Emma Holly
Authors: Strange Attractions
STRANGE ATTRACTIONS
By
Emma Holly
Contents
EMMA HOLLY
author of
Personal Assets
"One of the best writers of erotic fiction around."
—Susan Johnson
STRANGE ATTRACTIONS
ROMANCE
"Holly brings a level of sensuality to her storytelling that
MAY SHOCK THE UNINITIATED."
—
Publishers Weekly
"EMMA HOLLY IS A NAME TO LOOK OUT FOR!"
—Robin Schone
Determined not to repeat her mother's mistakes, high-school dropout and unrepentant heartbreaker Charity Wills will get an education any way she can. So, when she's offered a chance to attend college for free, she jumps at it. There's just one little catch…
She must travel to the estate of B. G. Grantham, a reclusive physicist who likes to play sex games as exotic as the particles he studies. B.G.'s obsessed with the unattainable, the meaning of life, the mysteries of desire… and the thrill of being refused the one thing he craves. Charity is more than tough enough to provide a challenge—especially when Eric Berne, her sexy "keeper" is there to lend a hand.
Behind the locked doors of Grantham's isolated mansion, the games begin. So does the education of Charity Wills, who's about to discover that the possibilities for sensual indulgence are beyond anything her wildest dreams ever allowed…
Hot praise for the novels of Emma Holly
"A SENSUAL FEAST."
—
Midwest Book Review
"TITILLATING, EROTIC, AND FUN."
—
The Best Reviews
ISBN 0-425-19821-9
www.penguin.com
"The sexual tension and sensuality readers enjoy, combined with a complex plot, a dark and brooding hero, and [a] charming heroine… a winner in every way."
—
Romance Reviews Today
"Not only are you going to need asbestos gloves for this one—you're gonna need a whole asbestos suit!"
—
RBL Romantica
STRANGE ATTRACTIONS
EMMA HOLLY
BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario M4V 3B2, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England
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Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Emma Holly.
Cover art by Franco Accornero.
Cover design by George Long.
Text design by Kristin del Rosario.
All rights reserved.
BERKLEY SENSATION is an imprint of The Berkley Publishing Group.
BERKLEY SENSATION and the "B" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First edition: October 2004
ISBN 0-425-19821-9
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To Kerri Sharp,
for giving me my first chance.
Author's Note
For those of you who, like me, aren't science geeks, here are the relevant basics of B.G. Grantham's field.
Quantum, or subatomic, particles possess many strange qualities. Nobel prize-winning physicists have verified that they can: a) spin in different directions simultaneously, b) behave as waves (like water) or particles (like teeny-tiny bullets), and c) move faster than the speed of light—something Einstein's theory of relativity supposedly forbids. Nonetheless, entangled particles have been shown to communicate with each other instantaneously over great distances. Finally, quantum particles exist in a "fuzzy" state where they inhabit all possible positions at once, creating what are known as probability waves.
These qualities contradict the equally proven laws of Newtonian (or large body) physics. In other words, a photon appears not to obey the same rules as a planet. The quest to reconcile this paradox has been called the search for the Theory of Everything.
Back in the 1920s, German physicist Werner Heisenberg formulated his famous uncertainty principle, which states that by the very act of observing a thing, you change it. To measure a particle's momentum, you must alter its location. To pin down its location, you must alter its momentum. When you are not looking at a particle, its true status can only be guessed. To make matters more mind-boggling, recent experiments support some physicists' belief that consciousness itself is capable of collapsing the particles'
many "fuzzy" states into one. In other words, our thoughts may truly create our reality.
—To learn more, try
Time Storms
by Jenny Randle or
In Search of Schrödinger's Cat
by John Gribbon.
"Come
closer," B.G. Grantham said to his employee.
Though Eric Berne was dressed, his boss was not. The notoriously reclusive physicist lay facedown on a black leather massage table—his long, lean body gleaming with oil. Eric knew it didn't bother B.G. to be naked. His employer's reserve had never been physical. It didn't need to be. From his broad, straight shoulders to his narrow feet, his every sinew was perfectly conformed. Had B.G. wished, his image could have been used to hawk men's cologne.
He's the Greek ideal
, Eric thought, flashing back to his days at U.C. Berkeley—
mind and muscle
both at their peak
.
Because he was an avid swimmer, B.G. had taken to removing his body hair. As Sylvia, the pretty blonde masseuse, pushed her hands slowly down his spine, nothing spoiled his sleek, athletic lines.
Eric fought an urge to lick his lips.
"Yes?" he said, shaking himself from his fugue and stepping within arm's reach. "You have an assignment for me?"
"Of a sort," B.G. said, then groaned as Sylvia took his butt in her hands and squeezed.
The masseuse was his latest find, hired away from an exclusive spa in nearby Victoria. Though B.G.'s staff usually went through a longer vetting process than Sylvia had, Eric could understand why he'd made an exception for her. Her hands were magic, her gift for intuiting what sort of touch would spur the greatest pleasure formidable. It was as if she'd been born to please. Naturally, this fascinated B.G., whose lifelong study of pleasure—what caused it, what heightened it—neared obsession.
Now his legs shifted slightly, languorously, betraying his enjoyment as much as his groan. The change in position bared the lower bulge of his balls, full and sexually flushed. For the last three months, B.G. had withdrawn from everyone on his staff, devoting himself to mental labors until he had to be reminded to eat and sleep. Eric could tell that phase was over and that B.G.'s appetite for sensual indulgence—always considerable—had been heightened by abstinence.
Once again, B.G. was taking his place as the erotic fulcrum around which Mosswood revolved. Once again, he'd decide who would be pleasured and who would not. Sylvia seemed to sense the change, her body humming softly with interest. She stood at the head of the table, and her front brushed B.G.'s back as she reached down.
She was a lovely woman—naked, of course—with slight, high breasts and nipples as tight as pencil erasers. Her hair was so short it clung to her head like a feathered platinum cap. Eric had reason to know those locks were just as soft as they appeared. She was an odd creature in bed, more comfortable with giving pleasure than in taking it. The few times they'd had sex—while B.G. was caught up in work—she'd given the impression that she wasn't completely there, as if she were perpetually waiting for someone else to appear. The effect was disconcerting, and explained why her status had been so quickly changed from plaything to staff. Competence was what B.G. valued most in an employee. In a sexual partner, however, a desire for the rewards he meted out was all important. Ironically, Sylvia wasn't greedy enough to suit B.G.—a problem Eric suspected he'd never have to worry about.
He did wonder, though, if he'd ever
get
used to being able to desire a woman even as his mouth was watering for a man.
Eric had been attracted to both sexes since he was young, a quirk in his makeup he'd been lucky enough to accept almost as soon as he'd figured out what it was. His parents had been open-minded, his circle of friends liberal. Before taking this job as B.G.'s sexual major domo, he'd thought attraction ought to be a one-gender-at-a-time affair. Serial mono-sexuality, so he thought, would keep his feet on the ground.
He should have guessed his old friend would be beyond any rules at all. The world of the quantum, B.G.'s favorite playground, knew few limits. Consequently, B.G. saw no reason why he should invent limits for himself.
"You've been here, what, three years now?" B.G. asked, his voice altered by a combination of sensual enjoyment and the pressure of stroking hands.
"About that," Eric agreed.
"And we've met in this chamber at least twice a year."
Reflexively, Eric looked around. The room in which he stood was shaped like a pyramid, great blocks of softly polished greywacke narrowing rank by rank to a central point. Blue pinprick lights underlit each level, enhancing the impression that this place was both old and new, a juxtaposition B.G. loved.
The quantum realm
, he liked to say,
can't tell the difference between all times and none at all
.
Then again, since some of his employer's beliefs verged on the crankish, he might have been trying to test the validity of "pyramid power."
"Yes," Eric said, fighting a smile, "we always start our adventures here."
Despite the chamber's familiarity, or perhaps because of it, merely opening its heavy door had the ability to disengage Eric from his normal self. His inhibitions fell away, along with his preconceived ideas of what sensible people did. Here, where each new round of play began, his desires spoke to him in the clearest possible tones.
Though it disturbed him sometimes, he was beginning to think the person he became within these walls was the real him. Regardless of whether that was true, his skin tightened in anticipation as his employer drew breath to speak.
"I want you to choose," B.G. said, startling Eric enough to rock him back on his heels.
Abruptly, he was aware of what hung beneath the lining of his trousers: the thickening weight of his cock, the tensing power of his legs. Eric was bigger and stronger than B.G., not stupid, but more of an athlete than a brain. B.G.'s mental charisma was the force that kept him in check. On his own, Eric wouldn't have had a fraction of the experiences B.G. made possible. Because of this, as well as his debt of loyalty, Eric chose to indulge the other man's whims, to wait however long it took for permission to sate his desires—which didn't mean the reins never chafed.
That was the idea, of course: that no one around B.G. be able to predict when release would come, that the possibility it would be withheld would make them desperate. In that state of suspended frustration, the smallest erotic reward gained intensity.
Blinking sleepily, B.G. turned his head on his folded arms. His face was as attention-grabbing as the rest of him—quirkier perhaps, narrow and olive-skinned, with a long, curving nose and a mobile mouth. His hair was straight and black, cut short except for a shock that hung over his dark-brown eyes. On anyone else, these features would have been expressive. On B.G., they gave away virtually nothing. His emotions were hidden, as was usual, behind a wall of lazy calm.
Only a long-time associate like Eric could tell how jazzed he was.
"Did you hear me?" B.G. asked patiently. "I said I want you to choose our next candidate."
