her head into the curve of his shoulder. Soft, cinnamon-scented hair brushed his chin.
A shudder ran through her body and he smoothed his palm up and down her slender back, pulling her against his side with one hand and tugging the edge of the down sleeping bag over her—or part of her. The back of her T-shirt was damp, her skin cold even though it must be in the low seventies. It pissed him off that she was anything but comfortable.
“I like that,” she murmured, her breath warm and moist against his throat.
“What? This?” He trailed his fingers up her back and her arm tightened around his chest
“My father loves me, but he’s not touchy-feely. My mom was. It’s strange how one can miss something as simple as a loving touch in comfort, not sex.” She tilted her head to look at him. “Not that I don’t enjoy the hell out of touches prior, during, and after great sex, mind you.”
He smiled against her hair. “What happened to her?”
“She had a heart attack. A congenital heart defect no one knew about. She died in her sleep on my twelfth birthday.”
“So young?”
“Barely forty. It devastated my dad. My parents had a great marriage, even if he spent most of the time here and not with us in Seattle. Mom anchored him to the real world.” She smiled at a memory. “She came on a couple of digs. Disastrous,” she chuckled. “God, she hated everything about it.”
“It isn’t for everybody.” Scorpions, flies, unrelenting heat. Disappointment.
“She let me come. Sometimes for a few weeks, and several times she let me attend school here so I could be with my father when he made some spectacular discovery and he refused to leave. Her death was… difficult for him. He didn’t know what to do without her.”
“But he was apart from her most of the time,” Thorne pointed out gently. Her rose-colored glasses rationalized everyone’s actions for the better, without leaving room for her own feelings. “Worse for a young girl losing her mother. Especially at that age, I imagine.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Isis admitted. “I went to live with my aunt. Acadia and I became like sisters. I miss Mom, but Dad’s disease is ten times worse. He doesn’t know me anymore, and it breaks my heart.” Her body tensed a fraction against his. “I have to find Cleo’s tomb for him, Connor. I have to prove that all the years he spent away from us were worth it. Can you understand that?”
“Yeah.” He brushed his lips across her cheek. “I can.”
“Tell me about Garrett. Were you identical?”
“Mirror images. People frequently confused us. It was great fun in school.” And hell at home. “He was a great brother and a good friend. And I miss him every day.”
“What made you different?”
“Everything other than our looks. Garrett was the better man in every way. He was everything my parents trained him to be from birth. No rebelling for him. He was the brain, I the brawn. But Garrett didn’t have the freedoms I enjoyed.
“I played hard, and he studied hard. He’d been moody and quiet for months. The pressure of reaching his majority, and dealing with everything His Lordship was throwing at him, plus that law degree our father so prized. There was a ridiculous amount of pressure put on his shoulders, and he never seemed to take time for fun unless I coerced him into playing truant now and then. He loved reading, would camp out in the library at the house or up in his rooms all day if I didn’t drag him out to the pub or a rugby game. I was the one who insisted on going sailing that day, despite the weather warnings.
“We’d just turned twenty-one, and I was full of piss and vinegar and feeling invincible.” Thorne dragged in a harsh breath. “I dragged him with me because I wanted his company and thought he’d enjoy a day out on the water.
“We’d been fighting the high winds and currents for an hour, trying to head back to port. I loved it, but Garrett was pissed at me. He wasn’t fond of sailing, and was afraid as the boat tossed and turned. I made sure—for about the seventh time—that his safety harness was clipped to the jackline, and his life vest secure, then sent him to secure a line. I don’t know why the hell he unclipped his safety line—stubborn bastard, had to do it his own way, by damn. A