Anew: Book Three: Entwined (6 page)

“You’re a witch,” he groans.
“You’ve cast a spell on me. I can’t resist you, not even when I know that I
should.”

I moan, moving against him, aroused
beyond bearing. “Ian…please…!”

We’re so close, almost nose to
nose. The scent of his skin--clean soap, the salt tang of sweat, and the musky
aroma of his come--are a drug igniting every cell in my body. I need him so
desperately.

His grin is sudden and unabashed,
free of the shadows that have haunted us since Carnival. Softly, he says,
“You’re still in charge, sweetheart. What do you want?”

“You,” I gasp. “Inside me. Now.”

He sucks in his breath. I know that
he’s fighting for control but his gaze reflects the same awe and gratitude that
I feel at this new start we have been given. “Then take me,” he murmurs. “I’m
all yours.”

I rise up and grasp him gently,
positioning him before lowering myself slowly, inch by inch onto the full
length of his cock. If I weren’t so exquisitely aroused, he would be too big.
But Ian and I are meant to be together, truly made for each other. He stretches
and fills me almost unbearably but I glory in the sensation. Still held within
the arch of his arms, I begin to move slowly at first, savoring him.

Ian groans and clasps me more
tightly, matching me stroke for stroke as our bodies rise and fall together. I
want to make this last but I can’t. The events of the past week, the horror of
seeing him wounded, the frantic flight here, the long hours at his bedside, all
combine with my feelings for him and the power he has to command me body and
soul. The effect is beyond consuming.

“Ian!”

I cry his name as the first long,
deep contraction of orgasm seizes me. My inner muscles tighten, squeezing and
kneading all along his length. He grasps the nape of my neck and pulls me down,
burying his head in the curve of my shoulder as his entire body shakes with the
force of his release. Transformed into pure sensation, I follow him, my
consciousness exploding into shards of light so incandescent that they eclipse even
the memory of darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I’m next aware, Ian and I are
sprawled on the bed in a tangle of limbs. His wrists are freed, the panties
tossed aside. He’s stroking my back gently as his other hand clasps the curve
of my hip with unmistakable possessiveness. I notice in passing and without
surprise that his ankles are no longer secured to the footboard. It didn’t survive
the fury of our love making anymore than the headboard did.

I suppose that I should be shocked
by the wreckage we’ve made of the bed but all I can manage is a faint giggle.
Between the aftershocks of intense orgasm and profound relief that we’ve come
this far, I’m nothing less than giddy.

Still, holding me, Ian shifts slightly.
His gaze meets mine. “That’s a good sound,” he says a little wistfully. After a
moment, he adds, “You really want to take a chance on me, even knowing what I’m
capable of?”

He looks so hesitant that it’s all
I can do not to cry. There’s so much I could say in response but he needs to
rest and, the truth is, so do I. Giving into the overwhelming need to touch
him, I stroke his face lightly and smile.

“Absolutely. But let’s make sure
our next bed is sturdier.”

I can feel the tension go out of
him as he relaxes. With a grin that is pure feral challenge, he asks, “Are you
suggesting that we tie me up every time we make love?”

I spare a thought for how good it
feels when he’s in control and shake my head. “Well, maybe not
every
time.”

I’m fighting to stay awake but it’s
a losing battle. Ian settles me against him and pulls the covers over us both.
An overwhelming sense of contentment and relief creeps over me. With my head
pillowed on his broad chest and the steady, strong beat of his heart to soothe
me, I slip into dreamless sleep.

 

Ian

I’
ve never been a guy to be led around by my cock, far
from it. But if that was all that was going on now, I’d almost be relieved. The
truth goes a lot further. I’m in thrall to Amelia. She owns me body and soul. I
can’t get enough of her. Without her, I’d be--

I’m not going there. Sitting here
on the terrace, looking at her across the breakfast table, I’m just going to
savor the moment. We got through last night, we’re here, she’s happy. So am I,
a tentative happiness to be sure, still scared it will be ripped away from me
but rock hard determined not to let that happen.

Speaking of...

Down, boy. Let’s just take this one
step at a time.

“More coffee?” Amelia asks. Her
hair is piled up loosely on her head with little tendrils caressing her cheeks.
Her lips are slightly swollen and her eyes sparkle.

She doesn’t look remotely like a
woman who was kidnapped a week ago by the sicko who resurrected the
sadomasochism club that my late, unlamented father ran as a means of cementing
his power over others and to which he introduced me when I was fifteen. The
experience left me with a shitload of memories I’d rather not have and a
determination ever since to repress my darker impulses, something I’ve utterly
failed to do with Amelia.

None of which appears to have fazed
her in the least. There’s a note of gentle amusement in her voice, as though
she knows that I’m aroused. I can’t seem to hide much of anything from her. A
scary thought that I’m weirdly okay with.

“Please.”

I watch the movement of her hand as
she refills my cup. Everything she does, even the simplest task, strikes a
chord deep inside me. I’m just beginning to understand how strong she is and
how courageous. Taking on the world the way she has ever since she was plunged
into it. Taking on me--

“What are your plans for today?”
she asks.

“More rehab,” I answer promptly.
It’s what she wants to hear but it’s also true. I’m going to run that physical
therapist into the ground, poor bastard.

“The sooner I get through it, the
better,” I add.

“You won’t overdo?”

 “Who, me?”

She laughs but sends me a chiding
look. “I mean it. You’ve made amazing progress but I’m afraid that you’ll have
a setback if you push yourself too hard.”

I appreciate her concern but I’m
not about to let her coddle me. Too much remains to be done. Later, when it’s
over, I’d like nothing better than to lie back and let her soothe my…whatever.
Provided that she pulls off a miracle and convinces me to do so.

“I think I can be the best judge of
that,” I say gently. “There’s no need for you to worry.”

She relents but I can tell that
she’s far from convinced. Her gaze is thoughtful as she spreads a little plum
jam on a piece of toast and takes a bite.

“I’m glad you’re eating,” I murmur.
She’s utterly exquisite but I’m all too well aware that she has a new air of
fragility.

She licks a little dab of jam from
the corner of her mouth and swallows. Staring at the moist pink tip of her
tongue, I almost miss what she says next.

“Hamako is going to teach me how to
make sushi today.”

When did they arrange that?
Probably at the same time Amelia was arranging to have the bed replaced. I left
that to her but I’m curious to see what she’s picked. I’m also more than a
little interested in what else Hamako is up for teaching her. Apparently, I
like torturing myself.

“I thought we could have it for
dinner this evening,” she continues. “If that’s all right?”

“Sounds great.”

The sheer domesticity of our
conversation makes me smile. We could be a married couple chatting over
breakfast. The moment that thought rockets through my brain, my whole body
tightens. It’s not just that it’s shocking, it is and then some. But what really
throws me is that I like it. A lot.

I’ve never considered marriage to
anyone, not even Susannah, but the sudden thought of Amelia as my wife seizes
hold of me and doesn’t let go. It feels…right, even inevitable which is absurd
given all the concerns I still have. But beyond them, there’s one obvious
problem besides what Amelia herself might think of the idea.

Gazing at her, I have to remind
myself that as impossible as it seems, she has no existence in the eyes of the
law except as my property. Her identity as Amelia McClellan is a meticulous
fabrication arranged by the best sources money can buy and supported by both
myself and her family. I believe that it’s broad and deep enough to stand up to
almost any scrutiny. But the fact remains that it’s a fraud.

This beautiful, brave,
extraordinary woman who has drawn me back from the brink and made my life so
much more than I ever believed it could be isn’t considered a human being.
Never mind that she is as human as I am, inside and out. She thinks, feels,
breathes, bleeds, hopes, dreams just like all the rest of us. Even more, she’s
had to deal with a start in life that would have overwhelmed most people. Rather
than let it crush her, she’s prevailed with rare courage and profound goodness.

But none of that matters, not
legally. For the sake of a self-anointed elite, the definition of who is or is
not a human being has been perverted. The injustice of that hits me hard. So do
the implications beyond Amelia herself.

If her humanity can be denied,
what’s to stop the same from being done to other people? If you aren’t strong
enough, smart enough, or attractive enough, are you still really human? Or are
you some lesser, more primitive form that needs to be corralled and contained,
possibly even eliminated for the sake of your betters?

It occurs to me suddenly that Davos
is depending on the fact that clones have no human rights. If they did, his
plan to reverse engineer the imprinting process from Amelia and use it for his
own designs would be a nonstarter. Not that he’s adverse to breaking the law
when it suits him, on the contrary. But he’d have to do it on such a massive
scale that not even the most craven authorities would be able to look away.

I could derail him simply by
securing Amelia’s rights, something that I decide here and now that I’m going
to do for her sake anyway. Too bad for Davos that nothing can change my need to
kill him. He’s living on borrowed time, which I suspect he realizes, assuming
he’s in good enough condition to know anything at all.

Whatever shape he’s in, he’s a dead
man. The sooner I have him in my sights, the better.

“What is it?” Amelia asks, drawing
me back from the dark path of my thoughts. Her eyes reflect her sudden alarm at
what she’s glimpsed in me.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. She’s far
too intelligent not to have at least some inkling of my intentions but I’m not
about to spell them out.

I stand and hold out my hand to
her. “Walk me to the boat?”

I know I haven’t fooled her but she
nods all the same. “Of course.”

We leave the terrace and take the
stairs down to the beach. It’s a perfect day, crystal clear and balmy. A tropical
breeze stirs the palm trees. A part of me wants to stay with Amelia, take her
off to a secluded cove that I think she’d really enjoy, and spend the day
making long, sweet love to her.

In a perfect world, I would. In the
world we actually live in, I know that last night proved nothing. I’m sure of
that because I know how close I came to losing all control. My gut-wrenching
fear that I could hurt her is real and justified. She looks so damn happy that
I can’t bring myself to say anything of this to her but I can’t ignore it
either. It’s just as well that duty calls.

As the boat draws up at the small
dock, I brush the back of my hand along her cheek gently. “Get some rest today,
all right?” I’m worried that she’s overdone, not just last night but all week. “Lie
in the sun, try out the bathhouse, maybe even go wild and take a nap.’

She leans into my caress and turns
her head. The soft exhalation of her breath and the touch of her lips on my
fingers send a bolt of pleasure through me so intense that I almost miss what
she says next.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

I struggle to get a grip on myself,
staring down into eyes in which the sky and lagoon seem to merge. Eyes I can
drown in…or fly free.

“What’s that?” I manage to ask.

“I’ll rest and while I am, you’ll
tell the doctor that you have memory loss. You don’t remember what happened in
the tunnel right before you were wounded.”

What the hell? How can she possibly
know that? I could swear that I didn’t say anything that would have clued her
in. Even when she revealed that I told her I’d been drugged, I played along as
though I already knew that.

She rises up on her toes and
touches her lips to mine, sparing me any attempt to respond. “Just tell him,
all right? Davos isn’t going anywhere. He’ll still be wherever he is when
you’re truly well enough to go after him.”

It’s a morning for revelations. She
knows about the gap in my memory. And that the monster may still be alive.
And
that I’m going after him. Is there anything that she hasn’t figured out?

I nod, the only response that I’m
capable of. The boat is idling, waiting for me. Amelia smiles. With a backward
glance and a little wave, she climbs the steps and disappears into the house.

I stay right where I am, rooted to
the spot, until she’s out of sight. When I finally get in the boat, I’m barely
aware of the trip across the lagoon. All I can think of is that whatever
happened in the tunnel, it matters. What did I tell her? What part of my dark
soul did I bare to her?

And how does any of that fit with her
willingness to give me another chance?

A sudden, urgent need to know
sweeps over me. As soon as we dock, I make for the medical center. Five minutes
later, I’m looking at a red-faced Rosen, who’s trying hard to control his
temper.

“Traumatic memory loss is a
potentially serious condition,
sir
. It would have been better if you had
mentioned this sooner,
sir
.”

I don’t mind the not-so-gentle
reminder of my authority--and the responsibility that goes with it. I just wait
him out. Finally, he takes a breath and says, “We need to do another scan.”

 “Do your worst. But I’m fine.”

Half-an-hour later, after long
minutes in a scanning tube, Rosen grudgingly agrees with me. “There’s no sign
of any lingering brain trauma. If you like, we can see about recovering the
period of time you lost.”

I know what that means, an ocular
probe into my cerebral cortex to locate the sites where memories are formed and
stored. I’ve been down that path before and don’t much relish a return trip.

“What are the odds that I’ll remember
naturally?”

“It’s possible that you could but
certainly not guaranteed. The longer you go without remembering, the less
likely it becomes that you will.”

I really want to know what happened
in the tunnel but whatever it was, it’s private between Amelia and me. I’d
rather take a chance and hope that I find out for myself.

“I’ll wait. In the meantime, I’m
due in rehab.”

“Take it easy,” Rosen calls as I
leave. His scowl suggests that he doubts I’m capable of following even that
straightforward instruction.

I’m not an idiot for all that I can
behave like one on occasion. Throughout the two-hour rehab session that I
insist on, I pace myself. Even so by the time we wrap up, every muscle in my
body is trembling and I’m covered in sweat.

Still, to put it in perspective,
less than a week ago, I was bleeding out in the street. Anything beats that.

I shower and put on fresh clothes,
then make for the Operations Center on the other side of the compound. Along
the way, I pass training fields where my people are hard at work. We all
understand the importance of physical conditioning as well as mental
discipline. Right now, I could use a hefty dose of both but first I need to get
up to speed on what’s been happening while I lolled around in a hospital bed.

The buzz of activity doesn’t falter
when I walk into the large room filled with communications equipment and
monitors. Still, I’m well aware that my arrival doesn’t go unnoticed. Hollis
has made sure that regular reports about my medical condition were circulated
but I understand that people want to see for themselves that I’m okay. I figure
the best way to assure them of that is to get back to work.

Hollis and Gab are in the midst of
what looks like a tense conversation. They break off as I approach.

“Any luck?” I ask, my gaze shifting
between them. I’m referring to the search for Davos, as they both well know.
Nothing else has occupied my thoughts, at least professionally speaking.

They exchange a glance, the kind
that communicates volumes between people who work together as closely as these
two.