King's Crusade (Seventeen) (26 page)

The doors slid open and they entered the building. Jackson followed her across a wide lobby to a bank of elevators. A blast of warm air washed over them when they entered the lift. He shuddered, a low groan escaping his throat. She entered a second code into the interior control panel and pressed her hand against a biometric sensor.

‘How many of these safe houses do you guys have?’ He stared at the changing numbers in the electronic display next to her.

‘Six in London,’ she replied.

The lift stopped at the penthouse level of the building. The doors opened soundlessly to reveal a cavernous, dark space. The lights of the city cast a dim glow through the glass wall on the other side of an expansive floor.

Alexa stepped out onto the heated marble tiles and said, ‘Lights on’ in a loud, clear voice.

Jackson blinked when brightness flared into life around them. He walked out of the elevator and came to an abrupt halt. The metal doors closed behind him with a soft ping.

Given the external appearance of the building, she suspected he had been expecting a sleek and modern décor. Alexa could tell he was pleasantly shocked by the rich colors and elegant lines of the priceless antique furnishings that adorned the luxurious suite.

Jackson crossed the foyer and stepped down into the sitting room. He ignored the exquisite set of period French furniture and the magnificent pianoforte that stood on its own dais as he strolled toward the glass wall that made up the southern aspect of the penthouse. He stopped and gazed at the stunning view of London for timeless seconds before turning to inspect the open-plan apartment with a measured stare. ‘You people really don’t spare any expenses, do you?’ he commented drily.

Alexa allowed a small smile to cross her lips.

The upscale apartment building was owned by a Crovir noble with close ties to the First Council. The penthouse itself was exclusively reserved for use by the Council members and their guests. She had a certain fondness for the place. It reminded her of her own apartment in Manhattan.

She headed into the state-of-the-art kitchen on the left and opened the door of the larder fridge. It was stocked daily by a concierge and contained fresh food and drinks. She reached past a bottle of champagne, took out a can of beer, and threw it to Jackson as he walked toward her. He caught the drink with a grateful expression, snapped the metal ring open, tilted his head back, and drank straight from the can.

A slow heat spread through Alexa’s body as she watched the muscles in his throat work. Jackson caught her stare.

‘What? Have I got some on my chin?’ he asked, wiping his jaw with the back of his hand.

She shook her head and twisted on her heels, a faint frown marring her brow. She would have to analyze the unwelcome sensation coiling inside her chest later. She took a frozen pizza out of the fridge, popped it in the microwave, and took a pair of plates out of the cupboard.

They ate standing at the counter while they inspected the precious artifact they had stolen from the Freemasons’ Hall.

‘We should take this to a lab with the appropriate facilities,’ said Jackson. ‘I can’t examine it here—some of the text is too small for me to make out.’ He had been reluctant to handle the tablet and had insisted they keep it carefully wrapped. The bullet had penetrated the backpack an inch from the edge of the stone.

Alexa looked up and studied the lines on his face. It had been a busy few days. She doubted the Harvard professor had ever been in as many life-and-death chases and combat situations as he had experienced in the last forty-eight hours. She was surprised he wasn’t more shell-shocked.

‘Reznak has a facility in Europe,’ she said. ‘I’ll talk to him again in the morning.’

She had called her godfather on the way to the penthouse. Schmidt and Carrington had made it out of the Freemasons’ Hall unscathed. Though the police radio messages the Crovirs had intercepted reported injuries sustained by the Freemasons at the site, there were no fatalities among the wounded. There had, however, been several casualties among a group of unidentified men wearing body armor. No arrests had been made, which indicated that the remaining members of the
Rose Croix
sect had gotten away.

There had been no word from the monk.

Jackson looked at her hesitantly. ‘We’re staying the night?’ he asked, glancing around the silent apartment.

‘You need some rest,’ she said bluntly.

The penthouse had six bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and walk-in closet. Alexa showed Jackson to one of the suites and took the one opposite his.

She shrugged her jacket off and dropped it on the beautifully carved Baroque bed that dominated the room. She cleaned and dressed the wound on her shoulder before strolling across the marble floor to the glass wall that formed the south aspect of the suite. French doors looked out onto the wooden deck that wrapped around the penthouse.

She stood motionless and stared at the dazzling lights of the capital while she tried to dissect the unwarranted emotions that had plagued her in the last week.

The only other time she had ever worked as part of a team was the brief period she had spent in the Order of the Hunters with Frank Schmidt many years ago. Even then, she had never felt anxiety over her fellow Hunters’ wellbeing like she had with Jackson in the few days that she had known him. From his fight with Boyko Dragov in Port Said to their more recent encounter with the
Rose Croix
sect members on the rooftop of the church in Istanbul, she had found her breath catching in her throat whenever he was exposed to danger. Even more irritating was the growing intensity of her reactions to the man. What was it about him that triggered such extreme responses from her? Even Reznak, who had been part of her life for centuries, had never engendered so many forceful feelings in her in such a short period of time.

She was still looking out over the city minutes later when a knock came at the door. She watched it open in the reflection cast by the mirror-like glass.

Jackson entered the room and stopped by the console table next to the door. ‘I thought you might want this back,’ he said, holding her bag in one hand.

Realization suddenly hit her with the force of an earthquake. She stopped breathing.

Jackson stiffened. ‘Alexa?’

Her heart thudded rapidly inside her chest as awareness bloomed across her consciousness. She wanted this man. She wanted him like she had never wanted another being, immortal or human, in the three hundred and ten years of her known existence. The long-denied hunger that had been building up inside her for the last week flooded her senses and washed away the last fragments of her irritation.

Jackson took a step toward her. ‘Hey, are you okay?’ he asked in a low voice that danced down her back.

Alexa turned around slowly and stared at him. This time, she made no attempt to mask the expression on her face. He froze.

She carefully undid her body holster and let it fall to the floor. His gaze never left hers as the guns and sai daggers clattered noisily on the marble tiles. Heat flashed through his darkening eyes, and a faint flush tainted his cheekbones. His breathing accelerated slightly and his pupils dilated.

Alexa walked toward him, her steps slow and steady. She took her bag from his unresisting hand and dropped it on the console table. Her eyes shifted to his mouth. His lower lip was still swollen from the blows he had suffered during their earlier fight. She raised her hand and touched the wound lightly.

A soft groan left his throat and warmed her fingertips. Her skin tingled and desire pooled inside her. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

The hunger thrumming inside her rose to fever pitch. Her hand snaked to the back of his head and she tugged his face to hers. She stopped when their lips were an inch apart, savoring the feeling of his breath mingling with hers. He grasped her shoulders and closed the distance between them with another groan.

His mouth, when it made contact, was shockingly gentle.

Alexa stared into his eyes as he brushed his lips across hers, slowly learning their contours. His cobalt-blue gaze shifted to dark indigo a heartbeat before his kiss turned hot and fervent. His tongue invaded her mouth with a passion that sent a sudden shiver down her spine. Her eyelids fluttered close.

For the first time in her immortal life, she felt her legs go weak. The alien sensation was like a cold slap that brought her back to her senses. Her eyes snapped open and she broke free from his embrace, her chest heaving with the effort to control her ragged breathing.

Confusion clouded Jackson’s eyes. ‘Alexa?’

The sound of her name on his lips made her blood sing with yearning. It was all it took to break the iron control she was attempting to regain over her unruly emotions. She felt the impenetrable barriers that guarded her inner core come crashing down under a deluge of torrid lust.

She slammed the door shut and pushed him down on the bed. Jackson gasped when he landed heavily on the mattress. She kicked off her boots, shrugged her shirt over her head, and slipped out of her cargo pants. He rose on his elbows, his heated gaze skimming her nearly naked body.

Alexa climbed on the bed, straddled him, and started to unbutton his shirt. Halfway down, she snarled in impatience and ripped the material from his chest.

A throaty chuckle escaped Jackson’s lips. ‘Are we about to indulge in some kinda kinky immortal sex?’

The laughter rumbling through his chest caused his body to vibrate between her thighs and sent a quiver of anticipation racing across her skin. Alexa leaned down and kissed him hard. His fingers skimmed down the sides of her breasts and waist before gripping her hips with an urgency that betrayed his desire. He pulled her down until their bodies melded together.

They came up for air timeless seconds later. ‘Oh boy,’ breathed Jackson, his eyes glazed. He suddenly flipped her on her back.

A gasp left her lips when the weight of his body pressed her into the mattress. She fought down her instinct to push him off and allowed herself to savor the heavy heat of his limbs entwined with hers. His knee slipped between her legs and his fingers closed around her hip. She shivered beneath his touch. Her hand glided across the hard muscles of his abdomen before pausing on the zipper of his jeans. She felt the shudder that coursed through his body as she slowly pulled the metal down.

‘Have mercy,’ said Jackson with a slow, sinful smile.

Part Three: Kill

Chapter Twenty-One

C
onsciousness returned languidly. Alexa became
aware of bright sunlight penetrating through the thin skin of her eyelids and warming the skin on her back. She stretched her pleasantly sated body and sighed.

Her eyes snapped open a second later. She twisted, clutched the cotton sheet to her naked chest, grabbed one of her Sigs from the floor next to the bed, and whipped the weapon around smoothly as she sat up.

Reznak stared impassively into the barrel of the gun from where he sat in the armchair across the room.

Alexa clenched her jaw and scanned the suite. Schmidt was leaning against the French doors that led to the terrace and gazing at the views of the city across the river. Yonten sat in a meditative pose on the deck outside the glass wall. The monk opened his eyes and winked at her. Schmidt looked over his shoulder stiffly.

There was a noise from the direction of the bathroom. Jackson strolled through, a towel perched precariously on his hips while he briskly rubbed his wet hair with another one. It took him a couple of seconds to note the presence of the other men in the room. He froze.

Schmidt’s expression darkened.

A knock sounded on the door. Fawkes walked in with a tray of fresh coffee and Jackson’s duffel bag. He placed the drinks on the console table, handed the bag to Jackson, smiled warmly at Alexa, and left.

Jackson sighed. ‘Seriously, I wish you guys would call or something.’

Her stare focused on him. She noted his swollen lips and the marks her teeth and nails had left on his body. Heat ignited in her gut. She’d thought her desire for the man would abate after sleeping with him. She was wrong.

Jackson’s eyes shifted to the color of a storm-swept sea as he stared back. It reminded her of the way he looked above her last night—all feverish and hot and wanting. They had barely slept, their need for each other too strong to deny.

Reznak sighed at the overt sexual tension coursing through the air. ‘We need to talk,’ said her godfather bluntly.

Alexa scowled. ‘I want everyone out. Now,’ she ordered icily, holding the sheet to her breasts.

Jackson straightened when her gaze fell on him. ‘What, you mean me too?’ he said incredulously. ‘Don’t tell me you’re feeling shy, not after everything we did last night?’ he added.

Reznak rose from the chair and headed stiffly for the door. Schmidt turned and followed her godfather, his stance rigid.

‘I mean, there was some stuff I can honestly say I’ve never done before,’ Jackson continued drily.

Schmidt grimaced and slammed the door behind him.

Alexa could not help but feel that Jackson had deliberately been taunting the immortal.

‘It was the best night of my life,’ continued the Harvard professor. ‘My hips are still sore—’

A sai thudded into the wall next to him. The smile never left Jackson’s face. He strolled toward the door at a leisurely pace and opened it. He walked out, stopped, and peeked his head around the corner. ‘By the way, would it be terribly wrong to say that you look very sexy this morning and that I want to crawl into that bed with you again?’

His laughter sent a quiver along her spine. The second sai hit the wood inches from his face. He grinned and left the room, his bag in hand.

Alexa glanced at the deck. The monk had disappeared. Despite her best attempts to suppress it, she could not stop the smile that crossed her lips. She dropped the sheet, climbed off the bed, and strode into the bathroom. As the hot water pelted her skin, she summoned all her willpower to suppress the sensual images of the hour she and Jackson had spent in the luxurious shower the night before.

Fifteen minutes later, she stepped out into the open-plan living area, her guns and blades securely ensconced in the custom-made holster under her jacket. She looked around.

Reznak was sitting in one of the French chairs and staring at the priceless artifact on the coffee table before him. Carrington stood leaning against the backrest behind him. Yonten perched cross-legged on the pianoforte, while Schmidt lounged against a marble pillar to the right. Reznak’s bodyguards stood silently on either side of the lift.