“THAT WAS SCARILY IMPRESSIVE.” Isis’s cheery tones followed him as they got into another Mossad-supplied vehicle parked in the garage near the mosque. She took off the straw hat, tossed it in the backseat, then ran her fingers through her hair as he got in on the driver’s side. The last thing she acted like was scared. His ego warmed as he acknowledged that she sounded, if anything, impressed.
“I did my job.” His job as an MI5 operative, not a Lodestone agent. He buckled up and indicated she do the same.
“You threatened him and staked a claim in two seconds flat.” She fastened her seat belt while he went through the compartment under his floor mat. A second Glock. Couple of clips. Knife. Thorne left everything, but shoved the clips in his pockets.
“About that,” he said flatly. “I’m sure it doesn’t need pointing out, but I come from a long line of cold bastards. I don’t do warm and fuzzy.”
She turned big brown eyes on him. “And you’re telling me this non–news flash—why?”
“I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.” He didn’t want to give himself the wrong idea, either. Her future happiness had nothing to do with him. Couldn’t have anything to do with him. He was all about his job. Without MI5 he didn’t know what the fuck to do with himself, and he couldn’t do Isis Magee as a temporary filler until he was back at the agency. There were rules. And he’d abide by them. Even if they were of his own making.
She gave him a narrow-eyed glance. “What kind of wrong idea? That you were serious back there? Trust me, I didn’t—don’t.”
Bugger it. She was hurt, and why the fuck wouldn’t she be? A woman like Isis Magee only saw the good in people. He’d lost his halo a long time ago—with no apology. But she deserved the white-picket-fence fantasy she’d planned, so long as she didn’t picture him at her outdoor BBQ wearing a checked apron and holding hamburger tongs. His gut clenched at the image.
Better to get any illusions settled, bruised feelings or not. “Glad we are on the same page.” Gazing ahead, he heard her shift on the seat. “As much as I enjoy the sex, when this is over, I’m going back to my job at MI5.” Sure, he felt like a shit for being so blunt, but the cards had to be on the table before she started embroidering him into her rosy, happily-ever-after needlepoint. This was not a conversation he’d ever had with any other woman he’d been intimate with. They all knew the score and didn’t need it spelled out for them. Isis was different. “Operatives must remain unencumbered for obvious reasons.”
Isis flushed, her skin moist from the heat. Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she turned to face him. Without blinking an eye, she lobbed his plain speaking right back. “I enjoy the sex, too. No worries—I have zero expectations. You’re a warrior, not a hunter-gatherer.” Her lips tilted but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Your bachelorhood is safe with me. I promise, I won’t drag you kicking and screaming to the altar.”
Uncomfortable at the picture she presented, he spoke somewhat defensively. “Marriage isn’t in the cards for me. Never has been.”
“You’ve made your point, Thorne.” There was a bite to her voice now as she adjusted the air vent. “With a sledgehammer. I get it. There’s no need to flog a dead horse.”
Isis’s annoyance angered him, creating a desire for her to understand. And what? Give her fucking blessing for him being an ass?
Last night Isis had taken Thorne to another level of sexual awareness, her damn touch imprinting itself on his skin. He shivered in memory. Mentally, physically, she’d forged a connection he’d never experienced before. Her caress, her openness, her willingness to be a partner as they’d joined in the best sex of his life.
Still. He wasn’t marrying her. Coldhearted now, he imagined by looking at his father that he’d only get chillier with age. Then Isis would be miserable, they’d divorce, and she’d be left with shattered dreams. Better to keep away from the get-go. As soon as his doctors signed off on him, he’d be back in the thick of things.
“I don’t think anyone has ever threatened Dylan that way. I must admit, I enjoyed seeing him squirm.” She neatly changed the subject, cutting him loose.