quietly as she sat down beside Isis, who’d left a small amount of food on her plate as was the custom, so her hostess wouldn’t keep refilling her plate.
“You’ve been more than gracious serving us this delicious meal, and giving us respite from the men following us.” Thorne smiled at their hostess. He had a sexy smile when he bothered, and seeing it now made Isis’s heart skip a beat.
She picked up her glass of orange Fanta, sipping the sweet soda to prevent herself from lunging across the table to kiss him. Despite, or because of the danger, and the crazy rush of endorphins, pheromones, and whatever else, Isis wanted her hands on him in the worst possible way.
“We’ll find a hotel off the beaten path,” he told their hosts, apparently oblivious to the neon sign over her head blinking out TAKE ME. “I’ll call in some favors. See if anyone on the street knows anything about these dangerous men. See if I can charter a private plane to get Isis out of the country as soon as possible.”
“We own an empty rental apartment one floor below,” Husani offered after a silent communication with his wife got a nod. “It’s furnished. You can stay there as long as you like. I’ll lend you my computer should you need it.”
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 fucking 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.
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?”