Island of Glass (The Guardians Trilogy #3)(53)

“That’s very specific.”

“I was on a project in Brittany, ran into an old friend, scratched an itch. My record for a dry spell is eight months, twenty-three days. I’d hate to set a new one, frankly.”

“You want me to help you keep your current record intact?”

She shrugged. It didn’t trouble her he’d continued to stretch, continued to watch her. If you couldn’t be straightforward about sex, what was the point in being an adult?

“Unless I’m reading you wrong—doubtful but possible—you could use a roll the same as me. It also occurred to me we’re going to be right back in the bloody thick of it anytime. I don’t want to go down without getting laid if I can help it. So I’m saying you could scratch my itch, I could scratch yours. No frills, no worries.”

She capped the bottle. “Think about it. If it doesn’t work for you, no problem.”

She got halfway to the door when he gripped her arm, spun her around. “People spend too much time thinking about sex.”

“Well, it’s an endlessly fascinating and diverse activity.”

He fisted a hand in her shirt, hauled her to her toes. “Thinking and talking about sex means you’re not having it.”

“There’s a point of agreement.”

Both amused and aroused, she sprang off her toes, jumping lightly to hook her legs around his waist. “So? Want to think and talk some more?”

“No.”

He took her mouth, that clever mouth that talked entirely too much. She tasted of cool water and hot salt, and the sound she made wasn’t words—thank Christ—but transmitted pure pleasure.

Her body, warm, limber, damp, pressed against him as he gripped her hips, as she gripped his hair.

Not enough, he thought. Not close to enough. They’d finish this, start and finish what had been wound tight inside him for far too long.

He turned with the single idea of carting her to his room.

And Sasha stepped in. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry! I’m— Oh, God.”

Before a vibrating Riley could react, Doyle dropped her to her feet. “I’d say breakfast is ready. You need to eat,” he said to Riley, and walked out.

“Riley. God, Riley, could I have timed that any worse?”

“Well, we could’ve been naked.” She waved a hand in the air. “It’s okay. Shouldn’t have started that in a public area, so to speak. You know, I think I’m just going to sit down for a second.”

Which she did, right on the floor.

“I didn’t know— I mean I knew.” Babbling, Sasha came to sit beside her. “But I didn’t know. I just came in to tell you we’re about to eat, and . . . I should’ve known. I felt—I thought you were working out, like . . . pumped up.”

Now Riley lowered her head into her hands and laughed. “We did, we were. We will again, absolutely. No way we’re leaving this undone. I am officially both shaken and stirred, and by God, I’m gulping down that martini.”

“What?”

“Popular culture reference. Don’t worry about it.” She patted Sasha’s shoulder. “I definitely need to eat. I’m going to need to be in top form for the next rounds.”

She stood, offered a hand to Sasha. “What’s for breakfast?”

? ? ?

She ate like a wolf. Along with the others, she said her good-byes to Brigid, then took herself off for some time in the library before weapons training.

Doyle didn’t join her, which she didn’t find surprising. He’d know as well as she did with the unfinished business between them they’d be rolling around naked on the floor inside ten minutes once they were alone behind closed doors.

She’d wait, he’d wait. They’d wait. If he didn’t come to her room that night, she’d go to his.

Situation settled.

Anticipation gave her an edge, one she used as she selected books, opened her own notebook.

In it she puzzled over Doyle’s notes. Apparently a few centuries of practice hadn’t given him clear and legible handwriting.

Look to the past to find the future.

It waits in the dark, cold and still.

Blood of the blood frees it. And so the ice will burn bright as a sun.

She read his notes again, read others. At least he’d marked down the books and the pages so she could verify.

As she worked, she frowned over some of his translations, wrote down questions and her own interpretations.

When she needed it, she bolstered herself with a ten-minute nap, made more coffee, dug deeper.

“See the name, read the name,” she muttered as she read. “Speak the name. What name?”

As she read on, Annika burst into the room. “Sasha says something is coming. To hurry.”

Riley leaped up, left the question unanswered.

By the time she got downstairs, ran out, the others were armed and waiting.

“From the sea.” Sasha gestured. “It’s not her—she’s not ready—but she’s sending plenty. A dark cloud. I see a dark sweep of cloud, blocking the sun.”

“We can take the towers. Me and Sawyer.”

“Not this time.” Doyle searched the pale blue sky, the stacks of white and gray clouds. “We save that tactic for when she comes full force. This is a test run.” He gestured with the sword in his hands. “There, due west.”