Relentless (21 page)

TEN

C
laiming 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.

2833290328332903283329032833290328332903 28332903.

Bloody hell. Not
now
.

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?”

Thorne tilted her face up and raked his teeth on her bottom lip. “That and more,” he promised, voice thick as he shifted to put some space between them.

Reaching back, she frowned and refastened her bra. “What we were just doing is more important than a cheap reproduction necklace.”

Wasn’t it, though.
The numbers, however, weren’t going to stop because they were randy. Loosening the cord, Thorne tipped the pouch over his open hand. A delicate gold chain slithered onto his palm, followed by what looked like a small oval amulet. The goddess Isis, her wings spread. He’d seen this image everywhere at the
souk and even on posters at the London Natural History Museum. “Where’d you get this?”

Her hair curled wildly over her bare shoulders, and Isis pushed it out of her face impatiently. He could see the dark areolas through the delicate beige satin of her bra, still-hard peaks begging for his touch. The dim lamplight shone on her skin, made it appear milky pale. He wanted to taste it, damn it.

28332903.

“My father gave it to me years ago—the amulet, not the chain. It’s my lucky amulet, but the chain is so delicate I don’t wear it very often. With all this crazy running around, I took it out of my camera bag and stuck it in my—You’re being very mysterious.” Isis bent to pick up her T-shirt from the floor. When she pulled it over her head it was inside out. Not a problem, since Thorne had every intention of stripping it off her again in a few moments.

“Even though it holds great sentimental value,” she told him, squinting to apparently bring him into focus as she pulled the shirt over her hips, “it has no
monetary
value, you know.”

2833290328332903283329032833290328332903 28332903.
“I’m getting a GPS reading from it.”

Her eyebrow rose into her bangs. “For Khan el-Khalili bazaar? Because that’s where he told me he bought it—”

“Hold that thought.” Thorne pulled his comm out of his back pocket, handed her back her glasses, then punched in the longitude and latitude running through his mind like a ticker tape. “Valley of the Scorpions.”

“Really? That can’t be right. He never found anything there.”

“But that’s where he told you he was when he called you that night, right? Maybe he didn’t get this there three months ago. But this is the location I’m seeing.”

“What? Are you telling me this is from Cleo’s tomb?”

“I have no idea whose tomb it comes from, but it
didn’t
come from the bazaar.”

“Are you positive?”

“Unequivocally.”

She drooped down to the sagging cushions of the sofa. “Are you saying he did find her tomb in the Valley of the Scorpions? For real? The same valley that’s below the dam and about to become a giant freaking
lake
for water-skiers and fishermen?”

He sat beside her. The ancient cushions obligingly threw her against him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders to steady her. “That would be the one.”

“It’s being flooded next week; you remember that small detail, right?”

“Take a breath, you’re hyperventilating. We need to get out there and see if this is even a possibility.”

“They can’t be allowed to flood the valley if there’s even a small chance that Queen Cleopatra’s tomb is right there!” She pushed out of his hold and maneuvered herself off the lumpy cushions to stand up. “They
can’t
. Who do we talk to first? Minister of Water? Or Minister of Antiquities? This is
the
find of a lifetime. My God, my father was there—”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“
I
know for sure! Thorne, he was digging in that valley a year ago. And now—now I
bet
that was where he was digging three months ago when he was attacked.”

“He was discovered two hundred miles away from the valley, Isis. Two
hundred
miles. Possibly he found this little amulet a year ago and gave it to you as a memento. Do you have any proof that it was found in Cleopatra’s tomb? No.”

“I just
know
it was,” she said stubbornly, folding it gently in her palm, then resting her fist over her breast. “It doesn’t have to be based on anything but faith. I’ve never doubted my father. He might be confused, he might be a lot of things, but he found her, I know he did.

“Cleopatra was obsessed with Isis, and they say paintings and statues were all over her homes. If you’re sure this wasn’t purchased in the bazaar, as my father claimed, then it has significant value. And knowing him, if he lied about where he found it—even to me—then I know this came from her tomb. Just as much as I know that my father found the tomb, and was robbed of his discovery! And that tomb is about to be destroyed if we don’t put a stop to the opening of that dam. They moved Abu Simbel when they built Aswan; they can move the contents of Cleo’s tomb before they flood the Valley of the Scorpions!”

“In less than a week?” he pointed out reasonably.

Her cheeks were flushed, her nose pink, and her eyes looked enormous magnified by tears behind her glasses. “Yes.
Whatever
it takes.”

Thorne leaned back, crossing one leg over his knee
and stretching his arms out along the seat back. Bloody hell. This was already a clusterfuck without her trying to stop a massive decade-long project. “That takes
years
of planning. Particularly if this really is her tomb. The national spotlight will be glaring. Thousands of lives and billions of dollars are at stake. No one is going to be willing to risk so much on so little.”

“Are you kidding me? The discovery of this tomb will be
monumental.
Bigger than the discovery of King Tutankhamen! We have to stop them from flooding the valley. That’s all we have to do. Stop the flooding.
Look
. Find if it really
is
her. We can go from there, right?”

Thorne reached out to snag her wrist, tugging her back to sit beside him. In a well-orchestrated move he stripped her T-shirt over her head and crowded her down against the pillows. “We can’t do anything until morning.” He breathed in the scent of her skin as he kissed his way down her throat. Her pulse was rapid because of her agitation, but he was about to change that to a different kind of stimulation. “We have hours to kill before then.”

“Hmm,” she murmured indistinctly, lifting her mouth for his kiss. “And you weren’t planning on sleeping much, were you?”

“How about not sleeping at all?”

LACING HIS FINGERS WITH
hers, Thorne held them above her head so they were palm to palm, his hard chest pressed against her breasts. “You drive me mad, woman.” His breath fanned her face.

“It’s purely intentional.” Isis bit his lower lip and felt
a curl of satisfaction as he growled low in his throat and his mouth crushed hers.

Lifting his head, he stared into her eyes as if he was reading her mind. The naked hunger on his face stole her breath and made her heart beat even faster. “Are you absolutely, positively
sure
? Because this time I’m not backing up.”

Isis met his intense gaze inches from her own. Heart hammering hard against her rib cage, she combed her fingers through the short, velvety-soft pelt of his hair above his ears. “Absolutely, positively.”

He reached out and plucked off her glasses, setting them somewhere behind him. A prickle of anticipation mixed with hot need as his head lowered the last few inches. His sensual mouth didn’t need to coax hers open; she wanted him inside. She met his bold, eager tongue with her own, craving more, wanting to crawl inside his skin.

The hot, devouring kiss was unlike any she’d known or even imagined. She loved kissing, but this—locking lips with Thorne was more than she could’ve fantasized. She fell into it headlong, intoxicated by his heat and the rich, heady taste of the strong coffee he’d been drinking at dinner.

Isis glided her fingers up his sides but kept getting distracted by hot satin skin and the kiss that was soul-eating and delicious.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he used one large hand to hold her head exactly where he wanted it, and the other to skim under her T-shirt and glide up her body. His fingers were hot, slightly rough, and in a hurry.

He smelled so good—soap and starch, and man. And his own unique dizzying smell that was part all of those, and part the natural musk of his skin.

He rolled off her without warning, leaving Isis blinking and bewildered as he toed off his shoes. Maintaining eye contact, he yanked his T-shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor. She’d wondered forever what his body would look like, and here he was, in living, spectacular 3-D. Tall, lean, muscular, and a hard ass, he was her every fantasy rolled into one delicious package.

She drank him in. Tough guy. The dark stubble on his stubborn jaw made him look like a pirate. How was it possible for a mouth to be so serious, and yet so sensual? Isis wanted to stroke his face, to explore every masculine dip and curve. Satin skin stretched tightly over clearly defined muscles. His broad shoulders blocked out the lamplight behind him, and Isis imagined she could feel the glide of his shadow against her skin as he undressed.