"Blood Seduction"

Sara was awakened by the sound of rain hitting the glass skylight above her. She managed to open one eye to a slit and saw dark, curling hair. Chest, she thought. Touch was the next sense to kick in and she became aware that her cheek was resting on warm skin. She moved the hand that wasn't pinned under her and felt more smooth, silky skin over hard muscle. Her hand slid down over his angular hipbone and lower until she encountered another patch of soft hair and… Oh, yes. Memories of the night before began to slowly surface. Now she could smell him too; clean, spicy, male. She made a soft sound when she realized that the other smell assaulting her nose was sex – lots and lots of it. "Well, why not?" she thought groggily. They had, after all, had lots and lots of it.

Tilting her head back a little and opening her eyes wider, Sara studied his face. Ian was sound asleep. "He's so beautiful," she thought, filled with wonder, "And he's mine. At least, for now." Ian was an amazing lover – considerate, intuitive, inventive, sensitive, sexy. And, as if all that wasn't enough, his stamina was incredible. If he had a flaw – and she wasn't sure that it was one – it was that he allowed her to direct their lovemaking. Ian would go wherever she wanted him to take her as long as she led the way. It was almost as if he wasn't sure of himself, as if he doubted his ability to please her. In such an accomplished lover, that lack of confidence was surprising. Maybe it had something to do with Irons and the way that he'd damaged Ian, she thought.

Now that they had gotten some of that long simmering lust out of their systems, that might be something they could talk about. They also needed to talk about protection. Sara considered herself a smart cookie but she had to admit that she had been acting like an addled fool where her lovers were concerned. She had sworn to herself that what she'd done with Daniel Germaine had been an aberration that she would never repeat. She had tumbled into bed with him unprotected, caught up in the heat of passion, only to rue her poor judgment afterwards. Fortunately, their coupling had produced no catastrophes. It was unlikely that someone hundreds of years old still had viable sperm and his fixation on her as his salvation had apparently kept him from straying to other sexual partners in the age of AIDS. Still, she'd had herself tested later for her own peace of mind.

Ian, however, was another story. She couldn't really fault him for not having a condom at the ready. She had, after all, taken him unawares. She had seduced him. And, once they'd started, neither one of them were thinking about anything but making love again and again and again. Sara wasn't worried about conceiving. She'd gone back on birth control in an effort to regulate her periods. Thankfully, it could now also serve the purpose for which it was intended. But she had no idea what kind of sexual history Ian had. In fact, he could be seeing someone else right now and she wouldn't have the faintest idea. The only woman she'd ever seen him with was Aras. Sara wrinkled her nose. And there was a skank if there ever was one, she thought. That bitch was probably a veritable hot bed of every disease known to man. "Shit," she thought, "Yeah, we really need to talk."

Sara felt Ian arch his body into a long stretch beneath her. He made a soft, purring sound that thrummed through them both and opened his eyes. His sleepy golden gaze focused and then fixed on her. Those eyes were filled with the night before. Sensual lips curving in a devastating smile, he tightened his arm beneath her, pulling her closer. "Morning," he whispered, "Kiss?" Sara curved closer to him, pressing her hand against his chest, and raised her lips to his. It was meant to be a light Good Morning peck, but the hand that cupped her breast, fingers teasing a nipple, and the tongue that slipped into her mouth changed all that. Like a pair of well-tuned racecars, they went from zero to 150 in about ten seconds. Just that fast, pulses began to race, chests began to heave, and limbs entangled all over again.

Sara fought against the rapidly building conflagration, pulling back from Ian to put a safe distance between them. "Whoa," she gasped, holding up her hand like a stop sign. He leaned forward to nip and suck the side of her neck. "Whoa, what?" he asked huskily as his fingers started to stroke the inside of her thigh. Trying to still her fluttering stomach, she caught his roaming hand to hold it still. Needing time to pull herself together, Sara fell back on basic survival tactics. "I think there's someone else who needs your attention right now," she said. Ian lifted his head from her neck, one dark eyebrow raised questioningly. Right on cue, a low whine came from the base of the ladder. His eyes widened and he turned his head to glance at the clock. The next second, Ian was off the bed and pulling an old pair of jeans from the bureau. "Damn," he said, "I should have taken him for his walk an hour ago."

Sara watched Ian zip up the jeans without bothering to put anything under them. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. As he leaned over, she slipped her hand down the back of his pants to squeeze one firm butt cheek. "Didn't your momma ever tell you about wearing underwear in case you get hit by a truck?" she asked. Ian sat up and turned to her, old pain flaring briefly in his expressive eyes, "No mother to give me sage advice, I'm afraid," he said, "I'll watch out for trucks though and hurry back. Promise me that you won't leave?" Sara didn't answer him right away. Last night had been very intense and she thought that they both might benefit from a little space right now. Apparently, Ian disagreed. "Please," he said, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips, "I'd like to spend the day with you." His eyes had darkened to amber and were locked on hers in mute appeal. Sara could feel herself wavering.

Sensing a crack in her armor, Ian quickly moved to widen it. "As soon as I come back, I'll make you a big pot of coffee," he tempted Sara, "Then, we can have a swim and I'll cook you breakfast – whatever you have a taste for. After that, we can go back to bed and listen to the rain while we make love. I'll do anything you want. We can take turns. What do you think?" Sara leaned forward to rest her cheek against his bare shoulder. "That I'm weak," she said, "You can stop with the Hannibal face. You win. Hurry up." He flashed her that killer grin before he flew up and off the sleeping loft. Shouting, "Come on, boy. Let's make tracks," Ian headed toward the front door, Hannibal hot on his heels and barking like a maniac. A few moments later, she heard the front door open and close behind them.

Shaking her head at how easily he'd won her over, Sara got out of bed and went to the bureau. Remembering where he kept them, she pulled one of Ian's tee shirts from his drawer and shook out its folds. It was black, of course, but in white and red, the figure of a tiny witch on a broom zoomed across the chest. Beneath the witch, the words, "Surrender Dorothy!" appeared in cloudy skywriting. Sara laughed out loud, wanting him in her arms all over again. She slipped the shirt over her head as she walked to the bathroom. The empty mirror frame stopped her cold. Frowning, Sara picked up a small, jagged piece of glass from the back of the countertop surrounding the sink. "Missed this when he was cleaning up the mess," she thought.

As her fingers closed around the little piece of broken mirror, the Witchblade on her wrist flashed scarlet. The room around her faded as Sara watched Ian gaze into the mirror on the wall. Sara found that her vantage point was just behind Ian's right shoulder. They both stared into the mirror which didn't reflect Ian. Instead, Irons looked back at them from its depths. As Ian had, Sara immediately thought of Snow White – although her recollection was based on the animated Disney film rather than a telling of the fairy tale. Sensing strong resentment simmering in Ian, Sara heard Irons ask, "How's the back, my boy?" There was, of course, no concern for Ian in his snotty, clipped tone.

Just as Irons opened his mouth to speak again, a cacophony of barking started to fray the edges of the vision and pull her back. Even as the Witchblade loosened its grip on her, Sara watched Ian cry out and slam his fist dead center into the looking glass. She gasped and cradled her left hand where pain lanced across her knuckles, grabbing the counter with her right hand to hold herself steady. While her head began to clear, the sharp pain across the back of her hand subsided to a dull ache and her bracelet returned to its usual opaque red on her wrist. Brain still muddled, Sara dimly heard Hannibal barking and Ian calling to her that he was brewing her coffee and that he'd stopped at the bakery.

There was silence for a moment before Ian called, "Sara?" concern creeping into his voice. She took a deep breath and called back, "Be right there." Her gaze fell to the bracelet now resting quietly on her wrist. "Okay," she thought, "What was the point of that little journey?" She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face. Drying her face on a towel, she engaged in some speculation. "Maybe the Witchblade wants to remind me that, although Ian is now my lover, that doesn't make him any less Irons' creature," she thought, "Maybe it was just warning me to take it easy, be wary." But the mirror was broken. Ian had put his hand through it. So, what was that about? Sara thought about the resentment that she'd felt in Ian. Could the seeds of rebellion be growing in Mr. Nottingham? If they were, perhaps she could nurture them. As long as Ian belonged to Irons, he could never fully belong to her and she would never be able to trust him completely – regardless of how many times he'd come to her aid or how lovely he was in bed.

Deep in thought, Sara made her way to the kitchen. When she came through the door, Ian offered her a mug of steaming coffee. Head down, lost in thought, she didn't notice. A tiny crease appeared between his brows. "Is something wrong?" he asked. Sara glanced up at him, startled to find the mug an inch from her hands. She took it, saying, "Thanks." Ian was still just wearing the tight, faded jeans and nothing else. He'd pulled his hair back into a tail. She suddenly realized that he was waiting for an answer to his question. "What's with the bathroom mirror?" she asked. For one horrible moment, Ian thought she had seen the remains of one of the cameras or microphones that was keeping them under constant surveillance. He immediately shook off that thought. He'd carefully checked the damaged mirror himself for any signs of what it had contained. Nothing visible remained.

Sara's question meant something else. She wanted to know why he had smashed the mirror. His mind jockeyed to create a plausible explanation for his action. Ian shrugged. He didn't have to fabricate the discomfort he felt at discussing his destruction of the mirror. In all truth, Ian didn't know why he'd suddenly erupted into violence, why his usual control had deserted him. He decided to let Sara think that it was a delayed reaction to his master's abuse of him. Let her think the pain and anger he had suppressed during the beating had exploded later. It made sense even though he didn't believe it was why he'd smashed the looking glass. Knowing that Sara had become adept at reading his eyes, Ian turned away to pour his tea. "I saw my back in the mirror and I lost it," he replied, "I didn't think. I just hit. Next thing I knew, the mirror was broken and my hand was bleeding." Sara frowned. "A bit late to hit back," she observed, "The damage had been done, after all. And you hurt yourself rather than your tormentor."

Ian turned back to face her, sipping his tea. "Hurting myself is acceptable," he said, "Hurting Mr. Irons is not. Could we please talk about something else?" Sara's eyes narrowed as she drank his excellent coffee. Although this was a subject that she'd really like to pursue, she could see that it was making him uncomfortable. Studying the way that his lanky frame filled the faded jeans, Sara decided that they could postpone the discussion until later. "Sure," she agreed, "Did I hear you mention pastries?" Ian graced her with a glorious smile. "Yeah. You did," he said, producing a big bakery box like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. With a flourish, he flipped it open. It contained enough baked goods for six people. Sara grinned. "Are we expecting company?" she asked. "God forbid," he replied, adding, "I wanted you to have a choice." Hearing his words echo in his head, Ian wondered if he was still talking about the pastries. "Don't think about that now," he told himself, "You can deal with that later, when you're alone again."

Sara sidled close, rubbing up against him as she reached for a cheese Danish. Ian forgot to breathe as he rubbed right back, his eyes darkening to deep amber. "That tee shirt looks a lot better on you," he said hoarsely. Remembering what she was wearing, Sara smiled and asked, "Big fan of 'The Wizard of Oz,' are you?" Those hot eyes fixed on her mouth as she ate the pastry. Ian cleared his throat and nodded. "It's one of the few movies that I ever saw as a child," he replied, "I wanted to be a flying monkey." Thinking of his propensity for leaping off of roofs, she said, "You almost made it." His lips twitched. "Is that a dig, detective?" he asked. "Nah," she replied, licking her fingers, "You just seem to have a knack for jumping off of things with that long coat flapping around you."

Insinuating his leg between hers, Ian ran the bare toes of one foot slowly up the back of her calf. Eyes locked with his, Sara felt heat start to pool at her center. "More coffee?" he asked innocuously. Sara slipped one finger under the waistband of his jeans and popped the snap there. "Not right now," she said. Ian leaned down and flicked out his hot, wet tongue to trace the contour of her lips. "Crumbs," he purred. Her finger caught the zipper on his pants and began to edge it down. "Thanks," she said, "For cleaning me up." Her fingers stretched out to nestle in soft hair and brush against his rapidly growing erection. "My pleasure," he assured her shakily. Sara raised her other hand to pull the band from his hair, only to find that it was soaked. "Your hair's all wet," she said, surprised. He smiled. "It's pouring rain," he explained, "I got wet when I walked Hannibal."

"Hand me that dish towel," Sara said, pulling the band from his hair. Ian reached behind him to snag the towel and pass it to Sara. While she dried his hair, Ian slipped both hands up under Sara's tee shirt to cup her breasts. She tried to concentrate as the rough pads of his thumbs caressed her nipples. Sara arched her back; pushing her breasts into his large, warm hands. She shut her eyes and the towel slipped through nerveless fingers, falling to the floor. When she opened her eyes again, Sara met Ian's hot golden gaze, filtered through a curtain of chocolate curls fluffed with static. She lifted her hands to push his silky hair back from his face and tuck it behind his ears. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, the corners of which went wicked. As she stretched up to capture his bottom lip between her teeth, his hands moved to grasp her bottom and pull her tight against him.

They were both panting hard now. His tongue pushed against her teeth and she released his lip, opening her mouth wide to him. Ian devoured her, pushing his tongue deep and hard inside her. With her arms wrapped around his neck, Sara was attempting to scale him, raising one leg high to wrap around his thigh, then his hip, then his waist. Ian growled softly in his throat and moved his hands away from Sara briefly to push his jeans down past his hips to puddle at his feet. That done, he immediately returned one hand to each of Sara's butt cheeks to pull her tight against his now unimpeded erection. The tee shirt was still in the way. Mouth locked to his, Sara gave a little mewl of frustration and lifted her arms from around his neck to yank off the tee shirt. They were suddenly skin-to-skin, both fully aroused, and they immediately went from simmer to boil.

They parted, gasping. "Bedroom?" Sara asked. "Too far," Ian replied, catching her under the arms and lifting her to sit on the kitchen counter. Her eyes widened. "You're kidding," she said. He looked back at her, need written all over him, and shook his head. Sara leaned toward him, wrapping her legs around his waist, finding his mouth again with hers. Just as she filled her hands with his hair, pulling him to her to crush her lips against his, he rammed into her. Even though he filled her, Sara wanted more of him and tried to push her legs higher. "Hang on to my neck," Ian gasped. Sara gripped him tight, digging in her nails. Ian slid his hands under her thighs and pushed her legs higher. At the same time, he pulled back a little before thrusting again so deeply Sara cried out. Ian froze. "Did I hurt you?" he whispered. She strained against him, urging him on. "Are you nuts?" she managed, "Keep going. Stop now and I'll kill you."

Ian responded with a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a groan. With Sara tilted backward, legs wrapped around him, he dropped his hands back to her bottom. Holding her firmly, Ian tilted her hips still further. Burying his face in her hair, he pistoned to stroke inside her hard and deep. Sara was utterly lost in the sensations that he was giving her. She was clenched so tightly around him that the friction between them had become exquisite. With her well-defined arm muscles sharply etched, Sara pulled herself even closer to Ian. Overcome with passion, she bit his neck, drawing blood, and then sucked the wound soothingly. Her first orgasm caught her unawares; a sharp spike attacking her already overloaded nerve endings.

Almost immediately, she felt herself start to build again and, this time, she could feel him being pulled on the same trajectory. They were coming together so fast now that she was sure that they must be a blur. "Ian," she cried out. He lifted his head and their eyes met. "Please," he gasped. She searched his eyes for a moment and then another orgasm slammed into her like a freight train. Her eyes shut and her body bowed against him. A moment later, Ian let loose a hoarse cry and she felt his heat release far inside her. Both of them shaking, they were finally still, propped against each other and each keeping the other upright. Their ragged breathing suddenly sounded very loud in the quiet kitchen.

With her face against his sweaty shoulder, Sara heard Ian give a soft, unsteady laugh. "What's funny?" she croaked. "We have an audience," he said. She lifted her head from his shoulder and had to smile. Both Hannibal and Clarice sat quietly in the kitchen doorway, round eyes wide, unblinking, and absolutely fascinated. Sara giggled and Ian's deep laugh joined hers. He gently wrapped her in his arms and nuzzled her neck. "They're probably thinking that the crazy humans have finally gone round the bend," he whispered. Sara ran her fingers down his back. "You're shaking," she said, surprised. "Even in places you can't see," he murmured. Sara pushed back his hair and studied his face. "Are you okay?" she asked, concerned. "Knees are a little weak, I think," he said, "I'd like to sit down. If you hold on, I'll get us to the library and into a chair."

Sara kept running her fingers though his hair, soothing. "I can walk there, you know," she said. Ian shook his head, dropping his eyes. "I'm not ready to let go of you yet," he said softly, "Work with me here. Okay?" She put her head back down on his shoulder and snuggled in. "Okay," she agreed. Ian gathered himself and then, tightening his arms, carried Sara into the library. He backed to the oversized corduroy chair until his knees were against it. He sat, keeping a firm grip on Sara. She was now sitting on his lap, her knees bent under on either side of him. His arms were around her, keeping her close to his body. He was still inside her. Sara suddenly remembered her resolution to practice safe sex. Once again, it was a little late.

Determined to resolve at least this issue between them, Sara dug into his hair to raise his head from where he was planting light kisses on her collarbone. "We need to talk," she said. As she watched, caution edged into the wide, golden eyes. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm on the pill and I've been tested. I'm clean and healthy. How about you?" Confusion overrode caution. "Me?" he asked. She nodded. She was going to see this through now that she'd started it. "I know this is an awkward conversation but it's necessary," she said, "Are you seeing anyone right now?" Ian frowned. "Seeing anyone?" he asked, "I'm with you." She smiled, trying to appear unconcerned by any answer he might give. "You're with me right now," she said, "I'm asking whether you're sleeping with anyone else." Now, he looked shocked to the bone.

"Of course not," Ian replied. Sara relaxed a little. He was either a very good liar or he was telling the truth. "Have you been tested?" she pressed. Ian looked lost. "Tested for what?" he asked. Sara frowned. Was he being evasive or was he deliberately obtuse? "Ian," she said, "I don't want to pry into your sex life. It's just that you bring whomever you've slept with to our bed. For instance, what about Aras?" His eyes were huge. "You think that I made love to Aras?" he asked, appalled. She shrugged. "You two looked awfully chummy," she said. "Sara," he mumbled, "I would never…" Ian stopped to take a deep breath and collect himself. "No," he said emphatically, "I kissed her once. That is all." Sara looked away. "How was it?" she asked. "It wasn't you," was his simple answer.

Sara turned back to him and stroked his cheek. Ian turned to press a kiss to her palm. "Good answer," she thought, "But you're not off the hook yet." She shifted on his lap, inadvertently tightening around him. Ian gasped, his hips arching in reaction. Sara gripped his shoulders and said, "Whoa. Hold on there. I'm not finished yet." His eyes had shut and the color had risen in his cheeks. "Ian," she said. His eyes opened again. "Have you had a lot of partners? Do I need to be concerned that we didn't use protection? Just put my mind at ease and I'll let this go. Okay?" she said. The beautiful eyes cleared and Ian smiled. "Now, I see," he said, "Of course. I understand. You don't have to be concerned at all, Sara. There has only been you – now and forever."

"That's lovely, Ian," Sara replied, "But I don't want sentiment, I want the truth." He looked confused again. "That is the truth," Ian responded. Sara laughed. "I see," she said, "You came to me a thirty-something virgin. Is that it?" He gently shifted her off his lap, slipping out of her. Reaching to the other chair, he pulled an afghan off the back and draped it around her. Before he went back to the kitchen to get their clothes, he turned to her, face carefully blank. "Yes," he replied, "That's it." And, he walked out of the room, leaving her gaping after him in shock. Sara sat there for a few minutes with thoughts whirling through her head before she realized that he wasn't coming back.

Pulling the afghan around her, Sara stood and made her way past the bookcases that hid the open expanse of the loft. She saw him immediately. Ian sat cross-legged on the floor by the kitchen. He'd put the jeans back on and the tee shirt she'd worn was on the floor beside him. Both of his arms were around Hannibal and his face was buried in the big dog's fur. One hand absently scratched the animal's neck. Over Ian's shoulder, Hannibal stared at her mournfully. That look produced an immediate stab of guilt. "Oh, Jeez," she thought as she padded over to them. Awkward in her improvised attire, she dropped down to sit beside them, picking up the discarded tee shirt.

"What's the matter?" Sara asked. There was a long pause before he raised his head. Ian looked directly in her eyes and asked, "Do you still want me?" Sara's eyes lit. The answer to that one was easy. "Yes," she said, "Of course." She could actually see the tension flow out of those long limbs. She reached out to push back his unruly curls and to scratch the dog, who was now squirming in Ian's embrace. Ian let Hannibal go and the big dog trotted off to find his sister, job done. "I guess that I just don't understand," Sara continued, "How a good looking, virile guy like you manages to stay celibate into his thirties. I mean it's not like you’re a priest." He thought about that for a bit before he said, "There are actually some similarities." He smiled at the look she gave him. No priest had just taken her on the kitchen counter, she thought.

"I'm not sure that I can make you understand, Sara," Ian said, "I lived by a code, took a vow. 'Virginity is invulnerability.' Passion undermines control, divides loyalties." She nodded, seeing some of it. "A priest serves God and you serve your master," she said, "Was he right? Are your loyalties divided now?" Ian reached out to gently skim a finger along her chin. "My loyalties have been divided since the moment I first saw you at the museum," he replied, "He knows that. I couldn't hide it from him." "And now?" she asked. Ian shrugged. He hadn't even attempted to process all of the new feelings that were bombarding him. He had wanted some time to just enjoy the experience before the inevitable negativity and analysis clicked in – guilt, fear, worry, self-recriminations.

His eyes lowered, concealed by the thick lashes in a gesture that Sara was coming to recognize. Ian took her hands in his and stroked them slowly and sensuously with his long fingers. "I'd rather not think about that right now," he said, "I'd rather be here with you now and leave the consequences until Monday. We have the rest of today and all day tomorrow – just the two of us. Can't we keep it that way? I don't want to think about anyone but you right now." Sara shrugged, only a little distracted. "If he's even controlled your sexuality, Ian," she said, "You're going to have to face the repercussions of what's happened between us. This is something that he didn't control. He's not going to be happy."

Ian winced, unable to fend off the sharp jolt of guilt caused by her words. Sara assumed that Ian was anticipating Irons' reaction when he realized that his celibate warrior priest had become the Wielder's lover. Ian sighed. "I know that I'll have to deal with it, Sara," he replied, "I know that he'll see the changes in me. I just don't want to think about it now. I want this time with you." Sara linked her fingers through his, stilling his caresses. "What changes?" she asked, zeroing in. Ian's lips twitched. That was his Sara; she simply wasn't going to let go. He met her eyes and said, "Okay. I give up. But, if this is going to turn into a heart-to-heart, why don't we go back into the library and I'll get you more coffee." Flush with victory, Sara grinned. She slipped the tee shirt over her head and stood. "I'll be waiting," she said, heading toward the library and dragging the afghan behind her, "Bring the pastries while you're at it." Ian rose and headed toward the kitchen, shaking his head, resigned to his fate.

Ian had built a roaring fire in the library fireplace. Sara was cuddled up on his lap in the oversized chair, fresh coffee in hand and open pastry box beside her. Ian held a mug of tea as he gazed into the fire. "He's a million miles away," Sara thought. She put her coffee on the table and, taking his chin in her fingers, turned his face toward her. "Earth to Ian," she intoned. He gave her a tiny smile. "Sorry," he apologized. "You really don't want to talk about this right now, do you?" she asked. He frowned. "I just haven't sorted it all out in my head yet," he said, "I guess I wanted to feel what was happening between us rather than analyze it." He paused, smiling ruefully. "Maybe I was afraid that if I looked too closely, you would disappear in a puff of smoke," he said.

"I'm right here, Ian," Sara said softly, stroking his bare chest, "I'm not going anywhere." His smile still held an edge. "You say that now," he replied. She studied his face. Uncomfortable under her scrutiny, Ian dropped his head using the pretext of sipping more tea. She had to smile. She was beginning to learn his little tricks. "So," she said, still absently rubbing his chest, "Are you going to tell Irons what's happened between us?" Ian raised his eyes to meet her gaze. "I won't have to," he said, "He'll know." That much was true. "How?" Sara asked. There was a pause while he searched for words. "My master formed me," Ian replied, deciding that word was as good as any, "He's come to expect certain behavior from me because he shaped that behavior himself or directed others to do so. Any major deviation in the way that I act will be obvious to him."

Sara accepted what Ian told her at face value. "Will he punish you again?" she asked. Ian frowned. "I don't know," he replied. Now, Sara frowned back at him. "Why wouldn't he?" she asked, "You've broken this code of celibacy that he established for you. I've 'distracted' you from your service to him. Your loyalty has become suspect." Ian caught her stroking hand in his and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. "He might not punish me because I lost my virginity to the Wielder," he said, "He might see this as an opportunity rather than as a disadvantage. As far as you being a distraction to me, dividing my loyalties, that was already the case. What's happened between us, I admit, intensifies those conditions but it is nothing new."

Sara's eyes narrowed. "What kind of an opportunity?" she asked. Ian glanced down. Her mug was empty. He turned his head away and reached for the carafe. "More coffee?" he stalled. She caught his chin in her hand again, his beard softly sensual against her fingertips, and turned his face back. "What kind of an opportunity?" she repeated more sharply. Ian sighed, meeting her eyes unhappily. "I don't know," he replied, "I'm not privy to my master's plans most of the time and, when I am, I'm only told what he thinks I need to know. But we are both aware that our new relationship is something that he might want to twist to his advantage. Aren't we?" She watched his eyes. Maybe he was harder to read than she'd suspected. "I guess that I really hadn't given it much thought," she replied, "But you have, haven't you." Ian shrugged. "I didn't want to have this conversation now," he said, "You did. I wanted to be back in bed holding you and listening to the rain."

Sara pushed herself off of his lap. She moved closer to the fire, staring into the flames. After a few moments, she turned back to face him. "That's a lovely plan," she said, "But it isn't going to happen until I'm clear on where you stand." Ian shut his eyes, resting his head against the back of the chair. "What do you want me to tell you, Sara?" he asked, so softly that she barely heard him. "The truth," she immediately responded, "I can't be your lover if I can't trust you, Ian." He opened his eyes and smiled, the barest twist of his lips. "You are my lover and you don't trust me," he pointed out. She acknowledged that with a quick nod. "Okay," she said, "I can't continue to be your lover if I can't trust you. Better?"

Ian sighed, the tiny line that indicated anxiety appearing between his brows. "Sara…" he began. The phone rang. Saying, "Excuse me," he unwound his long body from the chair and disappeared around the bookcases. Ian picked up his cell phone from the table by the front door and flipped it open. "Yes?" he said, already knowing exactly who it would be. "What is it that you think you're doing, Ian?" Irons hissed in his ear. Ian idly wondered if his master ever slept any more. "I don't understand," Ian replied. "Don't fuck with me, Nottingham," his master roared. Ian winced and moved the phone away from his ear. "How have I displeased you, Sir?" Ian asked. Irons snorted. "That, my boy, is a discussion that we will have on Monday when I want to see you here at 8:00 A.M. Right now, however," he continued, "You will tell the Wielder whatever she wants to hear."

There was a pregnant pause. "Am I making myself clear?" Irons asked, each word carefully enunciated. "Yes, Sir," Ian softly responded. "Good," Irons said, "Monday at eight, Ian. Be prompt. We have a lot to…discuss." The receiver clicked in his ear and the line went dead. Ian shut his eyes, dropping the phone back on the table. He shivered, suddenly cold. When he turned to go back to the library, he found that Sara was standing a foot away watching him carefully. Ian started. He immediately began replaying his end of the phone conversation in his mind. Sara's eyes widened slightly. "Sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to startle you." Ian relaxed slightly, not finding anything incriminating in his responses to his master. He tried a smile. "No. It's me," he replied, "I'm jumpy."

Sara continued to watch him, her eyes softening a little. "I couldn't help but overhear," she said, "That was obviously Irons. You're really caught between a rock and a hard place, aren't you?" Ian wanted to crawl into the soft fire that he saw in her gaze and curl up there, safe and warm. He shrugged that futile desire away – no rest for the wicked, he thought. "It is a position that I had become used to," he replied, then added, "But things are more complicated now." Sara wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. She was cold. Her bare feet were freezing. Ian noticed immediately and took her hand, pulling her back toward the library. "Come to the fire," he said, "We can finish this there." Sara frowned. "That sounds ominous," she thought, allowing him to lead her back to the warmer library.

Ian sat in one of the oversized chairs and opened his arms. "Please come sit with me again," he said. Sara eyed him before moving to the matching chair opposite his. "I think it's best if I keep my distance," she replied, sitting and pulling the afghan around her. They stared at each other across the chasm that had suddenly grown between them. Ian folded his hands on his stomach and took a deep breath. "I don't want to lose you, Sara," he said softly, "We’ve only just started this new," he paused, searching for the right word and settling on, "Relationship. I’ve waited so long." She nodded once, understanding what he was saying. "Me either," she agreed, "I don't sleep with men casually. I didn't stay with you last night on a whim." Her lips quirked as she thought, "Well, yeah, I did. But it's become more than that now."

This time, Ian nodded. "What do you want from me?" he asked. Sara studied him with narrowed eyes. "I want your guarantee that you won't manipulate me for Irons," she said. His mind worked frantically to stay balanced on the knife-edge where he existed. "I can guarantee you that I will protect you first, before any other consideration," he tried. Sara shook her head. "Not good enough," she said flatly, "I've told you what I need from you. You give it to me or I'm out of here." Ian blinked rapidly several times. His shoulders slumped. He could see no way out of the cage that she had locked him in. Sara wanted his guarantee and he had been ordered to give it. In his mind, he fell on the knife and felt it twist in his gut. "I won't manipulate you for Mr. Irons," he said, "You have my word."

Sara smiled pleasantly. "You know that if I ever find out that you've lied to me we're through, don't you?" she asked. In his mind, the knife wound widened and began to pulse blood. "Yes," he said softly, "I know." She nodded, still smiling. "Good," she said. That settled, Sara pulled another pastry from the box and starting to nibble. "What was that you said about more coffee?" she asked, mouth full. Ian stood stiffly and picked up the carafe. He crossed the distance between them to pour her a fresh mug of coffee. Now that Ian's loyalties had been resolved to her satisfaction, Sara felt more confident that their budding relationship had some hope for a future. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she hooked a finger around the snap on his jeans and popped it. Ian froze, golden eyes widening slightly, nostrils flaring. Her mug was half filled with fresh coffee. She briefly wondered whether he was able to actually scent her arousal.

"Don't stop," Sara breathed, lower lip going pouty. Ian took a deep breath as he finished filling her mug. He set the carafe down on the table. "That's what I was going to say," he countered. Since he was still standing in front of her, she could easily stretch out her hand to rub the growing erection that was now clearly visible against the thin fabric of his worn jeans. Sara smiled. "Would you like some help with this?" she asked. Ian arched his hips, pushing himself against her stroking fingers. His lips curved in a cocky grin. "Define 'help' for me," he suggested. She took a sip of coffee and put her mug down on the table so that she could give her full attention to the delicacy in front of her.

"Sometimes words just confuse things," Sara observed, looking up at him. Her eyes still locked with his, Sara carefully pulled down his zipper. "Maybe it's best if I just show you what I mean," she added. As her fingers brushed against him, Ian's eyes fluttered shut and then opened again, the light in them abruptly shifting from slow burn to fiery blaze. "Please do," he whispered, voice rubbing against her skin like fur. She leaned forward to pull the loosened pants down over his slender hips. Ian moved slightly, a tiny twitch of his hips, and the jeans fell to the floor, pooling around his bare feet. Still bent forward, Sara slipped her hands behind him, each one kneading a taut bare cheek. She urged him closer and he willingly complied, resting his hands on her shoulders to keep his balance.

Sara looked up at him, her face inches from his groin. She had to smile. "You're very obliging," she observed. Ian looked down at her. "You have no idea," he agreed. Suddenly lowering her face, Sara flicked out her tongue to lick a glistening drop of pre-cum from the sensitive slit on the head of his rigid shaft. Caught by surprise, the air left Ian's lungs in an explosive gasp as his hips bucked toward her mouth. His fingers dug into her shoulder muscles hard. "Ow," Sara complained. Ian immediately loosened his grip. He blinked rapidly several times while he shifted his feet to try to find some stability. Ian skimmed his hand over Sara's hair in apology. "Sorry," he murmured, "You startled me."

Sara looked up at him, smirking. "You clear about where we're headed here, Nottingham?" she asked, "I wouldn't want to 'startle' you again and get throttled." Ian cleared his throat. "Very clear, Sara," he agreed, "You have my full attention." Still grinning, she gave one warm butt cheek a pinch. Muscles tightened under her fingers. "Hey," he objected. Sara chuckled softly. "Just checking," she said. Ian slipped his fingers into her hair and gave it a quick, sharp tug. Digging nails into firm cheeks to hold him still, Sara dipped her head and sucked his balls into her mouth. A soft cry was wrenched from him. Under her fingers, he began to tremble. As she sucked them gently, rolling her tongue around them, he shook harder, his breath coming now in harsh gasps.

"Please," she barely heard him whisper. Not releasing him, Sara angled her head to look up. "What?" she gurgled, sounding like her mouth was full – which it was. "Don't sneeze," she heard him whisper, as soft as before. Releasing him, Sara reared back with a snort of laughter. Eyes dancing, she stared up at him, standing tall above her and still shaking slightly. "Well, hello, Ian's sense of humor," she said, "I don't think we've ever been introduced. Nice to meet you." His lips curved as his hands slid from her hair to her shoulders. "Charmed," he responded drolly. She ran her hands over his angular hipbones and into the lean hollows beside them. Darting forward, she dipped her tongue into the shallow cup of his navel and licked the soft pleasure trail of hair that traveled downward.

Ian shivered. His unsteady hands moved back up to tangle in Sara's hair. "Please," he whispered again. Sara grinned and pulled back to look up at him. His head was tilted back, lips parted, eyes half closed. "What now?" she asked. He let out a soft sigh. "Don't stop," he added. "What if my nose starts to tickle?" she teased him. His fingers gently urged her face back toward him. "I'll risk it," he said softly. She shifted her hands to his muscled cheeks and gripped, pulling him closer. Sara took the whole head of his shaft in her mouth, sucking hard. She brought her hands back around to hold him, stroking the length of him. His body quivered like a tuning fork. A primal moan issued from deep in his throat.

"I want you," Ian growled softly, adding, "Badly." Sara's stomach did a little flip and she felt a warm gush of arousal at his words. "We're not going to make it to the bedroom this time either, are we?" she asked. "No," he agreed, reaching beyond her to pull the afghan down from the chair. Turning, he tossed it on the floor in front of the fireplace. He carefully disengaged her hand, which was still holding his throbbing erection. Ian dropped to the floor, his long sculpted body bathed in firelight, and held out his hand to her. Sara studied him for a moment, thinking that he was so perfect that he looked as if he had been carved out of alabaster – except for the scars. But then, they added their own allure, a sense of mystery and danger. She took his hand, thinking, "What woman in her right mind could resist that invitation?"

Ian pulled Sara into his arms. In one fluid motion, he rolled her over on her back and moved half on top of her, pushing his leg between hers. She looked up into eyes darkened by passion to deep amber and reflecting the fire. Sara dug her fingers into his silky curls and pulled down his head. As soon as their lips touched, mouths opened wide and tongues tangled sinuously. In seconds, their arms were wrapped around each other and their bodies were straining hard together. Lips still locked, Sara rolled Ian on his back, reversing their positions. When they reluctantly parted, gasping for air, Ian pulled her fully on top of him so that she was stretched above him like a blanket. She shaped her body to his so that they touched in all the right places.

Sara twined her fingers through his and pushed their joined hands up so that they rested on either side of his head. Ian lifted his face to kiss her lightly on the lips, a slanting brush of warm mouths. "You're overdressed, detective," he said. She smiled and released his hands, sitting upright to straddle him. Her eyes on his, she pulled the tee shirt over her head and tossed it to the chair. His eyes on hers, Ian splayed a hand on each side of her ribcage and moved them upward until he cupped her breasts. He brushed her nipples with his thumbs. His gaze moved from her face, down her body, and then slowly returned. "God, Sara. You're so beautiful," he whispered, "I can't believe that I'm here with you like this. It’s like a dream." She reached out to smooth an errant lock of hair back from his forehead.

Sara leaned back, feeling the hot, silken weight of him pressing against her. Then, watching his face, she lifted up and pushed herself down on him firmly, gasping as he smoothly filled her. Ian groaned and arched his hips up off the floor, thrusting more deeply inside her. "Does that feel real enough for you?" she asked, her muscles tightening around him. There was a brief pause, largely filled with panting. "Yes," he replied, voice husky, "Except…" She braced herself against his strong shoulders and started to rock against him. "Except what?" she said, eyes half closed. Ian slid his hands from her breasts around to her back. Suddenly, he tightened his grip and rolled her over on her back, bracing himself above her. "Except I want more," he added, as he began pumping harder and faster.

Sara looked up into smoldering amber eyes now above her. When she could manage to speak again, she observed breathlessly, "For someone so new to all this, you’ve really thrown yourself into it." Ian had gently pushed her legs higher so that he could press deeper inside her. "I’m a glutton," he gasped when her muscles spasmed around him, "I want to feast on you, gobble you up, absorb you through my pores. I’ve wanted you for such a long time. Be patient with me." She shut her eyes, letting herself fall into the sumptuous pull of an orgasm. “Indulge yourself, Nottingham,” she gasped, “It’s certainly no hardship for me. Although if we keep going at each other like this, we might not be able to move tomorrow.”

Sara felt his long fingers start to stroke her. It was too much and in seconds that stalking orgasm overtook her. She yelped his name and her nails dug long, red furrows down his back. As she clenched around him, Ian picked up the pace again driven by his own aching need for release. He dropped his head to the soft angle between her neck and shoulder, nuzzling the sensitive skin below her ear. “After this," he breathed, "I’ll try to keep my hands off you for a while. We can swim, watch a movie, go out for dinner maybe. I just want to be with you.” The end of his sentence dissolved into a ragged moan as sensation started to swamp him. Edging toward another climax, Sara wrapped her arms and legs tight around Ian, lifting against him as he carried them both toward pleasure that kept building and building.

Finally reaching the limit of his endurance, Ian went rigid against Sara, body straining, muscles tightening in sharp relief as his climax ripped through him. The throbbing heat of his ejaculation pulsing deep inside her brought Sara another orgasm. This one felt like it originated in her womb and sent stunning shock waves back out to where their bodies were joined. They both cried out, which sent Hannibal into a flurry of crazed barking. For a few moments, they clung together, limp and sweaty. Then, Ian rolled off of her, pulling Sara into his arms. Hannibal was still padding around them barking, concerned for their safety. Ian finally commanded weakly, “Damn it, Hannibal, shut up!” Sara giggled, her face pressed against his damp shoulder.

Hannibal gave a soft woof and dropped down to the floor, head on his paws and tongue lolling. Ian snorted, lifting Sara’s head with his hand on her chin and leaning down to brush his lips across hers. “I guess there are some advantages to staying in the bedroom,” he observed, amused. She reached up to push back a wet curl that had fallen across his brow. “I need a shower,” she said. Ian dropped his head back down, face now buried in Sara’s thick hair. “Me too,” he murmured, “But I’m not sure that I can move.” She grinned and slipped one hand across his hard abs to rest on his ribcage. Then, she stretched out her fingers to tickle him furiously. His body arched like she’d shot electricity through him. Trying to pull back, he pressed his arms tight around himself, laughing uncontrollably. Sara laughed with him, eventually wriggling her hand free from where it was trapped under his arm.

“Well,” Sara said, planting a wet kiss on his chest, “I guess you can move after all.” Ian was trying to catch his breath. “What was that for?” he asked, still hugging himself and breathing hard. Sara shrugged. “Just playing with you, Nottingham,” she said, “You’re too serious.” A dangerous little grin played around his lips. “Really?” he said. Her eyes narrowed and her chin jutted out aggressively. “Yeah, really,” she replied. In one swift, fluid motion, Ian was on his feet. Before Sara even had time to appreciate his liquid grace, he’d lifted her and slung her over his shoulder. “Hey!” she yelped as they headed toward the sleeping loft, “What the hell are you up to, pal?”

With her face against his broad back, Sara could feel the vibration of his chuckle. “Showing you some of my less serious moves, detective,” Ian said, “Giving you a lift to the shower.” From this angle, she had an excellent view of his excellent ass. Sara stretched out the fingers of one hand to teasingly scratch one muscled cheek. She felt another little rumble against her chest that might have been a soft growl or a loud purr. “Playing again?” he asked. “What do you expect?” she said, “The view is just too tempting.” Ian turned his head to give her rump a gentle nip. “I agree,” he said. The next moment, Sara let out a yelp as he climbed the ladder to the sleeping loft with her still draped over his shoulder.

Without breaking his stride, Ian carried Sara into the bathroom and directly to the spacious shower. Once there, he eased her down the length of his body to stand on her own again. She lifted her hands to tangle in his silky hair, pulling his mouth down to hers. She ran her tongue slowly around the contour of his lips and said, “That was fun.” He grinned. “Keep that up and I’ll be happy to carry you everywhere,” he whispered against her questing tongue. Sara laughed. “That would really go over big at the precinct,” she said, “I’d have to go into hiding.” The sweet smile froze and then slipped off his face. Dropping his head, Ian eased out of her arms. He offered her his back as he bent to turn on the water. Sara bit her lip. She’d meant to be flip but it had come out sounding like she was ashamed to be seen with him.

Sara reached out to stroke his back. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she said. Ian turned back to face her, his expression back under control. “Sure you did,” he replied. She opened her mouth to protest but he held up a hand to stop her. “If your partners or your friends see us together, you’re going to get grief. You’re going to have to justify what you’re doing with me. I know that.” Her mouth thinned into a stubborn line. “I don’t have to justify my actions to anybody,” she said, “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes softened. “I do though,” he replied, “There are people who are important to you who will see any relationship that we have as a colossal mistake on your part. You care about what they think of you, whether you'll admit that or not.”

As Ian turned on and regulated the temperature of the water, Sara’s eyes lost their focus. She looked troubled. “Can I wash your hair?” he asked, facing her again. She nodded absently, still lost in thought. Ian filled his hands with Sandalwood-scented shampoo. Gently pulling her under the warm jets of water, he angled her head so that her hair was soon drenched. He pushed his fingers through her soaked tresses working up a fragrant lather. Sara shut her eyes, enjoying the feel of his hands. She turned to face him and rested her hands on his slender hips. “Of course,” he murmured, “None of this matters if you’re only looking at what’s happened between us as a temporary diversion. It’s only an issue if you’re planning on having a real relationship with me.”

Sara sighed and stepped back from Ian. She stuck her head under one of the warm jets of water to rinse her hair. When it was free of shampoo, she pushed the sodden mass back from her face and turned to face him. Sara was momentarily distracted, watching him lather up his chest and belly using a large bar of soap. She took another deep breath before she said, “I’ve felt that question sitting behind your lips all day, waiting to pop out.” His hand paused in the act of scrubbing his right arm and shoulder. One dark brow lifted but he didn’t look at her directly. “Did I ask a question?” he wanted to know. Sara took the soap out of his hand and returned it to a niche in the wall of the shower. Now, he looked at her. She could feel the tension coiled tight behind those golden eyes. Unflinching, she met his gaze.

“Yes. You did,” Sara replied, “You wanted to know whether I was just fucking you because I was lonely last night and you were convenient. You wanted to know whether this flesh feast we’ve been engaged in meant something to me. You wanted to know whether this was going to develop into a lasting relationship between us.” Ian licked his lips nervously and that little line appeared between his arched brows. He took the plunge. “Yes. I did,” he said softly. Sara shrugged. If he wanted to know this now, she wouldn’t sugarcoat it. “I don’t know, Ian,” she said. He immediately dropped his eyes and turned away from her to recapture the soap. Ian lathered up his hands before putting the soap back in its holder. Obviously distracted, he began industriously washing his genitals. Sara’s lips twitched, thinking that Dr. Freud would have a field day with that one. He was still half turned away from her. “I certainly can’t fault you for being honest,” he murmured, head down.

“Want me to wash your back?” Sara asked. Ian lifted one shoulder in a listless shrug, still not looking at her. She knew that she’d hurt him and it bothered her more than she’d expected it to. She filled her hands with soap. As she scrubbed his scarred back, Sara said, “You said it yourself, Ian. A relationship between us isn’t going to be easy. There are issues – big ones.” He turned his head slightly, offering her a view of his chiseled profile. “We both know that I’m not the model of a law abiding citizen, Sara,” he grated, “But I’m incapable of changing my past. What’s done is done.” She stroked the long, livid scratches that she’d marked him with during their frantic coupling. He shivered at her soothing touch. “I know that,” she assured him. He turned to face her, rinsing off his back under the spray. “Then what’s bothering you?” he asked, frowning.

“Irons,” Sara replied. Ian shut his eyes. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it,” he whispered. She reached up to trail one finger slowly along his bearded jaw line. He opened his eyes to search hers. “C’mon, Ian,” she said, “The man has tried to kill me more than once. He’s messed with my friends and my life in general. You not only work for him; you’re slavishly devoted to him. You let him beat you, for Christ’s sake. How do you expect me to feel? How do you expect me to drop my guard enough to really let you in?” He sighed deeply, his eyes desperately sad. Ian started to lift his hand to caress her cheek, but he dropped it back to his side before making the connection. “I understand,” he said. Sara lifted a skeptical brow.

Ian shook his head. “No. I really do understand,” he repeated, “You can believe me when I tell you that I’m intimately acquainted with emotional conflict. I’ve lived with it every moment since I first looked into your eyes above that case holding the Witchblade.” Sara blinked, her eyes softening. “Then maybe you should just let go of this obsession that you seem to have for me,” she said, “Your strongest allegiance must be to Irons.” Ian smiled wryly. “As if that were an option,” he said, almost to himself, “To simply stop loving you. I wouldn’t even know how to begin." After a brief pause, he added, "And why do you assume that my strongest allegiance is to Mr. Irons?”

Sara was stunned. He’d just told her that he loved her. Did he even realize that he’d done that? Why was he looking at her? Had he asked her something? She cleared her throat and tried to gather in the rest of what he’d said. She began washing her body to cover her confusion. “Sara?” Ian prompted. She shook her head as if to clear it. “Right,” she thought, “Allegiance to Irons.” Aloud, she said, “He raised you, Ian. He’s your family. He may not be blood but he’s the closest thing to it that you have, isn’t he?” Ian shrugged. “That’s a tie that he’s loathe to admit even to himself,” Ian said carefully, “It’s a bond that he puts into play only when it’s expedient for him. I know that. But, from my perspective, I’m honor bound to serve him. He’s my liege lord. And, of course, you’re right. He’s also the only parent that I’ve ever known.”

Ian stepped out of the shower stall and began drying himself with a towel. Sara turned off the water and followed him out. He reached over to pull a towel from the rack, then held it open for her to step into. She was distracted, thinking about how he’d described his relationship with Irons, pondering the archaic term that he'd used. It sounded so hard, so bereft of any of the softer emotions that she’d known as part of a family. No wonder he seemed so starved for the closeness that had started to grow between them. Ian cleared his throat, still patiently holding the towel. Startled, Sara glanced up and met his eyes. She was raw and unguarded, filled with thoughts of a precocious, vulnerable little boy who was raised without love. Something deeply intimate passed between them. Something that would have self-destructed if either one of them had tried to bind it with words.

Ian made a soft sound, dropping his towel and reaching for Sara. She let herself be drawn into his arms. They stood quietly, arms around each other, her head resting against his chest. The strong, steady beat of his heart was loud in her ear. Even though they stood naked against each other, the usual passion did not kick in. They were in another place altogether emotionally. It was that sudden realization that made Sara pull back out of his embrace. “And what about me?” she asked, “Are you also ‘honor bound’ to serve me?” He studied her eyes for a moment, before saying, “Yes, of course. Although there’s more than honor where you’re concerned. I’m driven by the need to protect you. That’s coded into my genes. And, then too, I,” he paused, before adding lamely, “Care for you.”

Sara picked up her towel and wrapped it around her. She needed to put some kind of physical barrier between them. “Okay,” she said, watching him, “I get that you’re bound to both of us. Here’s what I don’t get. Not once since I’ve had the misfortune of knowing Kenny Irons, have our desires, objectives, goals, or ethics ever been in synch. In fact, for the most part, they’ve been diametrically opposed. So, which side do you fall on? Who do you stay faithful to?” Now Ian wrapped his towel around himself too, as if trying to make himself less vulnerable to her scrutiny. He sat on the edge of the sunken tub and carefully considered his answer. Finally, he looked up at her and said, “I try to stay faithful to you both as best I can, Sara. I do whatever I have to do to please him and to keep you safe.”

Sara studied the beautiful golden eyes looking so earnestly into her own. She could see that he was trying to be as honest with her as was possible for him. “What happens to you in that tug-of-war, Ian?” she asked, “What happens to your needs, your desires?” He shrugged fatalistically. “I manage,” he replied, “My desires are of no consequence. My purpose is to serve.” Sara’s eyes sparked at his answer. It pissed her off. “Well,” she replied sharply, “If you care so little for your own desires, why should I give them any value? If your feelings for me have no meaning, they're pointless. They are irrelevant because they are not a part of your service to me and they certainly are no part of your service to him.”

Ian looked confused. “That’s not what I meant,” he objected, “My feelings for you are the truest part of me. Of course they have meaning. As to whether they have any value for you, only you can decide. It is both my need and my desire that they do have that value.” Sara smiled. “I guess your desires are of some consequence after all then, huh?” she said. Ian caught her hand and raised it to his lips for a lingering kiss. “For me personally, yes,” he murmured against her hand, “But my duty to you must come first.” Sara drew back her hand. “And your duty to Irons,” she added sourly. Ian sighed. “Yes,” he agreed, “And my duty to Mr. Irons.”

Sara shook her head and started to leave the bathroom. Ian stood quickly, saying, “Sara, wait!” This was the only place in either of their homes where he could talk to her freely. Since he had smashed the mirror over the sink, there was no surveillance in this room, either visual or audio. Ian had no doubt that, as soon as he left the loft on Monday, Irons would have people back in here to reestablish his “eyes and ears.” Sara turned and took a couple of steps closer to Ian. “I want to develop a real, lasting relationship with you,” he said, “I want more than just sex, as incredible as it might be. I want you to give me that chance.” Sara shrugged, not ready to promise him anything.

Ian stretched a hand toward her tentatively, again not completing the connection. He sighed and sat back down. “I promised you that I wouldn’t manipulate you for Mr. Irons,” he said softly, “I probably can’t keep that promise. I need you to believe that I would never harm you. I need you to trust me. There may be things that I can’t share with you right away, but I will as soon as I can, as soon as it’s safe to do it.” Sara didn’t answer him. She dropped her head, lost in thought. Ian stood and, this time, he did take her hand. “Please, Sara. I need you to trust me,” he said again, “Please give me the chance to be something more to you than a convenient sex toy.” She looked up at him, smiling ruefully. “Considering all the issues that you bring with you, Ian,” she said, “That ‘convenient’ is even a stretch.” He held his silence, watching her face carefully. Sara sighed. “You’re asking a lot,” she added. Sara felt his hand tighten around hers. “I know,” he replied.

“Let me think about it,” Sara said, “I need some alone time.” Ian’s face filled with disappointment. He quickly dropped his head. “Okay. When can I see you again?” he asked softly. Ignoring his question, she said, “I never even cleaned up my place after the party last night.” Feeling the tension in him, she took pity on him. “How about dinner tonight?” she asked. His head lifted, his whole face lighting up. “Would you like to go out?” he asked. She couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Sure,” she agreed, “Eight o’clock?” His grin got broader. “Want to dress up?” he asked. Her eyes raked over him, stylishly underdressed in his towel. “Might be kind of late to get a reservation at a fancy place,” she said. His fingers stroked the top of the towel that she was wearing. “Trust me,” Ian said once again. Sara tilted her head. “Okay, Nottingham,” she said, “For this, I will. You can pick me up at eight.”