Night Magic (21 page)

“
Don’t worry, I understand. Oh, you’re both welcome to join us Friday night at the opening of the new exhibit at the museum, of course. I don’t mean you have to spend the whole three days in bed.” She heard his chuckle through her shock.

“
Brian, are you talking to Jane that way?” Jane heard Brina walk into the room. “Shame. You’ll embarrass her.”

“
Just inviting them to go with us to the opening of the new exhibition.”

“
Right. Don’t mind him, Jane,” Brina called.

“
Didn’t mean to make you shy, Jane,” Brian said gruffly. “Just know you’re welcome Friday night. But Kemble is to take three days off.”

“
I’ll try to keep him from working,” she said, as Kemble rolled his eyes.

“
Thanks, Jane.” As Brian clicked off in that abrupt way he had, she handed the phone back to Kemble.

“
You’re off the hook,” she said. “Now, doesn’t that feel nice?”

He looked a little surprised.
“Humph. Three days. What’ll I do with myself? Maybe I should just research the museums in Athens. . . .”

Jane looked up at him, unable to say what she was thinking.

She saw his expression soften. He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, that too.” His stomach growled. “But first, food.” He threw off the sheet and flashed that big, beautiful body on his way to the closet. The wide, bulky shoulders, strongly muscled thighs. . . . The man had first class buttocks, too, round, firm. Just waiting for her to pinch them. Or take a nip.

Dear me. Aren’t I the brazen hussy?

“You promised pancakes and bacon,” he threw over his shoulder. “Hey.” He turned, giving her a full frontal of the equipment that had provided both of them such a good time. It was too late to be shy, but she couldn’t help her blush. She sure hoped it had been good for him. “Those orange trees in the garden we saw the other night were just laden with fruit. I could squeeze us some orange juice.” He looked very pleased with himself. She could practically see him beating his chest, proud of his foraging ability.

“
That would be lovely,” she said.

What was lovely was seeing him relax now that he didn’t have to go in to the office. She’d never seen him take a day off, even before they knew all the dangers besetting the Tremaine family. But now he had three days away from his father, away from his responsibility to the company and the driving need to find Talismans. Three days away from having to live up to some ideal he had of what he should be, and just
. . . be. With her.

He might grow to resent her. He might never really care for her. But for three days, he was all hers, and she intended to make the most of it.

*****

Morgan finished the last of the eggs and pushed the room service cart away. She’d had it made special
ly so the top slid over the bed. She was nearly recovered from jet lag after a good night’s sleep, though it had taken drugs to give her that rest. Once she wouldn’t have cared about sleep. She’d sometimes been up for days at a time when she grew excited about her future. Those were the times when the plans came together, the research paid off, the training of the new members of the Clan they found had been accomplished.

But since she’d come so close to her old enemy, death, she hoarded her body’s vitality. And it wasn’t just sleep. Now she even took vitamins and health supplements, for God’s sake. That was because she knew what it was like to grow older than anyone had ever been, to feel
her body oozing into decay and have there be nothing she could do about it, even with all the arcane knowledge she’d been able to acquire in that long life. By the time she’d gotten to the hospital in Chicago, she’d remained alive through will alone. Hardwick and the others nearly hadn’t made it to her in time with the Sword.

So now she conserved
strength. Who knew how long she could live when she owned two Talismans? A good long time. Soon she’d possess three. But it would never be enough.

So she’d take care of that.

She showered and dressed in a simple set of black slacks and a gold silk blouse. She wound a light cashmere scarf in black and gold patterns around her neck. Always good to hide the neck. Her mainly black hair she twisted up into a severe, braided knot on her head. She glanced into the mirror and touched the wrinkles around her mouth, at the corners of her eyes. She knew why women of a certain age were tempted to go under the knife.

Morgan disdained such crudities. She had another cure in mind for her wrinkles.

She tore herself from the mirror, and pushed out into the great living area of the suite. Many floors below her, the bells of the slot machines would be jangling and whooping. Men with blank stares would be hunched over green baize-covered tables as her dealers tossed cards, or spun ornate wooden wheels or raked in chips. Young couples danced and drank in her bars. People gorged themselves on buffet food. All enriching her coffers, of course.

But here it was quiet. The draperies on the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the neon city at night were pulled against the relentless sun of the desert. The lighted cases of the two Talismans glowed softly. She went to the desk and punched a button on the console.

Hardwick came in a moment later, knocking only as a formality, since he’d been summoned. He looked a little distracted and there were papers in his hand.

“
Well?”

He glanced up.
“We’re ready to head to L.A. at a moment’s notice.”

“I didn’t expect anything else.”
She nodded to the papers in his hands.

“
Oh, yes.” He rifled through the papers. “I brought what I consider the top ten military minds of all time.”

She sat on the couch in front of the Talisman cases, put her hands on her knees
, and closed her eyes. “Tell me.”

“
Number one is Genghis Khan, of course, but others will surprise you.”

“
And why is he the greatest?”

Hardwick tapped his lips with the pen he held in one hand, and perused his papers.
“Well, his Mongol hordes controlled everything from Japan to Iran at one point. Fabulous strategist. His men would follow him into hell. But the point I found most telling is that it’s estimated that one half percent of the world’s males today have his DNA.”

She frowned
. “Quite a progenitor.” He had achieved immortality in the way she never could. That thought soured in her brain. “Who’s next?” she barked.

“
Got to be Alexander the Third of Macedonia, called ‘the Great.’ He died at thirty-two, but by that time he’d led campaigns in Syria, Egypt, Judea, Mesopotamia, and Persia, among others. Never lost a battle.”

She nodded, closed her eyes again.
“Go on.”

“
Third is Khalid ibn al-Walid, a seventh-century companion of the Islamic prophet Muhammad, nicknamed the ‘Drawn Sword of God.’ He united Arabia. Brilliant tactician. He went to his grave undefeated in any battle, large or small.”

She smiled, though she kept her eyes closed.
“You did dig deep. Who else?”

He finished out the list. Hannibal Barca, King Leonidas of Sparta, Minamoto no Yoshitsune, a
seventh-century Japanese warrior who ushered in the age of Samurai, Attila the Hun, Robin Hood, the father of guerilla warfare, Yue Fei, a twelfth-century Chinese warrior who defended the Sung Dynasty, and William Wallace.

“
A good start,” she murmured. The silence stretched, and she let it, enjoying this new beginning to the next phase of her plan.

“
Morgan?” Hardwick whispered at last. He was probably afraid she’d fallen asleep. “I have others if these are not enough.”

She opened her eyes, and smiled. Hardwick’s eyes opened a trifle wider. Her smile tended to make even her closest companions nervous.
“See how many you can locate.”

Hardwick blinked twice.
“Locate?”

“
Find out where they’re buried.”

“Very well.” He turned on his heel, but paused at the door to the suite. “You do know they will likely be only bones and dust at this point, don’t you?”

She smiled, and he almost flinched. Not quite. “I do.”

*****

Jane watched Kemble pace. Work withdrawal was in full swing and it was only late afternoon of his first day off. They’d just finished watching the movie Lincoln in the huge media room. The furniture in the media room was as uncomfortable as everywhere else in the house, all chrome and stiff leather, but at least the room had window shades between the two panes of the great windows to shut out the sun so one could watch the giant screen TV. It was the most comfortable room in the house for her, aside from the wine closet. The rest of the house was inescapably bright during the day. Dared she suggest they stream another movie? Or maybe she could find something that would interest him on ESPN. While Kemble wasn’t a rabid sports fan, every man liked watching competition, didn’t they?

“
I’d better just go check my computer setup,” he finally said, looking apologetic, but about to break into a lope.

“
No you don’t, Kemble Tremaine,” she said, standing. “You are not going to work from here just because you’re not allowed over at the Breakers.”

He stopped, startled at her vehemence. She was startled herself. She swallowed.
“You know, if you can’t stand to be away from work even for a day, well, that isn’t good for a person.”

He looked offended. Then his expression turned sheepish.
“You’re right.” He looked around as though he found himself suddenly in the Taj Mahal, or the Amazon jungle, or somewhere equally unlikely. “I just. . . .”

She held out a hand and perched on that gray leather sofa, if you could call it that.
“I know. You don’t know what to do with yourself if you’re not accomplishing some task.”

He came and took her hand, sending the familiar shock up her arm, straight to her nipples and her sex. His eyes heated.
“What was I thinking? I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“
You didn’t.” Not much, anyway.

“
I’ve never tasted food as good as the breakfast you made. Those pancakes. . . . The bacon. . . .” He sat beside her and covered both her hands in his bigger ones. “Even the smell drove me crazy.”

“
You squeeze a mean orange juice, too,” she said. The food had tasted remarkable. Was that what lots of sex did to you, made you not only ravenous but sensually aware of food? She could still feel the sweet/tart assault of the orange juice on her taste buds.

“
I can hardly wait for dinner.” His voice had gotten even lower than his usual baritone, and husky. He was wearing jeans and a crisp blue and white striped shirt—as casual as Kemble got—in a nod to the fact that this was supposed to be a day off. His feet were bare, though. That was new. When had she ever seen him barefoot except at the pool? It made him look vulnerable, along with his tousled black locks. God, but he was sexy. What had Drew said about that Frenchman she “dated” when they were in Paris? Sex on a stick. Jane had never really known what that meant until now.

“
I have something special planned.”

“
No, no, no,” he murmured as he bent into her neck. He didn’t kiss her. He just inhaled. But his breath just under her ear made her want to shudder. “You’re not cooking. You’ll want to do something elaborate. That would take too much time. And be too much effort for you.”

“
I’ll have time.” She sounded a little breathless. Kemble did that to her.

“
No you won’t.” Now he did kiss her neck.

Mere goose bumps turned into a full-fledged shudder.

Kemble sat bolt upright. “Are you too sore? How thoughtless of me. I should have. . . .”

“
I’m fine,” she said firmly. Then she gave a shrug. “I kind of like feeling that you’ve been . . . inside me. I’d like to feel more of that.” She was rewarded with seeing his shoulders relax. He drew her into his chest. The crisp shirt smelled faintly of the medium starch he always ordered from the laundry. She could detect the scent of the chartreuse-colored soap in the shower on his skin. Lemongrass? But beneath that, he smelled like Kemble. She inhaled. Sweet.

He kissed her head,
and when she turned her face up, he kissed her mouth. The kiss was long and searching. She got up the courage to stroke his tongue with hers, which seemed to inflame him even more, so she did it again, pressing her breasts against his side. When they finally came up for air, he said, “Let’s do something about that. Too bad the bedroom is so far away. Guess that’s the problem in a big house.”

Oh, but Jane was feeling wicked.
“How about here?”

Kemble looked doubtfully at the slab of leather set between chrome mountings that passed for a couch.
It had two small throw pillows in vibrant purple. They didn’t make it look comfortable.