Napoleon Solo lay under the silk sheets, staring up at the woman who was on top of him; her long luxurious brunette hair cascading down to caress his naked chest.
Joanna Winthrop, as wild a vixen both in and out of bed; he'd never met anyone quite like this woman and even his paramour Angelique couldn't hold a candle to this gorgeous creature.
There was more to her. She was not only sexy but smart, clever and she made him smile and laugh a like a kid...that hadn't happened well, since Clara was in his life. When he was with Joanna, she made him forget all his troubles. There were few people who could do that to him in earnest...( Read more... )
Kuryakin had positioned himself on the rooftop of headquarters, taking his turn with Mark Slate to keep watch. Every building that was part of the U.N.C.L.E. complex that encompassed the entire block had snipers manning the rooftops, not only protecting the few agents that had to go in and out for whatever reason, but any innocents who'd dared to venture outside as well.
Once the sun had gone down, it was another story. No one was on the streets as roaming bands of hoodlums and drug crazed addicts wandered about at night like zombies.
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Prompted by: The Last Supper ~Rainer Maria Rilke
The Florida sun was shining in through the screened walls of the lanai, a gentle breeze fluttered the fronds of the potted palms tucked in the corners of the screened porch as Illya Kuryakin, laying on a chaise, wrapped himself in a thick blanket.
As warm as it was he was cold at the moment, yet his body was playing games with him; one minute his temperature was too low, the next too high.
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