Anew: Book Two: Hunted (11 page)

“If the presence of his men here tonight becomes known,”
Adele says gently, “some will certainly suggest that. The Council won’t want to
accuse him openly, of course, but they need to assign responsibility for this quickly.
A long drawn out investigation would be intolerable to the city’s residents and
would bring demands for political change.”

 “You’re right,” Helene says. She has joined the rest
of us without my noticing. “Nothing counts for more in this city than appearances.
Going to Pinnacle House would broadcast to the world that at the very least we
lack confidence in the Council’s ability to maintain security. Any hint of such
disloyalty will invite questions that we don’t want to have asked, much less be
pressed to answer.”

Frowning, Ian turns to Edward. “Do you agree with this?”

Reluctantly, my brother says, “I’m not happy about it but
the ladies are right. We were all seen together at the Crystal Palace this
evening and we all got out of there alive. If we now all hole up in Pinnacle
House, we’re bound to draw attention that could get in the way of our finding
out who was behind this.”

Slowly, Ian nods. Like it or not, and it’s obvious that he
doesn’t, he accepts what the others are saying. I can’t help thinking that this
is one of his great strengths, the ability to see beyond his own formidable
intelligence and experience and grasp when someone else is right. Now if only
he could extend that to me.

“All right,” he says. “But the security ring that’s in place
will be tightened. It will be discrete but it will be there.”

What security ring? Suddenly, I recall the frequent episodes
of feeling as though I was being watched. Could Ian have been responsible?
Exactly how close an eye has he kept on me since I arrived in the city?

Before I can ask, he says, “But Amelia is coming with me.
That’s not up for discussion. Apart from everything else that has happened here
tonight, Davos has left no doubt that he has an unhealthy interest in her. I’ve
managed to make that worse.”

He looks directly at me as he speaks, as though he expects
me to object. When I remain silent, a flicker of wary surprise darts behind his
eyes. I fight a smile, secretly delighted that I can keep him off balance at
least a little, especially since he does the same to me so effortlessly. That’s
all well and good as far as it goes but I can’t overlook the much larger issue.
I accepted that he and I should part because simply by being with me, he’s
forced to confront his worst demons. Now, because of his concerns for my
safety, he will have to do exactly that.

My throat tightens at the thought but there is one
consolation: He won’t be alone. Whatever comes, this time I am determined that
we will face it together.

Ian

T
he sight of Amelia
standing in the great room of the penthouse on top of Pinnacle House sends a
bolt of relief through me. For the first time since walking into the Crystal
Palace hours ago, the muscles at the back of my neck start to unclench.

She’s here. She’s safe. Besides that, nothing
else--including my raging hard-on--matters. All my concern about needing to
stay away from her has crashed and burned against the reality of imminent
death. If I had gotten her out of there a few moments later… If one of those
shards of glass had hit her… I close my eyes against the pain that lances
through me.

When I open them again, my gaze meets hers. I take a breath
and force myself to speak as calmly and steadily as I can manage.

 “I’ll let Hodge know that you’re here,” I say. “He’ll
see to anything you need. I mean that, anything.” Casting around for some way
to convince her that I’m down with whatever it takes to make her happy, I say,
“If you need to go to class with that Russian, Hodge will arrange it.”

My plan is to stay as far away from her as possible for
however long she’s here. I’ll sleep in the single men’s barracks, eat in the
mess, work out, do whatever I have to while steering well clear of Amelia. That
shouldn’t be a problem considering that Pinnacle House is the vertical
equivalent of a small city with a population of more than twenty thousand men,
women, and children. One way or another, I’m responsible for them in addition
to another twenty thousand or so in other locations around the world.

For their sakes, as much as Amelia’s and my own, all my
attention needs to be focused on figuring out what happened tonight, that and
getting to the bottom of who was financing the HPF. My gut says that there
could be a link, either that or two separate efforts are underway to undermine
the established order. Unraveling that won’t leave any time to think about
Amelia.

Which is why I’m lingering just a couple of minutes when I
know I should be on my way out the door.

She looks pre-occupied. I’d worry more about that if I
weren’t so distracted by how the velvet gown she’s wearing has slipped off one
creamy shoulder, yet further exposing the swell of her glorious breasts. Or how
it clings to her narrow waist before flaring slightly at the curve of her hips
that I love to grasp as she rides me--

In desperation, I force myself to look away from her, out
through the glass walls of the penthouse to the city and beyond. It’s almost
midnight but Manhattan is still lit up, lights blazing as though a party is
going on that will never end. Less so the outer boroughs where the working
stiffs live, resting up in their micro-apartments for whatever the coming day
will bring. How will they react when they learn of the attack on the Crystal
Palace? With a certain vindictive pleasure is my guess, although they’ll be
careful to mask it.

Beyond the rings of light is the harbor, a black hole in the
night except for the statue of Lady Liberty illuminated by high-power
searchlights intended to discourage anyone who might think of dropping by
uninvited. Visits to her island have been banned for the vast majority of
people for longer than I can remember and there’s a rumor that she’s falling
into disrepair. Personally, I wouldn’t be surprised to look out one day and
discover that she’s gone. At best, she’s become an anachronism. At worst, she’s
a potential rallying point and a threat.

But she can’t hold a candle to the woman reflected in the
glass wall. Amelia is watching me. There’s a slight furrow between her brows
that I find myself wanting to kiss away.

“Would you like some help?” she asks, meeting my eyes in the
glass.

I turn back to the room, to her. “With what?” Leaving? I can
do that under my own power. And I will…any minute--

“With your--what is it called, body armor?” she says. “It
looks uncomfortable.”

I open my mouth to explain that I’ve worn armor like this
for days and nights at a time in the field. A few hours is nothing. I’ll take
it off when I get down to the operations floor for the debrief.

But before I can say that, Amelia closes the distance
between us. She’s kicked off her high heels. The top of her head tucks neatly
under my chin. Laying a slim hand on my chest, she says, “How does it come
off?”

Walk away, go downstairs, do the debrief. Take a cold
shower. Take a longer one. Jerk off. Do anything I have to do to--

“Like this,” I say. My hand is over hers, guiding her. I
have to be out of my fucking mind. My fingers slip under hers, pressing against
the biometric sensors that release the armor. The front and back pieces that protect
my torso separate and drop onto the floor. A million bucks worth of the most
advanced survival equipment on the planet, forgotten.

Because Amelia isn’t done yet. I’m also wearing armor on my
legs where a hit can sever the femoral artery, making for a very bad day.
Without breaking eye contact with me, she lowers herself slowly and gracefully
to her knees.

Amelia and my cock have gotten along really well in the
past. He doesn’t give a shit about the demons that haunt me or my very genuine
fears about how I could hurt her or much of anything else besides being deep
inside her. By the time the rest of the armor hits the floor and gets kicked to
the side, he’s more than raring to go.

Worse, still on her knees, Amelia tosses me a look that
walks the line between sweetly shy and ready to have me for her next meal. She
reaches for the button of my waistband.

Whoa, not happening.

I grab hold of her and lift her back onto her feet. “You’ve
been through a terrible experience. You’re not thinking straight.”

Her eyes narrow. I get the distinct impression that a
calculation is going on in that complex, often bewildering brain of hers. After
a moment, she turns her back, glances over her shoulder, and says, “You’re
right. I should really lie down. If you wouldn’t mind returning the favor?”

How’s that?

“The buttons,” she prompts. “I can’t undo them myself.” When
I stand there frozen, she adds, “Perhaps you’d rather call Hodge to help me?”

Cold day in hell. Pigs flying.

I stare at the long--extremely long--row of tiny pearl
buttons that marches down her back from just below her bare shoulder blades to
the curve of her ass. Each is secured with a velvet loop that matches her
dress. When I touch a tentative finger to one of the buttons, it slides right
off. On top of everything else, they’re so polished that they’re slippery.

We live in the era of high-tech everything when inhuman
speed and efficiency overrule all other considerations. And this is the best
way they can come up with to fasten a dress? What kind of sicko sadists work in
the fashion industry?

“This isn’t a good idea.” I’m talking to myself. Amelia
definitely isn’t listening or if she is, it’s not having any effect. She
shrugs, freeing her other shoulder so that the dark claret-hued velvet slips
all the more.

“I could just sleep in my dress,” she says. “But I’m wearing
a corset and it’s a little tight.”

The Universe has to be doubled over laughing. For ten days,
I’ve struggled to do what’s right and here’s where it’s gotten me. Maybe it’s
the epic hard-on or the incipient blue balls or something a whole lot deeper
and darker but in the next moment, I’m watching my hands gripping both sides of
the velvet that’s warm with the heat of her body and--

Tiny pearls fly in all directions and skitter across the
penthouse floor. The gown falls away, pooling around her feet. Amelia is left
in nothing more than a black lace corset, matching thigh highs, and a tiny
excuse for a thong.

That and the diamonds that encircle her wrists and throat,
dangle from those delicate earlobes I love to suck and nestle in her hair. No
goddess adorned by her worshippers ever looked more enthralling.

She turns again and stares at me. Her luscious lips have
formed a surprised O that has me instantly thinking what I would like to be
doing with her mouth. To it. In it. In her.

Fuck.

“Amelia--” I’m drowning in need for her, grasping at a last
thin filament of reason, and she isn’t helping. Every dark reason I have for
staying away from her is ricocheting around in my mind. I can’t escape them any
more than I can avoid my overwhelming need for her. Those opposing forces
threaten to tear me apart.

“Don’t,” she whispers as she steps gracefully out of the
pool of clothing at her feet. Her hands reach up, her fingers lacing in my
hair. On tip-toe, she presses closer. My breath fills with the intoxicating
scent of her skin. “Don’t think,” she whispers. “Don’t worry. We’re alive,
we’re together. That’s all that matters.”

It isn’t. I’m fairly confident she knows that as well as I
do but I’m forgetting why I should care. All I can think of is the sight of her
trying to come back up the steps out of the tunnel because she didn’t want to
leave me. Running to me in the park. Keeping her hand in mine.

After everything that’s happened between us, she still
trusts me.

Nothing matters beyond that except the raw hunger that’s
eating me from the inside out. I’m coming apart in some way that I’ve never
experienced before--not in battle, not in my darkest moments, never.

Knowing that I shouldn’t, terrified not to, I lift Amelia
into my arms.

Amelia

I
an carries me up the
floating glass staircase that connects the two floors of the penthouse. My
heart is pounding and I can’t catch my breath. It’s dawning on me that I’ve
pushed him past his limits into territory that he never intended to revisit.
Now I’m about to face the consequences.

Given the choice between remaining mired in the anguish of
missing him or reaching for even a chance that we can be together, I feel no
hesitation at all.

At least I don’t until Ian sets me down in the master
bedroom, paneled in glass and looking out over the rooftop Japanese garden. The
setting should encourage a sense of peace and serenity but all I can feel is
the raging fire of my need for him.

The mouth that has tormented me so exquisitely is tightly
drawn as he says, “Tell me this isn’t insane.”

The words are far more of an order than a plea. That makes
me smile. However concerned and vulnerable he is, he’s strong willed as ever. I
wouldn’t change that for anything.

“You think this is funny?” he asks.

I rest my palms against his chest and look up, meeting his
gaze. His pupils are dilated, leaving only a narrow ring of tawny gold around
the outer rims. The planes and angles of his face are even more sharply defined
than usual. I can’t help but think of how beautiful he is, this passionate,
wounded man who has struggled so valiantly to do what is right.

“This is what we both want,” I say, seeking only to reassure
him. “What we both need.”

That horrible day in the gallery, I said a great deal more,
about wanting him without condition or judgment, all of him, the light and the
dark. In hindsight, I feel as though I babbled on and on although realistically
I know that wasn’t the case. Whatever I said, it didn’t work. Words don’t with
Ian, something I should have realized before then. Actions count--his, mine,
ours together.

I take a step back, reach around to the hooks holding my
corset closed, and undo them. The garment falls into my hands. I hold it for a
moment, a shield of black lace and silk scarcely protecting me from his gaze.

Ian’s eyes darken even further. A long tremor runs through
me. I want him so desperately, want to hold him inside me, watch his pleasure
build, know that I’m the cause of it, and finally see him come undone. Above
all, I want him to know that we can both have this without either of us being
hurt, him by his demons and me by whatever harm he imagines he could do.

I want to end even the thought of that for good, shatter it
as thoroughly as the glistening panes of the Crystal Palace were blown apart
tonight.

The corset slips to the floor. I stand before him. Despite
the thong and thigh highs, I feel more exposed than I ever have before. The
cool air of the bedroom contrasts sharply with the heat of my skin. My nipples
are puckered and I’m all too aware of the wetness gathering in me.

When he still doesn’t move, I force myself to walk over to
the bed. Slowly, I sit down on the edge, lift my right leg, and begin rolling
the stocking down along my thigh, over my knee and calf until finally I slip it
off my foot. The length of ivory silk dangles from my fingertips for a moment
before I let it fall. Lifting my other leg, I repeat the process until I’m left
with nothing more than a rapidly dampening scrap of black lace between my legs.

Ian’s scrutiny is making me acutely self-conscious. I lean
back as nonchalantly as I can, resting on my elbows, and study him.

“Your turn.”

The corners of his mouth quirk ever so slightly, giving me
hope. Without taking his eyes from me, he unbuttons his shirt. When it falls
open, revealing his broad chest defined by perfectly formed abs and the V of
muscle pointing toward his groin, my throat goes dry. But not before I notice a
scattering of small, faint bruises that I don’t remember from before. They
don’t so much mar the perfection of his beauty as accentuate it.

All pretense of casualness dissolves. I straighten and reach
out to him. “What did that?”

At the brush of my fingertips along his ribs, he stiffens. “It’s
nothing.”

“No, really, what did that?”

Ian shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. “Weapons
blasts, ninety-nine percent of which was absorbed by my armor. The rest is
inconsequential.”

But it wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t been wearing the armor.
Any one of the small marks could have been a lethal blow. All the air goes out
of my lungs but a moment later, it rushes back accompanied by a healthy dose of
anger. He was in a battle in the middle of what is supposed to be one of the
safest and most civilized places on earth. An actual battle!

“What the hell is going on?”

I don’t realize that I’ve spoken out loud until Ian takes my
chin between his long, hard fingers and lifts my gaze to his.

“I’ll find out,” he says solemnly, “and I’ll deal with it.
You don’t have to worry.”

I don’t mistake the words for mere reassurance. They’re a
promise that he will keep at any cost. The thought of him going into danger yet
again fills me with dread but Ian seems to feel none of it. To the contrary, he
appears entirely focused on the moment.

 He releases me and in the same motion holds out his
arm. “If you wouldn’t mind--”

I stare at the patch of tanned skin, lightly dusted with
hair, visible where the sharp folds of linen meet and have a sudden, almost
irresistible urge to press my lips to the veins hidden just beneath there, to
feel the pulse of his life’s blood.

“Amelia--” He says my name cautiously, as though he is
unsure what is going on in my mind.

He may be but I’m not. I know exactly what I want.

Even so, my fingers shake as I unfasten first one, then the
other cufflink. I hand the pair to him. He slips them into the pocket of his
trousers and shucks off his shirt, tossing it onto the floor

I inhale deeply. Ian bare-chested should come with a warning
label. No man has the right to look that good. Inevitably, my gaze lowers to
the impressive bulge visible against the finely woven fabric of his trousers. A
wave of heat moves through me. I want him, all of him, naked, ready, in my
hands, my mouth, my body.
Now.

But Ian has other ideas. The breath I’ve been holding
without even realizing it leaves me in a rush as he slips his hands under my
knees, unbalancing me just enough that I fall back onto the bed. Before I can
react, he drops down in front of me.

Holding my legs apart, he says, “Your panties are wet.”

I gasp at the smug pleasure in his voice but even more so at
my reaction to it. If I thought that I was aroused before--

He lifts my legs over his shoulders and nuzzles the inside
of my thighs. He must have shaved before leaving for the Crystal Ball. I miss
the soft rasp of scruff where my skin is so sensitive but this is good, too.

I try to move downward, wanting nothing so much as to take
his magnificent cock into my hands and guide him to me, but he stops me.
Holding me still, he says, “I need this, this way. To be sure.”

Sure of what, I wonder? Of me? He must know that I am his,
freely and of my own choice. I’ve done everything I possibly can to assure him
of that. Haven’t I?

What more can I do or say or give to him? What part of me
hasn’t been his? A flush moves over me as I recall that there actually are some
things we haven’t done…yet. Is that what he wants? Me in every possible way?
Nothing held back, nothing forbidden?

The thought is darkly exciting, if more than a little
daunting. But I trust Ian and if he wants--

His fingers slip under the thong and part the folds of my
slit, probing lightly, stroking me.

I gasp as my back arches. After ten long, agonizing nights
of twisted sheets and dreams from which I wake in the grip of arousal so
intense that it’s painful, his merest touch there is almost enough to send me--

 Almost but not quite. I tremble on the edge, wanting,
needing…

He withdraws as a moan of frustration tears from me. I try
to grasp his hair but his hands close on my wrists. He growls, “Be still.”

Our eyes meet down the length of my body, mine so filled
with need, his-- I’m far less sure of what he is feeling…or planning. Before I
can wonder, he pulls the thong to one side and suddenly thrusts the tip of his
thumb into me, making a mockery of his command. My hips come up off the bed,
swiveling in a vain attempt to deepen his penetration. A dark flush spreads
over his lean cheeks. Watching me intently, he murmurs, “So impatient.”

I subside but reluctantly and am rewarded when his tongue
follows the path of his finger, stroking from top to bottom before beginning to
circle around my clit. Slow circles, fast circles, feather light one moment,
pressing hard the next…round and round but never coming close enough.

 “Ian, please!”

He lifts his head and meets my eyes up the length of my
straining body. “Please what, sweetheart?”

“You know…”

His gaze is scorching hot. The air between us feels as
though it is vibrating with our mutual need. “Tell me,” he demands.

I hesitate, wondering if this is the time to remind him that
I am not naturally submissive but before I can do so, the raging arousal of my
body blocks out every other consideration.

“Please let me come,” I whisper.

I feel his smile against my heated skin as he ducks his head
again and catches my swollen clit between his teeth, nipping lightly before he
sucks hard.

There is no sweet build-up, no languorous climb. The orgasm
that hits without warning clenches every muscle in my body and bows my back.
The effect is explosive. Intelligence, reason, sanity itself all dissolve into
nothingness. I become a creature of pure carnality.

The cry that rips from me turns into a long, gasping sob.
Dimly, I’m aware of Ian, resting back on his heels, watching me as I come. His
eyes are heavy-lidded, his mouth slightly slack. I can see my own juices
glistening on his lips.

As the last spasms finally subside, he eases the thong down
my legs and tosses it aside. I reach for him, desperate to feel his weight on
me, his cock thrusting into me, but he catches my wrists in one hand and
presses me back down onto the bed. Before I realize what he intends, he slips
two fingers into me and strokes unerringly against the spot where I am so
acutely sensitive.

With the echoes of that first orgasm still resonating, I
don’t think that it’s possible to come again so soon but Ian proves me wrong.
The second hits even more ferociously. Blackness threatens at the edge of my
vision as I cry out helplessly.

“Feel,” he murmurs against the taut skin below my naval.
“Just feel.”

I don’t have any choice. The days and nights without him
have left me so primed that I’m helpless to deny him. His lips move against my
skin, his voice sinking deep into me, dark, explicit, shredding whatever tiny
kernel of resistance I have left.

 “Your pussy is like hot, slick velvet,” he murmurs. “I
love seeing you like this--swollen, quivering, soaked with the pearly juice
that’s oozing out of you.” The flat of his tongue laps at me. Pleasure pools
low in my belly and radiates upward, arching along my spine.

“I can’t--” My voice catches as all the breath goes out of
me. Ian tongue-fucks me with ruthless intensity as he rolls my clit between his
thumb and index finger.

I can’t come again. I won’t survive it but my body is no
longer my own. His head is burrowed between my thighs, the powerful muscles of
his back flexing under taut skin. I’m on the verge again, so near…

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, “come for me.” He drives his
fingers into me again, hitting the spot exactly, and I clench hard around him
as lights explode behind my eyes. Before the waves of pleasure even begin to
subside, Ian slides the thumb of his other hand along my pussy, coating it with
my juices. Separating the cheeks of my ass, he probes gently and slips into me
just the smallest distance. The shocking, forbidden sensation drives me up yet
again. Coming on top of everything else, it’s too much.

“Ian!”

I hear my own voice from a distance. My senses overwhelmed,
my body shattered, I fall away into oblivion.