Anew: Book One: Awakened (18 page)

I’m shocked but no one else seems to be. Edward is leaning
back in his seat, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. He looks mildly
bored. Adele appears entirely unfazed although she at least seems to be enjoying
the music.

Daring greatly, I glance at Ian only to discover that far
from being interested in what is happening on the stage, he is still watching
me. My reaction clearly amuses him. Even in the dim light of the theatre, his
smile is blatantly provocative. As I stare back at him, the tip of his tongue
slides across his teeth in a motion that sends a spear of pleasure straight to
my groin.

Belatedly, I remember that Wagner’s ‘Tristan und Isolde’ is
a long opera, more than four hours long. I heard Edward muttering about that to
Adele before we left. Four hours of intensely erotic music and naked people on
stage? And what exactly are those people going to be doing that they need to be
naked?

I glance again at Ian. His smile is gone. In its place is a
look of such fierce, almost brutal desire that once more I am transported back
to the golden room and that last night when, helpless in the grip of
remorseless pleasure, I submitted to him again and again.

On stage, the bold warrior Tristan is escorting the fiery
princess Isolde to the court of the king whose bride she is to be. The sexual
tension between the two is electric. Faced with a fate neither wants, Tristan
accepts Isolde’s demand that they drink a potion she believes will kill them
both. But instead of death, they are poisoned by love, a deadly passion that at
once threatens to consume them. Torn from a passionate embrace, they conspire
to be reunited.

The erotic drama unfolding before me only heightens my own
arousal as Tristan comes through the darkness to claim his beloved in a castle
garden. What few garments they wear fall away. How two people writhing in
passionate embrace can still find the breath to sing so gloriously is beyond me
but they manage it. Isolde’s back arches beneath Tristan as he cups her breast
and…

As I look away hastily, my gaze collides again with Ian’s.
At once my nipples, already hard, begin to ache. Too vividly I remember the
touch of his mouth there, the quick, sharp nip of his teeth bringing a sweet,
sweet pain.

I squirm in my seat, all too aware of how aroused I am
becoming. On the stage, the lovers are entwined, their bodies moving as one. As
the music rises to an erotic crescendo, I surrender all pretense of calm and
stagger to my feet. After a murmur to Adele about needing the ladies’ room, I
am about to leave the box when I notice that Ian’s seat is empty.

In the corridor, I hesitate, unsure what to do. I could find
the ladies’ room and in the privacy of one of the stalls give myself another of
those mild little orgasms but--

“Amelia.”

Without hesitation, I turn toward the sound of his voice. At
the sight of him standing deep in the shadows of a nearby alcove, I am too
relieved to be surprised. The cacophony of my thoughts--all my doubts and
regrets, my fears and yearnings made even more acute by the recent
nightmare--dies away. The music soars around us, only slightly muted by the
walls that shield us. On the stage, a timeless drama is playing out as it has
for centuries and will for centuries to come. But here, with us, there is only
the moment.

We are alone together in a shimmering bubble of time where
the world cannot reach us. I watch as Ian's lips shape my name, hear the
question in it, and do not hesitate to answer in the only way that matters.

One step, two, I close the distance between us until I rest
against his rock hard chest. Without warning, he shifts so that my back is
pressed against the wall and a steely thigh thrust between my own. He groans as
his hand curls around the nape of my neck, holding me in place. Wordlessly, his
hot, rapacious mouth claims mine.

I don’t hesitate, I don’t think. I just wrap my arms around
his neck and meet his raging need with my own.

His teeth scrape my lower lip, biting just enough to be
painful. I gasp and open for him. He sucks on the tip of my tongue before
plunging his own into my mouth, taking, demanding, possessing with a rhythm I
remember only too well elsewhere in my body.

When he finally lifts his head, his voice is low and
rasping, filled with desperation that matches my own.

“I told myself this wouldn’t happen," he says. "I
could handle seeing you, keep my distance. But damn it, Amelia, you undo me!”

He is grinding against me, his erection massive against my
belly. For my own part, I can’t get close enough to him. All the pent-up
longing of the past days and nights bursts loose within me. This is what I
know, what I need above all.

The realization that I am not alone in my yearning releases
a knot of self-doubt within me. I don’t think to question why he sent me away
if he feels as he does. Right then, I don’t even care. Instead, I feel
insanely, recklessly free.

Twenty-two years adrift, helpless, barely enduring. All that
time stolen from me. No more! Not a single day, not a moment!

His erection strains against the fine wool of his evening
trousers, a thrillingly long, thick, hard bulge that I don’t even think about
trying to resist. Our clothes are an intolerable impediment. I reach for the
buttons of his fly.

At the brush of my fingers against him, he groans. “Amelia!”

I’m concentrating too intently to heed him. What is this
fondness he has for damn buttons? Finally, after nearly intolerable seconds,
his hot, engorged cock leaps into my welcoming hands.

I keep one wrapped around him and with the other seize his,
drawing it down my thigh and under my billowing skirts. “Touch me…right there…
Oh…… yes…! Like that! So good…!”

“This is insane,” he mutters but his tone lacks conviction.
His long, skilled fingers stroke up toward my cleft. Finding me hot and wet, he
gasps. “Thank fuck!”

I squirm against him, lost in a sensual haze but unable to
look away. This is the only place that I want to be--with him, holding him, in
my body, in my heart. The circumstances don’t matter; they scarcely register
with me. We could be anywhere.

His eyes narrow to gleaming slits. A low, harsh growl breaks
from him as he lifts me. As soon as I am positioned, he doesn’t hesitate but
impales me with a single deep thrust. With his cock seated to the hilt, he
pauses barely an instant to let me adjust before beginning a pounding rhythm,
over and over, ramming me against the wall.

I sob not in pain but in ecstatic need, gasping his name
into the hard, straining muscles of his throat. He’s splitting me in two and I
don’t care. I can’t. I can only come, suddenly and convulsively, my hot sheathe
tightening around him, demanding and taking everything he has to give me.

“You are mine,” he gasps as ecstasy crests within me. “Mine.
Mine. Mine. No one else’s. Ever.”

With each rasping syllable, he continues driving into me,
offering no respite. I can feel myself building toward another climax.

“Oh, god, yes….!”

It tears through me, even more intense than the first. I
keep coming as Ian continues driving into me, arching higher and higher. He’s
relentless, merciless, as though he’s trying to weld our bodies together now
and forever. The world begins to blur at the edges. I can’t breathe, can’t
think, can’t do anything but feel as I clench around him, his release bringing
me yet again to my own.

He swallows my scream as he continues to pulse inside me for
seemingly endless minutes. He is still in me, the last twitches of his climax
sending ripples of pleasure through me, when he suddenly curses. Without
warning, he pulls away, leaving me empty and bereft.

Not looking at me, he buttons up, then runs a hand through
his hair. His features are taut, his voice low and angry.

“Goddamn it, what am I doing?” he demands.

Abruptly, his gaze pierces me. I am still pressed against
the wall, my skirts caught up around my waist and my thighs wet with his come.
I can only begin to imagine what a wanton display I make.

A harsh laugh breaks from him. “I have to give you credit,
Amelia. You are one incredible piece of ass. But then you were made for fucking,
weren’t you?”

A wave of coldness hits me, dragging me under. The contempt
in his voice coming on top of the stark reminder of how susceptible I am to him
play to my worst fears. Everything about my response to him mocks any hope I
have that I truly possess my own will and am capable of making my own choices.

In contrast, the hard truth is that I’m nothing more than a
means to an end for him, one he would clearly prefer to do without. That
imbalance terrifies me. My anger, ignited by what I perceive as my own
weakness, flares outward.

“So glad you enjoyed yourself,” I snarl. “Next time do us
both a favor and use your hand!”

He’s gaping at me, his eyes dark with surprise, as I smooth
my skirt down. My chest is tight and I am close to tears. The emotional
upheaval of the past few days has finally caught up with me. I don’t think I
can bear it but I have to, at least until I can crawl off some place where no
one will see how he has shattered me.

“Or better yet,” I throw over my shoulder, “find some other
woman who’s willing to be a receptacle for you. That shouldn’t be a problem.
I’m sure they’re lined up. But not me. Not ever again. I. Am. Done.”

Without waiting for a response from him, I retreat to the
ladies room where I clean myself up as best I can before returning to the box.
I’m so agitated that I’m certain Edward and Adele will realize something is
wrong but both just give me a nod as I take my seat.

On the stage a naked Tristan and Isolde are still going at
it. I’ve returned just as they are caught in flagrante and torn apart by cruel
fate.

To the last notes of Act II, the curtain descends.

The house lights come up, the glow from the immense
chandelier splintering the air into glittering shards. The audience rises.
After several hours of sitting, they are all eager for the chance that
intermission provides to see and be seen.

In the box nearby, Ian stands aside courteously to allow his
mother and sister to leave first. He takes the opportunity to shoot me a look
that speaks volumes, hinting as it does at a reckoning to come.

With a sense of dread mingling with dark excitement, I
realize that notwithstanding my dramatic exit from the alcove, I have not
escaped him.

Ian

S
he’s driven me
insane. Between being with Amelia and being without her, I’ve lost my mind.
That’s the only possible explanation for my behavior. I knew she would be at
the opera, with the kind of security I have on her how could I not? But I
steeled myself to get through the inevitable encounter. I could do it. I was in
control. Instead…

I could have sworn that she was as eager as I was in the
alcove. No, I know that she was. No other woman has ever responded to me like
that, so completely and selflessly, holding nothing back, giving me everything.

Which brings me back to my fear that she can’t say no.

But then…

I could have thought before I talked, maybe chosen my words
a little better but ‘receptacle’? Seriously? And other women? What the hell is
she thinking? Why is she thinking it?

On the other hand, the fact that Amelia can get spitting,
furiously angry at me and tell me off in rare, ripe terms is weirdly
reassuring, enough to put a stupid smile on my face. I need a drink, better yet
several. But I’m not having any. At least I still retain enough sense to know
this isn’t the night for it. More than ever, I need to stay in control.

Who am I kidding? I need to get back the control I lost the
moment I forgot all the reasons I sent her away, and instead dragged her into
that damn alcove and rutted on her like an animal.

Shit, it felt so good. Her coming on my cock over and over
the way she did, screaming my name. I will never have enough of her.

 “Ian?”

Marianne is staring at me with an odd expression on her
face. Unlike me, she has our mother’s looks, which means she is quite beautiful
but right now she’s also clearly worried.

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

I take a breath and tell myself to get it together. The last
thing I want is for my family to have any inkling of what’s going on.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about a situation I need to deal
with.”

My sister frowns. At twenty-two, she’s only six years
younger than me but the age difference between us feels like more. I’ve made
damn sure that her life has been a whole lot calmer and more sheltered than
mine ever was. I know she’s more innocent than a lot of women her age, maybe
even a little naïve. All the same, she’s no fool. Not a lot gets past her.

“Nothing serious, I hope?” she says.

Our mother is speaking with a friend nearby and so doesn’t
hear the exchange. I want to keep it that way.

“Nothing I can’t handle. Would you like a drink?”

“Just water.” She smiles mischievously. “I don’t want to nod
off and miss the big finale.”

I stifle a groan. “Please tell me the last act is shorter.
They’re obviously both going to die so why can’t they just get on with it?”

Marianne gives me a chiding look. “Don’t be such a cynic.
‘Tristan und Isolde’ is one of the great romances of all time so of course it
ends tragically. But first we get to hear Isolde’s magnificent aria to erotic
death. It’s really quite extraordinary.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Erotic death. What does that even mean? Erotic I get just
fine. When it’s right, it’s life affirming. Death I know all too well. They
have nothing to do with each other.

I snag a flute of sparkling water for her off the tray of a
passing server. Sipping it, she eyes me over the rim. “Amelia seems very nice.
Not at all like Susannah though.”

“You don’t think so?” Marianne tends to have a good take on
people. If she’s fooled, it’s a fair bet everyone else will be, too.

She shrugs. “I can see a superficial similarity but it’s
clear she’s very different. How did you two meet?”

She got that one in fast but I should have seen it coming.

“Edward introduced us.” I have no compunction about the lie,
not on this subject at least. I’ve already gone to great lengths to bury the
truth of Amelia’s origins. I’m not about to take any chance of it ever coming
out.

“Did he?” Marianne raises an eyebrow. “That’s odd, he didn’t
seem happy about the two of you being acquainted. In fact for a moment there, I
thought he was going to have to wrestle her away from you.”

I can’t help but grin at the thought of the two of us
tussling over Amelia. McClellan is about my size and in good shape. He knows
how to handle himself but I have no doubt who would have won. I fight dirty.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “Edward’s a gentleman. He’d
never do anything so uncouth.”

“You’re right, of course.” A look of frustration flits
across her face. It’s gone before I can even be sure that I saw it.

“Edward is always a perfect gentleman,” she says. Her eyes
darken. She’s staring at something behind me. I shift slightly so that I can
see what’s got her attention.

My body tightens. Amelia is standing on the other side of
the Grand Foyer between Edward and Adele. A steady stream of people--mostly
men--are approaching them, seeking introductions. She looks warm and lovely as
she greets each. Nothing in her appearance gives a hint that half-an-hour ago
she was pressed up against the wall of an alcove with my cock buried deep
inside her.

“Do you know how close a cousin Amelia is?”

I’m preoccupied enough that I don’t immediately get what
Marianne is asking. “How close?”

With a hint of exasperation, she says, “Is she a first
cousin? Second? Third? Eighth twice removed? Cousin covers a lot of territory.”

The penny drops. I stare at my sister in bewilderment as I
realize that she’s concerned Edward may be attracted to Amelia.

Hastily, I say, “First cousin, although Edward thinks of her
as a sister.”

Marianne nods but not before I see the relief in her eyes.
How did I miss this? When did my shy, reserved sister, who so far as I know has
never given any man the time of day, develop an interest in Edward McClellan?
And why hasn’t he reciprocated?

Edward’s always been discreet about his private life but I
know for a fact that he’s a player. Never a shrinking violet, our Edward. More on
the precocious side although to his credit he’s always behaved responsibly.
Well, except for that time with the circus gymnast…

It occurs to me that he’s known Marianne since she was a
little kid. Maybe that’s the hang up? If it is, I have to hope like hell that
she isn’t about to get her heart broken.

I’m staring at Amelia, trying to figure out why she got as
mad at me as she did and how to get around it, when I notice the tanned,
silver-haired man approaching her. A surge of adrenalin goes through me. I
loathe Charles Davos and have for years. The idea of him being anywhere near
Amelia is a red flare.

“Stay here,” I tell Marianne. Davos within touching distance
of my sister is equally unacceptable.

She looks bewildered but she trusts me so she does as I say.
Now if I can only convince a certain other female to do the same.

Edward sees me coming and frowns but he doesn’t object when
I nod to Adele and ease her behind me a little as I settle in beside Amelia. I
can only gather that he’s got his own reservations about Davos.

Amelia glares at me. She isn’t just pissed, she’s flat out
furious. And worse. In the depths of those incredible eyes, I see what looks
like hurt. That twists my gut but there’s nothing I can do about it, not right
then.

I bare my teeth and turn to Davos who is staring at me like
something he’s found on the sole of his shoe.

“Ian,” he says, “what a surprise. Not off fighting somewhere
for truth, justice and the American way?”

I hate guys who think like he does, I mean really hate them.
Privileged bastards with no thought for anything other than themselves. But
Davos is special. My hatred for him is in a category all its own.

“We can’t all sit on our asses, Charles,” I say. “But these
days most of the fighting I do is from right here.”

“Then you really should get out more,” he says with a tight
smile. “Your crudity is an insult to the lady.”

He turns his gaze on Amelia. I really don't like the way
he's looking at her. It's too intense, too personal, like he's actually
interested in her.

Davos is a handsome guy in a plastic kind of way. He’s
pushing seventy but he looks decades younger thanks to surgery,
pharmaceuticals, and a complete lack of anything resembling a conscience. He’s
tanned and fit under the mane of silver hair. I can see why a certain kind of
woman might find him attractive, especially when they factor in his bank
account.

But all I can see on Amelia’s face as she looks at him is
distaste. She’s trying to mask it but it’s there all the same in the narrowing
of her heart-stopping eyes and the little downward curl at the corner of her
delectable mouth.

“Please don’t concern yourself,” she tells him. Her usually
soft voice suddenly has a note of steel in it. “I’m not that easily offended.
Besides, I’m well aware of Ian’s service to our country. I’d say that’s earned
him some leeway, wouldn’t you?”

It’s hard to tell who’s more surprised--me or Davos. I’m
dealing with the fact that she’s gone from kicking me in the balls, if only
verbally, to defending me while he can only frown.

Glancing from one of us to the other, Davos asks, “You two
know each other?”

“Very well,” I say.

“Slightly,” she corrects.

I look at her. She looks right back, not giving an inch. The
message couldn’t be clearer--however deep inside her I think I’ve gotten, I’ve
barely scratched the surface.

So far as I’m concerned, she’s just issued a challenge. I
can’t help but smile. If there’s one thing she should have figured out about me
by now, it’s that there’s nothing I like better.

Chimes sound. Time for Act III.

When the curtain goes up again, I watch Amelia. She’s
leaning forward a little in her seat, fascinated by what’s happening on the
stage. As far as I can make out, the guy--Tristan--has gotten stabbed and is
taking a long time to die before the love of his life--Isolde--arrives and
sings about how great he is now that he’s dead.

Obviously, there’s something I’m missing. While I can admit
that the music is good, the story leaves me cold. If Tristan had any real
balls, he’d have scooped Isolde up and carried her off somewhere they could
screw themselves silly, make babies, and ride off into the sunset together.

What the hell? Where did that thought come from? Babies?
Sunsets? What? I have got to get a grip on myself, especially if Davos is in
the picture. But that’s easier said than done. Amelia is lapping the whole
thing up, I’ve got a hard-on to beat all, and the music just doesn’t stop,
soaring to its conclusion on a note of longing that goes soul deep.

The cast is taking yet another bow when I realize that there’s
a reason all great romances end as tragedies. It’s a lot easier to kill
everyone off than it is to figure out how two people can overcome their
differences and make a life together.

Especially when one of them is clearly hell bent on driving
the other crazy.

It’s time to rethink my strategy.