Anew: Book Two: Hunted (17 page)

Amelia

T
he mussels survive
our neglect and are promptly sacrificed to our appetites. I can’t believe how
hungry I am. When we finally carry lunch out onto the porch, my stomach is
grumbling so loudly that I blush. Ian laughs and gives me a look that curls my
toes.

“Satisfy one craving and another pops up,” he says with a
grin.

I cast him a sidelong glance. After so many orgasms, I
should be well sated but just the sight of him wearing only low-slung jeans and
nothing else makes my body tighten. “What makes you think I’m satisfied?”

His mouth opens a little, enough to give me a glimpse of the
tip of his tongue touching the ridge of his teeth. That oh-so-talented tongue.
Suddenly, I’m not so hungry after all, at least not for food.

“Eat,” he says sternly. On a dark, seductive note, he adds,
“You’ll need your strength.”

On the cusp of what sounds like a promise, I’m suddenly
ravenous. We eat within sight of the surf rolling in. The wind has picked up,
blowing from the west, but the day is still pleasantly warm. I’m a little
self-conscious in just his T-shirt even though it falls half-way down my
thighs. I’m naked under it, my bra and panties having disappeared in the frenzy
of our love making. I remind myself to look for them before we leave.

The thought of returning to the city dampens my euphoric
mood but I push it aside resolutely. For however long we have here, I intend to
savor every moment.

Ian uncorks a bottle of white wine and pours for each of us.
The crisp, slightly tart liquid slips easily down my throat. I look at him and
smile.

“This is really perfect.”

He grins but I see a flicker of relief in his eyes. Did he
imagine that I wouldn’t appreciate how rare and precious this place is?

“You’re different here,” I say softly.

He arches a brow. “How so?”

“More relaxed…more open. I’m seeing a side of you that I
think you keep well guarded most of the time.”

For a moment, he looks startled and suddenly vulnerable. But
in the next instant, his gaze darkens. He takes another sip of his wine and
says, “I feel different when I’m with you but don’t kid yourself, Amelia. I’m
the man who didn’t give you any time to adjust to this world before fucking you
senseless.”

I think of that first night, standing in the rain on the
balcony of the palazzo, staring into Ian’s eyes as he reached for me. Knowing
beyond the shadow of a doubt how much I wanted him.

“I seem to recall that you gave me a choice,” I say calmly.

“One you were in no position to make.”

I pop one of the mussels into my mouth, letting it rest on
my tongue as I savor the fresh, briny taste of the sea lightly steamed in the
same white wine that we are drinking. It’s delicious but so is the memory it
evokes. Myself, blindfolded, tasting my first oyster--a food Susannah
loathed--as Ian set out to learn where the imprinting I received ended and my
own nature took over.

And later, on my knees, Ian driving into me, the two of us
discovering that far from being designed merely to please him, I am very much
my own person. I still remember my surprise that instead of being displeased by
my independent spirit, he was more than a little relieved.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

I lift my glass, take a sip, and look at him over the rim.
The intimacy of the setting, this place where he has revealed such a private
part of himself, emboldens me. I don’t hesitate to challenge him.

“Free will, as in my own. You don’t control me, Ian, no one
does. I still have to deal with how I came about but thanks in large measure to
you, I have absolutely no doubt that I’m a fully functional human being capable
of making my own decisions. If you want to feel guilty about something, regret
the time we’ve spent apart. I certainly do but I also accept my own share of
the responsibility for that.”

I fork another mussel into my mouth, chew for a moment, and
swallow. Despite the seriousness of all that Ian and I face, I’m swept by a
sense of hopefulness. If we’re truly willing to confront our pasts, surely we
can chart our own future.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. I understand that the
situation is as new and fraught for him as it is for me. That gives me the
strength to be patient, allowing him whatever time he needs to process what has
changed between us. Whether because of our brush with death at the Crystal
Palace or the knowledge that challenges are coming that we will have to face
together, I feel closer to Ian than I ever have. I can only hope that he feels
the say way toward me but will he acknowledge it? Will he accept me as an equal
partner, capable of being at his side no matter what struggles he confronts?

Finally, he says, “I used to come out here when I was a
little kid. That was when the original house was still standing. My mother
brought me. I didn’t realize it at the time but it was a refuge for her.”

Softly, I ask, “From your father?”

He nods. “So far as it could be. She always went back to
him. It was years before she was able to leave for good.”

I hear the regret in his voice, the ghost of what might have
been. My throat tightens. I’ve gotten to know Helene Slade well enough by now
to suspect what kept her from breaking free of a horrible marriage much sooner.
I wonder if Ian does as well, and if he will speak of it.

“By that time you had gone into the military?” I ask.

“Yes, I had. That’s what finally freed her to leave. My
father never paid any attention to Marianne. As a girl, she simply didn’t
matter. He was always focused on me. Until I was beyond his reach, my mother
stayed. She tried her best to protect me even though she couldn’t really.”

He takes a breath and straightens his shoulders. “Sorry, I
didn’t mean to take such a dark turn. The point I was trying to make is that
this was a great place to be a kid. I had a lot of fun here.”

“Finding mermaids’ purses and collecting mussels?” I ask,
teasing.

“Among other things.” He rises suddenly and holds out his
hand. “Come.”

We leave the remnants of lunch right where they are and head
for the beach.

“What do you know about kite flying?” Ian asks as he quickly
assembles a framework of balsa wood draped in an elongated diamond of bright
red cloth that was carefully stored away in the shed.

“Not much,” I admit. Ian’s apparent fondness for kites must
have escaped Susannah’s notice. A small part of me warms to the thought that he
is sharing a side of himself that others have not seen.

“It’s all about giving the kite enough freedom to soar. But
judge the wind wrong, let out too much line, and the kite will crash.”

“I’m sensing a message here,” I say.

He gives me a look of pure innocence. “We’re just having
fun. Take this.”

He hands me the kite. I take it automatically but I have no
idea what to do.

“Run,” Ian says with a grin. He points east along the beach
toward the distant tip of the island. “That way.”

I feel more than a little self-conscious trotting along the
beach in just Ian’s T-shirt. My unfettered breasts bounce underneath even as
the hem lifts, threatening to reveal far too much.

“Faster,” he calls as he lets the line out.

The wind at my back propels me along. My toes dig into the
moist sand. Small waves crested with foam tease at them. The water still feels
cold but I no longer mind. I’m enjoying this too much.

Finally, Ian shouts, “Let go!”

I raise my arms, holding the kite aloft, and do as he says.
The wind seizes it. My fingers fall away and the kite wobbles for an instant
before it steadies suddenly and lifts. So swiftly that I gasp, it shoots into
the sky and out over the water.

When I rejoin Ian, he hands me the spool and steps behind
me.

“Wait,” I protest. “I don’t know what to do.”

He laughs and puts his arms around me, easing me back
against him. “It’s simple. Don’t let too much slack into the line. When that
starts to happen, reel in. But if you feel the kite tugging, let a little more
line out.”

I do as he says, uncertain at first but with growing confidence.
The kite bobs high above, riding the wind. A sense of exhilaration fills me.
The spool of string that I clutch connects earth and sky. Through it, I can
sense the power of the wind and the kite’s response. A part of me is no longer
fettered to the ground.

“This is amazing!”

Ian nods against the top of my head where his chin is
resting. His arms are strong and warm around me. I feel at once daring and
safe. It’s an enticing combination.

“You’re doing really well,” he says. “Just remember, the
wind may feel steady but it’s always variable. It can change in an instant
without any warning.”

I take his words to heart and try to pay close attention,
giving the kite what it needs but not too much. Sunlight sparkles out over the
water. A large ship passes in the distance, little more than a smudge against
the horizon. High above, at the limits of my vision, contrails spread out
across a pure blue sky. Apart from those few signs of human activity, Ian and I
could be the only two people in the world.

Keeping my eyes on the kite, I ask, “Do you think that
someday we could get away for longer, someplace where there’s just the two of
us?”

It’s a daring question, involving as it does what sort of
future, if any, he envisions with me. I half expect only a vague answer, if
that. But Ian surprises me. His arms tighten as he nuzzles his face into the
hollow where my neck meets the curve of my shoulder. I feel his breath there,
where I am so sensitive.

“We will,” he says. “I promise.”

Warmth flares in me. I press back against him and feel him
hardening against my buttocks. A giddy happiness, however fragile, makes the
bright day suddenly dazzling.

The kite string bows suddenly as the wind falters.
Thoroughly distracted by Ian, I’m too slow to react.

“Oh, no!” I frantically begin reeling but it’s too late; the
kite is plummeting toward the water.

“Faster,” Ian calls as he runs down the beach and into the
surf until he’s in almost to his waist. The kite hits the surface still well
beyond his reach. He doesn’t hesitate but dives and swims to it with sure,
strong strokes.

I think of how cold the waves felt just against my toes and
shiver. He emerges moments later, striding out of the surf with the kite held
triumphantly. Water sluices down his torso. His hair and jeans are plastered to
him.

I stand frozen in place until he’s almost upon me. A dark,
carnal light gleams in his eyes. I realize what he intends in the split second
before he hauls me up against him. The chill wetness of his body sinks through
the T-shirt straight to my skin. Goosebumps break out all over my body but for
reasons that have only a little do with the sudden shock of cold.

“You didn’t follow my instructions,” he growls against my
ear. “There’s a penalty for that.”

I know--or at least I hope--what that is but I’m still not
quite ready to give into him. With a quick jerk, I pull free, dart back a few
steps, and turn. Laughing, I run up the beach toward the house.

Over my shoulder, I call, “You’ll have to catch me first!”

Ian doesn’t hesitate. He follows, his long legs quickly
devouring the distance between us.

Amelia

I
make it to the porch
before Ian catches me. Or perhaps he just lets me get that far. I’m too excited
to care. This new Ian--open, playful, enticing--thrills me. With him, everything
seems possible.

My heart is racing and I’m out of breath when he mounts the
steps and stops, gazing at me. I back away until I come up against the wall of
the house. Panting softly, I stare at him.

He doesn’t move but instead remains where he is, his head
tilted slightly, studying me. His eyes are hooded, dark with sensual promise.
Despite the chill of the ocean, his erection is evident, pressing against the
fabric of his jeans.

My mouth goes dry as I savor the sight of him. He is so
beautifully formed, this wounded prince who awakened me to such an astounding
world. I want to soothe and please him, ease his burdens, be his refuge against
all care. I want him to be unwilling to ever part from me again.

And still he does nothing. I can sense his watchful
restraint, evident in his stance, the tension of his shoulders, the firm set of
his mouth. Confusion fills me until I realize what he is waiting for. What Ian
wants.

I take a breath and step toward him. “Have you ever heard
the old saying,” I ask, “‘a man chases a woman until he is caught’?”

The corners of his mouth quirk up. “Wise words.” A moment
later, his expression turns serious. Softly, he says, “I am caught, Amelia. You
beguile me. You are in every breath I take, every beat of my heart, every moment
that I exist, waking or sleeping, you are with me. I can’t escape you and I
have no desire whatsoever to do so.”

Oh, my.
This is Ian Slade, scion, warrior, a man
deserving of the utmost respect for all he has done with his life but also
capable of provoking terror in the hearts of those who deserve to be afraid.
And he…loves me? He hasn’t said the word but what else can his declaration
mean? I am at once stunned and humbled. I haven’t earned this, I don’t deserve
it, and even worse, I don’t know if I am capable of returning it. Everything is
still so new to me, myself most of all. I know that I long for him, that the
time we have been apart has been anguishing, and that I would do anything for
him. But is this desperate yearning shot through with giddy happiness what the
poets call love?

The answer eludes discovery. I certainly cannot reason my
way toward it, no matter how hard I may try. When it comes to Ian, reason flies
out the door. There is only acceptance--of him, of me, of everything we are
together. I surrender to it with frantic joy.

One step, another, I cross the distance between us. The wood
planks of the porch are smooth and warm under my bare feet. I feel suddenly
light, free of struggle and shame.

Ian doesn’t move even when we are standing toe-to-toe,
almost but not quite touching. He still waits, his gaze dark with coiled
strength and raw hunger that steals my breath.

“Tell me what you want, Amelia,” he says.

I answer without hesitation. “You, Ian. Only you, always
you. I want you, I need you. Without you, I’m only pretending to live.”

His skin is still chilled. He smells of salt, sun, and the
unique scent I associate with him alone. I can’t wait any longer. Wrapping my
arms around him, I stroke my hands down the powerful muscles of his back to his
hips. My nipples are hard; I rub them against his chest. A soft moan escapes
me.

“Please…”

His restraint breaks. He pulls up the hem of the T-shirt I’m
wearing. I feel the sudden brush of cool air against my skin, making me all the
more aware of the heat gathering between my legs. His hands squeeze the cheeks
of my ass roughly. I’m surprised by how strangely good that feels but he
doesn’t stop there. His fingers spread my labia, unerringly finding and
stroking my clit. The caress is bold, carnal, leaving no doubt as to what he
intends.

Even so, I’m taken by surprise when he slides his hands down
along my thighs and lifts me suddenly so that my legs wrap around him.

“Hold on, baby,” he says as he strides quickly to a chair
set deep within the shadows at the back of the porch.

I put my arms around his neck as he reaches a hand down to
undo his jeans. His cock springs free as he sits, holding me astride him. My
legs are spread wide, my cleft rubbing against his shaft. I can feel my own
wetness bathing him.

“Fuck, Amelia,” he mutters thickly against my throat. “I
can’t get enough of you. I want to be inside you all the time--in your mouth,
your pussy, your ass. I want all of you.”

As he speaks, he slips a finger between my cheeks and
circles the small, puckered opening there. I jerk at the shockingly pleasurable
sensation. “I want this, too, baby,” he murmurs, “when you’re ready.”

My breathing turns shallow, my heart pounding. A dark need
uncurls in me. With Ian, everything is right.

“I’m yours,” I say, resting my forehead against his. His
eyes gaze back at mine, like shards of the sun piercing me. “All of me, however
you want, whenever, wherever. I will never deny you.”

A groan rips from his chest. He clasps my hips and lifts me
so that the tip of his cock presses against my opening. “This,” he says
raggedly, “this now…right now.”

I lower myself onto him, taking him fully in a single, deep
thrust. He fills me completely, the velvety smooth head of his cock pressing
against my womb. His girth stretches me so much that for a moment I can’t
breathe.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You aren’t…you can’t…” A gush of inner wetness eases his
way. I writhe against him, my hips rotating. I lean forward so that our noses
touch. Against his soft, firm lips, I say, “I want you, all of you, all the
time. You fit me perfectly, you complete me.” Slowly at first, then more
quickly, I begin to move.

His hips rise and fall to the rhythm I set. His hands clasp
my ass, stroking, squeezing. I’m angled so that with each thrust, his cock rubs
against my G-spot. The sensation is beyond exquisite but I know it can’t last.
The build-up is fast and furious. I am climbing…higher…freer… My gaze is locked
on his. I feel as though we are seeing into each other’s souls.

The sun sends shafts of warmth into the shadows on the
porch. They fall across my back, dissolving into the far greater heat that is
Ian inside me. My inner muscles clench around him, release, clench again and
again.

He gives a strangled groan as his head falls back. I press
my lips to the pulse beating wildly in his throat and surrender to the
floodtide of ecstasy that engulfs me.

Gradually, I become aware that I am still sitting astride
Ian, his hands clasping my hips, his cock resting inside me. Both of us are
breathing hard. His eyes are closed but as I gaze at him, they open and meet
mine.

“You,” he says, only to break off as his chest heaves. He
lets his breath out slowly, visibly struggling for control. A rueful smile
softens his mouth. “You astonish me, Amelia,” he says softly. “I had no idea
what I was capable of feeling until I met you.”

He gathers me closer, his hands stroking my back under the
T-shirt. The gesture is soothing, as though he understands how completely
undone I am at this moment.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

I look at him in surprise. “For what?”

“For coming to me the way you did just now.” He hesitates,
then adds, “I still need reassurance that this is what you want. That I’m not
compelling you in any way.”

I’m so astonished that he could still think that is even a
remote possibility that I almost laugh. “Because of that paperwork you’ve got?”
I tease.

He looks at me seriously. “No, because I worry that I’m
taking advantage of your inexperience. You’ve had so little chance to discover
the world for yourself, meet other people. If you’d grown up normally--”

Pain stabs through me, regret for all that I was denied and
will never know. But I refuse to give into it.

“But I didn’t and nothing can ever change that. I’m not a
child, Ian, or even an adolescent. I’m an adult and not just physically. The
neural imprinting gave me an adult’s mind and knowledge. I’ll admit that it was
a strange way to arrive in the world but here I am. So much time has already
been taken from me, I won’t waste a moment more looking back or regretting what
I missed. I’m going to live, fully and completely.”

It’s a disturbing conversation to be having in so intimate a
position, with him still inside me, but perhaps this is the only way that we
can have it.

“Your courage awes me,” he says softly. “So does the way you
embrace the world. You hold nothing back.”

I wish that were true but I know that it isn’t. Ian has
shared his past with me to a remarkable degree but I’ve failed to do the same
with him. I still haven’t told him about the memories that I’m not supposed to
have, the ones formed in the gestation tank. That experience shaped me at least
as powerfully as anything I received from Susannah. I suspect that it’s why I
truly am an adult, strengthened by hardship and matured by adversity.

I want to tell him that but I still can’t bring myself to do
so. The word he used--‘normally’--stands between us. I don’t want him to think
about me the way I was, floating in limbo, not a person but a thing waiting to
be harvested so that a child who, unlike me, was valued and loved might live. A
part of me is glad that Susannah and Edward’s parents aren’t alive. They would
not like what I would say to them.

“You’re cold,” Ian says. Belatedly, I realize that I’m
shivering but that has nothing to do with the temperature. My own thoughts
chill me.

Before I can respond, he stands with my legs still wrapped
around his hips and strides into the house. He doesn’t stop until we are in the
bathroom, where he quickly flips on the shower and peels off his jeans. I watch
him unabashedly, well aware that I will never get enough of his beauty, his
strength, and-- I am almost afraid to admit even to myself--his love.

Ian smiles as he draws me with him under the water. His
hands are gentle but thorough as he washes every inch of my body, removing the
traces of sand, salt, and his possession. Neither of us says a word. I’m not
sure that I even could, dealing as I am with my joy at being with Ian while at
the same time confronting the pain and anger buried within memories I can’t
admit to having.

When he’s done, I take my turn, finding solace in the feel
of his big, hard body slick with soap. By the time he turns off the water,
wraps a towel around his hips and envelops me in another, I’m feeling more at
peace.

“Sit,” he says and I do so, on the edge of the bed as he
gently dries my hair. A sweet, calming languor spreads over me. I’m barely
aware when he pulls the covers over us both. I’ve never napped before but I do
so now, falling away into sleep between one breath and the next.

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

When I wake hours later, the sky beyond the bedroom windows
is tinged with pink and lavender, and hazed by the misty opalescence rising
from the sea. I stretch luxuriously, my earlier cares forgotten for the moment.
With a smile, I leave the bed, find the skirt and top that I arrived in and put
them on again.

Ian is in the kitchen. He’s wearing the jeans again but he’s
added a T-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and sculpted chest. His smile
warms me all the way through.

“Hi, sleepyhead, feeling better?” he asks.

I nod, feeling suddenly unaccountably shy. I’ve bared far
more than my body to this man. My only consolation is that he’s done the same
for me.

“Much, this napping thing could catch on.” With a glance at
the various dishes set out on the counter, I ask, “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to fix dinner. I thought steaks. All right
with you?”

“Sounds delicious but let me help.”

He does, willingly. While I shred lettuce that is remarkably
fresh for having been kept vacuum sealed in the refrigerator and make a salad,
Ian takes charge of grilling the steaks. Before long, the aroma of charring
meat makes me realize how hungry I am--again.