Anew: Book One: Awakened (15 page)

I want to ask if he approves of this arrangement but our
acquaintance is still too new. My instinct is to wait until I have a better
sense of him before intruding further into what may be sensitive areas.

Looking again at the passing scene, I understand what Edward
means about those who are drawn to the city. Even among the worker class, the
most ordinary human imperfections have been banished. Everyone is attractive,
and seemingly filled with youthful energy and purpose.

Combined with the perfection of the physical surroundings
this world looks more virtual than real. Yet when the car comes to a stop and
the door beside me opens, I have no difficulty stepping out into it.

We have drawn up to the covered entrance of a three-story
mansion facing an expansive park. The scents of newly mown grass and daffodils
sweeten the air. I can hear the cries of happy children at play and, strangely,
what sounds like the trumpet call of an elephant. Otherwise, the city is
remarkably quiet. Luxury cars and other vehicles glide by soundlessly, no horns
toot and there isn’t a siren to be heard.

I am contemplating this seemingly unlikely combination of
energy and serenity when a faint rumbling far below vibrates up through my feet
and legs to reach my consciousness. The sensation fades just as I become aware
of it, leaving me unsure if it was real.

Directly across the park, about half-a-mile distant to the
west, other residential buildings rise. A mile or so to the south where the
park ends the glittering towers begin, the tallest of them a marvel of steel
and glass that disappears into the crystalline sky.

I turn and survey the mansion that apparently is ‘home’. Nothing
I have seen elsewhere, not even the palazzo, is more redolent of centuries-old
wealth. Designed in the style of a French chateau, it boasts twin peaked towers
standing at opposite corners of a crenellated roof covered in black slate. The
walls are white limestone with marble accents around the large windows from
which balconies extend, fronted by delicately carved balustrades.

Beyond the porte-cochere, a short flight of broad stone
steps leads to the entrance. Wide double doors of polished mahogany inlaid with
panels of etched glass are flung open. Light spills from beyond them.

A woman stands at the top of the steps. She is tall and slim
with pure white hair elegantly arranged to frame a face of remarkable beauty.
Simply dressed in a pale blue silk sheath with a narrow gold belt at her waist,
she looks the epitome of ageless grace.

At the sight of me, her face dominated by aquamarine eyes
that are misty with tears dissolves. For a long moment, she stares at me with a
mixture of disbelief, sorrow, and tentative hope. Her smile, when it comes, is
filled with unmistakable warmth and excitement.

Opening her arms, she says, “My dear girl, what a delight!
Come and give your grandmother a hug!”

Adele--as she insists that I call her--strikes me at once as
a force of nature in her own right. I give a fleeting thought to what she must
have been like in her youth before I am swept up by her enthusiasm. She wastes
no time tucking my arm through the crook of hers, her hand over mine as though
she fears I might suddenly vanish. Edward follows with a patient smile as she
leads me into the mahogany paneled entry hall.

“I could not believe it when Teddy here told me the news
this morning,” my grandmother says. “How utterly astonishing. One is aware that
such things are happening, of course, but one never expects to actually
experience such a marvel.”

She casts me a sidelong glance at once kindly and
perceptive. “You must be overwhelmed, poor dear, but you needn’t worry. You’re
home now and all you have to do is relax and let us take care of you.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, blinking back tears. Coming on top of
all the emotional upheaval I have experienced since awakening, her heartfelt
welcome threatens to undo me.

She pats my hand gently as she leads me into an elegant
parlor dominated by a large marble fireplace and an art collection that I can
only guess has been accumulated over generations. So, too, the furnishings are
a blend of centuries-old antiques of varying styles that together create an
effect at once distinctive and gracious. Again, I sense the confidence of old
money--very old by the look of it--and the respect for tradition that goes with
it.

“Tea, I think,” Adele says with a further glance at me. I
have no doubt how I must look--pale, wide-eyed, and rather disheveled. I
haven’t eaten since the previous day but the thought of trying to do so makes
my stomach clench.

Simple tasks--swallowing, speaking, moving--are still so new
to me. At the palazzo, I pushed myself fiercely, eager to experience everything
and driven by the overwhelming impact of Ian’s presence. Now, without him to
constantly enthrall and encourage me, I have the sense of slowing down from a
mad rush, and of finally confronting my own limitations.

I have so much to learn about this world and about myself. I
scarcely know where or how to begin.

Edward--I will never be able to think of him as
‘Teddy’--gives instructions to a servant hovering nearby. I take the
opportunity to study my surroundings. At once, my gaze is arrested by the life-sized
portrait of a woman at the far end of the room. Slowly, hardly aware that I am
doing so, I walk toward it.

The woman is young--in her early thirties--and very
beautiful. She is standing in the same garden that I glimpse beyond the nearby
French doors. The cut stem of a lush white peony dangles from the fingers of
one hand. She, too, is all in white, a pleated gown of Grecian design that
leaves one shoulder bare and skims her perfect figure. Her head tilts slightly
to one side. She appears lost in thought, unaware that she is being watched.
There is an aura of delicacy about her and a whiff of sadness.

Her hair is chestnut, her eyes glimpsed beneath lush lashes
are aquamarine. But--I see with a rush of breath--that Edward told me the
truth. She and I are not identical. Her features are subtly different, the
cheekbones a little lower, the jaw a bit rounder. Her hair is straight, perhaps
not naturally as my own is a tumble of curls. But the greatest difference of
all is in the pose of her body, what I can only think of as demurely elegant.
She seems to be waiting for something that she accepts may never happen.

On my best day, I could never manage such serene
acquiescence. While I still have a great deal to learn about myself, I know
instinctively that my nature is far more inclined to impetuousness and
defiance.

My breath catches. Ian said that he cared a great deal for
Susannah. Far from being a true replica of her, I am distinctly different.
While I can’t doubt that he desired me physically, how could I imagine that he
would feel for me any semblance of what he felt for her? She looks so
ethereal…so pure. Whereas I--

I flush, thinking of how wanton I was with him, how bold.
For a moment, a wave of shame threatens to overwhelm me but I rise above it,
buoyed by anger.

I was hardly alone in what happened between us, nor was I
ever more than superficially in control. Ian bears just as full a measure of
responsibility as I do. He fueled my passion, claimed my body, and left me
helplessly yearning for more even as he sent me away. And for that I am not
sure that I will ever forgive him.

Adele has come to stand beside me. Gently, she says,
“Susannah was a wonderful young woman. But if seeing her like this disturbs
you, we can--”

I don’t let her finish. That she would even think of
removing the portrait for my peace of mind is simply too much.

“I’m deeply grateful to Susannah,” I say. “For me, the
painting is an expression of how rare and precious the gift of life truly is.”

Despite all the pain and confusion assailing me, I cling to
this profoundly simple truth. Whatever I face, I will never let myself forget
it.

My grandmother blinks back tears as she takes my hand. “Dear
girl, you remind me of her in some ways but I must say, the differences are
fascinating. Come, sit down. We have so much to talk about.”

Taking my seat, I encounter Edward’s gaze. His look of
understanding and approval warms me.

“Susannah was my older sister,” he says as he joins us. “I
adored her but I’m delighted to finally get to be a big brother.”

Again, I struggle not to cry. My emotions are in turmoil,
torn as I am between hollow sadness at leaving Ian and tentative wonder at
finding a place where I may truly belong.

The servant returns with tea and an array of small
sandwiches. I manage to eat a little and even to engage in conversation. Yet my
thoughts keep slipping to Ian, the too-little time we had together, and what
will happen when--I cannot bear to think in terms of ‘if’--our paths cross
again.

Ian

H
aving
briefly relinquished control to Amelia, I take it back with a vengeance. She
was right to suspect that I’d make her pay. My hands span her slender waist,
thrusting her up and down on my cock as her head falls back and her body arches
helplessly in yet another orgasm. As it shudders through her, I wrap my hand
around the back of her neck and pull her down onto me. She slumps against my
chest, quivering.

I give her a few moments, not
more, before I turn her so that she’s on her knees under me. Arching over her,
I hold her hips up and thrust deeply into her. It occurs to me that she’s
hypersensitive by now and probably sore, whether she’s in any state to realize
it or not. But I don’t stop. I bring her up again, driving her higher and
higher, relishing her moans, her soft cries, the sound of my name on her lips,
even the tears I wring from her as the pleasure becomes almost too much,
teetering on the edge of pain.

She is so perfectly
responsive that by just the lightest strokes to her clit, I can keep her coming
over and over while my cock stays buried deep inside her. The clenching of her
pussy all along my length sends bolts of pleasure shooting from my groin
straight up my spine to the only parts of my brain that are still functioning.

Feeling her come like that
brings me a raw, primal satisfaction unlike any I’ve ever known.
Stopping is out of the question. When she pleads
weakly with me to let her rest, I don’t even consider it.

Instead, my eyes fall on the
belt that I tossed onto the bed hours ago. Without thinking, I put her arms
behind her and lash her wrists together. She whimpers as I wrap an arm around
her hips to hold her in place, push her thighs wider apart, and, with a single
long thrust, bury myself in her again. Before she can draw breath, I start a
hard, punishing rhythm. Not even the image of us both in that damn mirror, her
eyes dark with mingled exhaustion and ecstasy, myself looming behind her deep
in shadows, gives me pause.

On the contrary, it spurs me
on. I spread the cheeks of her ass and ease a finger slightly into her as I
keep thrusting. I don’t have any lube handy but she’s so wet it doesn’t matter.
I’ll just use her own juices mingled with my come--

She moans faintly and raises
her head. Our gazes meet in the gilded glass. The sight almost undoes me. Her
hair is a wild tangle, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. Her engorged
breasts with the hard, puckered nipples I’ve tormented with my mouth and
fingers rub against the sheets as she thrusts back against me. She looks like a
goddess, pure carnal temptation and the promise of ultimate ecstasy all in one.
I could lose myself in her forever.

What the hell? Fucking never!
I don’t do that, plain and simple. Nothing is more important to me than
control. I’ve got it back and I’m keeping it. Hard on that thought, I thrust
another finger into her and scissor them apart, starting to open her. She’s
nowhere close to being able to take my cock there but I want her that way and
every way. I want to do what I warned her of in the spa and imprint myself on
her. Nothing can be sweeter than to have her primed to my merest touch, always
wet, always ready, mine to do with as I will.

My cock is so hard it’s
painful but I don’t give a shit. A red mist moves in front of my eyes. She
gasps, fighting for breath but I barely hear her. I thrust deeper both with my
cock in her pussy and my fingers in her ass as another orgasm seizes her. I can
feel my balls drawing up, know I’m on the verge again, and fight it. I want
more from her, everything she’s got to give, I want--

Her back bows as her sweet,
hot pussy clenches around me in long, powerful ripples like the tide pulling me
far from shore, drawing me under, taking me--

My control shatters. Hell, my
brain explodes. Before I can stop myself, I jet into her with hard, bone-deep
pulses that jar every muscle in my body and wring me inside out. They’re going
to have to scrape me off the floor…and the ceiling…and…

A roar of mingled rapture and
shock comes from somewhere down in the hidden reaches of the razor-edged black
shard that passes for my soul.

“Amelia!”

Even though she must be
beyond exhaustion, her body tightens even further around me, drawing from me
more than I ever knew I could give. Deep inside her, I’m more complete than I
have ever been in my life. The hollow, aching emptiness is gone. She’s giving
me something I’ve never even glimpsed before.

I plunge on, chasing it,
desperate to understand what it is until suddenly, as though I’ve stepped off
the edge of a cliff and discovered that I have wings, I know. Acceptance.
Welcome. A sense that I am finally where I belong. With her.

What the fuck? Something’s on
my face, hot and wet…trickling down. Fuck no! No fucking way! Tears?

Abruptly, I pull all the way
out of her, letting her fall onto the bed as though she’s suddenly burning hot.
I’m going up in flames as the realization of what she makes me feel slams into
me. Even then, I can barely find the will to stop.

Why should I? She hasn’t
resisted, not really, and these feelings I’ve suddenly got can be beaten down
and repressed the same as I’ve done with so much else. I should stay the
course, prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that I’m in control of myself and
her.

In the pale light of dawn
creeping through the balcony windows, I let my hand drift down the elegant line
of her back, over her wrists restrained by my belt, and along the sweet curve
of her ass to her wet, swollen pussy. She moans softly and arches into my
touch.

I’m reaching for her again
when a sudden fear grabs me by the throat and won’t let go. What if Amelia
doesn’t have any ability to deny me? What if any such choice was left out of
her in a misguided attempt to assure that she would be everything I wanted?

The sudden thought that she
might be letting me do whatever I want no matter what harm that causes her
horrifies me. All the more because I know exactly what I am capable of.

A wave of nausea hits me. My
hands are shaking. I barely manage to undo the belt and toss it aside before
rubbing her wrists. My chest aches, too small for the heart suddenly hammering
in it.

It’s all I can do to bend
close to her, inhaling her scent like a drowning man gasping for air, and choke
out a few words. “Sleep now.”

She makes a soft sound and
slumps in my arms. I lay her head on the pillows and retrieve a cover from the
floor, pulling it over her. There is nothing I want more than to stay with her,
hold her, comfort her but that can’t be.

Slowly, fighting myself every
inch of the way, I leave the bed. My legs are barely able to hold my weight. It
takes me a few moments to get my bearings. Even then I can scarcely tear my
gaze from her.

Pain stabs through me as I
force myself to turn away. I suck it up, letting it swallow everything else in
my head until nothing’s left except stark, agonizing clarity.

For both our sakes, I know
what I have to do.

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

I take the chopper into the
city. Concentrating on the controls gives me a brief reprieve from the pain
that gnaws at my gut every time I think of Amelia.

Pain--physical and emotional--is
an old companion. I shouldn’t be fazed by it. But then nothing involving Amelia
is as it should be.

In a handful of days, I’ve gone
from thinking of her as a cross between a fantasy and a wet dream to
understanding that she truly is a human being with all the feelings, needs, and
rights that go with that. She doesn’t deserve to be bound to a man she didn’t
choose for herself.

Especially not one whose demons
she has innocently re-awakened.

As soon as I set down on the pad
at Pinnacle House, she is front and center in my mind once again.

The biometric sensor on the
steel door at the far end of the chopper pad recognizes me and clicks open. I
don’t pause on the bedroom level of the penthouse but keep going down a flight,
taking the steps of the floating glass staircase two at a time. The outer walls
of the apartment are also glass embedded with nanodeflectors to assure privacy
while opening the space to the city laid out below and for miles beyond. On a
clear day, I can see forever. It’s definitely not a place for anyone with a
fear of heights.

In my home office--more discreet
than the one I keep in the command center below--I set to making the arrangements
I’ve had in mind ever since I accepted that I had to call Edward.

He’s a decent guy for all that
he wants to blow me to hell right about now. I have no doubt he’s putting good
security in place. But he lives in a world that still pays lip service to morality
and law. I won’t be held back by either.

Brad Hollis picks up on the
first ring. According to his ID link, he’s in the building, thirty floors
beneath me in the training center. I can hear the bark of orders and the thud
of bodies as he grunts, “About the hell time, Slade. Thought you dropped off
the edge of the earth.”

As miserable as I feel, I can’t
help but grin. Hollis is an ex-colonel, now retired and the guy who recruited
me into the Special Forces, which also makes him the guy who saved my sanity
and probably my life. He’s a friend and mentor who doesn’t hesitate to call me
out when he thinks it’s needed. I know I can count on him until--as he says in
the Kentucky drawl he’s carefully preserved--the last dog dies.

“I’m back now,” I say, “and I’ve
got a job for you.”

He runs a hand through the straw
colored hair flecked with silver that he still keeps in a buzz cut, his ice
blue eyes narrowing. “I’m listening.”

I take a couple of minutes to
lay out the gist of it. When I’m done, Hollis is quiet for a moment before he
asks, “Want to tell me who she is?”

I know he means who she is to me
but I ignore that. “I did tell you. Her name is Amelia McClellan. She’s staying
at the McClellan residence on Fifth Avenue opposite the park. Big place, looks
like a French chateau. You can’t miss it.”

“And you want her locked down?”

“No, she has to be able to move
around the city, go places. McClellan will be arranging the usual security. I
just want to make sure that nothing can get through that. Can get to her. ”

The thought that something--or
someone--could threaten Amelia hurts even more than letting her go. I know
Hollis is already figuring out that there’s a whole lot more I’m not saying but
I don’t care.

“Put her in a bubble,” I tell
him. “Full protection 24/7 but be discreet. I don’t want her to be aware of
it.”

“Will do,” he says.

Damn, there are times when I
love that man. He doesn’t rag me for suddenly being so focused on a woman. He
just settles in to get the job done.

“Let me know when everything’s in
place,” I say.

We talk a little longer before I
get off and make another call. Amelia’s new identity is complete. A couple of
techs I poached from government infiltration jobs are digging into it to find
any gaps that might need shoring up but so far they’ve come across none. I’m
reassured that anyone curious about the new McClellan relation who has suddenly
arrived in town won’t find anything to raise the slightest suspicion. I can
take some comfort at least in the fact that I’m doing everything possible to
make sure that she’ll be safe.

With that, I head downstairs. I
could catch up on work right where I am but it’s past time for me to put in an
appearance. I’ve been away for ten days, longer than any absence other than
when I’ve been in the field. Heads jerk up as I walk out onto the operations
floor where every project and mission of Slade Enterprises is being tracked in
real time. I take a quick glance at the walls of screens monitoring the
progress of those I’m particularly interested in.

“Well, whatta you know?” a voice
beside me drawls. “Look what the cat dragged in. You have any trouble finding
the place, boss? Tallest building in the city, sticks way the hell up but maybe
you forgot where it was?”

“Hi to you, too, Gab,” I reply,
still surveying the screens. There don’t appear to be any problems but I didn’t
expect any. I would have been notified at once if there were.

I turn to the tall, statuesque
woman beside me. Gabriella Innocente Darque stands on eye level with me in her
over-the-knee black leather boots and matching tunic. She’s French-Haitian with
cocoa brown skin, a helmet of gleaming black hair, and a figure that can drive
some men wild. At least the kind who fantasize about a date with a dominatrix.
They’re doomed to disappointment. She’s passionately attached to a cute little
blonde who keeps Gab wrapped around her pinky. I have to admit there have been
times when I’ve envied them their happiness.