Anew: Book Two: Hunted (16 page)

“What if they had been, Ian? What would have been done to
them?”

The truth is that I’m not sure. The law calls for the
children of scavengers to be put into foster care. But there are rumors of
under-aged workers trapped in occupations considered too dangerous to risk
expensive robots. Even worse are the stories of children trafficked into the
sex trade. I have my people looking into all that. If we can pin it down as
anything other than rumor, I won’t hesitate to act.

Rather than reveal even a hint of this to Amelia, I punt.
“What were you doing in the park by yourself?” She wasn’t actually alone; my
security guys were on her but they’d been ordered to keep a discrete distance
and I can understand that would be hard in the park. Still, I plan on having a
word with them.

“I was walking home, the way people do through the park.”
Grudgingly, she adds, “Sergei was concerned about the number of police on the
streets. He thought something bad might be coming and, as it turns out, he was
right.”

Good old Sergei. Except he isn’t old. He’s a young guy in
peak condition who shares Amelia’s passion for dance and who apparently also
cares about her safety. I could thank him but I’m more in the mood to go a few
rounds, see if all that physical strength and agility counts for anything
besides prancing around in tights.

“I don’t understand how anyone can tolerate the way the
scavengers are treated,” she says. The glare in her eyes makes it clear that by
‘anyone’ she means me.

This isn’t what I had in mind when we came out on the beach
but I’m not going to run away from it either. If I’m serious about wanting
Amelia to know me better, I’ve got to be square with her even if she doesn’t
like what I have to say.

“I don’t have to approve of something to recognize that
changing it is difficult. The scavengers are a symptom of the larger problem of
who controls resources in our society. Until that’s addressed, the best way to
help them is privately.”

“You mean through charity?” The curl of her lip makes it
clear what she thinks of that.

“Among other things. Let’s just say there’s more
communication between the scavengers and certain other people in the city than
the government needs to know about.”

“You’re in contact with them?” She looks hopeful. I hate to
disappoint her but I don’t want her to have any misconceptions about me either.

“Not directly but--” Do I want to tell her that Gab’s
surveillance of the city’s communication nodes has turned up evidence that
Edward is in contact with the scavengers’ leaders? He hasn’t chosen to tell me
why and I haven’t pressed him--yet. We’ll clear the air eventually but in the
meantime, Gab is running interference to make sure the authorities don’t
stumble across whatever it is that he’s doing.

“There are things you’re better off not knowing.” Before she
can protest, I add, “Anyone who was at the Crystal Palace last night and
survived is liable to be questioned at some point. The clearer and more focused
you can be, the better.”

That’s true as far as it goes but beyond it is the fact that
anyone with an urge to question Amelia will have to go through me. I’ll make
sure that they don’t enjoy the process.

I can tell she isn’t happy with my evasiveness but she lets
it go. A wave, rolling in with the advancing tide, creeps high enough up the
beach to wash over our toes. Amelia gasps and jumps back a little.

“That’s cold!”

“It won’t be warm enough to swim in until July.” I’d be
perfectly happy swimming now but I don’t want her getting any ideas. As much as
I’m looking forward to warming up Amelia, I don’t want to have to do it because
she’s blue with hypothermia.

“Ready to head back to the house?” I ask softly.

She tucks a strand of wind-blown hair behind her ear and
nods.

When we’re within sight of it, I detour to a small shed,
open it, and take out a couple of plastic buckets. Offering one to her, I ask,
“Want to try something new?”

She doesn’t hesitate. Her trust in me is humbling at the
same time I’m perfectly willing to take full advantage of it. “What do you have
in mind?”

“I’ll show you.” We walk a short distance in the other
direction along the beach to where a rocky outcropping extends out into the
ocean. The tide is still low enough to leave some of it exposed but in another
hour or so it will be completely covered.

I bend down between the rocks, root around in the bed of
moist seaweed, and find what I’m looking for. Holding up a shiny black mussel,
I grin at Amelia, “Lunch. That is if you’re up for it.”

I wait, wondering how she’ll react. Gathering her own food
while it’s still alive is a bit removed from the world she’s been experiencing.
But I should know better than to doubt her.

With a grin, Amelia crouches beside the bed. “Bet I can find
more than you do,” she says.

Fifteen minutes later, I conclude that women are just better
at this kind of thing than men. They were out in the bushes, finding tasty
tubers and berries that wouldn’t poison us while we were stalking prey across
the veldt…or somewhere. Amelia’s bucket is full when she calls a halt.

“We have enough, don’t we?”

I look at the few I’ve managed to find, add them mentally to
hers, and nod. “Did I mention that whoever wins does the cooking?”

Her face falls. “I have no idea how-- Oh, wait.” She thinks
for a moment, then says, “Steam them open in white wine with a little garlic
and butter?”

“That’s right.”

We’re walking back to the house hand-in-hand when she asks
quietly, “Did Susannah like to cook?”

This is one of the very few times that Amelia has mentioned
the woman who was my lover for more than two years and whose memory I will
always honor. She is the reason why Amelia exists but I don’t want her to be
any sort of intrusion between us.

“I can’t remember her ever setting foot in a kitchen,” I say
truthfully.

For a moment, I think that answer satisfies Amelia but as we
climb the porch steps, she says, “I know so many things without having any idea
how I know them. Sometimes I wonder if Susannah spent the last months of her
life purposefully learning everything she thought I could possibly need to
know.”

I have a sudden memory of finding Susannah on the link every
time I visited her after her final illness took hold. She was always reading up
about something or other, as though her tastes had suddenly become widely
eclectic.

“That sounds like something she would have done,” I say.
“But whether she did or not, she wanted the best for you.”

The words are no sooner out than I realize that they aren’t
entirely true. Susannah could have entrusted Amelia to her grandmother or to
Edward, both of whom surely had a stronger claim as members of her own family.
Instead, she bequeathed her to me. By no stretch of the imagination can I make
that into what is best for her. I do, however, know why Susannah did it.

As we enter the house, Amelia says, “I’ve wondered how she
imagined I’d turn out. Did she give you any indication of her hopes for me?”

I carry the mussels into the kitchen and put them to soak in
the sink to get the grit out. Amelia follows. I know she’s waiting for a
response but I’m not in a hurry to provide it. This unalloyed honesty between
us is even tougher than I expected.

Finally, I say, “In a letter she wrote just before her
death, she said that she believed the illness had made her inherently fragile.
She thought I had always sensed that and suppressed certain aspects of my
nature when we were together. Without the illness, she was convinced that she
would have been the woman I really needed.”

I turn back from the sink to find Amelia staring at me. Her
teeth worry her bottom lip. Finally, she says, “Was she right?”

I let out my breath slowly. “To a certain extent.”

I want to look away as Amelia absorbs this but I can’t. Her
face, especially her eyes, reflect her thoughts and her emotions. She’s far too
intelligent not to understand what I’ve revealed and draw the correct
inferences.

“You were gentle with her?”

I nod. We both know that I have rarely been gentle with
Amelia. Wild for her, demanding, insatiable but not gentle. “I treated her like
spun glass.”

She flinches but quickly tries to conceal it. I don’t want
to consider what she’s thinking but I can’t look away from her. Water is almost
sloshing over the rim of the sink before I remember to turn the tap off. As I
do so, Amelia says, “She didn’t know about your father, did she?”

The mention of him tenses every muscle in my body. I’ve
loathed his presence in my life since I was old enough to understand what kind
of man he was. But his intrusion into this intimate moment is unbearable.

“No, she didn’t. You’re the only person I’ve ever told.”

Others know, of course, beginning with the men who were
members of the club and the women victimized there. Hodge suspected the truth.
I hope that my mother never has but I’m not certain of that. Amelia is the only
person I’ve ever let down my guard with enough to speak of such things and even
then I haven’t given her any details.

 “Was it easier for you to be with her than with me?”
she asks.

I have to give her credit, she has guts. Asking what it was
like between Susannah and me can’t be pleasant but she’s done it all the same.

Cautiously, I say, “In certain respects. You’re astoundingly
different from Susannah to a degree I could never have anticipated and I’m sure
she couldn’t either. You challenge me to be the man I might have been if my
father hadn’t been what he was, if none of what he involved me in had ever
happened.”

With a start, I realize the unintended consequences of what
Susannah set in motion. She wanted her replica to be the woman she herself
might otherwise have been. Instead, Amelia is entirely her own woman. But the
effect of her being in my life is to make me imagine the man I might have been
and to regret more profoundly than ever that I am not.

As though she knows exactly what’s going through my mind,
Amelia lays her hand against my face in a gesture so gentle and comforting that
the hard coil of tension inside me begins to ease. Her eyes glisten with tears.
“I wish that you had been spared all of it but at the same time I would never
want you to be anyone other than who you are. I’d just like you to be able to
lay the past to rest and be at peace with it.”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath and goes on. “When you
told me what your father did, I realized that being with me forced you to
confront your worst nightmares. I thought you would be better off if we were
apart. But once we were--” Her voice breaks. “The world felt so empty.
I
felt
so empty. Now I don’t know what to do. I long for you, Ian, but I can’t bear
the thought of causing you harm.”

My vision blurs. I can’t remember the last time I cried and
I’m sure as hell not about to do so now but…
damn
.

“You could never--” I say, drawing her to me. I’ve
tried--seriously tried--to keep my hands off her and I’ve failed completely. I
need her as much as I need air. The only saving grace is that she seems to need
me in the same way.

“Everything is better with you,” I say. Does she truly not
realize how she transforms my world?

“Let me show you,” I say, lifting her. She feels weightless
in my arms as I stride quickly across the floor illuminated by late morning sun
and into the bedroom.

Amelia

 
I
an lays me down
on a four-poster bed in a room filled with opalescent light and the scent of
salt air. He steps back and without taking his eyes from me, pulls his T-shirt
over his head and tosses it onto a nearby wicker chair. My breath catches as he
unzips his jeans and pulls them off along with his briefs. His erection springs
free, long and thick, so enticing that I can’t help but moisten my lips as I imagine
the taste of him.

Fully naked, he comes to me. His gaze is hot, fierce, yet
unexpectedly gentle. His touch, as he undoes the buttons of my blouse is so
light that the garment seems to fall open of its own accord. He slips it off
and stops for a moment, staring at my breasts barely concealed by the lacy
white bra. Watching him watching me, I feel my nipples hardening even further.

“You are so exquisite,” he breathes, resting one knee on the
bed so that he is beside and above me. His thumbs stroke my aureoles, round and
round, sending tremors of pleasure through me.

“Please,” I murmur.

He smiles faintly, keeping up the tantalizing caress.
“Please what?”

“Touch me.” I sound so needy but I can’t help it. This new,
more open Ian is irresistible. But then so is every other aspect of him that
I’ve encountered.

“I am touching you,” he says, bending closer. I feel the
exhalation of his breath on the swell of my breasts.

Pressing my shoulders into the mattress, I arch my back.
“Closer…” I whisper.

“Like this?” He rubs his thumbs over my swollen nipples.
They are so sensitive already that the smooth silk of my bra feels rough and
abrasive against them.

“Let me take this off,” I murmur and start to reach around
for the clasp.

He stops me with a look. “Stay still. We’re going to do this
my way.”

My eyes widen. I want to ask what that means but Ian is
slipping the straps of my bra down my arms and slipping his long fingers into
the cups, freeing my breasts.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, holding my gaze. His fingers continue
to torment me, the thumb and index fingers squeezing my nipples, twisting them
gently until I can’t bear it any more.

“Ian!”

A part of my mind is astonished that he can make me this
aroused so quickly, especially given our excesses of last night. But the
thought sizzles away on the heat building inside me. When his mouth replaces
his fingers, sucking first lightly, then more powerfully on one nipple and the
other, any possibility of my remaining still vanishes. I writhe under him, my
hands clasping his head, fingers twining in his thick, soft hair.

His teeth graze me in the lightest punishment. He lifts his
head, gazing down at his handiwork. Gruffly, he chides, “So impatient, sweet
Amelia. I want to linger over you.”

That sounds…wonderful, tantalizing, and yet darkly
terrifying. I’m not sure how much of this slow, teasing build-up I can take.
Already, I’m teetering on the edge.

“Maybe later?” I suggest breathlessly. “Next time…or the
next. Whenever?”

He chuckles. “You’re a supremely disciplined dancer. Your
body is your instrument. You know how to control it.”

A moan breaks from me. “Not with you, not like this. You
make me forget everything else.”

He nods, clearly pleased. “Good. Close your eyes, babe. I
want you to just feel.”

I don’t want to lose the sight of him, so powerful and
graceful above me. But I do as he says all the same. My reward is the touch of
his fingers under my skirt, moving up along the inner skin of my thighs until
they graze my panties.

“You’re so wet already,” he murmurs, stroking me. Even with
the barrier of fabric still between us, the gentle pressure of his index finger
circling my clit makes me tighten helplessly. My eyes fly open.

“Wet for you, Ian,” I gasp. “Only you.” I reach out,
grasping his shoulders, trying to pull him to me. “Please, I need you inside
me.”

“You’ll have me,” he promises. “But first think about that,
sweetheart. Imagine my cock in you. How does it feel?”

This is torture but I can’t deny him, especially not when he
pulls my panties to one side, exposing my pussy and begins stroking me there.

“Thick, hard, so good!” I gasp.

He stops, looking down at me. “How else? Tell me more.”

I’ve never tried to speak of such things. Even to think of
doing so seems…forbidden, intriguing, too tempting to resist. Words have a
power all their own.

“You stretch me so much that I think I won’t be able to take
all of you but I do all the same. Your cock feels like hot velvet over steel.
When you start to move in me--”

I break off as he pinches my clit lightly, sending a bolt of
pleasure radiating up from my groin along my spine and to every part of me.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he coaxes. “How does it feel when I’m
moving in you, thrusting hard and deep?”

“Like heaven…as though nothing else exists. Ian!”

A sob breaks from me when he removes his hand but a moment
later, his touch is back, even better now because my panties are gone. He
kneels on the bed and lifts my legs, bending and spreading them in a single
motion. I’m fully exposed to him and I don’t care. Whatever he wants…however he
wants it…

“I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to properly savor
you,” he says. His voice is thick and gruff, his eyes smoky with barely
contained hunger. “You deserve that, Amelia. You deserve everything I can give
you.”

As he speaks, he lowers himself so that his mouth is against
the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I can feel his breath there--a tickling
warmth that makes me squirm even more. His tongue follows, lapping at me
lightly, moving upward, coming so tantalizingly close to where I need him most.

“I want to explore every inch of you,” he says. “I want to
touch and taste you everywhere. I want every moan, every gasp, every exquisite
sound you make.” He presses a finger against my opening, circling lightly,
spreading the pearly fluid over my labia to my clit.

“You have all that already, Ian,” I gasp. “I’m yours.”

“Only mine,” he emphasizes. “But it works both ways,
sweetheart. I’m yours, completely and forever.”

He has never said that before. The words bring a sudden rush
of tears to my eyes. This proud, brave man is baring his soul to me in a way I
would never even have dared hope was possible. The fear that I harm him by
forcing him to confront his demons ebbs inside me. And with that comes a
floodtide of need for Ian even more intense than any I have experienced before.

“You’re so ready,” he murmurs in the moment before his
tongue laps at me with long, strong strokes that make me cry out. “I love how
aroused you are for me.”

Abruptly, he moves up my body and clasps my face between his
hands. “Taste yourself,” he commands and takes my mouth in a soul-searing kiss.
I am sweet…a little salty…and this is all so deliciously carnal.

“I want you in me,” I say when he finally lifts his head. “I
want to feel your power and strength, want to see you come undone because of
me, for me. But I want this, too, this intimacy and openness that is so new, so
beautiful, for both of us. I never want it to end.”

“I don’t either,” he says and for an instant I swear that I
can see the glint of tears in his eyes. “Nothing has ever been like this for
me. You make everything seem new…possible…”

“It is, it truly is, for us.”

At that moment, I believe that beyond any shadow of doubt.
Ian and I belong together in ways that no one--not Susannah or anyone else, not
even either of us--could ever have imagined. We complete each other.

Softly, looking down at me, “Sometimes I’ve thought that if
you were designed for me, the other side of that is that I was designed for
you. It doesn’t matter how any of that happened, just that it did. All that
counts is that we’re together.”

His words are a balm to my soul but lurking behind them is
the reminder of how little the world cares for the fate of lovers, and how much
exists that can tear us apart. I refuse to give in to any such fear. Every
moment with Ian is precious, whether we have a lifetime together or far less.

“Come to me,” I whisper against his heated skin. “Make us
one.”

He groans deep in his throat and rises above me. But before
he does anything else he unfastens my bra and removes it along with the skirt
that has been bunched around my waist.

“No barriers,” he says, gazing down at me. “Nothing between
us. Just skin to skin.”

I can only nod, thinking how magnificent he looks, the sun
streaming behind him, illuminating the perfect curves of his shoulders and
biceps, the long, sculpted line of his torso narrowing to his hips. His cock
thrusts from his groin, proud and straight and so full. For me, all for me.

Reaching down, I circle him with my hand and squeeze
lightly. A bead of pre-cum oozes from his tip. I remember the velvety
smoothness of him and his taste on my tongue but tasting him will have to wait.
My back arches, my hips rising. He clasps them between his hands and draws me
to him.

His entry is achingly slow. I can see the strain on his face
and in the corded muscles of his neck and chest. A sheen of sweat breaks out
over his skin. To my impassioned eyes, he looks like an ancient god, the
embodiment of primal power and will.

I open to him without restraint, my inner muscles flexing to
draw him deeper. He groans and thrusts harder, faster…once and again… So far
into me that his pubic bone presses against my clit.

That’s all it takes. I’ve been teetering on the edge from
almost the moment he laid me on the bed and now I can’t hold back. My orgasm
explodes in me, shattering outward from the core of my being. Ian goes still
within me. His eyes are squeezed shut, his expression ecstatic as he savors the
tremors of my release. They’ve barely begun to ebb when he moves again, his
hips plunging with the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Again,” he growls. “Come for me again, sweetheart.”

I can’t, not after what I’ve just experienced. My body needs
time to recover yet, incredibly, I sense myself responding to his touch, his
words, his command that is as much a plea. My muscles tighten, my breath
quickens. I stare down at where his body joins mine, watching as his cock,
glistening with my juices, drives into me with long, measured strokes.

My head falls back against the pillow as my vision begins to
blur. My legs are spread wide and wrapped around his hips. He braces his weight
on his arms, to either side of me. I clasp his powerful biceps, holding on
desperately. I can hear his ragged breath, the fierce rush of my own blood, the
slap of our bodies moving together.

He is so deep that it feels as though he is touching the
very essence of my being. The pleasure is exquisite, teetering on the edge of
painful. The climb to orgasm is relentless. I have no control over what is
happening to me and the truth is that I want none. I want to give myself
completely to Ian, lose myself in him, be everything that he needs and more.

I can’t bear any distance between us. My hands tighten,
drawing him down to me. I am surrounded by him, his weight pressing me into the
mattress, his cock thrusting harder and faster, his breath mingling with mine
as he kisses me deeply.

“
Amelia
,” he moans into my mouth. His entire body
stiffens. I know he is right on the edge but still holding back. “Come for me,
babe,” he whispers in a dark entreaty as his teeth graze the ultra sensitive
spot only he knows at the base of my throat.

The world convulses. I am filled by him, at once possessed
and possessing. My body spasms, gripping him fiercely. As my orgasm seizes me,
Ian gives a harsh, primal shout. With a final, almost brutal thrust, he spills
into me, jetting on and on, holding nothing back, giving me everything.
Splinters of light explode behind my eyes. I cling to him, the only refuge in a
shattering world.