Anew: Book Three: Entwined (22 page)

“My dear girl,” Adele exclaims as
she hugs me warmly. “I am so happy for you both.”

Shepherded inside, we gather in the
sitting room where, just as Ian predicted, a bottle of champagne is waiting in
an ice bucket. Edward makes short work of removing the cork--gently so that the
bubbles are not lost--and fills four tulip-shaped glasses.

“To your happiness,” he says,
raising his glass to us. “I truly don’t know two finer people. That you’ve
found each other suggests that sometimes the universe really can work right.”

Before I can take more than a sip,
Adele asks to see the ring. As I hold out my hand, she says, “We must start
making plans. There’s so much to think about. The venue, to begin with.
Traditionally, members of the McClellan family have married from Saint Thomas’
on Fifth Avenue. It’s a lovely church but alternatively you could have the
service here. The reception certainly should be. We’ll use the ballroom and the
gardens--”

I exchange an anxious glance with
Ian. All I’ve thought about is the joy of marrying him. The details of exactly
how that will be accomplished escaped my notice.

“Perhaps we should let them catch
their breaths before plunging into all this,” Edward suggests gently.

Adele looks at him as though he’s
sprouted a second head. “Nonsense! You clearly have no appreciation of what’s
involved. Why the gown alone will take months, and that’s only after Amelia
decides what she wants.”

“What do you want?” Ian asks
quietly.

Suddenly, everyone is looking at
me.

Feeling unexpectedly shy, I say
softly, “I want to be your wife. As for how that happens, I don’t feel the need
for anything elaborate.”

“I hope you aren’t thinking of some
hole-in-the-wall affair,” Adele says with a sniff. She puts a hand to her heart
as an even worse possibility occurs to her. “Or some dreadful elopement! That
would be a terrible mistake.”

“Unfortunately, it would be,”
Edward says. “Your union should be seen as a source of pride and joy for us
all.”

“Absolutely,” Ian agrees. “But
perhaps we can work out a compromise. Weeks, say, rather than months.”

“Weeks!” Adele exclaims. For a
moment, she looks stunned. But my grand-mother is a woman of courage and
strength. She rallies quickly. “I suppose it could be done, if just barely. But
it would require ruthless efficiency and discipline.”

She shoots us both a warning look.
“No shilly-shallying or second guessing. You make a decision, you stick to it.
Flowers, music, guest list, everything. We’ll do an engagement party, that
can’t be skipped, and others will want to entertain you. People will come back
to town for this, so we’ll have to decide who to offend by not inviting.”

A smile crinkles her aquamarine
eyes. “This will be fun. Very well, we start first thing tomorrow morning.”
With a glance at me, she says, “You should get a good night’s rest. You’re
going to need it.”

“In that case--” Edward takes his
cue. He steps forward, plucks Ian’s champagne glass from his hand, and says, “I
suggest you say your goodnights. I’ll see you out.”

I stare at my brother in disbelief.
Surely, he doesn’t expect Ian to…leave? We’ve just become engaged. We need to
be together. To--

“This is payback for all the times
I beat you at polo, isn’t it?” Ian says.

Edward laughs and says something
under his breath that I can’t catch. Ian grins ruefully.

He inclines his head to my
grand-mother. “Good night, Adele. Thank you for taking the wedding arrangements
in hand.”

His gaze, when he turns it on me,
changes, becoming so hard and hot that I can scarcely breathe. Yet he sounds
entirely proper as he says, “Goodnight, Amelia, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Leaning forward, he brushes his
lips against my cheek. Only I can hear him as he murmurs, “Leave your bedroom
window unlocked.”

Amelia

H
alf-an-hour later, I have exchanged the apricot dress
for a sheer ivory silk nightgown that skims over my body and ends well above my
knees. My teeth are brushed, I’ve turned down the bedcovers, and all but the
small light on a side table are extinguished. Seated at the dressing table, I’m
slowly brushing my hair while trying, unsuccessfully, to contain my
anticipation.

Around me, the house is quiet. My
grand-mother came up to bed at the same time that I did, as shortly after Ian’s
departure as I could manage without inviting suspicion. After a gentle peck on
the cheek and a loving smile, she left me for her own suite on the other side
of the house.

Edward is still below in his study,
no doubt tending to business matters that in our global age are no respecter of
time zones or even the body’s need for rest. Sometimes I worry that he works
far too hard but just now I’m not feeling particularly charitable toward him.

I glance toward the tall French
windows fronting on the balcony beyond the bedroom. The windows are not merely
unlocked; I’ve made sure they are ajar. With no servants on hand, all I have to
worry about are the security guards. How will Ian get passed them? If indeed he
will. As the minutes tick by, I begin to wonder if I imagined his whispered
instruction.

Finally, when the toll of waiting
becomes too much, I get into bed but I don’t lie down. Instead, I sit, my knees
raised, the covers pulled up to my chin. I stare at the ring gleaming on my finger,
turning it this way and that to watch how even the muted glow of the bedside
lamp turns to fire within it. A slight sound distracts me.

I look up just as Ian pulls himself
up over the edge of the balcony with ease and drops lightly onto it. He’s shucked
his jacket and is wearing only a dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat and
slacks.

As he straightens, I can’t help but
drink in the lithe grace of his powerful body. He moves with no wasted effort
and no sound, at least that I can hear. Belatedly, I remember that above all he
is a warrior, trained to penetrate behind enemy lines, appear by surprise, and
act with devastating speed and strength.

And now he is here, on my balcony,
stepping through the tall doors into my bedroom.

His gaze finds me where I sit in
the center of the bed. A smile curves his beautiful mouth. Very properly, he
says, “Good evening, Miss McClellan.”

“Mister Slade,” I respond. A giggle
rises up in me. I feel suddenly light-hearted, excited, and deeply happy. All
because of this man, his presence in my life and right here, right now in this
moment.

“How nice of you to drop in,” I say
with equal courtesy.

He comes closer to the bed, not
stopping until he is standing right beside me. His eyes are hot and dark,
sweeping over me. Beneath the thin barrier of the covers, I shiver a little.

“It’s no trouble, I assure you,” he
says.

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow.
“Really? What about the security people?”

He smirks. “As it happens, they
work for a division of Slade Enterprises.”

Of course they do
. How could
I not have realized that? “A fact that I presume my brother is aware of since
he must have arranged for them?”

Ian nods. He looks amused as he
sits down on the side of the bed and matter-of-factly takes his shoes and socks
off.

I can’t help staring as he does so.
Will this be what it’s like when we’re married? Brushing our teeth
side-by-side, talking over the events of the day, comfortable with one another?
The idea is so novel that I find myself smiling at it. With all that Ian and I
have shared, normality has eluded us.

“What?” he asks, seeing my
expression.

“I was just thinking how nice this
is, the two of us together like--” I break off before I can say ‘old married
people’.

Even though he’s asked me and I’ve
said yes, I’m afraid that I’ll somehow be tempting fate if I anticipate too
much. The chance I’ve been given for a life with the man I love is a precious
gift, never to be taken for granted, always to be protected.

He smiles and in that moment I see
that he knows exactly what I’m feeling because he does as well.

“Setting aside the small detail of
my having to come in through the balcony,” he says, “I’d like our life together
to be like this. But realistically--”

He doesn’t have to say more. The
regret in his eyes makes me ache. I can’t let him take responsibility for not
being able to give me a perfect life when the world itself is so imperfect.

Tossing back the covers, I scoot
across the bed until I’m kneeling beside him. My fingers caress the smooth line
of his jaw as I say gently, “Whatever the world throws at us is nothing compared
to what we have together. You’re my sanctuary, Ian. In your arms I find the
strength to face anything.”

He swallows with some effort and covers
my hand with his. “You’re everything to me, Amelia. Without you, I was barely
living.”

A light flashes behind his eyes--hard,
unrelenting. Under other circumstances, I might even find it frightening.
Instead, I simply accept that this is Ian, the man to whom I’ve given my heart.

Quietly, he says, “I’ll protect you
and make you happy whatever that takes. If I have to remake the world to do it,
so be it.”

I don’t doubt him for a moment but
I also want him to understand that my happiness lies entirely with him. He’s
what matters most.

Rising from the bed, I move to
stand between his legs. The sheer nightie I’m wearing conceals nothing. I can
feel myself flushing all over as he gazes at me.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs
with a note of reverence.

“I’m glad you think so,” I say with
a smile. “But you’re the beautiful one, Ian. Inside and out. Speaking of
which--” I take his hands in both of mine and tug.

He allows me to pull him upright
but he has a bemused look, as though the concept of his own beauty is foreign
to him. I resolve to show him exactly what I mean.

Holding his eyes, I reach for the
topmost button of his shirt that’s still fastened but wait, silently asking his
permission. He nods. Slowly, I undo each button in turn and spread the shirt apart.

The first glimpse of his bare chest
makes me inhale deeply. His torso is perfectly proportioned, taut and muscular,
softened only by a light dusting of hair that I love to feel against my skin.
My eyes trace the path of the arrow that disappears below his belt.
Instinctively, I moisten my lips. How can this man not understand how beautiful
he is?

With haste that’s just a little
clumsy, I slide his shirt from the broad sweep of his shoulders. Below his long
torso tapers in a V to his waist and hips. Giving into irresistible temptation,
I lightly stroke my fingers down his arms, tracing the contours of his biceps.

I’ve experienced his strength
enough to know that he could overpower me in an instant. The knowledge that he
would never do so combined with the tenderness he has shown me makes me feel
cherished.

I want him to feel the same way.

“Let me,” I murmur as my hands go
to his belt. I make short work of it, tossing it onto the floor beside his
shirt. A spark of frustration ignites in me when I realize that his pants have
a button fly.

He grins. “So impatient, Miss
McClellan?”

I can’t help smiling in turn as I
recall an incident when my impatience did get the better of me, resulting in
buttons flying in all directions. This time, I’m determined to do better.

“Not at all, Mister Slade.”
Deliberately, I let my fingers stroke the already impressive bulge of his
erection. Feeling beyond bold, I lean forward a little and murmur, “I love seeing
you become aroused, knowing that you want me, want to be inside me, filling me
so completely.”

The muscles of his throat work as
he swallows. I have a moment to savor the urgency of his desire before I’m
reminded that two can play this game.

“When I’m inside you,” Ian says as
his gaze holds mine, “feeling how hot and wet and tight you are, I want to fuck
you forever. I get hard at the most inconvenient times because I’m suddenly
thinking about you.”

His smile turns dark and
challenging. He puts his hand over mine so that we are both stroking his
erection. “Do you know what I want right now?” he asks.

I start to speak, find that I
can’t, and try again. “To…uh…fuck me?”

“Precisely.” He raises my hand to
his lips and kisses my palm gently. I’m struggling to cope with the cascade of
sensations his touch unleashes when he adds, “But I’d like to start with your
mouth.”

Oh, my.

The sudden memory of my tongue
swirling around his tip before sucking him deeper is dizzying. My legs suddenly
feel unable to hold me. Without hesitation, I sink to my knees in front of him.
The damn buttons still seem designed to frustrate me but at least this time I
exercise just enough restraint to get them undone without popping any.

My reward is Ian’s cock, springing
free into my waiting hands. As always, I can’t help but marvel that I’m able to
take him inside me. He’s so long, thick and hard, velvet over steel. Leaning
forward, I trace the tip of my tongue up the prominent vein that runs the
length of his shaft and back down again to his crest. Taking just an inch or so
into my mouth, I suck lightly.

Ian groans and thrusts his hands
into my hair, urging my head back until our eyes meet. His are filled with
adoration as he says, “What you do to me, Amelia.”

Emboldened, I suck harder, drawing
him deeper until I can feel him bumping against the back of my throat. I want
more and I want to make him come like this, loving the power he lets me have
over him…sometimes.

But not, apparently, tonight. He
gives me free rein for several minutes but finally, as my tongue swirls around
the sensitive underside of his crest, he groans again and says, “Enough. I need
to be inside you.”

I need that, too, but I’m also
confident from past experience that there will be a round two and I’m content
to wait for that. But when I try to ignore him and persist, stroking my tongue
along the seam of his sack in the way I know he likes, he tightens his hands in
my hair just to the point of pain.

“
Amelia
--”

The warning note in his voice
finally gets my attention. I relent and release him. Still on my knees, gazing
up at him, I pout. “Spoilsport.”

He looks down at me in shock for a
moment before a full-throated laugh breaks from him. “Oh, really? What am I,
depriving you of your favorite toy?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

He laughs again at my audacity and
draws me upright. When we are standing face-to-face, he gently brushes the back
of his hand over my cheek. His eyes are bright with emotion.

“I never want to deprive you of
anything, Amelia. But all evening I’ve had an image of you in my head, naked,
on the bed, wet and hot and aching for me.”

As he speaks, he reaches down and
grasps the hem of my nightie, sliding it up my thighs and hips, over my
buttocks, baring me inch by inch until finally he pulls it off over my head and
tosses it aside.

The remainder of his clothes follow
swiftly. I draw a ragged breath as he takes hold of my arms above the elbows
and backs me toward the bed.

“Just one thing,” he says with a
grin that is pure devilment.

“What’s that?” My senses are
swimming with his nearness, his strength, and the lingering taste of him on my
tongue.

“We’re going to have to be very
quiet.”

Uh-oh.
I’ve never had to be
that before and the truth is, I’m not sure I can manage it. Not that I think
I’m all that loud in the throes of passion but--

“That could be a problem,” I
murmur.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “If it’s
too much, I can always gag you.”

What? He’s never done that and I’m
not at all sure that I want him to. The idea is unnerving, to say the least.

I’m still struggling with it when
he drops me suddenly onto the bed. Standing above me, his cock jutting from the
nest of curls at his groin, he grasps each of my ankles and pulls my legs
apart.

“I want you open for me,” he says,
his voice low and hard.

Instinctively, I respond, lifting
and bending my legs at the knees until I am spread wide, fully exposed to him.
Ian doesn’t wait but moves over me swiftly. Holding his weight on his arms, he
smiles and says, “I’m going to make you come now, hard and fast. But you have
to stay quiet, all right?”

I nod, wide-eyed and panting. Just
then I’d likely agree to anything he says. But the moment his fingers slide
between the lips of my sex, I know I’m in trouble. I’m so exquisitely primed
for him that as he thrusts into me, I start to clench around him. I feel his
smile at the apex of my thighs.