Ride the Tide (Deep Six #3) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,86

the collateral damage that sticks in a man’s mind long after the mission is over. But you understand. And I’m assuming your men understand too.” He waved a hand to include the four remaining members of Izad’s security detail. They were gathered around the hotel suite’s dining table, studying the maps of Wayfarer Island the American had downloaded from a government website of federal land-lease deals.

“Everyone here is an experienced soldier or sailor,” the American continued. “That can work against us in this situation.”

“They know the difference between revenge and vengeance,” Izad assured him. “Revenge is equitable. But vengeance? Vengeance means killing the enemy no matter the cost. When they followed me here, they understood this was a mission of vengeance. They will not falter.”

Again, the American glanced around the table. He must have found what he was looking for in the eyes of Izad’s men because he jerked his chin down once and then pointed to the map in front of him. “Okay, so the first step will be to go in at oh-late-thirty. I’m thinking between midnight and one in the morning. We’ll approach from the back side of the island—”

As the American laid out his plan, Izad lent him half an ear. The rest of his mind drifted to his wife and children. Their beautiful faces. The sounds of their voices. The smell of their hair.

He would prevail in this endeavor. He could not imagine Allah would have it any other way. And yet…a dark foreboding itched at the back of his brain. He was suddenly sure he would not survive to see the new dawn. He would die in the process of ending Mason McCarthy.

Just as well, he thought. I am ready to see my family again…

* * *

2:57 p.m.

Alex had wondered what Mason looked like after sex and now she knew. He looked…pretty much the same.

Big. Bronze. And a little untouchable, even in his sleep.

Those muscles, the tattoos, so much latent strength…it all screamed, Beware! This man could crush you like a bug! And yet, she knew just how tender he could be. How truly touchable he was.

How his nipples beaded under the sweep of her tongue. How the brush of her fingertips raised goose bumps over his arms. How he hummed with pleasure when she sank her fingers into his hair.

Oh, yes. Mason McCarthy is eminently touchable.

She would like to touch him now, but she didn’t want to wake him. Not when he looked so peaceful, all the worries wiped from his wide brow. Not when his big chest rose and fell in a deep, even rhythm that told her he was enjoying a dreamless sleep.

Not when she could use the opportunity to study him.

All of him.

When she’d first awoken from the deepest sleep ever, he’d been on his side spooning her, his arms tucked firmly around her, one hairy thigh sandwiched between her own. She’d reveled in the feel of him. The heat of his skin warming her back. The moist puffs of his breath at her neck. The steady hammer of his heartbeat against her backbone. But a cramp in her calf—no doubt brought on from having her toes pointed in sheer ecstasy for so long—forced her to wiggle out of his embrace.

At first, he’d grumbled, his forehead wrinkling in his sleep as if her desertion upset him. But then he’d flipped onto his back and quickly sunk back into oblivion.

She couldn’t say she was sorry. The view was…pretty damn spectacular.

She let her eyes wander over him, cataloging all the big details. Like the patch of hair across his chest which, it turned out, was soft to the touch. Like the muscular lines on the inside of his hips, evidence of his manly fitness. Like the curlicue lettering of the tattoo on his forearm, the tribute to a man she’d heard so much about but would never get to meet.

She made note of the small details too. Like the white crescent-shaped scar above his collarbone. Like the little freckle beside his left nipple. Like how his belly button wasn’t an innie or an outie, but some delightful combination of both.

Then there was his penis. Normally, she would give it the label of “big detail.” But flaccid, it wasn’t nearly as aggressive-looking. In fact, it was sort of cute. Like a roll of flesh-toned Play-Doh or—

What would he think if he knew I was comparing him to Play-Doh?

Probably not much, she decided with a giggle.

Men were so sensitive about their penises. Then again,