London Bridges (Alex Cross 10)

“I do? Well, thank you for saying that. Believe me, I needed to hear it.”

The Kingfish, as it turned out, was a totally democratic restaurant: no reservations, but we were seated quickly at a nice table along the wall. We ordered drinks and food, but mostly we were there to hold hands and talk about everything that was going on in our lives.

“This thing with Little Alex,” I told Jamilla about midway through dinner, “it’s the worst torture for me. Goes against who I am, everything I learned from Nana. I can’t stand to leave him here.”

Jamilla frowned and seemed angry. “Doesn’t she treat him well?”

“Oh no, no, Christine is a good mother. It’s the separation that kills me. I love that little boy, and I miss him so much every day I’m away from him. I miss the way he talks, walks, thinks, tells bad jokes, listens to mine. We’re pals, Jam.”

“And so,” Jamilla said, holding my eyes with hers, “you escape into your work.”

“And so”—I nodded—“I do. But that’s a whole ’nother story. Hey, let’s get out of here.”

“What do you have in mind, Agent Cross?”

“Nothing illegal, Inspector Hughes.”

“Hmmm. Really? Well, that’s a shame.”

Chapter 100

YOU’VE HEARD THE SAYING get a room? Well, I already had one at the Fairmont Olympic on University across from Ranier Square, and I couldn’t wait to get there. Neither of us could. Jamilla whistled under her breath as we walked into the impressive lobby. She stared up at the engraved ceiling, which must have been forty feet high. There was an actual hush inside the large, overdecorated room at a little past ten when we arrived.

“Italian Renaissance decor, big ol’ antique chandeliers, five stars, five diamonds. I’m wonderfully impressed,” Jam said, grinning. As always, her enthusiasm was exhilarating.

“Every once in a while you just have to build in a treat, you know.”

“This is definitely a treat, Alex,” Jamilla said, and gave me a quick kiss in the lobby. “I’m really happy you’re here. And that I’m here, too. I like us a lot.”

It kept getting better from there. Our room was on the tenth floor and it was everything it needed to be—bright, airy, plush, with a king-size bed. We even had a view of Elliott Bay with Bainbridge Island in the distance, and a ferry just leaving the waterfront in the foreground. The sights and scenes couldn’t have been any better if I’d planned them out in elaborate detail, which maybe, just maybe, I had.

About that king-size bed at the Fairmont Olympic. It was covered with a gold-and-green-striped comforter—a duvet?—I’m always slightly confused about what distinguishes the two. We didn’t bother to remove the comforter/duvet. We just fell onto it, laughing and talking, happy to be there together, realizing how much we’d missed each other.

“Let me make you a little more comfortable, Alex,” Jam whispered as she pulled my shirt out of my pants. “How’s that? Better?”

“And I’ll do the same for you. Only fair,” I said to her. “Tit for tat.”

“Well, yes, I do like that tat of yours.”

I began to unbutton Jamilla’s blouse and she continued unbuttoning my shirt. Neither of us was in a hurry. We knew better than to rush any of this. The whole idea was to make it last, to pay attention to each detail, each button, the feel of the fabric, the tiny bumps of anticipation on Jamilla’s skin, and on mine, the difficulty catching our breath, the tingle in our bodies, the electricity, sparks, whatever goodness came our way that night.

“You’ve been practicing,” she whispered, and she was already a little short of breath. I liked that.

I laughed. “Uh-uh. Actually, I’ve been practicing the art of anticipation.”

“Like this next button?” she asked.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“And the one after that?”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Jamilla. I’m not kidding.”

“We’ll have to see. We’ll just have to see. I’m not kidding, either.”

When Jamilla’s blouse and my shirt were undone, we slowly pulled them off. Meanwhile, we kept kissing, tickling, scratching, nuzzling, ever so slowly. She was wearing perfume and I recognized it as Calèche Eau Delicate. She knew

I liked the scent. Jamilla loved a light scratch all over her body so that’s what I did next. First the shoulders and back, then her arms, her beautiful face, the long legs, her feet, then back up her legs again.