The moonlit room spun in pinwheels as, still deep inside her, Jonah swung her off her feet. Wrapping her legs around his waist, her body still spasming, Callie landed on her back. His welcome, heavy weight trapped between her parted legs. It was shocking, a little scary, and utterly intoxicating to feel him deep inside her.
The hot length of him resumed pumping as if there hadn’t been that momentary break. Skin hot, then cold, she let go as one climax rolled into the next, until her toes curled and her head thrashed on the pillow. She barely registered the pain of her tight braid being pressed into the pillow. On fire, already dewy with sweat, barely able to drag air into her lungs, she lifted her knees, canting her hips to meet each hard, measured thrust. Locking her ankles in the small of his back to anchor herself, she allowed the intense pleasure to take her to even higher peaks.
Callie buried her face against the damp crook of his neck. Everything about Jonah—the smell of his skin, the touch of his hand, the color of his eyes—encapsulated the one place in the world that always brought her peace and sheer happiness. The world beneath the waves. Jonah smelled of the ocean. Wild and free. He was immersion in watery blue. He was swimming through the glorious colors of a reef. He was finding a piece of shard, the first person to hold it in centuries. That was the exact smell of him.
She wanted to inhale him, drink him so deeply inside herself that they’d cast one shadow.
Taking both her hands from around his neck in one of his, he stretched her arms over her head. His smile was sexy, predatory as he held her gaze, stroking his hand down her body and then up again, skimming the soft cotton tank top over her breasts.
Her thigh muscles clenched around him in response. “This, you don’t need.” An expert tweak, and the cups parted as he released the front clasp of her utilitarian bra. Plain cream cotton. There wasn’t even a rose on it. For the first time in her life, Callie wished she had beautiful sexy underwear.
“That’s rude, don’t you think?” He probably couldn’t understand her, her breath was so labored, her body shaking so hard she could barely understand herself. The next climax hovered a stroke away. She urged him deeper with a twist of her hips. This was a night of firsts for her.
There was no rushing Jonah Cutter. The strokes were measured and infuriatingly controlled. At least his breathing was rough as he murmured, “Rude to tell you how exquisite your breasts are?”
Her bra disappeared as if wished away. “How small they are.”
“More than this, and I’d go into full cardiac arrest.” Large, callused fingers cupped her breast. The rough stroke of his thumb over the hard tip made her jolt as the sensation speared through her already oversensitized body.
“I love the soft, shy pink of your nipples, and how boldly they respond to my touch.”
Bringing her hands down, because she had to touch him. Loving his soft moan of pleasure, she slid her hand up the back of his neck, then tunneled her fingers through the dark silk of his hair, holding him to her breast.
She loved the feel of him, the taste of him—God.
It had been so long since anyone had touched her, and no one had ever touched her like this.
The sensation of him tending to her nipple while he was deep inside her put her over the edge again.
He was still inside her, still slowly stoking the fires when she was replete and incapable of moving a muscle in response. “You. Can. Give. It. A. Rest, Cutter.” She barely had the energy to speak, let alone reciprocate as he continued moving his hips. “I’m a limp noodle.” Nothing was going to get another rise out of her. “I’m done. Kaput. Terminado. Hecho. I’ve used up the next decade’s worth of orgasms. Maybe we can do this again in a week or two?”
He laughed. “I love how responsive you are.” His rich, dark voice trailed over her naked body like a fur glove. She dragged in a shaky breath, and forgot to exhale as he kissed her. He sucked the air right out of her lungs.
“Dios,” he said reverently, eyes closed as he savored her breast, his Spanish accent thick and sexy. “You’re even more gorgeous than I imagined.”
“You can’t see me.” Callie smiled, pushing his damp hair off his forehead, taking a moment to enjoy looking at him without him looking back. Sweat ran down her temples into her hair; her thighs screamed, begging for mercy from being held apart by his hips. She tightened her ankles around him and reveled in the discomfort, because he was so tightly melded to her she didn’t know where he began and she ended. She ran her fingertips over the rasp of his beard stubble.
Tears stung her eyes. Overemotional, she knew. But she’d never in her life felt this connected to anyone. It was wonderful and terrifying at the same time.
Wanting to run, she was compelled to stay.
“Your eyes are closed,” she told him, voice thick.
“My hands can see you. My lips can taste you. Gorgeous is an understatement.”
She hissed in a breath as he adjusted her legs around him. “Damn.” He opened his eyes. “Uncomfortable?”
“It wouldn’t be for the first seventy-two times we made love, but after the seventy-third ti—” Callie laughed as he rolled them both over so she sat astride him.
He arranged her legs with care, draping them over his muscular thighs, leaving her open and vulnerable to the heated intensity of his gaze. The look he gave her banked her own fires impossibly hotter. “Better?”
“Much more comfortable. That’s an amazing feat to be able to—”
“Lift you?”
She punched his arm. “Stay inside me while doing other things.”
“Like this?” He started moving again, helping her gain her rhythm by bracketing her hips with his hands. Callie curled her fingers into the soft springy hair on his chest, feeling the shift of rock-hard muscle and the powerful throb of his heart beneath her palm.
It didn’t take long for her to realize that she had all the power in this position. She could make his strokes as deep or light as she liked. Pushing his hands off her hips, she found she had plenty of rhythm. A surprised laugh bubbled out of her as she braced her palms flat on his chest, arching her back. “Oh! I like this a lot!”
With a wicked grin, he stacked his hands behind his head. “You’re a natural.”
“Yes. I think I am.” She leaned forward, spreading her fingers in the springy hair on his chest. She liked this angle even more. She felt him everywhere, his mouth on her nipple, his penis buried so deeply inside her their heartbeats were one.
“Make yourself come.”
“Make myself—” Her eyes widened. “I don’t think so.”
“You’ve never touched yourself? Never given yourself an orgasm?”
“In private. When I’m alone.”
“We’re alone in private.”
“I’m—”
“Open? Pink? Juicy?”
Her slowly pistoning hips faltered, and Jonah brought his hands back to help her. When she returned to a slow rhythm, he put his hands beneath his head again.
Jonah’s eyes darkened to slate. “Play with your pretty nipples.”
“Why don’t you?” she challenged, face hot. Despite moving slowly, she could feel an aching spiral twisting inside her as her muscles contracted around the spear of his penis. “Too lazy?”
His lips twitched. “Enjoying the view. Touch yourself. I double-dare you.”
She huffed out a laugh and playfully cupped her breasts. “You’re incorrigible.” The problem was, her breasts, so sensitive, already painfully aroused, weren’t in on the joke. Callie’s nipples pressed insistently into her palms and she felt a sharp spear of pleasure right through her core, where she and Jonah were joined.
She squeezed her eyes shut, imagined his hands on her. Imagined him squeezing her nipples to the point of pain. Backing off, doing it again. Rolling the tight buds between her fingers until the spiral blazed a path through her body and she cried out with the pleasure jolting her body.
Pulling her down, he kissed her until her head spun. Digging his fingers into her hips, he changed the speed and rhythm until she was nothing but pure sensation.
He kissed her again, making it impossible to breathe or think. His hips driving against her, relentlessly, without pause or mercy.
She couldn’t take any more. Her nervous system was on overload. “¡No más!” She needed a moment to catch her breath, a moment when her body wasn’t electrified. A minute when her senses and emotions weren’t on overload.
“Sí, mucho más,” yes, more, he murmured against her damp forehead. “Tenemos toda la noche, mi amor.”
“Can I die of pleasure?” Voice ragged, heartbeat off the charts, skin flushed. Callie could barely drag in another breath as the next, surprising, shocking, climax rolled through her. Sharp and achingly sweet, the sensation traveled through her like an electrical current. She was sure if she opened her eyes she’d see her body lit up like a Christmas tree.
“La pequeña muerte.” The little death. His voice was as uneven, his breath as raspy as her own. Holding her gaze, Jonah cupped her face. “We go together, sweetheart.”
They were both slick with sweat, their bodies glued together. His heartbeat syncopating with hers, a hard driving rhythm, an erratic, primal drumbeat, filling the room.
Callie dimly wondered if a woman could die of pleasure.
And then she didn’t care.
Limp and exhausted, she allowed Jonah to rearrange her body so she lay on top of him, his ankles draped over her. Her face was pressed against his sweat-damp neck as he stroked her back in long languid sweeps from her butt to her nape and back again as their respiration and heart rates slowed back to normal. Although Callie doubted she’d ever be normal again after this. Hell, she’d be lucky if she could walk after this.
“Thank God,” she said weakly. “Eventually even Superman has to take a break.”
He traced the curve of her butt with a lazy finger. “You think I’m Superman?”
“I didn’t say you were Superman. I was hoping he would swoop in and rescue me from your lecherous clutches.” She turned her head slightly to kiss under his jaw. The dark stubble felt prickly soft, and she tasted his sweat-dampened skin with the tip of her tongue. “If that’s supposed to be soothing? Just an FYI? It’s not.”
“No?” He trailed his fingers up her spine, then she felt him delving into the surprisingly still-intact braid on the back of her head. He found several pins and pulled them out. She heard a few pings as they hit the floor. “Is that so?” Untucking the end of the French braid, he unraveled the three dented strands. Slowly.
It was as if every skein was attached to a corresponding nerve, making her shiver. “God, when you do that … Every hair follicle is attached to a nerve, and every nerve runs from there, to here, and here.” Since she couldn’t move, and had no intention of doing so, he had to figure it out on his own: breasts, and juncture of her thighs.
Jonah spread her hair down her back, arranging and smoothing it like a silken cape. He brought a handful to his face, inhaling deeply so she felt the shift of his chest beneath her. “I’ve been fantasizing about doing this since you came on board.”
So had she, Callie thought, loving the feel of his hands drifting through her hair, scooping it up, and then letting it fall like water from between his fingers. The cool feel of the strands on her sensitized skin made Callie wiggle against him. It felt almost painfully good, and she ground her mound against him, enjoying his responsive hiss. “I’m in no hurry.”
“Maybe I am.”
* * *
Not. Married.
Holy fuck, the news was better than his birthday and Christmas rolled into one giant, mind-blowing present.
Jonah stretched his arms over his head, watching Callie wrap a towel under her arms covering her nakedness. A crime to rewrap what he’d so enjoyed unwrapping. Lying on the wide bed, he was bare-ass naked and still rampant as the first morning rays of sun warmed the walls of his cabin.
Hell, he should be satiated. They’d made love for most of what had been left of the night. He’d come, and brought her to release, so many times that he’d lost count. But seeing her as she was now, with those yards of dark, glossy hair loose down her back, looking like a pagan goddess, he was horny all over again.
Glad she’d kept that magnificent hair a secret, Jonah figured any red-blooded man seeing that silky mass hanging nearly to her waist would want her naked 24/7. He knew what those strands felt like everywhere on his body, and he wanted her back in bed, wrapped around him. To hell with diving.
“Do you have to?” he asked lazily, loving the way the golden morning light gilded the hills and valleys of her body.
Her smile was part sleepy, part seductive. How had he ever thought her cold? “Go?” she asked, tucking the fabric more securely between her breasts. “Or wear this towel?” Her legs looked a mile long, the strong sleek muscles covered by skin so soft, so silky, his mouth watered. He’d kissed her everywhere there was to kiss. It wasn’t enough. He already ached to do it again. He felt a little guilty for leaving red marks on her skin. She’d assured him he didn’t need to shave. And she’d certainly not complained when he’d rubbed his stubble on every delectable inch of her skin.
“Both.”
“I have to shower and get ready for the day, and your clothes won’t fit me. And the towel is because, unlike you, I’m not an exhibitionist, and people will be stirring soon.”
“I’m very stirred right now,” he murmured, tossed his legs over the side of the bed, then walked the few feet to her side. “I’m sure we can get you all stirred up, too. Why don’t we do something about it?” Tunneling his fingers through the silky strands of her hair with both hands, he cupped her face, tilting her chin so her lips were inches from his.
The hard peaks of her nipples pressed against his chest, and the cool, silky weight of her hair draped over his arms as he backed her against the closed door.
The scent of hot coconut and the musky, arousing aroma of sex drifted from her skin. “Let’s say to hell with everyone and stay right here.” He kissed a trail across her cheek to linger at the corner of her mouth.
Her breath hitched, and she rose to her toes to press her body to his. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered a firm, “No.”
“Cruel.”
He kissed her. A lingering melding of mouths that had intimate knowledge of each other. He loved the instant, hot, slick caress of her tongue against his, and her full-body shiver when he tightened his fists in her hair.
Her lips slid from his, and rather than waste a moment, Jonah skated his teeth gently down the tendons of her neck, making the shiver turn to a shudder. “Practical,” she whispered, arching her throat for him. “I s—God, Jonah! I spent the last six hours using muscles I d-don’t think I’ve ever used in my life. I need a period of recuperation.”
“Really?” he said, pleased, looking up from where he was kissing the length of her biceps. She tasted delicious.
Dropping her arms from around his neck, she laughed. “Lose this smug look before anyone else sees you, Cutter.
“You lost your towel. I’ll get that for you—”
Callie dipped to retrieve it herself. “Na-ah. If you’re down there, I’ll never leave this cabin.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Straightening, towel in hand, she reached up to pull his head down for another kiss, then wrapped the terry cloth beneath her arms again. “See you on deck?”
He took a step backward so he didn’t reach for her again and do what he wanted to do. Have his wicked way with her before breakfast. Of course, he’d said that the last time they’d made love, and the time before that. Instead of grabbing her, he smiled. “Yeah.”
A second later she was gone.
Chest tight, balls aching, Jonah stared at the closed door for a moment.
Not married.
Damn, life was good.
With a new outlook on the day, he took a quick, cold shower before dressing and leaving his cabin. And almost ran into Callie, who paused on the bottom step of the stairwell like a 1950s pinup girl to wait for him. White shorts, long tan legs, and a heart-levitating smile. Her hair, wet and scraped back off her beautiful face, was in its customary tight braid, the plait tucked up efficiently on the back of her head.
His secret to know and fantasize about for the rest of the day.
His brain, his hands, and his body knew what those mile-long, cool silky strands looked like loose down her back, knew what they felt like wrapped around him, knew the texture as they sifted between his fingers.
Stern and humorless she wasn’t. He wasn’t afraid to acknowledge when he was wrong. And he’d been very wrong about Callie.
There was no sign of the strategically placed beard burns marking her soft skin. Makeup? Jonah knew where to find each one, and although he regretted leaving his marks on her, he loved knowing he’d left them on her where no one but himself would see them.
Which reminded him, he’d better delete some of the video from the corridor feed before the captain looked at it.
“Morning.” Her soft green eyes heated to remind him of what they’d shared earlier. She wore a T-shirt the color of the lavender growing in his abuela’s garden in Cádiz. She smelled of soap and coconut. Good enough to eat. Again.
“And a damn fine morning at that,” Jonah agreed, resisting the urge to skim his fingers up and down the satiny smooth skin on her arm. They had to be circumspect. He wasn’t ready to share this—whatever this was—with anyone else at the moment. Discretion in such close confines would be difficult, but hopefully not impossible.
That’s what they’d decided an hour ago, lying naked and close to each other. Now? He could barely keep his hands to himself.
“Stop looking at me like that!” she whispered sternly.
“You look a little tired,” he teased, feeling buoyant and energized just looking at her even though they’d been together barely twenty minutes earlier. “Restless night?” Neither had slept more than an hour.
“Not at all.” Her voice was cool, her peridot eyes hot as she said sweetly, “I slept like a baby. I want to talk to Miguel as soon as possible, see exactly what he has for us. And I already know that we need to get back to the island to take more pictures, and get the documents if possible. Although I doubt our request will be considered if what Miguel and I think is true, is true. If the old men are—what? Priests? Caretakers? Will they let us come back and do some more reading, do you think?”
“I guess we’ll find out. Here.” He handed her the plain gold band he’d stepped on when he’d gone to get dressed.
“Thanks.” Callie took it from him, then stuck it in the front pocket of her shorts as they walked.
“You’re going to tell the others?”
“It’s time, I think.”
They got to the top of the stairs, and Jonah leaned in and kissed her. It was quick and sweet, and her lips clung to his for a moment before she gave him a cautionary look and continued upstairs.
“And if the old men are some kind of island caretakers,” she said as they walked across the salon side by side, “what are Spanos and his sister doing there? I doubt they’re taking care of the land. Not in those shoes.”
Turning, she waved at Saul, who waited for them near the sliders. “Morning.”
“They don’t exactly fit the profile.”
“Profile of what?” Saul slid open the doors and preceded them out to the deck.
The day was already hot but still hazy, the water a little choppy. The short, shallow waves, white-tipped and active, musically splashed the hull. Somewhere out of sight, a crew member was painting the railings, and the pleasant, clean smell of paint mixed with that of the sea, and the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee.
And under it all: the erotic scent of coconut.
Callie pulled out her chair and sat down. “The Spanos siblings don’t fit with the old guys on the island.”
“I don’t know which one I find creepier,” Saul admitted. “Him or his sister. She’s a barracuda, and that’s insulting all barracudas.”
Agyros was setting the table, as Randy, the second steward, laid out fruit, coffee, and pastries. Jonah was a proponent of excellent food on board. He’d paid a premium for Chef Tina Hamilton, swiping her from a ritzy restaurant in Portland and including her in the bonus program. Everyone was happy with the arrangement. Feeding his divers and crew well made the long days on board without shore leave bearable. A happy crew was a productive crew. He’d learned that from his brother Nick.
The pale, cloudless sky indicated it would get even hotter later in the day. Jonah was eager to get under the water. Or go back to bed. He met Callie’s eyes as he sat down, and saw the same heat he felt.
“She’s an odd one all right.” She drank half her orange juice then held the glass to her chin. “I don’t mean because she’s so blatant. Although, yeah. That, too. I also find it peculiar that for a woman whose family is in the cosmetics business, she trowels on her makeup like a sixteen-year-old going to a rave. On an island where the only men are eighty years old? That’s incongruous to say the least.”
Their eyes met across the table as if magnetized. She narrowed hers in warning, which made him smile as he poured straw-smelling green tea into her cup, then fragrant coffee into his favorite mug.
He wasn’t sure what the hell to make of the Spanoses, nor the old men. The old guys seemed harmless, while Spanos and his sister clearly had another agenda. Spanos seemed like an okay guy, and his sister was oversexed. But did that make any of them dangerous?
As long as everyone on Fire Island kept out of his way, he didn’t give a flying fuck what their agendas were.
Jonah was dying to call his brothers and tell them about his discovery, but those calls had to wait until he had something concrete to report. Still, he felt as anticipatory as when he’d been a kid waiting for his father to come home from a distant salvage. Or, as reality showed, back to Spain from his other family in the Caribbean.
Another man might resent that reality, but Jonah felt nothing but love for his father, and gratitude that he now had three brothers he considered friends. He was a lucky guy, and never forgot it.
And now Callie …
Jonah requested an enormous breakfast, Callie decided on fruit and her tea, and Saul said he had to wake up before he put anything in his mouth. Jonah shot Callie a wicked look, which she pointedly ignored.
“I’m dying to hear what Miguel has to tell us.” She sounded both excited and her usual controlled self. Typical Callie.
Damn she was sexy as hell, with her flushed cheeks and full mouth slightly swollen from hours of his kisses. He appreciated her supreme efforts to keep things nonchalant. Casual. He skimmed a glance to Saul, wondering if he bought it. Of course, Saul had his own romantic interest to pursue.
“I’m going to try him before I eat.” She licked a drop of OJ off the tip of her thumb. “Would you like me to put him on speaker?”
Attention fixated on her mouth, Jonah muttered, “What?”
Lifting her hip, she took her phone out of the back pocket of her shorts. “I’m calling Miguel.”
“Put him it on speaker.”
Callie’s cheeks turned a dusky rose, as if she could clearly read his thoughts. She gave him a stern look, which made his dick stand at attention.
Leaning back in the comfortable seat, he rested an arm over the empty chair beside him, crossing an ankle over the opposite knee. He could look at her all day. Hardly productive, but a man had to do what a man had to do.
“Hola, mi amigo,” she said in greeting, her Spanish as excellent as her Greek. Jonah wanted to get her back in bed and speak his native Spanish to her, to whisper hot words in her ear knowing she’d understand every nuance.
He was obsessed.
He left it to Callie to explain her marital situation to the others. But that explanation better come soon. While they’d try to keep their intimacy discreet, the ship was too small to keep the relationship a secret. And he sure as shit didn’t want anyone thinking he’d fool around with a married woman.
Callie’s soft laughter made an ache form in the pit of his belly. How much of a friend was this Dr. Miguel Ebert? Crap. Was he jealous?
She switched to English. “Is it okay to put you on speaker so the others can hear you?”
“Certainly. But Calista—” The man lapsed into rapid-fire Spanish, his excitement evident. The hair on the back of Jonah’s neck came to attention, and he leaned forward in his seat as he caught snippets of Dr. Ebert’s monologue.
Fire Island. Guardians. Atlantis …
Callie shrugged and mouthed Sorry, then took her phone off speaker as the others arrived and pulled out chairs. While she talked, they ordered breakfast, poured coffee, and popped bread in the conveniently placed toaster.
Jonah indicated Callie and the phone. “Dr. Miguel Ebert.”
Vaughn shot a smile in her direction, though she didn’t see it. “Ah. Good news apparently.”
Breakfast was served and eaten by everyone while Callie’s tea went cold, and her sliced fruit lay untouched. She listened to her friend with mounting excitement. So excited, she got up and started pacing as she talked.
Jonah grinned, enjoying the flash of her long legs and the expressive, very Mediterranean way she gestured as she talked. A warm breeze played with fine strands of dark hair, teasing them around her face. She brushed them away impatiently, her entire focus on the conversation. Jonah bet she was completely oblivious to the others seated at the table watching her. Of the sound of the lapping water, or the clouds scudding across the sun.
He spoke the language of his mother fluently, and he loved listening to the musical notes coming from Callie. She spoke beautiful, colloquial Spanish like a native. He preferred listening to the sound of her voice rather than the one-sided, clearly thrilling conversation.
“We only got sixty some images,” he murmured to the others as he poured a third cup of coffee, then reached over to take Callie’s filled cup. Dumping it in a nearby empty bowl, he refilled it with hot tea as soon as he heard her winding down.
He grinned when she started asking questions instead of saying goodbye. He gestured. “Like an Italian opera.”
“This is the guy she sent the images from the books, right?” Leslie asked, pushing her chair away from the table so she could put her crossed ankles on the chair beside Jonah. Odd that from the first Jonah hadn’t felt an iota of sexual attraction to his diver. She was attractive, exactly the kind of woman he enjoyed. Tall, athletic, blond—not a spark.
He looked back at Callie. More than a spark. A fucking volcano.
Just then she glanced up. Her pupils dilated, and a pulse throbbed at her temple as her eyes locked with his as she returned to the table. “Sí, gracias, Miguel.”
Resuming her seat, she placed the phone on the table. “‘Groundbreaking’ is what Dr. Ebert says,” she said, addressing everyone. “Miguel believes the pages from the books we photographed were copied from fragments of ancient papyri. Similar to Papyri Graecae Magicae.”
“Similar? Or copies of the original?” Vaughn asked, leaning his elbows on the table to see around Saul. “Wasn’t the PGM an entire body of papyri with hundreds of pages of spells?”
“It was, but Miguel doesn’t believe what we have is from the PGM. This is something different, and even more ancient. I’ve known him for ten years, and never heard him this excited by his findings.”
“Good God, woman, don’t keep us in suspense, what do we have?” Intrigued by her excitement, Jonah had only heard her side of the convo, not enough to piece together all the ¡Oh, mi Dios! and ¿Está absolutamente seguro? even though he understood the sporadic rapid-fire Spanish insertions on her end.
“The writings are arcane. And yes, this is a book of spells and mystical secrets,” she answered Vaughn. “Compilations of spells and magical writings. Miguel says it was incredibly difficult and slow going to decipher the texts we sent. It’s written in a mixture of Attic, Ionic Greek, and even some Doric forms. The same word appeared in several forms throughout, as if the writer wanted make sure everyone understood what he was telling them, no matter what language they read.”
“I’m not sure I understand what that means.” Leslie rested her folded arms on the table, and Saul moved her plate aside to give her more room.
“He was able to piece together context and intent from the formulaic words and phrases, which were, interestingly, similar to the ones found in defixiones—”
Brody frowned. “De-what?”
“Curse tablets. Binding spells. Magic recipes.” She glanced around the table. “He thinks the copies were painstakingly transcribed from the original lead tablet forms. Circa sixth century BCE. The letters were incredibly hard to re—never mind, those were his findings from the images I managed to get. And while those are groundbreaking and undeniably fascinating, they aren’t the entire point. It’s what was in the pages from the book Jonah captured that had something even more fascinating and certainly even more intriguing to show us.”
It was a little disconcerting to see the same avaricious, excited look on her face for some magical papyri as she’d exhibited an hour ago while they’d made love.
“Hurry, woman.” Jonah dropped his feet to the deck, resting his forearms on the table. “I hope you tell us what it is sooner than later. The suspense is killing us.”
Eyes shining, she smiled. “The pages you photographed talk of a powerful port city on the coast of a small volcanic island. The city built on concentric rings—”
“No shit?” Saul said. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Jonah’s heart leapt to his throat. Conclusive evidence. Proof that his city was the city. Atlantis.