Relentless (Lodestone)

by Cherry Adair

  Heart thudding, Isis looked her fill. “You’re beautiful.”

  His cheeks darkened and his lips tightened. “Different reaction in a second; brace yourself.”

  She sat up on her elbows, barely registering his words, fascinated by the striptease just a few feet away. She’d never seen anything as sexy as Thorne’s slow reveal of his rock-hard body. The wedge between the teeth of the zipper widened to frame the long curve of his erect penis, which brushed the taut muscles of his belly.

  Already unbearably turned on, Isis’s breath caught as her body pulsed and moistened in response to the visual stimuli. Her hands might not be as steady as Thorne’s, but she too scrambled to get naked. Reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra, she watched Thorne’s jeans inch down a little more, showing a lot more. Dear God. The man was built… large, she saw, fascinated as he exposed the rest of himself to her hungry gaze.

  Feeling as sensual and sexy as his eyes telegraphed, she tossed her bra over her head to land somewhere on the floor behind the sofa. Feeling buoyant and heavy, giddy and unbearably focused, Isis slid both hands down her belly, feeling the softness of her own skin, and the warmth as her skin heated. A hard, unsteady pulse throbbed in her breasts and between her legs.

  She might explode from longing, and he’d yet to touch her. Anticipation made her almost delirious, and the brush of her own fingers as she slowly slid the pants down her hips was almost unbearable. The cotton pants had an elastic waistband. Handy. And quick. Lifting her butt without taking her eyes off him, Isis slid the pants and her panties down her legs.

  Not knowing where to look first, wanting to run her hands all over him, her gaze tracked up his belly, over his deeply muscled chest, up the strong column of his throat to his tense expression. But his penis drew her gaze like metal to a magnet.

  Deep inside, her muscles pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Shifting on the sofa, she held out her arms to him.

  His desire for her was evident. Boy howdy was it evident. Her fingers flexed on the sofa cushions. “I want you, Connor James Thorne.” Her voice was unrecognizable, it was so husky and thick with longing. She felt hot, then shivery cold, aware of the rough texture of the cushions beneath her, and the almost imperceptible drift of cool air on her naked body.

  His eyes burned like twin green flames as he ran his gaze from her face, over her bare breasts and down her legs. She felt the heat of that look like a physical caress.

  The distended cords in his neck visibly throbbed, and a light film of sweat turned his skin to metallic bronze. He looked more powerful than any Egyptian god, sexier than a mortal male had a right to look.

  She wanted to feel his heavy body push her deep into the pillows; she needed him to spread her legs and wedge his narrow hips between them. She had to feel his thick shaft deep inside her, and God help her, she couldn’t wait much longer. The suspense was killing her.

  “In every way there is,” she admitted softly, “I want you.”

  “Yeah, well—” His voice was suddenly tightly neutral. His broad chest rose and fell as he dropped his jeans and any underwear he might’ve been wearing to the floor, kicking them aside. Then he just stood there.

  Isis froze, sucking in a horrified breath as she stared, appalled. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her lips felt numb. “Dear God—”

  Her vision blurred, and she had to blink furiously to see him clearly. No wonder he was in pain all the time. Of course he limped. His leg was a mangled mess. The skin angry red, puckered and stitched like a patchwork quilt. There were pins holding his leg together, metal that would set off airport detectors, metal that fought against his body even while it healed.

  There was a heart-wrenching disconnect between his wounds and his strong, stunningly healthy body. A contradiction between vulnerability and strength. And she wanted to weep.

  Trying to breathe through the tight ache in her chest, Isis swung her legs off the sofa, then sank to her knees in front of him. Curving both hands gently around the back of his thigh, she laid her cheek against the ravaged scars. “That sick son of a bitch almost killed you!”

  For a few heavy beats of her heart, he didn’t say anything, then murmured thickly, “You unman me.” His fingers tangled gently in her hair as she pressed her hot cheek to his leg where shiny surgical scars felt cool, and healthy skin burned to the touch. “I thought you’d pass out when you saw this mess.”

  “Then you don’t know me at all.” This time the tears of fury threatened to spill. She gritted her teeth and forced them away. “I want to find this guy and do unmentionable things to hi—”

  Thorne’s laugh sounded rusty as he combed his fingers tenderly through her hair. “Do them to me instead.”

  “Can’t I just have a moment to fantasize about causing him excruciating pain?”

  “How about giving us excruciating pleasure instead?”

  Brushing another kiss to the indentation of a once well-developed thigh muscle, Isis skimmed her hand across the delicate skin above the hideous wound, where his flesh was still smooth. His body tightened. “Sensitive?”

  “You’re damned close to where I want you to be.” His voice was thick.

  His golden body was lightly furred with silky dark hair as Isis glided her mouth after her hand. Velvety skin to rough hair. She pressed her face to him there, where smooth met coarse, and inhaled his heat. His body humbled her. His strength and vulnerability. Trailing her lips upward, she let her hands lead the way to the thick curve of his penis.

  Curling her fingers around the velvety length, Isis brought her mouth over him, licking the satiny vein pulsing beneath her tongue, then taking him in her mouth, making him shudder and tighten his fingers in her hair. “You don’t—” His fingers tightened in her hair.

  Ignoring his halfhearted protest, she loved him with her mouth, her teeth, her tongue. Sucking him deep, savoring the musky male smell of him, his hot salty taste made her impossibly hotter. She wanted to give him exquisite pleasure to at least momentarily blot away the pain. His heavy, rapid heartbeats pulsed against the inside of her cheek. She scraped her teeth delicately over the entire length, and reveled in the hard shudder that racked his body. Isis slid her other hand around to caress the taut cheek of his butt as it flexed beneath her exploring fingers.

  Suckling harder, she pulled him deeper, until his hips arched against her and he made a rough sound, fisting his hands in her hair. Milking him with her hand, Isis swirled her tongue, caressing his length, reveling in her power to make him this helpless. She felt the unbearable tension stiffen his body. “You don’t have to—God—”

  She wanted to. Holding him tightly she rode his wave, her nails digging into his butt cheek, her fingers tightened around him to hold him there as he came.

  His large hand pressed her face against him as his hips bucked. After several moments he let go of her and pulled her to her feet. Closing his arms around her, Thorne pulled her hard against his sweat-dampened chest, his breath ragged, his heartbeat manic. They were both shaking as she wiped her mouth on his shoulder, and he stroked her back.

  “The tongue is mightier than the sword,” she teased, her own need a powerful driving force that made her knees wobble and her hands shake. The brush of the crisp hair on his chest against her tender breasts made her crazy with need.

  Thorne laughed as he backed her the few feet to the sofa. “Let’s see how you like the tables turned, darling.”

  Isis liked it just fine.

  She went from standing to prone before she knew it.

  His breath was as rapid as her own as he supported his weight on his elbows and slid over her. “Yes!”

  Still semi-erect, he slid into the delta of her thighs, making her pant lightly. She wiggled to give him more room, and herself more air. She felt crazed, balanced precariously on a knife’s edge of lust and longing. “I’m not sure I’m going to make it through too much foreplay,” she warned as he cupped her breasts.

  “Define ‘too muc
h.’ ” He didn’t give her time or breath to answer as he slanted his mouth over hers in a fierce, primal kiss that curled her toes and made her moan.

  When he lifted his head her lips felt bee-stung and hot. “M-more than two minutes before you’re in-inside me?”

  “Shall we see?”

  “No, I—”

  Thorne slid down her body, his breath scalding her breasts. Taking a hard nipple deep in his mouth he sucked and swirled his tongue around the bud until Isis lifted her lips off the couch to achieve contact. “Don’t torture me, when I gave you—”

  “Unspeakable pleasure,” he finished, his moist breath trailing down her belly.

  She wanted him so badly her head thrashed against the cushions. “Thorne.” His hair was too short to grab, so she took hold of his ear instead. “I’m too sensitive for this right now. Another ti—

  “I feel your heat.” Easing her legs apart with his callused, roughened palm, he slid his hand higher, fingertips brushing maddeningly across the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The path of his clever fingers produced intense heat and a pulse of longing deep inside.

  “Well then, you—you know I’m going to c-come just by you looking at me.”

  His shoulders pushed her knees wide, so that she was exposed and vulnerable. She squirmed against the too-intense sensation, poised on a peak of jagged, feverish need. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as his hands cupped her butt cheeks. She wasn’t sure who trembled more. “I’ll get you back for this, you sadistic bastard.”

  His hot breath fanned her moist heat and she shuddered before he laid his mouth on her. “Fair enough.” Pressed his mouth to her mound. “Name the time and place. I’ll be ready.”

  She loved the hardness of his broad shoulder under her tightly clenched fingers. “I might t-tie you down and have my wicked way with you while you th-thrash and beg.”

  “I’ll bring the restraints.”

  Weakly she sat up on one elbow. It was shocking how turned on she was seeing his head between her legs. “Seriously?”

  “Oh, yeah. Seriously.”

  “I don’t think I’d enjoy being restrained.”

  “Oh, I think you’d enjoy the hell out of it.”

  “I hate feeling helpless.”

  “There are times when helpless feels good.”

  She gave a strangled laugh. “You’ve never been helpless a day in your life.”

  “There’s a time and place—”

  She felt his hot, moist breath inches from the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. “Oh, God,” she said in a harsh, muffled voice, flinging an arm across her eyes and biting her lip as his arm tightened around her hips and the spear of his tongue parted her slick folds. “Connor . . .”

  “Hmm?”

  Her entire body trembled as he slid his tongue into her wet folds. He tasted her, hummed his appreciation low so that his hot breath and the vibration shot through her and her body responded like a tuning fork. “Maybe we—God, Connor—Wait! I’m—Give me a minute. I need full body contact—” Her back arched as he set his mouth on her, and she came so hard she almost bit off her tongue.

  Hot sunbursts spiraling from her core made her gasp and shudder in his arms. He held her, his face pressed to her belly, as the shudders rippled in widening circles and she could drag in ragged breaths. “Incredible. I can’t move. Let yourself out.”

  He chuckled, stroking his palm on her belly, which was in no way calming. “Not going anywhere.”

  “I need a nap.”

  He slid his way up her body, supporting his weight on his arms. “A full eight-hour nap. After.”

  She punched her fist against his shoulder. It was a pretty weak blow since she didn’t have an ounce of energy in her. “Get off me; you can sleep on the floor.”

  He cupped her face in his large palm, his eyes hot as he looked down at her. “Not kind under the circumstances.”

  Isis slipped her hand around the back of his neck and gave a little tug. “Tit for tat.”

  He cupped her breast, strumming his thumb across the sensitive tip. “And these are perfection.”

  Isis smiled even as she shuddered from the contact. His head swooped down and he gave her a fierce, ravenous kiss that tasted of the ocean, tasted of her. While her body was racked with hard, deep shudders he surged up, then plunged inside her, his hips immediately pumping hard against her.

  He shook as hard as she did, muscles rigid, skin burning hot.

  His grip was hard, instant, right on the edge of painful, but it was a good pain that only he could assuage, and she moved her hips in counterpoint. He was long and thick, and her body welcomed the invasion. Isis pressed her damp face into his neck as her internal muscles pulsed and clenched around him.

  They came together in a spectacular light show that left them both limp and panting.

  “Christ. I think I just flew into the sun,” Thorne said against her sweaty throat. He was heavy, and their skin was glued together. “Am I squashing you?”

  “Yes.” Isis held him in place with a weak grip on his buns. “But don’t move. I can’t take the excitement.”

  Thorne smiled against her throat, then flexed his hips.

  ELEVEN

  I will procure two men to go with y—” Husani’s gaze flickered over Isis’s shoulder. His face hardened. “Brengard approaches on your right. He is already schooling his features as if surprised to encounter you.”

  They’d accompanied her friend to the souk the next morning so they could pick up a new car. Isis half turned, moving closer to Thorne. She saw herself reflected in his sunglasses. Once again the humidity had turned her hair into a dark cloud of out-of-control curls around her shoulders. Husani plopped a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head, and she twisted the unruly mass into a knot, stuffing it beneath the crown to bare her neck to any stray breeze. There wasn’t one, but she lived in hope.

  Even the hours of delicious lovemaking the night before couldn’t compensate for her lack of sleep. She felt sweaty and disheveled and decidedly grumpy. Thorne looked cool, calm, and annoyingly affable.

  They’d stopped only long enough to buy more new clothes—something not in Isis’s budget. At least Thorne was a cheap date. Thank God he was happy in jeans and a navy blue T-shirt, which did lovely things stretched over his broad chest. She grabbed jeans and a purple T-shirt with her namesake Isis, wings spread across her boobs.

  Everything she owned in the world was slung across her chest in her camera bag.

  “Do you believe in coincidences?” Through her darkened glasses she watched Dylan’s approach. Thorne, too, tracked him as he wove his way through the throng of people, heading directly for Husani’s shop.

  “Never.”

  She looked up at Thorne. His features had turned grim, dark, and immovable. A different man than the tender lover she’d discovered the night before. “Neither do—”

  “Isis? My God. Is that you?”

  She turned to face her father’s protégé. “Dylan. What a… surprise.” Just seeing him pissed her off, and she deliberately kept her tone borderline rude. He was no more surprised to see her than she was to see him, and she hated that they were playing this fake social game. Was he the moron who’d shot at them last night and tried to run them off the road?

  “It’s great to see you!” When he looked as though he was going to pull her in for a hug, Thorne blocked him, taking Isis’s hand and tugging her against him. She liked feeling his hard body against hers, even if they were in the middle of the souk with Dylan blocking the way. Husani came to stand on her other side. It was sweet of the two men to want to protect her, but Dylan wasn’t likely to do anything in a public market. Thorne gave the other man a cool nod. “Thorne, Isis’s fiancé. You must be Brengard.”

  Dylan’s gaze flickered from him back to Isis. “This is a surprise. This is the last place I’d expect to see you, what with your father…”

  Isis liked that Thorne didn’t pretend he didn’t know who Dylan was, or man
gle the other man’s name just to prove a point. She, however, wasn’t quite as evolved. She pushed her glasses up her nose with her giving-the-bird finger. “He’s doing much better, thanks for asking.”

  Dylan flinched at her sarcasm. “If you’d give me a minute, I was just about to. How is the professor?”

  “Fighting fit, and in top form,” Thorne inserted smoothly.

  Dylan looked momentarily nonplussed, but regrouped quickly. He was like a damned cat, always landing on his feet. Isis had known he was a little too smooth, but she hadn’t realized until this very second that he wasn’t smooth, he was slick.

  “That’s… That’s good to know. Is he here with you?” He glanced around somewhat nervously, as if expecting her father to jump out of one of the nearby baskets.

  “No, he’s getting ready to go to London for his exhibit.” He would be, if he remembered the event was about to take place. Which he didn’t, having freaking Alzheimer’s. Of course Dylan would know that if he’d really paid any attention to her father or cared about him. Isis’s entire body bristled with resentment. Directed at whom, she wasn’t quite sure, but since Dylan was standing in front of her, he’d do.

  Dylan frowned. “Ah.” He glanced from Thorne to Isis. “Fiancé?”

  “It’s very recent,” she said dryly. Like a nanosecond ago. “You look well.” He did, annoyingly. Tanned, fit, and ridiculously handsome. A Ken doll, dressed in ironed khakis and his usual affectation: a brown felt Indiana Jones fedora. Indiana Jones could cream his ass with his whip hand tied behind his back. Thorne could do it with both hands tied behind his back and his eyes closed. Isis would buy tickets for that match.

  “Seriously, how’s the professor after that incident?” He fingered a length of purple silk piled haphazardly on the table. To avoid eye contact? Oh, yeah. He quickly dug into his breast pocket, took out mirrored aviator shades, and slid them on, effectively blocking where he was looking and the expression in his eyes.

  Ass. “Curious as to why you haven’t inquired after his health in all this time,” Isis told him coolly.