21. Getting to Know Each Other

GETTING TO KNOW EACH OTHER

ANDREW

Paul doesn't quite gobble his lunch. I can tell he is torn between keeping a protective eye on his mother and getting back to his amazing new collection of art supplies.

When he finishes eating, he gives his mother a quick hug around her shoulders, fixes me with a fierce glare, and disappears into his room. He takes a couple of juice boxes, several packages of chips, and an orange with him.

I laugh softly. "Clearly, I am not on the trusted adult list."

Maddy sighs. "I've not had a lot of time to date, so he isn't used to it. We don't have a real protocol worked out for how he should behave."

"That's fine," I say. "I'll have to earn his trust. I suspect that good behavior is the only way I'm going to do that."

"Probably," she says, giving me a shy smile. I have a feeling that Paul is not the only one whose trust I must win.

"So," I say, "Should we pick up where we left off?"

Maddy looks at me for a moment, seeming to consider the question. "I'm not sure," she said. "Then it was almost like a dream, you coming back. Now, we've had someone trying to harm my son, we've been moved twice, I hardly know what to think."

"Then let's just sit down and talk for a while," I say. It isn't exactly what I want to say to her, but it was probably too much to ask that we instantly recapture the magic. It had been snatched from us, first by our son knocking on our door, and then by the intrusion that robbed us of privacy.

Maddy settled herself against the headboard and just looked at me for several minutes. "Why did you leave without saying goodbye?" she asks.

I think back to the morning my father and grandfather caught up with me at the airport and told me about the arranged marriage. "They threatened you," I said. "Well, not you specifically. They told me that something bad would happen to anyone I dated or even took an interest in. They said I was already engaged to be married to a princess, and that for the sake of the family, I needed to follow through with the contract."

She stares at me. "You are kidding."

I shake my head. "No. I wish I were. I'm just glad you survived the encounter with my grandfather. It was a good thing that you had low-profile friends who could come get you quickly, otherwise I have no idea what might have happened."

Maddy shudders. "I knew he gave me the creepy-crawlies, even while he was being nice. I had no idea . . ."

I sat down on the end of the bed. "Maybe he wouldn't have done anything. But I think the reason he did not react immediately was because you were pregnant. And three months would have put it right after I was injured, so he really did think I was dead."

Maddy pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. She drew in a deep shuddering breath. Several emotions flitted across her face, too quickly for me to read them. Then she asked, "How is Aims Corp connected to Lane Enterprises?"

"By marriage," I say. "My mother, Deborah Aims, was my grandfather's only living child. There were others, but there was some kind of accident. Grandfather looked around at people he knew, and selected Albert Lane, my father, as the best person for her to marry. The only thing was, he was already married to Amari Nassir of Mountain Hold. It was just a small mining operation and farm back then. Albert, Mr. Nassir and Amari were working hard to make it into something more. It was earning a respectable income, and likely to earn more, when he received a summons from his mother, Gertrude Lane, to get himself back to New York."

"And he came back? Just like that, because his mama sent for him?" Scorn dripped from Maddy's voice.

"Just like that," Andrew said. "I'm not sure why. Perhaps Grandfather has some sort of hold on the Lanes. Maybe he threatened to harm Amari and her father. Nassir had some sort of illness or accident shortly after Albert left. With his death, Amari needed a male partner . . ."

"Why?" Maddy burst out. "Was there some legal reason why she could not inherit?"

"I honestly don't know," Andrew said. "By the time I met her, she was married to Iskander, Nassir's partner at the time of his death, and had been since Leland was three. Iskander was an odd bird, and might well have been part of the reason the neighbors were upset with Mountain Hold. But most of these things happened before I was born. So all I have are second, and sometimes third hand accounts to go on."

Maddy is nibbling at her thumb again. Something I notice that she does when she's frustrated or upset. "Were the threats the real reason you didn't date anyone after you left the U.S.?"

"I really did miss you," I say. "And you haunted my dreams. But the threats didn't stop after I left the United States. None of the girls I met measured up to my strange dreams, certainly not enough to risk getting them hurt or killed. I was mostly too busy to worry about having a relationship with anyone anyway."

"Andrew," she says, "You are one muddled mess. You say one thing, then you say another. You kiss even better than I remember . . ."

I feel heat in my face, and a tingle in another part at the mention of kissing her.

" . . . but you tell such wild tales that I'm not sure what to think."

I stop talking. She waits, the silence hanging heavy between us. "Maddy," I finally say, "I don't always know what is real and what is not. My memories got scrambled pretty thoroughly. But I can tell you who to ask."

"Who?" she says.

"Richard's secretary," I say. "She was Dad's secretary, too. Maybe had some other connections. I seem to remember that Mom didn't like her much, but Richard seems to think she walks on water. And maybe Aunt Emily. She and Amari were good friends. You don't have to rely on my word."

Maddy stops nibbling on her thumb, folds it under her other four fingers, and wraps both arms around her knees again. "All right, I'll ask them," she says. "And maybe I'll have a word with Richard, too. How is your head these days? Are you a danger to yourself or others?"

I laugh, trying to sound nonchalant. I'm pretty sure it just came off brassy and false. "That is a good question. According to the trauma physician on my team and the counselor in charge of team stability, I'm fully in charge of all my faculties, and I'm safe to be around other human beings."

"What do you think?" she asks.

That was a stumper of a question. I'd just had a dream become reality, and I wasn't sure if there had been an attempt on my son's life or if the dart through the window had been another kidnapping attempt. I'm in an environment as changed from when I'd left the States as if I'd been stuffed in a time capsule and slept through the last nine years.

"Well," I said slowly, "I've been rated sane and emotionally stable. But I won't say that I'm feeling exactly settled and confident. I'm worried that my grandfather has something up his sleeve. Something that will upset everything. If my idiot cousin, Jason Wintergreen, can be believed at all, he's already had a go at breaking up Leland and Catriona."

"And he had you believing that he would hurt me or any one else you dated," Maddy says. "That's pretty scary stuff. Are you sure that moving in together will really protect Paul?"

"No," I admitted. "But your association with Charles Emory and my brother-in-law, Austin, just might keep us all safe. At least I hope they can."

She seemed to think that over. Then she finally speaks. "At least you aren't pretending to fix everything just by being here."

"No," I say, trying to quash the tiny hope that was bubbling up from somewhere. Perhaps my Maddy no longer wanted to feed me to the lions. Perhaps "fuck you" could mean something more than . . . that thought got away from me, as she went on talking.

"We had a lovely week. You were so serious. We went to all the tourist places because I'd never been. It was the best week of my life. But I don't know what comes next."

"Next?" I say. "I want to get to know you and the son I didn't know I had. I can't go back and recapture the last nine years, but maybe we can build something better for the future."

"Do you really want to try?" she asks.

"Oh, Maddy," I say, turning and opening my arms to her, inviting but not touching. "I truly want to try."

"Then let's do that," she says, snuggling into my embrace.

I gently cuddle her close, vowing in my heart that I will do whatever it takes to keep Grandfather from harming her or Paul.

I treasure the warm weight of her in my arms, breathing in the lemon and honeysuckle scent of her hair, and the warm, indefinable feminine scent that is her.

She tips up her face, and I kiss her. It is gentle at first, then more passionate. She slides her hands under my shirt. I can feel the ragged edge of the cuticle she keeps nibbling at. It feels real, solid. She feels real and solid, unlikely to dissolve as my dream woman so frequently did.

I pull off my shirt, then help her out of her blouse. We snuggle chest to chest, sharing our warmth. It is oddly welcome in the chill of the air conditioner. So strange to be cold in an area famed for hot weather.

"It's always cool in this building," Maddy murmurs, shivering against me. "It's the adobe construction, and the thick walls."

I can't think of anything to say to that. At least not anything that won't sound cheesy. Instead, I pull the duvet off the bed, and wrap it around her. She pulls it on around me, and we are in our own world.

Here there are no grandfathers, no crazy fathers, no mistrustful sons, there is just us. Just me and my lady of flowers, beautiful, brave Madeline.

We kiss again, slow, sensual and gentle. I feel my desire for her rise. I try to keep it gentle, but it seems that my passion is matched by hers. We shuck each other out of slacks and underwear, taking no heed of where the clothing lands.

Maddy untangles herself, spreads the duvet back over the bed, then turns down the sheets. She slides between them, moving over and holding the covers open for me.

I join her, marveling at the contrast between the cool linen sheets and her warm soft skin. We kiss again. I run my hands down her sides, and she shivers, goosebumps rising on her skin.

"Cold?" I ask.

"No," she answers, but does not elaborate. Instead she pushes on my shoulder, rolling me over on my back. "I think we were right about here," she says, smoothing a hand up my manhood.

She has my attention. I hold my breath as she gently pulls herself on top of me. I feel the moisture and the heat of her as she leans against my thigh, on the way to higher ground.

For a moment my cock is trapped between us. She is breathing deeply as if she's been running a race. Then she lifts herself up on her knees, leaning forward, giving me room, and we slide together as if we've been doing it for the last ten years instead of only dreaming and wishing.

I reach between us with one hand and catch a hold of each breast, squeezing them firmly, tweaking her nipples until they rise into excited peaks. She's squirming on my cock, but I don't reward her by moving within her, despite what my inaction is costing me. I'm only going to allow her so much control over me.

The covers fall back as she sits up. I offer her my hands. She laces her fingers with mine.

I look up at her, sitting astride me as I start moving within her ever so slowly. She starts to hurry us along, but I shake my head and catch a hold of her hips, slowing her down.

"Andrew," she says, my name a plea. "Please."

Her pleading is like music to my ears, and I loosen my grip on her body, allowing her to start to set the pace of our movement. We move together, me thrusting from below, her riding me. We have no need of the covers now, we are our own furnace.

Her head is thrown back as she rides me, her breasts jouncing with the force of each thrust. I suddenly can't stand for her to be so far away from me, and I pull her closer to me, before rolling over.

"I dreamed of this every night for months," I whisper to her.

She moans a little at this. "I had my own dreams," she says back before gasping a little.

I slip out of her, hearing the frustrated sound that she makes, but ignoring it. I suck her clit into my mouth, and she cries out sharply, her hips bucking in response to the jolt of pleasure I've caused. My tongue slips between her folds, delving in and out of her. She tastes so good that it's all I can do not to come by myself while my tongue is sheathed inside her heat and my hand is pressing her down onto the mattress.

"Please, Andrew," she says huskily. "I want you inside me."

I don't need to be told twice. I wipe my mouth quickly on my wrist, then swarm over her, sliding home in one sharp, quick movement. I kiss her with bruising force, unable to get close enough to her, our tongues tangling as we remember the cadence of fucking one another.

"You dreamed of me?" I say to her, my harsh breathing making my voice sound rough.

"Yes," she replies. "It was my first time, and I thought it might be the only time."

"There hasn't been anyone else?" I ask, slowing in my tempo and gently teasing her.

She squirms, making a little sound of angst. "Who else would fuck me like this?" she says.

I reach out and claim her wrists, holding them down with a firm grip as I batter into her. She arches against my hold, writhing with pleasure, her movements welcoming me to sink even deeper within her, to lose myself in the pleasure that she's giving me.

"Deeper!" she gasps, wriggling closer to me if that's even possible.

I try to wait for her, try to hold back, but the feel of her, the sounds that she's making, foil my wish to make us both last longer. I erupt, like a volcano, just as she cries out, her head tilting back as she shudders and shakes beneath me.

I feel limp and boneless as I pant and quiver above her. I roll onto my side before I collapse, taking her with me. Maddy slumps against my chest, warm, solid and real. I hold her, cherishing her. I may never retrieve all my memories from before the accident, but this gives me hope that we can make new ones together.

Maddy kisses me, and I kiss her back.

"Shower?" she suggests.

"Good idea," I agree.

We splash together under the blessedly generous hot water, soaping each other's backs. The whole thing has a slightly surreal feeling, as if I will wake up any moment and find these last few weeks to be another dream.

"Pinch me," I say.

Maddy gives me an odd look, then reaches down and pinches the inside of my thigh.

"Ouch!" I yelp.

"Just a little payback for the last nine years," she says. "Anyway, you asked."

"So I did," I say. "You've made it pretty clear that I am not dreaming."

"I promise I'm not," Maddy says. "Besides, I'm hungry. I never get hungry in dreams."

"We could probably go see what kind of food is in the kitchen," I say. "I didn't have any to bring, but I guess the movers packed all your supplies."

"All I had and more besides. There is stuff in those cupboards I never, ever saw before."

I laugh. We dress and go out to the kitchen. By the time our enterprising young artist sticks his head out the door of his room, we have cannoli, a mixed veg salad, and angel food cake ready for mashed strawberries.

"Wow!" Paul exclaims. "That looks great. But come see what I made."

We troop into the boy's room. And stand amazed.

"Like it?" he asks.

"Love it," Maddy said. "But I didn't know you could draw that well."

"I can't," the boy says. "But that projector thingie Aunt Rylie got for me is the best. You put the picture you want on it, shine it on the wall, then trace the outlines."

I gaze up at the wall. It is a fantasy scene of a cliff, with an ocean below, scraggly trees up the cliff face and on its top. Leaping from the cliff is the Last Airbender , portrayed in classic cartoon style.

"This isn't right from a book or comic," I say. "Did you use AI to create the picture?"

"No, of course not." Paul tipped up his nose in scorn. "Where would be the fun in that? It isn't finished. I've got lots more to do, but I think it's a good start."

"I think so, too," Maddy said. "What do you think, Andrew?"

"I'm not sure I could do this even with a projector and AI assistance," I say. "Is the story your favorite?"

"Well," Paul hedged, "I like it a lot. But I also like True Grit. "

True Grit I remembered from when I was in elementary school. A local theater had school matinee specials, and showed all the old classics.

Paul turned off the projector. We could then see that many parts of the picture were unfinished, and that some of the parts in progress were quite different from the original. The kid had talent. No matter what happens between Maddy and me, I want to give him every opportunity to develop it.

We go back to the kitchen and sit down to eat. I store this away in my memory, hoping that this is one thing I will not forget.