Anew: Book Three: Entwined (4 page)

The knowledge that I behaved as I
did because I was drugged does absolutely nothing to ease my sense of guilt and
remorse. How could it when all the drug did was free me to do what I wanted to
anyway?

“What’s it doing on the streets?” she
asks.

“Davos put it out there to test it.
Once he knew that it did what it was supposed to, he exposed me to it.” I take
a breath and tell her the worst. “There’s no undoing its effects. Any brakes I
had on my sexual proclivities are gone. I could spend the rest of my life trying
to rebuild them with no guarantee of success.”

She would never be safe with me
again. Amelia has to understand that no matter what it costs me.

“So you’re saying that at the
hotel, your deepest, darkest desires were unleashed?”

I can’t look at her. My
gut-wrenching regret and guilt run too deep. “You must already know that.”

“And you won’t be able to repress
them again?”

Miserably, I nod.

She takes a step back and stares at
me. This is it, she’s leaving. She has to be and I can’t blame her, no matter
how much it shreds me inside. I have to think, figure out where she’ll be safe,
organize how to get her there. I should have thought of all this sooner,
realized that it was inevitable, but selfishly I tried to hold on to her. Now
all I can do is let her go. Afterward, I can try to figure out how to go on.
Killing Davos will keep me busy for awhile. But once he’s gone and I’m sure
there’s no further threat to her…then what?

I get that far when I realize that
Amelia hasn’t moved. She’s still here, looking at me. For the life of me, I
can’t figure out what’s going on in her head. The silence between us is louder
than thunder. My ears are ringing with it when she says, “You should get some
rest.”

“What?” That’s her reaction? What
about all the anger and hurt and fear she has every right to feel and to blame
me for?

“You just got out of the hospital,”
she goes on patiently. “Doctor Rosen warned you about pushing yourself too
hard. So why don’t you rest for awhile, just until dinner? I’ll see you then.”

“You will?”

She reaches out and before I can
stop her, touches my hand. The jolt of raw need I feel in response almost
crumbles all my defenses. I don’t dare breathe for fear that I’ll grab hold of
her and never let go.

After a moment, she draws back and says,
“Of course.” Like it’s the most natural thing in the world that she should
still be here with me despite everything.

My chest feels like it’s in a vise.
I watch her until she disappears into the house, then I go limp with relief.
Well, most of me does. My cock is so hard it hurts but I welcome the pain. For once
in my sorry life, I’m not going to question why heaven has suddenly smiled on
me.

Amelia

D
amn Ian! He doesn’t remember what happened in the tunnel.
He can’t possibly or he wouldn’t be so confused about my feelings. The moment
that I cherish in my heart above all others, when he told me what I meant to
him, never occurred, at least not so far as he’s concerned.

Anger boils up in me. I don’t know
which is worse, that he didn’t tell the doctors he has post-traumatic memory
loss, thereby conceivably putting himself at even greater risk, or that he
didn’t tell me. Does he truly trust me so little?

As overwhelming as the pain of that
is, I force myself past it. I don’t claim to know very much about love since
all I have is a mix of academic knowledge and my own tumultuous experience with
Ian that I’m still in the throes of trying to understand. But every instinct
tells me that I have to put myself aside and focus on why he would behave like
this. Why wouldn’t he admit his own vulnerability? Why be so blindly, stubbornly
determined to leave the hospital before he should have and--

Davos.

The realization slams through me
with sickening force. For all his protestations to the contrary, Ian doesn’t
believe that the monster’s dead any more than I do. Nothing else explains his
rushed recovery and his determination to get back into the field.

The man I love is going after the
sociopath who tried to destroy us both, no matter what the risk to himself. That
conclusion is as unavoidable as it is horrifying but that doesn’t mean that I
accept it. Cold, fierce determination unfolds in me. He can’t do this. Not to
himself and not to us. I won’t allow it.

Brave words but how am I going to
stop him? Tell the doctor about his memory loss? Appeal to Hollis to rein him
in? As much as I don’t doubt that both men want what’s best for him, I also
know that he’ll go right over or through them to fulfill what he regards as his
duty to protect me from a fate that truly would be worse than death.

Davos made no secret when he
kidnapped me that he intended to take my mind apart piece by piece. Once he
knows how I was given the knowledge and skills that I have, he’ll have little
difficulty altering the process to create not individuals with free will like
myself but human husks programmed to perform any function he chooses. The
brain-washing that dictators have relied on for centuries will seem like
child’s play compared to what Davos will be able to do. He’ll command an army
of compliant slaves to replace the masses of ordinary people who, more than
ever, are seen as a threat to the power and privilege of the ruling elite.

The thought is beyond sickening. I
agree wholeheartedly that he has to die for reasons that go vastly beyond my
own safety. But there must be a way to persuade Ian that before he puts his
life at risk for me--yet again--he should allow both his body and his mind to
heal. That’s what this place is for, isn’t it?

Tears threaten as I remember his
reaction every time I’ve tried to touch him. Until just now. He actually let
me, even if I did pull away quickly rather than risk pushing him too far.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have?

The moment that thought occurs to
me, I get a grip on myself. This is not the time to give into my own shattered
emotions. I have to be strong, for Ian’s sake and my own. He gave me the
illusion of control--once. Now I want it for real, if only long enough to
convince him that he is not the man he thinks he is.

But I’m going to need help and
there’s only one possible source. Hamako is in the kitchen, slicing beef and
vegetables for dinner. Quickly, before I can think better of it, I tell her
what I need. I’d get it myself but I don’t want to risk Ian seeing me. The less
he suspects about what I’m up to, the better. By the time I finish, her dark
eyes gleam with amusement.

“
Hai
, I understand,” she
says. “Please wait here.”

She returns minutes later with
several of the sarongs she showed me days go and my bag from the plane. “Mister
Slade is in his study,” she reports. “Of course, I did not disturb him. This
evening’s dinner is one of his favorites, sukiyaki. Perhaps you would like me
to show you how to prepare it?”

Half-an-hour later, having made
sure that I can manage the rest of dinner on my own, Hamako leaves. I watch her
go with the sense that I’ve found an ally but there’s no time to dwell on that.
The sun is beginning to set over the lagoon. I rush back to the guest room,
shower, and let down my hair, brushing it vigorously. Naked, I consider my
clothing options.

There are half-a-dozen of the
sarongs, each really nothing more than a length of fabric that can be worn any
number of ways. I choose a moiré silk shot through with strands of silver. It reminds
me of sunlight dancing over blue-green water. When I wrap it around my front
and tie the ends halter-style at the back of my neck, the edges overlap just
enough for modesty. Until, that is, I take a step, exposing my legs to
mid-thigh and beyond. I don’t see any need for sandals but I do slip on lacy
panties such a pale hue of peach that they’re almost skin tone.

Lanterns are already lit on the
terrace that looks out over the lagoon. The scent of night jasmine mingles with
the tang of the ocean. Overhead, a sea of stars is appearing. The setting is
idyllic, as close to paradise as I could ask for.

At the center of the terrace is a
stone table on a pedestal with a small gas grill set into its center. I hastily
assemble what I’ve brought from the kitchen, including a lidded stone pot
filled with a rich broth that I set on the fire to heat. By the time I’m done,
my hands are shaking as I contemplate the enormity of what I’m planning.

In the tunnel, I told Ian the truth
about myself. I can never be like Susannah, the woman he treated by his own
admission like spun glass. Compared to her, I am earthy, carnal, lustful, ready
and eager to meet his darkest, most sensual demands. Because of what happened
afterward, the admission I made to him to that effect has evaporated like water
dropped on the hot stones under the cooking pot. I won’t rely on mere words
again.

I’m considering what to do instead when
I become aware of a stirring in my body, as though an unseen force has reached
out to touch me. Before I turn, I know what I will see but I’m still not
prepared for my own response.

Ian is lounging against one of the
house’s dark wood columns. The black jeans and T-shirt he’s wearing remind me
of how he looked the first time I saw him. So does the fierce heat of his gaze
as it sweeps over me.

He’s shaved again, revealing lean
cheeks and the square line of his jaw. I remember tracing my fingertips over
his face in the dark, learning the contours of it by touch as well as sight.
Warmth infuses my skin. I’m aware suddenly that my nipples are hard beneath the
thin silk of the sarong.

I should be resigned by now to
Ian’s inevitable ability to dazzle and confuse me. Yet it’s still unsettling. I
blurt out the first thing that comes into my mind. “What happened to your
cane?”

He pushes away from the column and
comes closer, holding my gaze. “I chucked it into the lagoon.”

“Ian!”

A hint of a smile lifts the corners
of the mouth that can be so fierce and yet so tender. “Call it a promise I made
to myself. What’s that you’re almost wearing?”

“A sarong.” I’m not about to
apologize for how I’m dressed. If it bothers him, good. Sweetly, I add, “The
wardrobe you arranged for me here doesn’t include much else.”

Except for several beautiful
kimonos which I’m longing to wear. But not tonight. This is an occasion that
calls for skin.

He has the grace to look abashed.
“About that. I did think you might like this place. At least this side of it. I
don’t expect you to spend any more time at the compound.”

This is news to me. I can’t help
but raise an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“No, babe, it’s too rough and ready
for you there. The rest of the atoll is gorgeous, pristine beaches, natural
pools, reefs that are great for snorkeling. You can really relax here.”

Babe
. That’s a step up from
‘person I’m not going to share a bed with’. “I see… and while I’m doing that,
you’ll be--?”

He frowns. “Not arguing with you,
please? At least not tonight. Can we agree on that?”

There’s a lot I could say about
peaceful relations being conditional on not lying or dissembling or omitting
important information like, ‘Oh, hey,
babe
, I’ve lost a chunk of time
from my life which might mean I’m more seriously injured than I want to let on’.

But it’s a perfect night. We’re
alone, together and alive. And he’s asked so nicely. Ian asking…that has such
tantalizing possibilities. For once, I’m content to just embrace the moment.

“Whatever you say,” I murmur and
cast him a downward, sidelong glance that I don’t pretend is anything other
than come-hither.

“Amelia…”

His voice holds a warning note.
Before he can continue in that vein, I say, “Have a seat. Hamako showed me how
to prepare sukiyaki and I’m excited to try.”

His expression suggests that he
senses a trap but can’t bring himself to avoid it. I hide a grin as he comes around
the Western-style table and takes a sling-backed chair.

“Sounds like you two are hitting it
off,” he says as I take the other and lean forward to remove the lid from the
stone pot.

“We are,” I agree. “I’m looking
forward to getting to know her better.”

His eyes briefly darken, causing me
to wonder what there is about Hamako that would concern him. Or am I mistaken?
At second thought, he looks more intrigued, even…aroused?

That’s interesting but it’s a
question for another time. Right now, I want him distracted enough not to be
thinking about what I’m wearing, or our sleeping arrangements, or anything else
except just the two of us being alone together outside a hospital room.

“This is the first meal I’ve ever
prepared for you,” I say softly as I place thin slices of beef in the heated
clay pot to quickly sear them. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Still watching me, he shakes out
his napkin and drapes it over his lap, shifting in the chair as he does. I
can’t help noticing that he looks a little uncomfortable.

“I’m sure I will,” he says.

With a secret smile, I add sliced
vegetables and noodles to the broth.

When everything is ready, we eat in
silence for a few minutes, or as silent as a night in a tropical paradise can
be. Besides the sound of the surf washing against the reef, I can hear the
murmur of the sea breeze in the palm fronds and the hum of insects. It occurs
to me that I noticed a variety of birds earlier, everything from great blue
herons and colorful parrots to a rainbow of small, darting finches.

“How does so much life get to such
an isolated place?” I ask. It seems a safe enough topic but I’d genuinely like
to know.

Ian shrugs. “Palm nuts can travel
for thousands of miles before washing up on beaches and sprouting as trees.
Other seeds travel on the wind, so does the occasional bird. Turtles and fish
just swim in. As for the rest, the part of the atoll that isn’t occupied by the
compound is a designated sanctuary for several endangered species.”

“You arranged that?”

He looks faintly embarrassed. “It’s
not a big deal. I just thought since we had the space, we might as well do
something useful with it. We had a kakapo born here a few months ago. They’re a
very rare bird, sort of a cross between a parrot and an owl. Big, strong,
nocturnal but they were almost driven into extinction by predators. Now they’re
coming back.” Despite his effort to downplay it, he’s clearly pleased by that.

“This is excellent, by the way,” he
says, indicating the dinner that I can hardly taste. All my senses are focused
on him, the play of lantern light across his face, the caress of his voice, the
nearness of his body that, I have to remind myself, is still healing.

I give up the pretense of eating
and just drink in the sight of him. He is at once achingly familiar and a
constant surprise to me. Kaleidoscopic images flash through my mind--Ian in the
golden room at the palazzo, at the Opera House, riding like a madman on to polo
field after fucking me--there really isn’t any other word for it--in the
vintage Rolls. I should have realized sooner he’s far more a man of action than
words.

Gripped by a sudden impulse, I push
back my chair and rise. On a breath of sound, all I can manage, I say, “Dance
with me?”

He hesitates, taken by surprise. I
think he’s going to refuse--more of that no touching nonsense. But after a
moment, he stands.

I start to walk around the table to
him but Ian doesn’t wait. He meets me more than half-way and at once draws me
into his arms. At his touch, an overwhelming sense of rightness sweeps over me.
I am exactly where I belong. So is he. Now all I have to do is convince him of
that.