Chapter Eleven

Thorn

Brussels, Belgium

Saturday, Fifteen Zero Two Hours

T horn pulled up to the valet in front of his hotel and popped the trunk. A uniformed man pulled the duffle from the back, another tugged Brigitte's door open. As Thorn crossed to her side, he handed the keys over to the valet and gave his name.

"I need to get signed in," he said as they walked through the heavy glass doors. "Do you want to meet me at the bar?"

"No." She laced her fingers with his and shifted her body as if they'd been a couple for a very long time. "I want to go up to your room with you." She was smiling playfully up at him, running a hand down his arm, and leaving a kiss on his shoulder.

Thorn's dick got a heads up on that one.

He dealt with the desk and reached for his key card. "I'll take it from here," he said, handing a couple euro to the bell hop, who was waiting patiently to the side.

"You're back on comms," Nutsbe said.

Thorn coughed behind his fist to indicate he'd heard. He glanced down to find Brigitte smiling at him, then she winked.

Shit! She either had ESP, or she had someone feeding her the conversation in her ear. Nah, this was an encrypted channel. She'd probably just found his cough amusing, because she'd know he'd have comms up.

Thorn pulled out his phone and tapped an icon. No one could hear him now, but Nutsbe could talk. If he had to. Hopefully, he'd get the message and shut the hell up.

When they reached room 527, Thorn swiped the key card and pushed the door open, letting Brigitte go in first.

"Lovely," she said, moving over to the heavy fabric drapes, standing to the side while she took in the view.

Thorn plunked his bag on the lowboy, slid his jacket off and placed it on top, then crossed his arms over his chest. He leaned his shoulder into the wall, watching Brigitte, waiting for some kind of a signal. How was this going to play out?

Brigitte turned and unabashedly let her gaze travel over his body. "I imagine after all the bustle today, that you'll want to order room service. You have a big appetite, I'm told. Steak, rare. Lots of veggies." Her heavily accented English made her words sound melodic. Maybe Siren-like was a better description. "Good for you. You eat healthfully, and it shows."

"Did you call my mother to ask what I liked for dinner?" Okay, Thorn was getting a little ticked. If she knew things about him, she had leverage. For him, she was a great big question mark.

"Margot and I chat."

"Margot?" That was an interesting connection.

"Your Panther Force teammate." She rested her hand on the table, looking perfectly comfortable. Perfectly at home.

She had the rule book for this game; Thorn was making it up as he went along. "She chatted about me?" Margot wasn't chatty. She was a professional. Thorn didn't trust this conversation.

"Well, you and the people she works with. She's discreet. I'm assuming you were with ‘the bear' and ‘the brain' today. She calls you ‘Thor.'"

"Because…?" Thor for Thorn?

"Mmmm." Brigitte licked her top lip and stalked forward. "I think it's because you're built like a Viking. Broad shoulders." She moved her hands to his arms. "Your biceps." She slid her hands over his pecs. "Your chest. Maybe these yummy waves in your blond hair." She reached up and spun her fingers into his hair.

He put his hands on her shoulders and left them there, holding her at a distance. "How well do you know Margot?" Brigitte could have made this up spur of the moment. She did have Margot's name right. Though, Margot's association with Panther Force was less well known.

"She's one of my oldest friends. Margot grew up next door to me in Paris. When we were babies, we would take baths together and played in the same playpen." Again, with that secret smile. "Then she moved to the U.S. when she was ten. Still don't believe me?" She tipped her head and raised an eyebrow. "She's allergic to strawberries, rabbit fur, and the color pink."

True. She hated pink. Thorn didn't know about the other two. "You could get that off Facebook."

"No one at Iniquus is allowed on social media even under a pseudonym."

"Not convinced."

"She has a scar on her palm of her left hand shaped like a C. I was there when she got that scar."

Thorn knew about the scar and knew that Margot decided to leave the field because of that event, and now she did team support. That was all he knew about it. Margot had gotten that scar when she was with the CIA. So Brigitte and Margot hadn't just had a childhood connection. They'd been connected out in the field. Okay. Thorn was starting to believe, not because of her words, but because of the tremor that moved through Brigitte's body when she gave up that piece of information. Involuntary. And telling. "And what did Margot say about me, exactly?" he asked.

Brigitte shifted away from that memory and back to seduction mode. Or whatever the hell she thought she was doing. "That you've got a cool head in a hot situation. Keen mind." She opened her mouth then shut it again, yet another cat-with-cream smile. "That you've got stamina in spades. You take your pleasures when and where you can. Sometimes, it's about opening the valve to let the pressure off. ‘Blow off some steam,' I believe is the phrase." She stopped for a reaction.

Thorn offered her nothing in return.

She lifted her brow and let it drop, then tilted her head, sliding her hands down to his waist. "Relationships to you aren't a place of comfort. They're stressful. You have enough stress with your job. Some men drink. You prefer more physically exertive ways to release. The gym. Between the sheets." Her gaze shifted to the king-sized bed, then back to him. "Or wherever the mood strikes." Her breath had become shallow. Her eyes dilated almost black. Her face flushed, and her lips parted as that secret smile of hers tickled over her lips.

Cat and cream.

It was provocative all right. Thorn wanted to strip her bare of her secrets.

His body had picked up on her cues and was responding in kind.

Her hand rested over his heart, and he knew she could feel the beats pumping blood through his body, hard.

"Word has it that a woman can feel safe with you." Her hands swept down to his belt, and she worked to loosen the buckle. "While you have a bad boy reputation, you're a gentleman about your conquests. And, according to Margot, you find these kinds of opportunities rather abundantly."

She was right about that. This situation wasn't unusual for Thorn. Women in this line of work were liberated by the life-or-death calculations of their jobs, and like him, they took what pleasures they could when they could.

He was down for that.

He'd watched enough death and destruction to know life was short. No guarantees. Sweat equity balanced by some sweaty fun helped to even the equation.

"Margot said that a relationship would have you missing out when an unexpected piece of pie was offered up." She yanked his belt, and it slid from the loops like a whip.

Yup. In Iniquus Headquarters ? where it would be impossible to plant a bug ? Thorn had had the pie conversation with Margot. He'd told her it was a bad idea for him to go out with one of her friends she was trying to set him up with. Margot must have repeated that conversation.

Brigitte tipped her head, let her lashes slowly shut, slowly open again. The move was luxurious somehow. "Savoring" was the word that came to mind, maybe "decadent."

"I could be your unexpected piece of pie if you felt hungry." She unbuttoned the top of his pants. "Today." She slowly slid his zipper down. "Now."

Brigitte stepped back. When she peeled off her sweater, the cami-shirt underneath had an under-arm conceal holster. The butt of her gun was starkly black against the white. Starkly hard against the soft swell of her breast.

"Small world – those who play the ops game," he said.

Her smile changed at the gruffness in his voice. She knew she was going to get what she wanted.

Iniquus had a firm keep-your-pants-zipped policy when it came to clients. Certainly, when it came to dealing with enemies. But there were no rules against engagement when it came to allied operatives.

Next off was that little form fitting cami. She set it down on the low boy. The weight of the gun made a muffled thunk . She ran her hands over her breasts and lifted them like ripened fruit. "You like?" she asked.

His mouth found hers as he reached into his turtle neck and pulled off his voice communicator. He reached behind him, feeling for a place to set it down. He was glad Nutsbe couldn't hear any of this.

Voyeurism wasn't Thorn's thing.

Brigitte's brazenness was Thorn's thing.

She turned her back to him, and he brushed her hair to the side as he kissed the nape of her neck.

Brigitte bent over to undo the knots on his laces and loosen them, thrusting her round bottom against him for his appreciation. And he most certainly felt a hefty helping of appreciation as he rubbed his hands over her tight ass.

He yanked his shirt over his head and slid a condom from the tactical pocket of his pants.

When she came back up and saw it, she pressed her body against his. They were kicking at their shoes, yanking and pulling at their clothes, their bodies desperate to shed their encumbrances. After she stepped out of her panties, Thorn wrapped his arms around her and threw himself across the bed, making them bounce, then settle.

She laughed at the move. The merriment and lust in her eyes was a heady cocktail, and he was quickly getting drunk on her.

The pace that had started as carnivorous slowed from crushing lips and jumbled limbs to something much more sensuous as they found pleasure in each other. Her skin under his calloused hands was silk. The stress of the day melted with her smiles and hums.

She was musical in her love making. Her mewling when his tongue found her clit drove him wild. Her long raven hair tickled across his stomach as she bent low, riding him. He brushed it back over her shoulders so he could watch her face ? the concentration lines and tension around her eyes, her mouth open and gasping, tilting her head back with the orgasm that pumped through her body, squeezing his dick in convulsive pulses.

Thorn rearranged their bodies, memorizing the curve of her waist and hips as he took her from behind.

She pushed hard into him.

"Stop now, you're going to make me come," he warned.

"I want you to. Do it," she gasped out her commands. "Come."

God, but that accent worked magic on his dick.

She lay her cheek on the bed and gyrated against him. "I want to feel you coming."

He wrapped his hands around her hips to still her as the tension exploded behind his eyes, through his body, jerking and thundering, leaving him sated. Thorn reached around her waist and pulled her to him as he stretched out a leg and rolled them in to spoon. Her round ass pressed into his hips. His chest heaved while he caught his breath.