might still be napping, so her entire body was on red alert. “There was nothing between the two.”
He soaped her other arm, glided his fingers over her breasts, then curved his hand around her back and all the soapy, slick way down to her bottom. “Make love slowly on a horizontal surface.”
“What?” she asked, dazed and hyperaware of what was soaped and what was not. The soap suds felt like an extension of his nimble fingers as they slid slowly down her body. “You’re insatiable.”
“You talk too much.” He kissed her while he made sure all her girl parts were sparkly clean. Then, when she was limp and didn’t give a damn what order things happened in, he slid his hand under her knee and guided his hard length into her soapy channel. Isis stifled a scream against his shoulder.
NINETEEN
At the sharp rap at the front door, Thorne flung his legs over the mattress, then retrieved a damp towel from the floor to wrap around his waist. Despite the bright sunlight streaming through a chink in the heavy drapes, Isis slept sprawled out on her back with sweet abandon.
They’d made love in the shower. Twice. Washed. Frequently. And managed somehow to open the sofa bed and fall on the clean sheets before going back to devour each other again. Isis had fallen asleep as if she’d run into a wall. Which, God help him, she had. The fact that she’d been able to match him stroke for stroke was, all things considered, nothing short of amazing. Hell, she was amazing.
In sleep she’d curled her body against him. A position he had grown to love, one arm and a leg curved around his body. Holding him to her. There was no hold necessary, no hold as strong as his feelings for her.
Thorne hadn’t wasted time sleeping. He’d have time for that later. For now, he wanted to absorb her with all his senses.
Whoever was at the door could wait a moment. Thorne stood looking down at her, memorizing the way her waist curved into the sweet round of her hip. The plump weight of her breasts beneath his hand. The soft pink of her nipples. He needed to memorize this moment in case he was never allowed to be this lucky again.
He’d been trained from a young age to keep a stiff upper lip, to show no emotion, to do his duty. Those lessons hadn’t taken effect until Garrett killed himself. Then all the fun and fuckup he was, was wiped away. He’d left school, signed up with MI5, and done his best to get killed in every way, shape, and form to make up for his screwed-up youth, without realizing it—until he’d met Isis.
She was everything that was good, while he was—Thorne shoved that realization aside. It was what it was. He was what he was.
Once she was imprinted on his brain looking just this way, he tightened the towel and padded to the front door.
Peering through the peephole first, he flung open the door. “Heustis?”
“This was quicker than calling and arranging transport. Here, your pal upstairs said to give you this.” He handed Thorne the cane he’d forgotten and tossed him a can of cola. “The spillway has been turned off, at least temporarily, until the authorities decide what to do. We have Brengard and Dr. Najid in custody; they’re screaming for their attorneys. Unfortunately, they’re not screaming nearly loudly enough for said attorneys to be called in,” the Mossad operative said dryly. “The Egyptians have allowed a combined team of your people and my people to ask questions.”
A hell of a lot more effective. Thorne cocked a brow. “ ‘Allowed’?”
Heustis grinned. “What do you English say? Finders keepers? We scooped them up. When we’re done with them, we’ll consider handing them over to the locals.” His smile was feral.
“Where they’ll be given a slap on the wrist and sent on their way.”
The other man shook his head. “I’m sure the Egyptian police appreciate our interrogation techniques, which will have saved them time and effort. So much can happen with a hostage situation—”
The prisoners would be moved to Israel, bypassing the lax Egyptian legal system, Thorne thought with grim satisfaction. “What about Yermalof?”
“In the wind, but we have word he’s visiting a lady friend in Alexandria. Your people went to pick him up there. We’re holding the other two at a safe house. Want in on the talks?”
“I do. More so when Yermalof shows. Is Najid the mastermind?”