Anew: Book Three: Entwined (8 page)

Ian and I have already faced enough
challenges for a lifetime but I still see the wisdom of what Takashi is saying.
Anything that breaks down the barriers that still linger between us and brings
us closer is worth doing.

“Please let me know if you do start
such a class,” I say. “I’d definitely like to join.” On a sudden thought, I
add, “I think I know someone else who would like to as well.”

I make a mental note to get in
touch with Daphne. She came by the hospital regularly while I was there with
Ian but apart from that, we haven’t had much chance to talk.

Takashi has a little time before
his next training session. He uses it to show me around the dojo and the
practice areas outside. I appreciate him doing so but the more time passes, the
more eager I am to return to the house.

Ian will be home at some point,
hopefully not too late. I want to shower, dress, and then there’s the small
matter of the new bed.

Has it been delivered yet?

A shiver of anticipation ripples
through me as I consider what I hope the coming night will bring.

Ian

“A
melia?”

I’ve barely stepped into the house
and already I’m calling her name. Worse yet, the sense of urgency that’s been
building ever since I left the compound--earlier than I’d intended--has reached
the point where it’s overtaken every other thought. I need to make sure that
she’s here and she’s all right. And I need to do it
now.

No answer.

“Amelia!”

My voice sounds hollow in the
unoccupied rooms. I check the kitchen first--she said something about making
sushi. I hope she hasn’t because I’ve got no appetite for anything other than
her. I want to sate myself with her body, drown in her, give her everything and
more. And I’m afraid of what will happen if I do.

Apart from a cutting board and
several knives laid out in waiting there’s no evidence of her presence. Not in
the kitchen or on the terrace where I check next.

I know she was at the compound. I
caught a glimpse of her and Takashi confirmed it. At the same time he told me
that she’s going to be taking a martial arts class with him. Not too long ago,
I offered to teach her but she didn’t take me up on it. I thought perhaps she’d
lost interest. Apparently not.

The idea of her being able to protect
herself makes sense but the thought that she feels the need to reach out to
someone else to instruct her bites hard. On a primal level, I don’t like the
idea of another man’s hands on her, which is ridiculous because I trust Takashi
completely. What’s far worse is the fear that she wants the training because of
what she’s experienced with me.

That doesn’t fit at all with what
happened last night but I still can’t rule out the possibility. Along with
everything else about her, Amelia is extraordinarily brave. I can see her
taking me on even if she did fear where that could lead.

I’m heading back toward the
entrance, thinking I’ll look for her in the garden, when I hear the shower
running. Relief hits me like a block tackle. I follow the sound, pausing only
when I enter the bedroom.

The new bed is here, made up with
simple white sheets and a duvet, looking all too ready for a test drive.

The fast delivery is no surprise--we
get almost daily shipments through Madagascar and other points--but the bed
itself is. It’s nothing more than a raised platform well suited to the minimalist
design of the house. But there’s no footboard and only a short, flat headboard
just enough for propping a pillow up against. There’s nowhere I can see to
secure any ropes, panties, torn strips of sarong, or anything else of that kind
that might stand any chance at all of restraining me even temporarily.

Amelia chose the bed. What’s she
telling me?

Before I can think to stop myself,
I cross the room and open the bathroom door. I just want to make sure she’s
okay, that’s all. And let her know that I’m here. And that we need to talk.

A blast of steam hits me. Through
it, I catch a glimpse of alabaster skin flushed rosy pink and glistening with
water. Her arms are raised, giving me a clear view of the curving underside of
her full breasts tapering to her narrow waist, the perfect arc of her hip and--

I should back out, give her some
privacy but instead I’m walking forward, through the haze fragrant with the
scent of jasmine body wash until I’m standing right in front of the large
tropical shower with its multiple heads and spray nozzles.

She turns and sees me. If she
gasped, started, or even screamed, I’d understand. After all, I’m behaving like
some creepy stalker guy or worse. But instead she just looks right at me for a
moment and then she smiles.

A patented, blast-through-all-my-defenses,
Amelia smile. Like the sun just came out and I’m it.

Her hair is a wild, wet tangle down
her back. Her nipples are puckered. Soap bubbles are sluicing down her skin. I
stop thinking. Hell, I’m not sure that I’m still breathing. All the blood that
should be keeping my brain going is rushing to my cock instead.

There’s just enough left for me to
fight the urge to step into the shower with her, press her back against the
wall, wrap her gorgeous legs around my hips, and pound into her. Instead, I
stand frozen in place.

She pouts and I inhale sharply. I
don’t think I’ve ever seen her do that. Amelia smiling is riveting. But that
pout takes it to a whole new level. Her mouth is full, moist, and just pursed
enough to make me think what else I’d like her to be doing with it.

“Have it your way,” she says with a
shrug.

She tips her head up to the flow of
water and ignores me, or at least pretends to. Her hand drifts between her
breasts, over her abdomen, to the narrow strip of short, silky hair at the apex
of her thighs and beyond--

A soft moan escapes her. With the
tip of one finger, she parts the outer lips of her pussy and strokes her clit.
As she does, she opens her eyes and looks directly at me. Softly, she asks, “Do
you want to watch me again?”

The memory of the moments in the
alley at Carnival when I compelled her to pleasure herself sweep over me. She’s
reminding me of that deliberately, I’m sure of it. I think I even know why.
She’s still determined to convince me that I’m not any sort of danger to her.

I desperately want to believe her
but since I learned what Jekyll/Hyde did to me, I know she’s wrong. We got
lucky last night at the cost of one destroyed bed. What happens next time?

If I were a better man, I’d walk
away right now. But then if I were a better man, my unblemished conscience and
I would already be in the shower with her.

She goes back to pretend ignoring
me. I stand it as long as I can before a groan of raw need escapes me.

A look passes over her face that
combines understanding and compassion with determination. Dripping wet, she
steps from the shower and comes to me. My hands are balled into fists at my
sides. She covers them with her own. Her touch is warm, gentle, yet at the same
time strong. Holding my gaze with hers, she brushes her mouth over mine.

“Let me,” she whispers.

It’s all I can do to nod.

She kneels in front of me, undoes
the laces of my boots and slips them off one by one along with my socks. I
stare down at the slender arc of her naked back as my throat tightens. I can’t
remember the last time anyone did such a simple task for me. Certainly, my
mother must have when I was a small child; she was as good a mother as she
could be in the grip of a miserable excuse for a husband. But I was a kid who
insisted on independence early on and clung to it even when my father peeled it
away from me piece by piece like he was taking my skin off.

I don’t want to think of him now.
He’s had too much of a hold on me for too long. Even after I broke free of him,
I never really was. But now, as Amelia stands gracefully and meets my gaze
again, I see in her eyes the faith that I want so desperately to deserve.

She takes hold of my T-shirt where
it’s tucked into my jeans but waits until I nod permission before easing it off
over my head. Rather than just toss it on the floor, which I certainly would
have done, she takes a few moments to fold it neatly and lay it on a nearby
padded bench.

Impatience stirs in me. She is so
damn beautiful, so warm and giving. But she also knows just how to play me,
damn if she doesn’t.

“Amelia…”

“
Hmmm
?” She shoots me a look
that’s so innocent it drags an unwilling laugh from me.

While I’m still smiling, she tucks
her fingers under the waistband of my jeans, pops the snap, and eases the
zipper down over the bulge of my hard-on. At the soft brush of her hand against
me, every muscle in my body clenches. I’m determined to let her set the pace but
if she could just step it up a little--

Something of my urgency must get
through to her because she slides my jeans and briefs down together in one
smooth tug. As she does, my cock springs free, damn near smacking her in the
face.

“Sorry,” I murmur. “He gets a
little unruly around you.”

Her giggle has to be the sweetest
sound in the universe. On her knees, gazing up at me, she teases. “Oh, come on,
there’s nothing ‘little’ about him.”

As though to confirm what she’s
saying, she stands up again and, holding my eyes, closes her hand around my
cock, squeezing gently. I’m so aroused by her that at once drops of pre-come
ooze from me. She rubs the pad of her thumb over my crest, catching the pearly
liquid on it, then raises it to those pouting lips. Holding my eyes, she licks
her thumb clean.

“Have I ever told you how delicious
you taste?” she asks.

A smart man knows when he’s beaten.
When she takes my hand and gently leads me into the shower, I don’t even try to
resist. Every ounce of strength I still have is going in one direction only--to
make sure that this is good for her.

And that starts by taking just a
little control back.

“Turn around,” I say when we’re
standing under the rush of water that feels like a warm tropical rain.

I know Amelia, I know what she
likes and what she needs. She put that aside last night to make a point to me
and I appreciate it, at least as far as I can given the gnawing burden of my
doubts and fears. But now I want to make that up to her.

I cover her hands with mine,
feeling the delicacy of her bones as I do, and lift her arms, pressing her
palms to the slick marble wall of the shower. Against her ear, breathing in her
scent, I murmur, “Spread your legs wider.”

Her breath catches as she obeys.

“I’m going to take my time,” I say.
“Partly to prove to myself that I can but also because I want to draw out your
pleasure. I want to make you yearn.”

There’s more to it than that. I
want to make her feel at least some of the desperation and longing that are
tearing me apart but I’m not about to say so.

A soft whimper escapes her. “I am,
Ian…yearning. I need you so much.”

“Tell me what you need, baby,” I
croon. “What you want?”

“You,” she answers at once. “Inside
me, completing me.”

I have to close my eyes for a
moment against the hot, sweet bolt of emotion that rips through me. Lust, yeah,
right off the charts, but something more, deeper, more tender, a fierce need to
both protect and possess her.

Her trust in me, her desire for me…
She thinks that I complete her? I could tell her volumes about how she puts me
back together but her delectable bottom is wiggling against my cock. If I’m not
going to forget my resolution and fuck her here and now, hard and fast, I need
to concentrate.

“Stop that,” I say and give the
cheeks of her ass a light smack. The moment I do, I freeze. I did this before
only more so at Carnival. I don’t want to go back there but… I could swear that
she liked it. Then and now.

“Again,” she whispers. “Please.”

It’s that ‘please’ that undoes me.
I could have held out against anything but that or so I tell myself. My skin
feels like it’s on fire for reasons that have nothing to do with the
temperature of the water. I lift my gaze from Amelia for a moment and stare out
the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bathroom, taking deep breaths and fighting
to get myself under control.

The view of the vast expanse of
ocean is calming, as always, but the sight of the hump of rock and foliage in
the near distance reminds me of what’s at stake. Like all the small islands
that ring the atoll, it’s loaded with early warning security and automated defenses.
A bird can land safely; anything else will be blown to smithereens.

Something clicks in my head. A
flood of sensation surges through me, so powerful that it shifts reality. Suddenly
I’m back in the city, lying on the street in front of the club, pain roaring
through me and the smell of cordite from the missile the drone launched burning
my throat.

My reaction is visceral. I grab
hold of Amelia, turn her around, and yank her against me. With one hand I grasp
the nape of her neck, holding her in place as I take her mouth. With the other,
I roam over her body, cupping her full breast, tracing the slim line of her
waist to the swell of her hip and beyond. I push between her thighs, fingering
her along the length of her slit, delving inward to feel her wetness. I’m
desperate to reassure myself that she’s what’s real. That we are.

The rest of it--the nightmare in
the street, the pain and blood, everything that went before it--they’re just
ghosts that I need to let go of.

Except they aren’t. Everything they
represent--Davos, the danger he poses to Amelia, the situation she’s trapped
in--all of it is still front and center in our lives. Worse yet, I can’t even
deal with it right now. I have to wait, gather information, prepare. My
patience, already strained to the breaking point, threatens to snap.

I can’t let that happen, not for
any reason, not with Amelia.