“What if they just have the sense not to?” I ask but I’m already holding out my hand for more.
He obliges, filling my palm again before his own. “Then you can tell even more.”
Tossing the handful back, he chews and swallows as his eyes crinkle with pleasure.
“Are they as good as you thought?” I ask, watching him.
“Even better. As I always said when I was a kid, the red pepper is an audacious addition to the insouciance of the coconut married to the complex flavor palate of the butterscotch. When paired with the complimentary textures of the peanuts and popcorn, the results are sublime.”
For the first time in days, I laugh. “You were a weird kid!”
He grins but doesn’t deny it. “I prefer precocious but weird works, too.”
“How did you go from budding gourmet to polo player?”
“I went off to school where I had the great good fortune to link up with Edward, Ian, and a few other like-minded miscreants who I’m still proud to call my friends.”
“To be honest, I have a hard time seeing my brother as a troublemaker or a rebel.”
“You’d be surprised,” Hayden says. “But I take it you have no difficulty seeing Ian in that light?”
I feel myself blushing and look away for a moment to recover my bearings. “I know that he’s had to chart his own course. He deserves enormous credit for achieving so much. I don’t mean only his business but his philanthropic efforts as well.”
Hayden shoots me a too-perceptive glance. “Interesting that you know about that side of Ian. The work his foundation does isn’t publicized, by his choice. He’s a good man for all that he seemed on the verge of losing it during the game. I can’t help wondering what put him in such a state.”
He looks at me as though he knows or at least suspects that I can provide the answer. Instead, I give into temptation and ask softly, “Have you seen him since then?”
Hayden nods. “He came out to the boatyard yesterday. We’re laying the keel of a racing catamaran he’s interested in.”
“Is that what you do, build yachts?”
“Among other things.”
He stares at me for a moment before he abruptly asks, “You and I haven’t met before, have we?”
The sudden change of subject catches me off guard, especially since I’ve been wondering the same thing. Given the sensitivity of 'Cousin' Amelia’s circumstances, I opt for a truthful if cautious response.
“If we have, I can’t think where.”
“Neither can I.” He flashes a smile that, if I weren’t so utterly absorbed in all things Ian, could take my breath away. Gallantly, he says, “I’m sure I’d remember you. So tell me, Miss Amelia McClellan, now that you’ve weathered the scotch bombs, what was your favorite indulgence when you were a kid?”
I search my mind but find nothing. When I fail to answer, Hayden looks aghast. “Please don’t tell me you were one of those perfect little girls who never eat candy or skin a knee or learn how to burp the alphabet?”
“You can burp the alphabet?” I don’t know whether to be impressed or revolted.
He nods with modest pride. “I’d do it for you right now but I don’t want to make you swoon. Better we find you a favorite candy.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so. It’s not as though I’m still a kid and it can’t be good for a person--”
“Three words,” he says. “Chocolate marshmallow zonkers.”
I sigh. He has me at chocolate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I pop another yogurt-frosted raisin into my mouth and roll it around on my tongue.
“The citrusy tang of the yogurt complements the earthy sweetness of the raisin,” I say, holding out the box. “Here, try one.”
It’s an hour later. Hayden and I are back on the bench facing the musical clock after a quick but profligate trip to the concession stand. He’s shrugged off his cashmere jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. The remnants of a dozen packages of different candies lie around us. We are both decidedly sticky.
I’ve come to the conclusion that he truly is Ian’s friend and that he has set out to get to know me because he’s so concerned about him. There seem to be many reasons to like Hayden Carstens but I would if only for that.
He makes a face that in turn makes me laugh. “I’m a guy,” he says. “I don’t do yogurt.”
“But you’ll eat that?”
He’s polishing off the last chartreuse sucker that he swears tastes like a fine French liqueur. Another box of scotch bombs awaits our attention. But before we can get to it, a vendor walks by, his hands filled with long cardboard cones surrounded by heavenly pink clouds smelling so wantonly delicious that my mouth waters.
I track him with my eyes much as I imagine a cheetah tracks a wounded hippo. “What is that?”
Hayden shakes his head emphatically. “You’re not ready for that. Have another zonker.”
“What do you mean, not ready? What is it?”
He sighs as though he knows we’re both going to regret this. “Cotton candy. But that’s heavy duty stuff. You’ve got to work up to it.”
“I just want a bite.”
“Nobody can eat just one bite of cotton candy.”
“I can, try me.”
“This is against my better judgment,” he says a few moments later as he hands me one of the cones.
Close up, it’s a little daunting. I’m not quite sure where to begin.
“Try pinching a piece off with your fingers,” Hayden suggests.
I do and pop it into my mouth where it begins to melt in a slow motion explosion of sugary heaven. Never mind that my molars hurt, this stuff is incredible. I close my eyes, the better to savor it.
When I open them again, I’m staring at a powerful torso in a charcoal gray custom suit standing directly in front of me. Raising my eyes, I encounter a clenched jaw darkened by a day or two of stubble. Higher than that I hesitate to go.
“Hi, Ian,” Hayden says pleasantly. “Nice day for the zoo.”
“Hayden,” Ian acknowledges. “What’s going on?” He sounds all too calm.
“Just giving Amelia her first taste of cotton candy.” He smirks. “Along with a few other firsts. What’s going on with you?”
“Funny you should ask.” Ian takes the cone from me and tosses it into a nearby waste can. “I’m here to take Amelia home.”
The musical clock nearby suddenly begins to chime. At its base, statues of a goat, kangaroo, penguin, and bear chase each other around in a circle while playing musical instruments. The tune they are belting out is “Row, row, row your boat.”
We’ve gotten to the part where life is but a dream when Ian holds out his hand to me.
Without allowing myself to think, I take it.
Chapter Twenty-four
Amelia
A large black vehicle that looks more suited to the streets of a city under siege than to the privileged enclave of Manhattan is at the curb just beyond the entrance to the zoo. A big man in a dark suit steps out and opens the passenger side door for us.
Ian hands me into the surprisingly luxurious interior and follows quickly. As soon as we’re settled, the vehicle moves into traffic.
As it does, I push down the fears generated by memories of the last time we were in a backseat together and succumb to the temptation to look at him. Seen in profile, his square jaw, the straight blade of his nose, and the sensuous fullness of his lips remind me of classical Greek statues. Except Ian isn’t made of cold marble. He’s flesh and blood, warm and alive.
I long to touch him--with my hands, my mouth, with all of me, body and soul. The need is all but overwhelming, the distance of mere inches between us scarcely endurable.
But he’s so closed off from me, his thoughts so impenetrable, that I can’t help but feel resentful. Does he have any idea how miserable I’ve been the past few days? Does he care?
Rather than expose how vulnerable I feel, I take refuge in the old adage tha
t the best defense is a good offense.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask, indicating the vehicle. “You know I live only a few blocks from here.”
“We’re not going there,” he says, barely glancing at me. “I’m taking you to Pinnacle House.”
I stare at him in confusion. Ian and I certainly have problems but I’ve never known him to deliberately lie to me. “You said you were taking me home.”
“My home,” he corrects. “Pinnacle House is the headquarters of Slade Enterprises. I have an apartment there.”
Distantly, I remember him mentioning that when we were at the palazzo. But I’m far more focused on his assumption that he can suddenly reappear in my life after what happened between us and take me off wherever he chooses. If he’s trying to upset me further, he’s succeeding.
I am about to tell him as much when he suddenly asks, “How do you know Hayden?”
The question takes me by surprise. With a shrug, I say, “We were both at the zoo and we recognized each other from the game.”
This explanation doesn’t appear to satisfy him. He scowls. “Don’t you know better than to take candy from strangers?”
Seriously? After the miserable days and nights that he’s put me through, he’s upset that Hayden and I were having fun together? I try to remember if Ian and I ever shared such a simple, uncomplicated moment and realize that we have not. For better or worse, our time together has been fraught.
Still, that’s no excuse for his behavior. Without making any effort to conceal my anger, I say, “I shouldn’t take rides from them either. Let me out.”
From of the corner of my eye, I see his widen in the instant before his tantalizing mouth sets in a hard line. Clearly, the idea that we don’t really know each other doesn’t sit well with him.
“Don’t test me, Amelia. Not now.”
In the confines of the backseat, my awareness of him is physically painful. I can scarcely breathe but every time I do my body’s instinctive response to his presence grows. Heartbeat to heartbeat, I am being drawn back to him. At the same time, I cannot make sense of why I am there or why he is.
Abruptly, it dawns on me that there is one obvious reason why he would suddenly reappear in my life after making it more than obvious that he intended to keep his distance. Something has happened.
With calm I am very far from feeling, I ask, “Is this because of Davos?”
He shoots me a look and for an instant the mask of imperturbable control slips. The depth of emotion revealed behind it is so stunning that I can’t help but gasp. What could possibly provoke such barely contained rage, fierce passion, and something that looks startlingly like…dread?
No hint of any of that is in his voice when he says, “The Institute where you were imprinted was blown up this morning. A terrorist organization called the Human Preservation Front is claiming responsibility. They’ve released a manifesto declaring an all-out war on replicas.”
A wave of shock hits me, followed quickly by nausea. For a horrible moment, I’m afraid that I’m going to be sick. All that damn candy! I take a shallow breath, followed by another, and fight for control.
“Are you all right?” Ian asks.
He turns in his seat so that we are face to face. The mask has slipped again and I see the full extent of his concern--so real and intense that my eyes suddenly burn. I can’t reconcile that with his withdrawal from me. I’m too confused to even try.
Quickly, I say, "I’m fine. It’s just that I read a little about them on the link. They seemed too crazy to be real. All that talk of conspiracies, slave armies…” I wave a hand faintly. “They’re actually serious?”
“It appears so,” he says grimly. “I have people on the scene now. We’ll know more soon. But in the meantime, Pinnacle House is the safest place for you to be.”
Is it? Whatever the reason behind his withdrawal, it has made me realize how easily he can devastate my emotions. I don’t think he has any understanding of how he makes me feel. He doesn’t even realize that he should have told me what was happening without my having to drag it out of him.
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Edward and Adele will be worried when I don't come home.”
“I talked to Edward,” Ian says quickly. “We’re in complete agreement about this. He’ll explain it to your grandmother.”
The thought of violent extremists such as the HPF coming after me is bad enough but what if those I care about were caught up in any such attack? I could never survive the grief and guilt. But--oh, god!--what about Ian? Doesn’t he understand the danger he is in by being near me?
The thought of him putting himself at such risk makes me feel as though I’m standing on the edge of an abyss, staring down into my own worst nightmare. I can’t bear it.
My hands clench in my lap but I manage to keep my voice steady. “It sounds as though I’m not the safest person to be around right now. There must be somewhere else I could be away from--”
The gaze he turns on me is scorching. I suppose I should feel properly reprimanded but I’m too startled and bewildered. His shifting mood tells me more clearly than anything else that he is in the grip of fierce emotions. I only wish that I could begin to understand why he seems so determined to deny them.
“Don’t ever ask me to trust someone else with your safety!" he says. "No matter what, that isn’t going to happen.”
He takes a deep breath, visibly fighting for calm, and adds, “Pinnacle House is a fortress. No one will be able to touch you there.”
That reassures me a little, although more for his sake than mine. “How long--?”
“I don’t know! For God’s sake, Amelia, don’t you realize how vulnerable you are? You could be killed and the only charge that could be brought against anyone would be for destruction of property!”
His anguish is so raw that it stuns me. In an instant, I forget all the reasons why I should be upset and afraid on my own behalf. Instinctively, I reach out to him. Only to freeze when he raises a hand, warning me off.
For the second time in a handful of days, he has turned away from me. I have no idea how to deal with this. The sting of rejection sinks deep. My throat tightens with tears. Pride comes to my rescue but it’s cold comfort.
I can feel myself withdrawing inwardly, trying however futilely to put some distance between us, when he suddenly says, “I have to know that you’re safe from any danger.” His voice is low and rasping. All the more so when he adds, “Including me.”
I stare at him in bewilderment. What is he saying? Why would the man who looked physically ill at the thought of forcing me to wear a collar for my own safety believe that he could be a danger to me?
It’s true that I was hurt when he sent me away from the palazzo seemingly without a second thought and again by his behavior at the Opera House, not to mention the Rolls and afterward. I’m not dismissing any of that but at the same time, I don’t think he’s talking about any sort of emotional harm. He’s speaking of physical danger.
“I don’t understand. Why would you--?”
He shakes his head, cutting off the question. The vehicle is slowing as we reach our destination. The building I noticed several days before---constructed of shimmering steel and glass, and taller than any other in the city--looms just ahead of us. We turn onto a ramp, pass a checkpoint, and descend into an underground garage.
Ian steps from the vehicle as soon as it comes to a halt. He holds out a hand to me.
“Welcome to Pinnacle House,” he says with an unmistakable note of pride. His emotions are once again firmly reined in. He is in his element and in control.
I step out and glance around, only then noticing the two identical large vehicles ahead and behind us. Men are leaving them, shouldering their weapons as they do so. Ian nods to the leader as they disperse.
I can’t help thinking that an armed convoy on the city streets to secure one woman must be the definition of overkill but I refrain from saying so.
We are standing in a vast space occupied by vehicles and other machinery. The clang of metal and the echo of voices rebound off the high cement walls. Groups of men in black uniforms move about purposefully. I can’t imagine what they are doing but preparations of some sort seem to be underway.
A steel grate is being lowered into place across the ramp where we entered. As soon as it is down, a concrete barricade rises in front of it. Between the two, they form a barrier that even a heavy vehicle traveling at high speed wouldn’t be able to get passed.
I’m reassured that any unauthorized person would find it very difficult, if not impossible to gain access to the building. But I’m also puzzled as to why such intense security is needed in a city that is already so well guarded from the rest of the world.
As though he senses my confusion, Ian says, “There are people I refuse to do business with who would like to acquire what we have here. This level of security discourages them from trying.”
I doubt that he has given me a full explanation but as overwhelmed as I feel, I can only nod. His hand on my elbow steers me toward a bank of elevators. He touches a thumb to a biometric sensor and the doors of one slide open soundlessly.
“You’ll be staying in the penthouse,” he says as we step in. “But there are other parts of the building you may want to make use of if you have to be here for any length of time. I’ll arrange a tour for you as soon as possible.”
I nod in acknowledgement but remain silent as the elevator begins to rise, accelerating so quickly that it feels as though a weight is pressing down on me. I am vividly aware of Ian standing beside me. Desire unfurls low in my belly but with it comes a full measure of confusion. I am at a loss to understand this man who can behave so coldly yet who appears to care so deeply.
Before I can barely begin to contemplate that, we slow and come to a halt. The doors part to reveal a large windowless foyer done entirely in white. As soon as we step out, a beam of light emerges from a point near the ceiling and scans us quickly. The inner doors to the penthouse slide open.
My first impression is that we are no longer inside the building but have instead stepped onto a platform that is floating high in the air. The sensation is at once disorienting and liberating.
Anew: Book One: Awakened Page 25
