silky female. A lethal combo Thorne didn’t waste time resisting.
It had been a long f*cking day, and adrenaline still surged through his body despite several hours spent relaxing with her friends. The longer he’d sat there, trying to appear engaged, the longer he’d observed the sweet curve of her mouth as she talked, and the soft, plump outline of her breasts shifting under her thin cotton T-shirt as she breathed.
Thorne was done observing.
Her eager response made him crazy as she feasted on him, her lush mouth eager and active, her tongue dancing and playing against his. The taste of her went to his head like fine, aged brandy. So good in fact that the kiss almost blew the top of his head off. He forgot to breathe as he gathered her supple body against him, and ignored the surge of numbers tumbling through his brain like jumping beans before they streamlined into a long, endless parade of numbers superimposed behind his closed lids.
2833290328332903283329032833290328332903 28332903.
Bloody hell. Not now.
Sliding both hands down her slender back, he cupped her shapely arse through the thin cotton of her pants. She arched against him, pressing her pelvis against his erection as her nimble fingers skimmed under his shirt and up his back, her short nails scoring his skin. His dick jumped in response. Without opening his eyes, he walked her backward toward a horizontal surface—the swaybacked sofa a few short steps across the threadbare carpet.
Barely separating their mouths, he yanked her neon orange T-shirt over her head. Her moan of pleasure vibrated against his chest as he glided a hand up her side, then slipped his fingers inside the cotton cup of her bra to fill his palm with the sweet, silky weight of her breast. Her skin felt impossibly soft, slightly damp, her nipple puckered and hard against his palm.
Oh, for God’s sa—283329032833290328332903.
Skimming his hand up her back, Thorne unclasped the thin wisp of her bra as they came to a halt against the edge of the sofa. Isis’s fingers latched onto his belt buckle…
28332903. He blew out a frustrated breath. Lifting his mouth a breath away from hers, he muttered thickly, “Where is it?”
“Hmm?” She opened slightly dazed eyes. “Where is—what?”
“You have an article on you that you weren’t wearing before. Hand it over.”
He observed the glaze of passion clear a little. “Wow, you are good.” She pulled an inch-square chamois leather pouch out of her back pocket. “But can’t we finish the kiss first?”
Thorne tilted her face up and raked his teeth on her bottom lip. “That and more,” he promised, voice thick as he shifted to put some space between them.
Reaching back, she frowned and refastened her bra. “What we were just doing is more important than a cheap reproduction necklace.”
Wasn’t it, though. The numbers, however, weren’t going to stop because they were randy. Loosening the cord, Thorne tipped the pouch over his open hand. A delicate gold chain slithered onto his palm, followed by what looked like a small oval amulet. The goddess Isis, her wings spread. He’d seen this image everywhere at the souk and even on posters at the London Natural History Museum. “Where’d you get this?”
Her hair curled wildly over her bare shoulders, and Isis pushed it out of her face impatiently. He could see the dark areolas through the delicate beige satin of her bra, still-hard peaks begging for his touch. The dim lamplight shone on her skin, made it appear milky pale. He wanted to taste it, damn it.
28332903.
“My father gave it to me years ago—the amulet, not the chain. It’s my lucky amulet, but the chain is so delicate I don’t wear it very often. With all this crazy running around, I took it out of my camera bag and stuck it in my—You’re being very mysterious.” Isis bent to pick up her T-shirt from the floor. When she pulled it over her head it was inside out. Not a problem, since Thorne had every intention of stripping it off her again in a few moments.
“Even though it holds great sentimental value,” she told him, squinting to apparently bring him into focus as she pulled the shirt over her hips, “it has no monetary value, you know.”
2833290328332903283329032833290328332903 28332903. “I’m getting a GPS reading from it.”
Her eyebrow rose into her bangs. “For Khan el-Khalili bazaar? Because that’s where he told me he bought it—”
“Hold that thought.” Thorne pulled his comm out of his back pocket, handed her back her glasses, then punched in the longitude and latitude running through his mind like a ticker tape. “Valley of the Scorpions.”
“Really? That can’t be right. He never found anything there.”
“But that’s where he told you he was when he called you that night, right? Maybe he didn’t get this there three months ago. But this is the location I’m seeing.”
“What? Are you telling me this is from Cleo’s tomb?”
“I have no idea whose tomb it comes from, but it didn’t come from the bazaar.”
“Are you positive?”
“Unequivocally.”
She drooped down to the sagging cushions of the sofa. “Are you saying he did find her tomb in the Valley of the Scorpions? For real? The same valley that’s below the dam and about to become a giant freaking lake for water-skiers and fishermen?”
He sat beside her. The ancient cushions obligingly threw her against him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders to steady her. “That would be the one.”
“It’s being flooded next week; you remember that small detail, right?”
“Take a breath, you’re hyperventilating. We need to get out there and see if this is even a possibility.”
“They can’t be allowed to flood the valley if there’s even a small chance that Queen Cleopatra’s tomb is right there!” She pushed out of his hold and maneuvered herself off the lumpy cushions to stand up. “They can’t. Who do we talk to first? Minister of Water? Or Minister of Antiquities? This is the find of a lifetime. My God, my father was there—”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“I know for sure! Thorne, he was digging in that valley a year ago. And now—now I bet that was where he was digging three months ago when he was attacked.”
“He was discovered two hundred miles away from the valley, Isis. Two hundred miles. Possibly he found this little amulet a year ago and gave it to you as a memento. Do you have any proof that it was found in Cleopatra’s tomb? No.”
“I just know it was,” she said stubbornly, folding it gently in her palm, then resting her fist over her breast. “It doesn’t have to be based on anything but faith. I’ve never doubted my father. He might be confused, he might be a lot of things, but he found her, I know he did.
“Cleopatra was obsessed with Isis, and they say paintings and statues were all over her homes. If you’re sure this wasn’t purchased in the bazaar, as my father claimed, then it has significant value. And knowing him, if he lied about where he found it—even to me—then I know this came from her tomb. Just as much as I know that my father found the tomb, and was robbed of his discovery! And that tomb is about to be destroyed if we don’t put a stop to the opening of that dam. They moved Abu Simbel when they built Aswan; they can move the contents of Cleo’s tomb before they flood the Valley of the Scorpions!”
“In less than a week?” he pointed out reasonably.
Her cheeks were flushed, her nose pink, and her eyes looked enormous magnified by tears behind her glasses. “Yes. Whatever it takes.”
Thorne leaned back, crossing one leg over his knee and stretching his arms out along the seat back. Bloody hell. This was already a clusterf*ck without her trying to stop a massive decade-long project. “That takes years of planning. Particularly if this really is her tomb. The national spotlight will be glaring. Thousands of lives and billions of dollars are at stake. No one is going to be willing to risk so much on so little.”
“Are you kidding me? The discovery of this tomb will be monumental. Bigger than the discovery of King Tutankhamen! We have to stop them from flooding the valley. That’s all we have to do. Stop the flooding. Look. Find if it really is her. We can go from there, right?”
Thorne reached out to snag her wrist, tugging her back to sit beside him. In a well-orchestrated move he stripped her T-shirt over her head and crowded her down against the pillows. “We can’t do anything until morning.” He breathed in the scent of her skin as he kissed his way down her throat. Her pulse was rapid because of her agitation, but he was about to change that to a different kind of stimulation. “We have hours to kill before then.”
“Hmm,” she murmured indistinctly, lifting her mouth for his kiss. “And you weren’t planning on sleeping much, were you?”
“How about not sleeping at all?”
LACING HIS FINGERS WITH hers, Thorne held them above her head so they were palm to palm, his hard chest pressed against her breasts. “You drive me mad, woman.” His breath fanned her face.
“It’s purely intentional.” Isis bit his lower lip and felt a curl of satisfaction as he growled low in his throat and his mouth crushed hers.
Lifting his head, he stared into her eyes as if he was reading her mind. The naked hunger on his face stole her breath and made her heart beat even faster. “Are you absolutely, positively sure? Because this time I’m not backing up.”
Isis met his intense gaze inches from her own. Heart hammering hard against her rib cage, she combed her fingers through the short, velvety-soft pelt of his hair above his ears. “Absolutely, positively.”
He reached out and plucked off her glasses, setting them somewhere behind him. A prickle of anticipation mixed with hot need as his head lowered the last few inches. His sensual mouth didn’t need to coax hers open; she wanted him inside. She met his bold, eager tongue with her own, craving more, wanting to crawl inside his skin.
The hot, devouring kiss was unlike any she’d known or even imagined. She loved kissing, but this—locking lips with Thorne was more than she could’ve fantasized. She fell into it headlong, intoxicated by his heat and the rich, heady taste of the strong coffee he’d been drinking at dinner.
Isis glided her fingers up his sides but kept getting distracted by hot satin skin and the kiss that was soul-eating and delicious.
Tangling his fingers in her hair, he used one large hand to hold her head exactly where he wanted it, and the other to skim under her T-shirt and glide up her body. His fingers were hot, slightly rough, and in a hurry.
He smelled so good—soap and starch, and man. And his own unique dizzying smell that was part all of those, and part the natural musk of his skin.
He rolled off her without warning, leaving Isis blinking and bewildered as he toed off his shoes. Maintaining eye contact, he yanked his T-shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor. She’d wondered forever what his body would look like, and here he was, in living, spectacular 3-D. Tall, lean, muscular, and a hard ass, he was her every fantasy rolled into one delicious package.
She drank him in. Tough guy. The dark stubble on his stubborn jaw made him look like a pirate. How was it possible for a mouth to be so serious, and yet so sensual? Isis wanted to stroke his face, to explore every masculine dip and curve. Satin skin stretched tightly over clearly defined muscles. His broad shoulders blocked out the lamplight behind him, and Isis imagined she could feel the glide of his shadow against her skin as he undressed.
She admired the crisp dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his jeans as his hands went to his belt buckle. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and her heart beat loud and fast as she saw a wedge of dark hair behind his fingers.
Heart thudding, Isis looked her fill. “You’re beautiful.”
His cheeks darkened and his lips tightened. “Different reaction in a second; brace yourself.”
She sat up on her elbows, barely registering his words, fascinated by the striptease just a few feet away. She’d never seen anything as sexy as Thorne’s slow reveal of his rock-hard body. The wedge between the teeth of the zipper widened to frame the long curve of his erect penis, which brushed the taut muscles of his belly.
Already unbearably turned on, Isis’s breath caught as her body pulsed and moistened in response to the visual stimuli. Her hands might not be as steady as Thorne’s, but she too scrambled to get naked. Reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra, she watched Thorne’s jeans inch down a little more, showing a lot more. Dear God. The man was built… large, she saw, fascinated as he exposed the rest of himself to her hungry gaze.
Feeling as sensual and sexy as his eyes telegraphed, she tossed her bra over her head to land somewhere on the floor behind the sofa. Feeling buoyant and heavy, giddy and unbearably focused, Isis slid both hands down her belly, feeling the softness of her own skin, and the warmth as her skin heated. A hard, unsteady pulse throbbed in her breasts and between her legs.
She might explode from longing, and he’d yet to touch her. Anticipation made her almost delirious, and the brush of her own fingers as she slowly slid the pants down her hips was almost unbearable. The cotton pants had an elastic waistband. Handy. And quick. Lifting her butt without taking her eyes off him, Isis slid the pants and her panties down her legs.
Not knowing where to look first, wanting to run her hands all over him, her gaze tracked up his belly, over his deeply muscled chest, up the strong column of his throat to his tense expression. But his penis drew her gaze like metal to a magnet.
Deep inside, her muscles pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Shifting on the sofa, she held out her arms to him.
His desire for her was evident. Boy howdy was it evident. Her fingers flexed on the sofa cushions. “I want you, Connor James Thorne.” Her voice was unrecognizable, it was so husky and thick with longing. She felt hot, then shivery cold, aware of the rough texture of the cushions beneath her, and the almost imperceptible drift of cool air on her naked body.
His eyes burned like twin green flames as he ran his gaze from her face, over her bare breasts and down her legs. She felt the heat of that look like a physical caress.
The distended cords in his neck visibly throbbed, and a light film of sweat turned his skin to metallic bronze. He looked more powerful than any Egyptian god, sexier than a mortal male had a right to look.
She wanted to feel his heavy body push her deep into the pillows; she needed him to spread her legs and wedge his narrow hips between them. She had to feel his thick shaft deep inside her, and God help her, she couldn’t wait much longer. The suspense was killing her.
“In every way there is,” she admitted softly, “I want you.”
“Yeah, well—” His voice was suddenly tightly neutral. His broad chest rose and fell as he dropped his jeans and any underwear he might’ve been wearing to the floor, kicking them aside. Then he just stood there.
Isis froze, sucking in a horrified breath as she stared, appalled. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her lips felt numb. “Dear God—”
Her vision blurred, and she had to blink furiously to see him clearly. No wonder he was in pain all the time. Of course he limped. His leg was a mangled mess. The skin angry red, puckered and stitched like a patchwork quilt. There were pins holding his leg together, metal that would set off airport detectors, metal that fought against his body even while it healed.
There was a heart-wrenching disconnect between his wounds and his strong, stunningly healthy body. A contradiction between vulnerability and strength. And she wanted to weep.
Trying to breathe through the tight ache in her chest, Isis swung her legs off the sofa, then sank to her knees in front of him. Curving both hands gently around the back of his thigh, she laid her cheek against the ravaged scars. “That sick son of a bitch almost killed you!”
For a few heavy beats of her heart, he didn’t say anything, then murmured thickly, “You unman me.” His fingers tangled gently in her hair as she pressed her hot cheek to his leg where shiny surgical scars felt cool, and healthy skin burned to the touch. “I thought you’d pass out when you saw this mess.”
“Then you don’t know me at all.” This time the tears of fury threatened to spill. She gritted her teeth and forced them away. “I want to find this guy and do unmentionable things to hi—”
Thorne’s laugh sounded rusty as he combed his fingers tenderly through her hair. “Do them to me instead.”
“Can’t I just have a moment to fantasize about causing him excruciating pain?”
“How about giving us excruciating pleasure instead?”
Brushing another kiss to the indentation of a once well-developed thigh muscle, Isis skimmed her hand across the delicate skin above the hideous wound, where his flesh was still smooth. His body tightened. “Sensitive?”
“You’re damned close to where I want you to be.” His voice was thick.
His golden body was lightly furred with silky dark hair as Isis glided her mouth after her hand. Velvety skin to rough hair. She pressed her face to him there, where smooth met coarse, and inhaled his heat. His body humbled her. His strength and vulnerability. Trailing her lips upward, she let her hands lead the way to the thick curve of his penis.
Curling her fingers around the velvety length, Isis brought her mouth over him, licking the satiny vein pulsing beneath her tongue, then taking him in her mouth, making him shudder and tighten his fingers in her hair. “You don’t—” His fingers tightened in her hair.
Ignoring his halfhearted protest, she loved him with her mouth, her teeth, her tongue. Sucking him deep, savoring the musky male smell of him, his hot salty taste made her impossibly hotter. She wanted to give him exquisite pleasure to at least momentarily blot away the pain. His heavy, rapid heartbeats pulsed against the inside of her cheek. She scraped her teeth delicately over the entire length, and reveled in the hard shudder that racked his body. Isis slid her other hand around to caress the taut cheek of his butt as it flexed beneath her exploring fingers.
Suckling harder, she pulled him deeper, until his hips arched against her and he made a rough sound, fisting his hands in her hair. Milking him with her hand, Isis swirled her tongue, caressing his length, reveling in her power to make him this helpless. She felt the unbearable tension stiffen his body. “You don’t have to—God—”
She wanted to. Holding him tightly she rode his wave, her nails digging into his butt cheek, her fingers tightened around him to hold him there as he came.
His large hand pressed her face against him as his hips bucked. After several moments he let go of her and pulled her to her feet. Closing his arms around her, Thorne pulled her hard against his sweat-dampened chest, his breath ragged, his heartbeat manic. They were both shaking as she wiped her mouth on his shoulder, and he stroked her back.
“The tongue is mightier than the sword,” she teased, her own need a powerful driving force that made her knees wobble and her hands shake. The brush of the crisp hair on his chest against her tender breasts made her crazy with need.
Thorne laughed as he backed her the few feet to the sofa. “Let’s see how you like the tables turned, darling.”
Isis liked it just fine.
She went from standing to prone before she knew it.
His breath was as rapid as her own as he supported his weight on his elbows and slid over her. “Yes!”
Still semi-erect, he slid into the delta of her thighs, making her pant lightly. She wiggled to give him more room, and herself more air. She felt crazed, balanced precariously on a knife’s edge of lust and longing. “I’m not sure I’m going to make it through too much foreplay,” she warned as he cupped her breasts.
“Define ‘too much.’ ” He didn’t give her time or breath to answer as he slanted his mouth over hers in a fierce, primal kiss that curled her toes and made her moan.
When he lifted his head her lips felt bee-stung and hot. “M-more than two minutes before you’re in-inside me?”
“Shall we see?”
“No, I—”
Thorne slid down her body, his breath scalding her breasts. Taking a hard nipple deep in his mouth he sucked and swirled his tongue around the bud until Isis lifted her lips off the couch to achieve contact. “Don’t torture me, when I gave you—”
“Unspeakable pleasure,” he finished, his moist breath trailing down her belly.
She wanted him so badly her head thrashed against the cushions. “Thorne.” His hair was too short to grab, so she took hold of his ear instead. “I’m too sensitive for this right now. Another ti—
“I feel your heat.” Easing her legs apart with his callused, roughened palm, he slid his hand higher, fingertips brushing maddeningly across the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The path of his clever fingers produced intense heat and a pulse of longing deep inside.
“Well then, you—you know I’m going to c-come just by you looking at me.”
His shoulders pushed her knees wide, so that she was exposed and vulnerable. She squirmed against the too-intense sensation, poised on a peak of jagged, feverish need. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as his hands cupped her butt cheeks. She wasn’t sure who trembled more. “I’ll get you back for this, you sadistic bastard.”
His hot breath fanned her moist heat and she shuddered before he laid his mouth on her. “Fair enough.” Pressed his mouth to her mound. “Name the time and place. I’ll be ready.”
She loved the hardness of his broad shoulder under her tightly clenched fingers. “I might t-tie you down and have my wicked way with you while you th-thrash and beg.”
“I’ll bring the restraints.”
Weakly she sat up on one elbow. It was shocking how turned on she was seeing his head between her legs. “Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. Seriously.”
“I don’t think I’d enjoy being restrained.”
“Oh, I think you’d enjoy the hell out of it.”
“I hate feeling helpless.”
“There are times when helpless feels good.”
She gave a strangled laugh. “You’ve never been helpless a day in your life.”
“There’s a time and place—”
She felt his hot, moist breath inches from the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. “Oh, God,” she said in a harsh, muffled voice, flinging an arm across her eyes and biting her lip as his arm tightened around her hips and the spear of his tongue parted her slick folds. “Connor . . .”
“Hmm?”
Her entire body trembled as he slid his tongue into her wet folds. He tasted her, hummed his appreciation low so that his hot breath and the vibration shot through her and her body responded like a tuning fork. “Maybe we—God, Connor—Wait! I’m—Give me a minute. I need full body contact—” Her back arched as he set his mouth on her, and she came so hard she almost bit off her tongue.
Hot sunbursts spiraling from her core made her gasp and shudder in his arms. He held her, his face pressed to her belly, as the shudders rippled in widening circles and she could drag in ragged breaths. “Incredible. I can’t move. Let yourself out.”
He chuckled, stroking his palm on her belly, which was in no way calming. “Not going anywhere.”
“I need a nap.”
He slid his way up her body, supporting his weight on his arms. “A full eight-hour nap. After.”
She punched her fist against his shoulder. It was a pretty weak blow since she didn’t have an ounce of energy in her. “Get off me; you can sleep on the floor.”
He cupped her face in his large palm, his eyes hot as he looked down at her. “Not kind under the circumstances.”
Isis slipped her hand around the back of his neck and gave a little tug. “Tit for tat.”
He cupped her breast, strumming his thumb across the sensitive tip. “And these are perfection.”
Isis smiled even as she shuddered from the contact. His head swooped down and he gave her a fierce, ravenous kiss that tasted of the ocean, tasted of her. While her body was racked with hard, deep shudders he surged up, then plunged inside her, his hips immediately pumping hard against her.
He shook as hard as she did, muscles rigid, skin burning hot.
His grip was hard, instant, right on the edge of painful, but it was a good pain that only he could assuage, and she moved her hips in counterpoint. He was long and thick, and her body welcomed the invasion. Isis pressed her damp face into his neck as her internal muscles pulsed and clenched around him.
They came together in a spectacular light show that left them both limp and panting.
“Christ. I think I just flew into the sun,” Thorne said against her sweaty throat. He was heavy, and their skin was glued together. “Am I squashing you?”
“Yes.” Isis held him in place with a weak grip on his buns. “But don’t move. I can’t take the excitement.”
Thorne smiled against her throat, then flexed his hips.