Anew: Book Three: Entwined (13 page)

I stare down at
her, certain that I can’t have heard correctly. “What?”

“Do it,” she
says again. “Fuck me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“No…well, yes,
but not like this--”

I’m so full of
it. Even as I deny the hot surge of lust boiling over in me, I’m taking a quick
glance over my shoulder to make sure that we’re alone.

Despite the hold
I have on her, she manages to shift her hips, sliding her pubic mound along my
cock. The pleasure--and the provocation--are so intense that I gasp. The last
vestiges of my self-control start to crumble.

I want to subdue
her, tame her, own her. And I’m willing to use sex to do it. But the need to
cherish and protect her is even stronger.

 “You know I
can’t.” I mean it. If it takes my last breath, there is no way I will force
anything on her.

And then the
Universe lobs me a long, sweet curve ball that comes straight out of a dazzling
sky and hits me smack in the libido.

Amelia looks up
at me with those huge aquamarine eyes and says, “That’s what I want, Ian, right
here, right now, like this. Fuck me.”

“Why?” I gasp.

“What difference
does it make?” Softly but with a note of steel, she says, “This is who I am.
Accept it or don’t. But for god’s sake, don’t pretend that I’m someone I’m
not.”

Before I can
even try to respond, she lifts her head and bites my chin, then instantly
soothes the sting with a stroke of her tongue.

“Fuck me,” she
whispers. Her mouth trails a path down my throat, grazing me with her teeth. I’m
rock hard, desperate for her and she knows it, knows exactly how to play me,
how to get what she wants.

“Fuck me.”

 I grip both her
wrists in one hand and stroke the other over her, my palm grazing her pebble
hard nipples before pulling apart the white cotton jacket of the martial arts
gi
that she’s wearing and baring her breasts.

Every pretense
of resisting her goes up in smoke. The last shreds of my self-control go with
it. I’m on fire for her.

 “This is going
to be quick,” I mutter as I pull her draw-string pants down and free myself. A
surge of gratitude and relief shoots through me when I plunge a finger into her
and realize with a moan that she’s soaking wet.

Even so, I hold
her eyes with mine as I grate out, “You’re sure?”

She bares her
teeth and orders, “Do it.”

I free myself
and slam into her, all the confusion and longing that I’ve been feeling since
our first night back together fueling each savage thrust. She meets me with
every stroke.

Our mating is
wild and fierce. We’ve crossed some line, damn if I know what is but I can’t
care. Nothing matters except being as deep inside her as I can possibly get, no
room left for any pretenses or barriers.

I only just
manage to hold on until her back arches, her sweet, hot cunt contracting with
deep inner convulsions that squeeze every inch of my cock. That hurls me over
the edge. I come with her in a rush, grabbing her hips and grinding against
her, our bodies slapping and writhing together as I jet into her again and again.
Every orgasm I’ve had with Amelia has been mind blowing but this--

I can’t think,
can’t breathe, can’t do anything except give myself to this woman fully,
surrendering to her in a way I’ve never known before. The passion that consumes
me is cathartic. When I finally emerge from it, I feel shaken, drained, and in
some way I can barely grasp, reborn.

We’re still
lying on the mat. I ease my weight off her partly but I don’t move away.
Amelia’s breathing is as ragged as my own. Slowly, she opens her eyes.

Meeting mine,
she says softly, “That was…good.”

I can’t help it,
I laugh, although to comes out more like a wheeze. “Gotta tell you, babe, if it
gets any better, I’m not likely to survive.”

Gently, she
strokes a finger down my face and over my lips. Her smile is tender. “I’m sorry
that I kicked you.”

I don’t want her
to have any regrets, not even for that. Quickly, I say, “It’s okay, I deserved
it.”

She raises a
brow. “What for?”

I look at her
warily. “Is that a trick question?”

“No, at least I
don’t think it is.” She’s silent for a moment before she adds, “I’m stronger
than you believe, Ian, and I need for you to realize that.”

“You’ve got the
wrong idea. I know how strong you are. But that doesn’t mean that I want you to
take unnecessary risks.”

She squirms onto
her side so that we’re facing each other and cups my cheek in her palm, her
fingers gently stroking my stubble. Her touch sends a shiver of pure pleasure
through me.

“I don’t ever
want to be a distraction or anything else that could endanger you,” she says. “But
I can help get Davos more quickly and more safely than you can do it without
me.”

I’ve got a bad
feeling that I know where this is going but I ask anyway. “How do you figure
that?”

“You know how,”
she chides gently. “Davos wants me because of what he can gain through me, an
understanding of how the customized neural imprinting that I received was done.
He’s not going to be deterred by your efforts to gain rights for clones. If
anything, that will just spur him on because he’ll know the clock is ticking. We
can use that to lure him out, provoke him to act impulsively.”

A dark well of
horror surges up in me at the thought of doing any such thing. My voice is
little more than a growl. “You’re talking about using you as bait.”

I expect her to
try to put a better spin on that, soften it somehow, but she nods. “This is my
fight, too, Ian, not just yours. I have to be a part of it.”

Still buried in
her body, holding her in my arms, the taste of her tears on my tongue, I feel a
boundless sense of respect and admiration for this extraordinary woman and
gratitude that she is in my life. But I also know that there is no way on earth
that I’ll let her face that monster again.

I need to come
up with a way to explain that to her that she can accept. But until then, I
can’t bear to damage this new closeness we’ve found so unexpectedly.

Softly, against
her hair, I murmur, “We’ll figure it out.” Silently, I send up a prayer for
that to be true.

Amelia

I’
m not kidding myself, Ian
hasn’t agreed to anything. Worse yet, I can’t even focus on convincing him to
do so. All I can think of is what we just did--fucking, love making, sheer
insanity? Whatever that was, in the aftermath I’m suddenly self-conscious, ridiculously
so since it was what I wanted.

No, not just
wanted. Needed. Desperately and ferociously. I’ve wanted Ian from the first
moment I saw him but never quite like that. The edge of anger was fuel thrown
on the burning fire of our passion. It sent us both up in flames.

Ian helps me to
my feet. I don’t look at him as we both readjust our clothing. The silence of
the dojo rings in my ears. We must be the only two people still on the
premises.

Of course we
are. Who would hang around to watch their boss and his girlfriend engage in a
literally knock down argument let alone--?

 “We’ve narrowed
Davos’ possible locations to half-a-dozen sites,” Ian says quietly as he tucks
himself back into his jeans and zips up. “Attack plans for each are being
developed. I think you should see them.”

Startled, I
decide to take his offer as a hopeful sign that we may not be as far apart on
this as I feared. As I discreetly make use of the handkerchief he so
thoughtfully provides, I murmur, “Thank you. I realize that isn’t something
you’d normally do and I appreciate it.”

His grin is
disarming. “So formal, Miss McClellan? As you pointed out, this is your fight,
too. Besides, I think it may make you feel better if you see what’s in the
works.”

This is more
than I hoped for so quickly. I can’t help being skeptical. “Better as in stop
insisting that I need to be involved?”

“Let’s just take it a step at a
time,” he says noncommittally as he opens the door of the dojo and steps aside
for me to precede him. So polite, this man who has just fucked me senseless.

“Whatever you say, Mister Slade,” I
reply.

He shoots me a chiding look. Together,
we cross the expanse of buildings and fields on the way to the Operations
Center. When Ian takes my hand, I’m surprised. So far as I can remember, we’ve
never engaged in any sort of PDA, rather remarkably considering all the places
we’ve been intimate. I don’t question why we’re doing so now, however mildly. I
just enjoy being connected to him in such a simple, tender way.

He lets go of me as we enter the
Operations Center but he stays close, guiding me with a light touch to the
small of my back. The room we’ve entered is filled with the highest of high
tech equipment being used by several dozen people, men and women alike, all of
whom are focused intently on their tasks. At a glance, I see satellite images
of several cities and what looks like a more remote rural location near a small
harbor and adjacent village.

“What is all this?” I ask softly,
not wanting to disturb anyone.

“We’re monitoring the sites I
mentioned,” Ian says. “Within a few hours, we’ll have eyes on the ground at
each location. Once we do, we’ll be able to refine the plans that we’re
roughing out now. Meanwhile, we’re continuing to gather intel in the hope of
narrowing Davos’ location down to just one of these.”

He gestures toward a large
conference table set with embedded screens that emit holographic images above
the surface. Several officers are gathered around them, including Colonel
Hollis.

They break off as we join them.
Hollis gives me a friendly look but the others don’t so much as glance in my
direction. I can’t help wondering if they disapprove of my presence or, worse
yet, of my relationship with their boss. I could hardly blame them in either
case. The hard fact is that they wouldn’t be here, planning what promises to be
an extremely dangerous operation, if I didn’t exist and I suspect that they
know it.

Before that train of thought can go
too far, Ian says, “Let’s take it from the top, starting with Venice.”

At once, the projected images
shift. I see the ancient city crisscrossed by canals that would have swallowed
it years ago if not for the massive international project to hold back the sea.
As the image expands, I have the sense of rushing downward toward a cluster of
narrow streets filled with two- and three-story buildings, their balconies
festooned with bright spring flowers.

The perspective narrows, settling
into a street view of one building in particular. I’m looking at an elegant
palazzo on a corner where two canals meet. The tall windows are all covered
with shutters. There is no sign that anyone is in residence.

“You think Davos could be there?” I
ask.

“He owns the place,” Ian says,
“through a dozen cut-out companies. At first glance, it doesn’t look like a
good choice for a bolt hole, too few ways to come and go. But since Venice was
declared a world treasure city access to it is highly restricted. Tourist visas
come through a lottery and take months to secure. Getting a strike team in will
be difficult, although certainly not impossible.”

“We’re infiltrating them in now,”
Hollis tells me, “using a couple of freighters that come and go between Venice
and the port of Trieste on the opposite side of the Adriatic Sea. It’s old
school and very low tech but it won’t be what Davos is expecting, assuming he’s
there at all.”

“What about the other locations?” I
ask.

“Each one has its own challenges,”
Ian says. He brings up a different series of projections from the monitors.
“The only non-urban locale may be the most interesting. It’s an island called
Svalbard located above the Arctic Circle, site of the world seed bank. Cruise
ships visit this time of year but visitors are carefully monitored both for
their own safety and to protect the fragile environment.”

“How could Davos hide out there?” I
ask.

“There are a couple of abandoned mines,”
Hollis says, “not far from the main settlement. Davos has an interest in them,
again through a series of cut-outs designed to conceal any connection to him.
We’ve found indications of recent activity at one of the mines that can’t be
readily explained.”

“Our people will HALO in,” Ian says.
“Flying in at a high altitude and making the fastest possible descent by not
opening their chutes until they’re low to the ground. Once there, they’ll
deploy near the entrance to the mine and wait for orders.”

I can hardly claim to be any sort
of military planner but even I can figure out that what Ian has just described
isn’t good. Staring at the projections, I say, “The chances of your people
being spotted in Venice and Davos alerted to their presence seem really high.
He’s bound to have significant defenses in place. As for this island--”

I shake my head as dismay grows in
me. I’m thinking of Ian going in there, into the dark and the cold. A shiver of
dread darts up my spine. “A mine entrance sounds like a good place to get
trapped, in effect turned into sitting ducks.”

Ian frowns. He must realize that
his plan to convince me that he has everything well in hand without my
participation has run into a major snag.

“Every place has its own issues,”
he says again. “But nothing we haven’t overcome elsewhere in other situations.”

Softly, because I’m not interested
in challenging him in front of his people anymore than I already have, I say,
“But each situation is different, isn’t it? Each one must have its own set of
variables. Doesn’t success rest on making the best possible use of all of
them?”

Hollis looks surprised, not to say
impressed. He fights a smile. “What would you say is the most important
variable, Amelia?”

“Surprise,” I reply without
hesitation. “But that isn’t a possibility here, is it? However well he thinks
he’s managed to hide himself, Davos still has to assume that you’re looking for
him. He won’t be caught off guard.”

The other officers have shifted
from ignoring me to listening. I
really
don’t want another confrontation
with Ian here and now. That’s coming for sure but I’d rather it happen in
private. Deciding that I’ve said enough for the time being, I fall silent,
listening as Ian and the other men go over scenarios for the additional
locations.

From the discussion, I gather that
each target site has been programmed into one of the newest virtual reality
simulators. In existence for only the last few years, they range in size from a
small room to an entire building. Capable of processing immense amounts of data
and equipped with the latest holographic projectors, the simulators create the
illusion of stepping into an entirely different environment that is all but
indistinguishable from the original.

Ian asks a series of questions that
drives the discussion forward and leads to key decisions being made. Swiftly
and surely, the plans begin to firm up.

The thorough, careful process does
offer me a measure of reassurance, as he intended. But it doesn’t come anywhere
close to changing my mind about the need for my own involvement. Instead, it
just makes me all the more aware that events are rushing ahead, taking with
them any hope that I have of changing them unless I can persuade Ian soon.

The planning session continues for
another hour or so until a fresh shift arrives to monitor the incoming data.
Ian calls a halt. He instructs Hollis and the others to get a decent meal and
some rest.

“We should do the same,” he says to
me.

He’s quiet on the boat ride back to
the house. I’m too pre-occupied with my own thoughts to interrupt his. I can
feel the tension building between us and I know that it can’t be avoided. Even
so, my stomach is in knots by the time we arrive.

 Hamako has left dinner for us and
departed. The house is quiet. Ian surprises me by going straight for the bar
concealed behind sliding walls at the far end of the main room. He takes two
crystal tumblers from a cabinet and pulls the cork from a very old bottle of
Scotch.

Returning to where I’m standing, he
hands one of the glasses to me and raises the other in salute. “It didn’t work,
did it?” he asks.

He sounds more rueful than angry. Even
so, I take a sip before answering. The liquid burns all the way down, a silky
fire redolent of oak, moss, and salt-edged wind blowing through high places on
the opposite end of the world. Late afternoon sun falls in stripes across the
bamboo floor. I can hear the rush of the surf and of my own heart as I look at
him.

“I appreciate your showing me what
you did,” I say. “But I’m also well aware of what you left out.”

His amber eyes narrow to glittering
shards that rake me without mercy. “What’s that?” he demands.

I take another sip. It’s false
courage but I’m glad to have it all the same. “Your planning must include an
assessment of potential casualties but you never said a word about that. I have
to conclude that the numbers don’t bolster your case for why I shouldn’t be
involved.”

Ian mutters something under his
breath. I can’t be sure but it sounds like “too damn smart.”

I ignore that and say, “You’re
running multiple attack scenarios. You could have included some that take into
account the effect of having me involved. But you didn’t say a word about that
possibility to the others, let alone actually do it. Why not? Is it because you
know that far from being a liability, my presence is likely to decrease, not
increase the risk to others?”

Softly, I add, “If I can lure Davos
out, both your people and innocent civilians will be safer. So will you.”

“And you won’t
be,” he counters. “You’ll be putting yourself directly in the line of fire.”

“As you’ve already
done and were lucky to survive it.”

He tosses back
half his drink and glares at me. His knuckles are white around the crystal tumbler.
He’s gripping it so hard that for a moment I wonder if it’s about to shatter.
Or if he is. If we are.

“It’s my job!
Damn it, Amelia, I’ve spent my entire adult life acquiring skills that frankly
aren’t particularly comfortable to live with. Why shouldn’t I at least be able
to use them now in order to protect you?”

“You can but you
have to let me be a part of it!” On a thread of sound, I add, “You don’t
understand what it will do to me if you go off as you’re planning to and
something more happens to you because of me. Something worse.”

My voice breaks.
All the guilt and fear that I’ve been experiencing since I realized what he
intends to do for my sake overwhelms me. I turn away quickly, not wanting him
to see, but Ian is faster.

He takes the
glass from me before it can fall to the floor and sets it aside. In the next
moment, I’m in his arms, held high against his chest, his body blissfully
strong and warm against mine.

“I’m sorry,
baby,” he says. His voice is low and gruff. “All I want is to protect you but
instead I keep pushing too hard.”