Part 10 (1/2)
When I try to find information about Susannah, I get even fewer results. What's going on?
I broaden the search, asking for information on everything from 'Manhattan social scene' to 'past-times of the rich and famous'. I think I'm being particularly creative with that last one but all I get in return is gossip about various actors, music stars, and the like. As for Manhattan and anything that goes on there, the link hasn't a clue.
Finally, I get it. In an age where information is ubiquitous and privacy is the scarcest commodity, only the wealthiest and most powerful can live beyond the public eye. As much as I understand the urge to do so, I can't help but think that it comes at a cost. By sealing themselves off in such a way, they make it easier for the HPF and others of the same ilk to spread their wacko conspiracy theories.
Being stonewalled so effectively brings me to a full stop. I set the link aside, lean back on the bed, and close my eyes. I'm wondering if perhaps I need a nap, too, when my skin p.r.i.c.kles with awareness. The air feels suddenly charged. My breath quickens and a languorous warmth spreads through my body as the bed dips to one side.
I hear the whisper of my name before Ian's full weight abruptly settles on top of me. That quickly, I am pinned beneath him. In the same motion, his legs thrust between mine, making a s.p.a.ce for him.
His elbows hold my arms tight against my sides. His hands clasp my head as his mouth takes mine. Yet his kiss is unexpectedly gentle, a slow, deliberate savoring that surprises me. We have, as he so bluntly says, f.u.c.ked. But this gentle, coaxing exploration of my mouth hints at a sensuality more tender than I have experienced until now.
The need to touch him explodes in me, joined by frustration that I can do so only with my own mouth, my tongue, my breath. The intimate dance leaves me burning for more.
Finally, he relents, sucking on my lower lip and biting it lightly before releasing me. As he lifts his head, his eyes meet mine. There is no pretense in his gaze, no evasion, only hot carnal need and something more. Relief?
”You're here,” he says. His voice is low and ragged, rippling through me.
Because he allows it, I manage to wiggle an arm free, raise my hand and gently, tentatively stroke his face. The stubble of his day's growth of beard is both soft and p.r.i.c.kly. The memory of it against my nipples, between my thighs, everywhere almost undoes me.
On a thread of breath, all I can manage, I remind him again, ”I gave you my word.”
He closes his eyes for a moment at my touch...at my words? I can't tell which affects him more. Gazing down at me, he catches my fingers in his and carries them to his mouth, sucking the tips in a caress that sends a jolt of pure pleasure through me ”And I gave you mine,” he says. ”Then I pushed you really hard.”
”Are you saying you regret what you did?”
Or is he sorry for what we have both learned about me? Would he rather have gone on believing that I had no will but his?
”I regret making you cry.”
I remember how he looked when I refused the collar, how much the prospect of hurting me horrified him. There is a tender side to this man even if he hasn't shown it very often.
Daring greatly, I ask, ”What about the outcome? You weren't disappointed by that?”
”That you came? Hardly.”
He rakes his teeth along my chin and jaw line to my ear lobe. The tip of his tongue touches the small bite mark he inflicted earlier, stroking it gently. I have to press my lips together to keep from letting the moan in my throat escape but he feels it all the same.
Looking up, he gives me a smile that goes right to my core and makes my muscles clench. ”I've always preferred a challenge.”
A horrible possibility occurs to me. If he's actually glad that I am the way I am, am I really free or just designed to seem like that for his benefit?
As though he can read my thoughts, Ian strokes a finger along my cheeks and says more gently, ”Don't over think this, Amelia. n.o.body really knows what free will is or even if it exists for any of us. We've just decided that it does because otherwise people couldn't be held responsible for their actions and society would pretty much collapse overnight. So let's just agree that you can make your own choices and leave it at that, all right?”
He can't possibly be as casual about that as he seems. Apart from upending all his a.s.sumptions about his s.h.i.+ny new toy, if the replica process can produce individuals with free will, the implications are staggering. What will the consequences of that be for humanity in general?
I can't begin to answer that or much of anything else. Doubt threatens to overwhelm me.
”I suppose...”
He props himself up on his elbows and frowns down at me. ”Don't tell me you're still not convinced that you can choose?”
”No, I am but--”
He catches a stray wisp of my hair and twines it around his fingers, tugging gently. For a moment, an expression flits across his face--surprise, reflection? I can't be sure. It vanishes as his eyes turn dark and smoky.
”Maybe we need another experiment,” he says.
To my embarra.s.sment, he has my immediate attention. ”What kind of...experiment?”
The swiftness with which he responds tells me he's been giving this some thought. ”Instead of my telling you that you can't come, you make up your mind that you won't. I'll try my best to persuade you otherwise, purely in the interest of scientific inquiry. But if your will is strong enough--”
His smile, more of a leer really, is an invitation to a contest we both know I can't win.
I snort and try to swat his hand away at the same time I marvel at his resiliency. ”All we'd demonstrate is that where you're concerned, my body overrules my mind.”
He looks so smugly pleased that I feel compelled to right the balance. On a sudden impulse, I say, ”I have a better idea. Why don't we find out what I really want?”
Belatedly, I remember that he spent five years in the Special Forces. His instincts for danger, or at least potential trouble, must be finely honed and his methods for dealing with either are likely to be ruthless.
Without taking his eyes from me, he asks, ”How would we do that?”
Before I can reconsider, I take hold of my courage and say, ”You're always in control. What if I was, instead?”
In a heartbeat, his expression runs the gamut from surprise and wariness to a pleasure so feral that his eyes blaze. A low growl rises from deep in his throat.
I am more than a little intimidated yet at the same time emboldened. Such is the contradictory nature of my response to this man, drawn to him irresistibly and at the same time afraid that in his thrall I will have no existence of my own.
Words rush from me. ”I want to touch you...all of you...in my own way at my own pace. I want to discover you.” Leaping from daring to recklessness, I add, ”Purely in the interest of scientific inquiry.”
Ian takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets it out slowly. His body s.h.i.+fts on top of mine, widening the spread of my legs.
He strokes my lower lip, tugging gently, and says, ”I don't do that...giving up control, I mean. At least, I haven't. But you--” His eyes narrow speculatively. ”You tempt me, Amelia--”
He slides a hand under my blouse and cups my breast, his thumb making lazy circles over my nipple. At once, a bolt of pleasure lances through me. I want... I need-- My head arches back. Staring up at the wrought iron dome above the pavilion and at the braided ropes holding the bed in the air, I have a sudden flas.h.i.+ng image of the golden cage in the Cabinet of Secret Delights, and myself suspended there waiting for-- Abruptly, I remember where we are. I press my hands against his shoulders, pus.h.i.+ng hard but with no effect. He's heavier even than his long, lithe body would suggest and he's pure muscle.
”Ian, not here! The staff--”
His mouth traces a line of fire down my throat as his hand reaches lower to pull up my skirt. Against my skin, he murmurs, ”They're very discreet.”
Since the only one I've seen so far is Hodgkin, I can believe him but it doesn't make any difference.
”Are they also blind and deaf? Stop!”
What happened to letting me take control? How did we get off that subject? It's all well and good that I fantasized about being with him in the pavilion that first evening but that doesn't mean I actually want to do it!
He raises his head and every nerve ending in my body tingles. The molten heat in his eyes threatens to dissolve me. I try to close my legs but he won't allow it. His long, skillful fingers slide under the edge of my panties, probing for and finding the lips of my s.e.x, opening me to him-- I am on the verge of forgetting all my inhibitions when the taut, carnal set of his face softens suddenly.
”s.h.i.+t!” He levers himself up on his elbows, looking dazed and more than a little disgusted with himself. Before he can say anything more, we both freeze at the sound of a throat being cleared nearby.