Anew: Book One: Awakened (9 page)

Amelia

W
hen
I’m next aware, I’m looking up at the ceiling of a tent made of diaphanous
white silk and filled with heaps of pillows in rich velvet jewel tones piled on
thick oriental rugs. Ian is propped up on an elbow, gazing at me.

“Welcome back,” he says. His
tone is measured, his expression watchful but he does look more relaxed.

I’m embarrassed, smugly proud,
and just a tad shocked by my behavior. Apparently, I have hitherto unsuspected
reservoirs of boldness. And at least where this man is concerned, an inherently
wanton nature.

I can think about that later.

“Where are we?” I ask.

He trails a finger down my arm
lightly. I try but fail to repress a shiver of pleasure which does not go
unnoticed by him. He’s looking at me very intently.

“Still in the spa,” he says.
“How are you feeling?”

Limp, replete, savoring the
lingering aftereffects of incandescent orgasms. But all I say is, “Much better,
thank you.”

The corners of his chiseled
mouth quirk. “Always so polite, Amelia. Even when you’re issuing a most
salacious invitation.”

I can’t pretend not to
understand him any more than I can stop myself from blushing. “Is that what I
did?”

“Hmm, I’d say so. One I was
delighted to accept.” He flops back against the pillows but continues to study
me. His eyes are dark, unreadable. I don’t have a clue to his thoughts. That,
more even than his scrutiny, makes me squirm.

“You’re staring again,” I say.

“Am I? I suppose it’s because
I’m trying to understand you.”

The way he says it suggests that
this is an entirely new endeavor for him. I can’t help but be piqued by the
thought of how easily women have come to him in the past.

With a note of asperity, I say,
“Didn’t I come with instructions?”

He answers more seriously than I
like. “Just the bare minimum and frankly they haven’t proven very helpful.”

Despite myself, I want to know
more. About
them
, those who created and maintained me through all the
long years floating in the hated gestation chamber, and about myself. But also
about what Ian thinks of the extraordinary situation in which we find
ourselves.

“Really? What were they?”

He hesitates, evidently
reluctant to tell me but finally he says, “Something about not overloading you
with information too quickly and the importance of establishing authority.” His
smile is wry. “I’d say I failed on both counts. Wouldn’t you?”

Establishing authority? What the
heck! Was I supposed to beg for a treat, fetch a ball, roll over for him?

I sit up, aware suddenly that
I’m still naked, as is he. Surely, there’s a robe to be had somewhere?

Rising, I glance around quickly.
“On the other hand perhaps what you said before is true. Something went wrong.”

“When did I say that--?” He
breaks off, remembering his exasperation when he brought me back to the palazzo.
“I was more frustrated than serious. So far as I’ve been able to discover,
there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

He’s still reclining on the
pillows--rather sultan-like, I think. As his eyes drift over my body in leisurely
appraisal, my blush deepens.

Ian chuckles and stands with
coiled grace. I can’t help but be aware of how comfortable he is with his
nudity and his body in general. But then why shouldn’t he be? He is quite
simply magnificent.

He steps close to me, takes my
chin between his fingers, and says, “On the contrary, you’re dangerously
perfect.”

Before I can respond, his other
hand slides down to squeeze my bottom. “This part of you, for instance, is
perfect for spanking, which I also recall starting to do before being
distracted by your smart mouth and your refusal to wear that collar.”

Starting
to do? Whoa. I
try to take a step back but that just gets me another squeeze, harder this
time, as he pulls me to him. Against the sensitive skin of my abdomen, I can feel
his growing arousal. Before I can let myself think about the delights to be had
by Round Two--or would this be Round Three--I say, “You may be happy to lie
around here all day but I have other plans.”

Ian laughs and chucks me under
the chin. “You’re fun to tease.”

I’m mulling over his apparent
pleasure in that discovery when he takes a pair of plain white robes from a
nearby chest and tosses me one. His eyes glitter as I catch it and hold it in
front of myself in a belated effort at modesty.

“Much as I’d rather you didn’t
cover up,” he says, “I think this will make you more comfortable. I’ve ordered
lunch for us. Before you do anything else, you’re going to eat.”

He shrugs into the other robe
and leaves the secluded tent. I have to wrap mine all the way around myself and
tie it with the attached belt to keep it closed. I’m dragging my fingers
through my hair, trying to restore some order to it, when Ian reappears. He’s
carrying a tray that he sets on a low round table near the pile of pillows.

“I don’t know about you,” he
says with a grin, “but I’m starving.”

I have a sudden memory of the
dinner I denied him that first night and feel myself flush yet again. It’s
getting to be a habit.

“Sit,” he says as he begins
laying out the food on the low table.

I do so only to stiffen when I
notice what he’s taking from the pocket of his robe. “What’s that?”

“This?” He holds up a length of
black silk. “It’s a blindfold.”

Warily, I ask, “What do we need
that for?”

“I want to try an experiment.
Like everyone else, Susannah had certain foods she liked and others she didn’t.
Let’s find out if your tastes are the same.”

That actually sounds like
something I’d want to do but I’m still cautious. “Why do I have to be
blindfolded?”

“Because not being able to see
will heighten your other senses, including taste. Plus, I don’t want you to see
and prejudge whatever is about to go into your mouth.”

A flush seeps over my cheeks as
I consider what I think I’d like in there.

Ian looks at me speculatively.
“Why, Amelia, whatever do you think I mean?”

I refuse to answer him and
shrug. “Let’s just do this.”

“Very well, turn around.”

I hesitate but do so only to
gasp as a strip of dark, silken material appears before me.

“Close your eyes,” he says. His
voice is low, dark, compelling. The cloth tightens around me as he ties it
securely.

At the sudden loss of sight, my
breathing quickens. Instinctively, I raise my hands to the silk but I don’t try
to remove it. I can hear Ian moving nearby but I have no idea what he’s doing.
Twice he brushes against me and both times I jump a little.

“Steady,” he soothes. The
thought occurs to me that he sounds as though he’s calming a fractious filly. I
frown but hold myself very still.

Minutes pass, too many. My
anticipation mounts and with it so does my anxiety. What exactly is he
planning?

Finally, just when I think I
can’t bear to wait any longer, he says, “Open your mouth.”

I do so but slowly, wondering
what I’ve gotten myself into. The touch of metal against my lips makes me start
but an instant later I feel a cool liquid tipped from what must be a spoon. I
swallow, tasting sweet, slightly tangy smoothness.

“
Hmmm
, what is that?”

“Red pepper and pear soup, serve
chilled. What do you think of it?”

“It’s good. More, please.”

He laughs and obliges, feeding
me several more spoonfuls before he says, “Enough. Let’s try this.”

Something smooth, round, and
firm slides between my lips. “Bite,” Ian directs. “And chew.”

I do and experience an explosion
of sweetness deepened by a touch of grainy earthiness.

“Fresh fig,” he says before I
can ask. “Ready for something a little more adventurous?”

At my nod, he says, “Tip your
head back. This is going straight down your throat. Swallow it whole.”

I squirm a little but do as he
says and am rewarded when I taste the sea, lightly salty with a tang of citrus
and a hint of heat slipping over my tongue.

“Oh, that’s delicious!”

“You don’t say?” Ian replies.
“Another?”

I nod and swallow several more
before I’ve finally had enough. “What were those?”

“Oysters with lemon and a splash
of hot sauce. Let’s move on to the main course.”

I’m getting into this now,
looking forward to what’s next but when it comes, I’m puzzled. I know that I
like the hot, tangy something that Ian puts in my mouth but I can’t identify
any of the flavors. Still, I want more.

“Lamb curry,” he says when I
ask. His voice sounds husky. “Good?”

I nod and accept another bite.
I’ve finished my fourth when something occurs to me. “If Susannah ate any of
these foods, wouldn’t I recognize them?”

He’s silent for a long moment
before I feel his hands moving at the back of my head. He takes the blindfold
off gently.

I blink in the sudden light. Ian
is looking at me. His expression is guarded, even hesitant.

“I picked these deliberately
because they’re all foods Susannah avoided,” he says. “In particular, she had
an aversion to oysters and curry in any form didn’t appeal to her.”

I’m surprised but not overly.
The explanation seems obvious. “So she had me programmed differently.”

He sits back a little, still
looking at me. “The replica process is cutting edge technology but it doesn’t
support the kind of fine tuning that you’re talking about. At best, she could
withhold preferences, as she did with her memories, leaving you free to decide
for yourself what you like or don’t.”

I meet his gaze and see in it
the same implicit question that is suddenly uppermost in my mind. Exactly how
free did Susannah intend for me to be?

“Decide in one or two relatively
minor areas?” I ask. But not choose who I give my body to and perhaps even my
heart? In a way, that is harder to bear than having no choices at all.

“I don’t know,” Ian admits. I
have the sense that this sudden turn of events has taken him by surprise.

I can almost sympathize. He’s
had a tough week after all, first finding out that I existed, then having to
wrap his head around the fact that he’s been given a shiny new possession that
some men might consider a dream come true only to have it not work exactly as
promised. Too bad he didn’t think to get some sort of warranty.

Without warning, I start to
giggle. I’m not feeling particularly humorous, not at all, so I have to assume
that it's some sort of stress reaction. The problem is that I can’t seem to
stop. Laughing, I fall back against the cushions and stare up at him.

He’s frowning. “Care to share
the joke?”

I can only just manage to reply.
“You must be so annoyed. Let’s face it, for a customized sex toy, I’ve got more
than a few performance issues.”

That sets off another round of
giggles but this time I feel the hot sheen of tears in my eyes. I risk another
look at Ian and that abruptly I’m no longer laughing. He’s angry. Really
over-the-top, no-holds-barred angry. His gaze is piercing, stripping me bare.

“What did you call yourself?”

I straighten up and face him. If
he wants to have this out here and now, fine with me.

“You heard what I said. The way
I see it, I’m Susannah’s consolation gift to you, her apology for dying and for
whatever regrets she had about your relationship.”

I know that’s harsh but I can’t
conceal my bitterness. The truth is, I don’t even try.

“You get anywhere near me and I
light up like a firecracker. You touch me and I come. That can’t be remotely
normal. If it were, no one would ever do anything else. So what am I supposed
to think I am?”

That’s the crux of it really and
it has me terrified. As much as I want to believe my bold claim that I am an
individual with a mind and will of my own, I can’t help but fear that isn’t
true.

When it comes to Ian, I seem to
have no choice at all. If I can’t control the most intimate needs and responses
of my body, what does it matter that I like oysters and prefer jazz to
classical music?

From above me, he says, “Let’s
find out, shall we?”

His voice is low and dangerously
soft. When I dare a peek at him, my stomach tightens. His anger isn’t abating
at all. Instead, it seems to be growing.

I’m reconsidering the wisdom of
suggesting that he’s been intimate with what amounts to a sex doll when he
snaps, “Stand up.”

I hesitate but getting on my
feet is the first step toward putting some distance between us, which I may
definitely have to do.

Slowly, I rise and glance toward
the open side of the tent that leads back into the spa, judging the distance.
Ian follows the direction of my gaze and I see that wolf’s smile again. He
shifts just enough to block that exit route. My chances of getting away
unscathed are fading fast.