Chapter Seventeen
Beth sank onto the tiny divan in her unit in the employee housing section. Brock had suggested she take the rest of the day off, and, under the circumstances, it had seemed like a good idea. Concentration would be impossible. Nobody had admitted as much, but she’d gotten the impression Carter had almost died. There’d been so much blood.
By the time she’d been coaxed out of the medbay, not only had the hemorrhaging ceased, his injury had healed to the extent it appeared a couple of days old. She was so relieved he was going to be okay, but she couldn’t imagine what Swain could have given him that would have such a dramatic effect. No one healed that fast.
That’s what they were afraid I’d see, why they tried to get me to leave, why they blindfolded me to and from the medical facility.
Carter had said some employees had visual enhancements. Did Aym-Sec conduct secret medical experiments? For what purpose? To build stronger bodyguards?
Carter had promised they would talk this evening; she had a lot of questions and would demand answers. She had a right to know what she’d gotten herself into. She hoped they weren’t experimenting on people. Being conceived and grown in a laboratory had instilled in her a feeling of otherness, of being less-than. Prejudice had survived into the twenty-fifth century. Bioengineering might have good intentions, but it didn’t factor the impact on people’s personal lives and relationships. Was Carter bioengineered, too? What she had observed in the medical unit didn’t change her feelings about him, only about the company he directed. However, she would keep an open mind and listen to what he had to say.
Beth closed her eyes and took a couple of calming breaths before reaching for her PerComm. Dr. Swain had been able to work wonders for Carter, but, for her, he’d had only guesses. She had to contact the one person who might have the answers. Keying in the password allowing transmissions through the firewall, she pinged Georgetta O’Shea, and waited for a response.
And waited.
Georgetta wouldn’t answer the hail. Why couldn’t you love me, too? She hadn’t turned out to be the carbon copy of her daughter, but couldn’t she have had some compassion or feeling for the life she’d created?
She was about to disconnect when Georgetta appeared. “Hello, Beth.”
“I didn’t think you were going to answer,” she replied.
“I was collecting my thoughts, preparing myself for what I would say to you.”
That sounded ominous, but she had answered the hail, so maybe some maternal feelings existed? How much more in denial can I be? Continuing to hope for some sign of affection set her up to be hurt. She needed to accept the rejection and move on, stop seeking love from somebody who wasn’t going to give it. Carter had shown her that when someone genuinely cared, they gave without reservation, they didn’t hold back.
I won’t accept crumbs anymore. Ha. Getting crumbs would have been an improvement.
“How are you doing?” Georgetta asked in a perfunctory tone. She fiddled with her pendant. As usual, she was impeccably dressed and groomed. Not a hair was out of place, and the gemstone in her necklace probably cost half of Beth’s annual salary.
Pride and new resolve spurred her to impress upon the other woman that she’d succeeded despite her. “I got the Aym-Sec logistics coordinator job. I’ll be assisting with the AOP Summit. And, I’m seeing a man.”
“I’m glad. We do wish you a healthy and happy future.” If Georgetta kept twisting the necklace the way she was, she would break it. She looked down for a long moment then swallowed, and raised her head. “I realize you had expected more than we gave. We had anticipated more, too—but that wasn’t your fault—” Her voice cracked. “Since you left, I’ve had time to think about how we treated you, and I want you to know that I’m sorry.”
Beth blinked.
“We were foolish to believe Clo-Ventures, but the grief was devastating, and we weren’t thinking clearly. When the company contacted us and suggested cloning, it seemed like a way to stop the pain.” She shook her head. “It never would have worked. If you had been…more like Liza, it...it would have been…harder. I am so sorry we threatened you. We panicked. You wanted to be free, and we feared what people would think and say about how foolish and gullible we were, so we tried to intimidate you into keeping silent.”
“It wasn’t right, what you did,” Beth said.
“No. I’m ashamed. Liza would have been horrified. I’m glad you called. I-I’ve been wanting to apologize, but I didn’t know what to say, how to approach you.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Despite their callous treatment, she sympathized with their loss. They’d been cruel in their grief, but they had been suffering. She couldn’t yet forgive and forget, but one day she would. In the meantime, she might be able to get some answers. “Can I ask you a question?”
Georgetta dried her tears and nodded.
“Did you order any gestational subliminal programming?”
“Yes. Audio from Liza’s vids, so you’d adopt her manner of speaking, her habits, her personality.” She twisted her mouth into a rueful smile. “It didn’t work. From the onset, you were your own person.”
Still, Beth wondered if the GSP might have had some effect. Maybe it had been responsible for her yearning for their affection and acceptance. Perhaps Liza’s love for her parents had been imprinted on her. “You said Clo-Ventures contacted you?”
“Yes. Clo-Ventures and the firm where Liza’s body is in cryo are subsidiaries of the same holding company. A bereavement counselor said they were aware of our situation and had a proposal. At first, we rejected the idea of cloning, but then we started to consider it. It gave us hope. We were wrong. You can’t replace one person with another.”
Why it should matter whether the O’Sheas had instigated the cloning or had gone along with the idea, she didn’t know, but it did. In a way, they’d been victims of slick marketers who’d preyed on their grief.
However, if not for their act of desperation, she wouldn’t exist, and she was very much grateful for life. “I’m sorry about Liza,” she said. “I would have liked to have met her.”
“Liza would have liked you,” Georgetta said. “Things ended badly during our last conversation. I’m sorry for that, too. I’m glad your job is working out, and you met somebody. I told you before not to contact us, but if you need anything, please ask.”
“That means a lot, thank you.” Beth nodded. She didn’t anticipate asking for anything, but it was nice to know she could.
* * * *
Carter handed her a Cerinian brandy on ice and took a seat. The sensa-sofa’s mechanized fingers kneaded the knots in her muscles, but tension remained. From the moment he’d picked her up to bring her to his penthouse, the situation had felt awkward, their conversation stilted. She’d been glad—overjoyed—to see him, but his manner had been reserved from the start.
Beth sipped her brandy and swallowed a fireball.
He knocked back his shot without flinching and set the glass on a table. Two seconds later, the house robo whirled in to retrieve the empty. “Who sent you the flowers?” he asked.
She blinked, going blank, not understanding.
“Flowers. In your office,” he prompted. “I stopped by there before coming to your quarters.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Benson. He was concerned about me.”
He stared straight ahead. “Women consider him to be handsome, debonair. Many people think he’s charming.”
“He is charming. He’s a very likable guy.”
He flicked his gaze to her. “Would you like another drink?”
“No, thank you, I’m good.” She’d only taken a tiny sip.
The robo wheeled in with another shot for him. Carter downed it and handed back the empty.
Understanding fused with amazement to produce a burst of heated pleasure as if she had taken a big gulp of Cerinian brandy. He was jealous! Nobody had ever fought over her before. She smothered a happy grin and scooted closer. “He’s a likable guy—but I like you.”
“Even though I left right after you were injured and didn’t send flowers?”
“Even though you left, didn’t send flowers, and came back injured.” He’d scared her to death.
Carter rubbed his palms over his knees. “I promised you we’d talk. Let me show you something.” He lifted his shirt hem to reveal a faint line where the jagged gash had been. She sought his gaze then reached out and traced the faint scar. His flesh felt cool to the touch, smooth like new skin.
He sucked in a breath.
“Did that hurt?” she asked.
“No,” he gritted out, his face stoic now.
“How is this possible? I saw your injury. It was severe.”
He dropped his shirt. His Adam’s apple moved. “I’m a cyborg. Do you understand what that is?”
“You have some mechanical parts?”
“More than that. Both my legs and one arm are synthetic, but what transforms me into a cyborg is what happened to my brain. Between the two lobes is a microprocessor that can interface with any computer system. It’s not important how, but I was critically injured, and becoming a cyborg saved my life.”
“Is your skin synthetic, too?” She couldn’t forget how fast he’d healed.
“No, that part of me is organic, but tiny robotic cells in my blood—nanocytes—speed healing and assist or boost biological processes.”
“You’re superhuman.”
“Or subhuman, depending on perspective.” His eyes looked wary.
“You think your being a cyborg would matter to me?”
“It does to some. In this age of creation of multi-species hybrids, of alien-human half-breeds, of AIs nearly indistinguishable from sentients, racial purity matters a lot to some.”
“You think I’m like them?” She jumped off the sofa to distance herself before she punched him. “First of all, for you to think I would be so small-minded is insulting. Second”—she stomped back to jab his chest with her finger—“have you forgotten I’m a clone? I, more than anybody, understand unconventional origins.”
He grabbed her hand before she could poke him again, tugged her until she fell on the sofa. He trapped her next to him. “I didn’t mean to offend you, but there’s more.
“Aym-Sec is a cover for Cyber Operations, a cyborg military force. We venture into places in the galaxy where no one will dare go. We take the assignments no one else can handle. Our primary mission is fighting terrorism. All my cyber operatives were critically injured like I was. They would either have died or spent the rest of their lives severely handicapped. After their transformations, they were asked to join Cy-Ops.”
“I knew it!” Beth crowed. Her guess about medical experimentation hadn’t been quite right, but she’d been on the right track. She was proud of her observation, but also supremely relieved that Cy-Ops had a noble purpose.
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re aware of Cy-Ops?”
“Not Cy-Ops itself, but I gathered there was something different about some of the employees. Why are you telling me now?”
“Cyborgs will serve on the Summit security team. If you have all the information, you can better assist.” He glanced away, before meeting her gaze again. “But mostly, it’s important you know about me. I don’t have Vincere’s suave good looks or his charm. I never thought to send flowers. What I can offer you is honesty in my intentions.”
He was wrong. He was plenty good-looking. She loved his rough, chiseled features and hard body. He looked like what he was—a man determined to protect others. His presence made her feel safe. Nor did she require pretty flowers or flattery. Actions spoke louder than public displays.
She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he touched her arm. “You should be aware of what you’re getting into. If we get…involved…I still won’t be able to tell you everything. In covert ops, secrecy saves lives. It protects undercover field agents, and it forestalls someone being kidnapped and tortured for information. Like my recent mission, there will be times—many times—when I’ll disappear without notice. You won’t know where I am or how long I’ll be gone, and I may return a little battered and bruised.”
He’d been more than a little battered and bruised, but she wouldn’t argue semantics now.
“But I will return to you. And only you.”
“That’s the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me.”
“Being involved with me won’t be easy.”
She twisted her lips ruefully. “Nothing about my life has been easy.”
“I about died when you were shot,” he said. “I regretted not telling you how I felt. I’m falling in love with you. I’d like to pursue this attraction we have. Do you want that?”
“Of course, I want that, you crazy baboon cyborg.” She punched his chest. “I’ve been interested in you almost since we met, but you were my boss, you’d been with Liza. How could I be sure you weren’t seeking to rekindle what you had with her—with me? Then there was the whole clone thing. I might be a genetic human, but I was created in a laboratory.”
He cupped her face in his palms. “Listen to me, Beth O’Shea. The boss thing—well that could be problematic, but we’ll work it out. The Liza thing—you’re nothing like her. Regarding cloning—to quote a wise woman, ‘I, more than anybody, understand unconventional origins.’ So, are we good?” Dark eyes bored into hers.
Her lips twitched. “We’re good. Kiss me.”
He arched his eyebrows mockingly. “Are you always going to be so bossy?”
“Probably more,” she said.
His mouth stifled her giggle. She could taste the fiery remnants of Cerinian brandy on his lips, but the man himself lit a blaze inside her. One kiss would not be enough. She pressed against him, hugging his neck, craving more intimate contact.
The way he threaded his fingers through her hair ignited tingles against her scalp. He broke away from her mouth to trail kisses over her eyelids, along her temples, down the side of her neck, lighting little fires everywhere he touched.
The slow, exploratory sensual assault aroused a torrent of desire. His nibbles on her earlobe gave her the shivers. She arched her neck, and he pressed his lips against the pulse in her throat.
“Your heart is racing,” he murmured.
“You wonder why?”
He chuckled then picked up her wrist and kissed the inside, the gentle brush of his tongue sending desire spiraling.
She slid her hands under his shirt, needing to touch him, flesh to flesh, but though he sucked in a sharp breath, his heart rate remained steady, his flesh cool. She was burning up, and he was cool?
Her consternation must have shown on her face. “Nanos,” he explained. “They regulate body temp and heart rate.” Insecurity flickered in his dark gaze. “Great for endurance in a fight, but—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. She’d never meant to make him feel uncertain. “As long as I know you’re not indifferent to me…” Confidence surged, and she tugged his shirt over his head and flung it on the floor.
The robo voyeur scurried into the room and picked up the shirt. A machine didn’t care what two humans did on the sensa-sofa, but its presence disconcerted her. “Can you send it away?” she asked.
Carter blinked. “Done.” He’d no sooner spoken than the robo spun a one-eighty and raced away.
“You did that by thinking?”
He nodded. “My microprocessor converts thoughts to electronic signals.”
That explained how his home accurately “guessed” his every move. “Handy,” she said, and kissed him to prevent getting sidetracked. Curious about his cyborgness, she had a lot of questions, but she didn’t need the answers now.
His chest felt hard and smooth under her palms. Muscles bulged in his shoulders, biceps. His chiseled abs could qualify as a work of art, a perfection of undulation. “You’re ripped!”
A hint of color tinted his cheekbones, his embarrassment charming her as arrogance never could.
“You’re beautiful.” He turned the tables. He slid off the sofa, and she experienced how strong he was when he scooped her up as if she weighed no more than the shirt she’d tossed aside.
“Impressive,” she said.
“What is?” He wended his way to another wing of the house.
“You.”
He snorted. “You’re fanciful.”
“I fancy you.” She nibbled on his earlobe.
“Well, then, that’s okay.” He smiled.
The bedroom surprised her. Huge, of course, with a domed skylight providing an expansive view of the night, the moon and the stars beaming their gentle light onto the enormous round bed centered in the room. A silvery, gossamer light cover draped the bed, half covered by a multitude of faux-fur pillows. Frivolous and decadent—not like Carter at all.
He set her down and swept the pillows onto the floor. It was a good thing he’d canceled the robo because a whole armada of the little bots would have charged in to tidy up. “I hate those damn things,” he muttered.
“Then, why do you have them?”
“Wasn’t by choice.”
Well, that was intriguing—something to ask about later. He tugged at her shirt, and she pulled it up and over her head. A slow, appreciative smile slid over his craggy face when she revealed the simple cami she wore underneath.
“Sexy,” he said and traced the edge of her undershirt before caressing her breast through the fabric. Her nipples peaked at his touch. “Very sexy.”
“You’ve seen me naked before,” she recalled.
“Only in your Spaceport Authority approved travel suit.”
They laughed. She remembered how chivalrously he’d covered her up. He was wrong about not being charming. He had her charmed. They kissed. She clutched at his wide shoulders. Though she was a tall woman, next to him, she felt tiny.
When they broke apart, he kicked off his boots. He unfastened his pants, and they slid down his powerful legs. His cock, as impressive as the rest of him, thrust upward, the smooth cap slick. She couldn’t tear her gaze away. Did becoming a cyborg enhance that part of his anatomy, too? That she couldn’t ask, but she doubted it. His cock was all Carter. Only Carter.
When she stopped gawking, amusement lit his eyes. He motioned. “This is the part where you undress.”
She toed her shoes off, then wiggled out of her pants. His heated gleam burned away her self-consciousness as she stripped off her underwear. In a blink of an eye, she was clutched in his arms, flesh to flesh, breast to chest, lip to lip. There was nothing synthetic about him, just smooth cool skin over taut muscle.
He devoured her mouth with a passion that made her head whirl. He nudged her backward, and they fell onto the bed, his cyborg reflexes maneuvering her so she landed on her back, with him on top, one muscled thigh wedged between her legs.
She combed her fingers through his hair. Normally, he wore it military short, cropped close to the scalp, but during his absence, it had grown. “I like your hair longer,” she murmured, stroking it.
“Grows too fast,” he muttered, trailing hot kisses down her throat, his raspy scruff stirring delicious tingles.
“Because you’re a cyborg?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Maybe I should have removed this…”
“No, I like it.” She silenced him, her tongue meeting his in an intimate caress. Then, she pulled away. “I don’t want to ruin the moment, but do we need to do anything about birth control?”
“It’s taken care of—another benefit of being a cyborg. Nanos. Also takes care of STDs, not that I’m worried on that score.”
“I should hope not,” she said with mock huffiness.
He cupped a breast, thrumming the nipple and sending pangs into her core. The man must have been a mind reader, too, because he explored there next. She groaned at the pleasurable sensations, the aching need.
Emboldened by his actions, she wrapped her hand around his hard, smooth shaft. The warmth surprised her, and she realized his body temperature had increased. She hid a smile of triumph. Desire had overridden his temp-controlling nanos! She pumped, enjoying the thickness, the smoothness, the difference of his body compared to her own, and loving his responsive groan.
His mouth hardened on hers, before he broke away to capture her nipple. He teased both breasts as whimpers of pleasure escaped her lips. He trailed a path along her tummy, his breath warm and steamy, his caresses tantalizing, venturing farther, farther…
Her breath caught in her throat as he explored her wetness with a devastating seductive touch, stroking her to the peak of desire, filling her with his fingers, creating a greater urge for the ultimate completion.
She tugged his hair, pushing and pulling, but he ignored her urging, continued his slow assault like a man undeterred, a cyborg on a mission.
At last, he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and then guided his erection to her entrance. Locking her heels around his buttocks, she met his thrust.
The expected pain of first penetration was there, but oh, so was the pleasure. His breath warmed the shell of her ear. The firm, sliding force of him filled her with aching satisfaction, wonder. Movement synced, voices blended, time fell away. Two bodies, two hearts united in a slow dance. The sensitive peaks of her breasts brushed the hard wall of his chest.
Need coiled tighter and tighter, until she snapped. Orgasm surged on a wave of convulsive pleasure. Her neck arched, and a keening cry broke from her lips.
He drove into her, his body pounding like a piston, and she met him thrust for thrust, responding from instinct. The muscles in his face tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He stiffened and then groaned and released himself.
Movements slowed to a gentle rocking then ceased. Bracing on his forearms, he nuzzled her neck. She turned her head and kissed him, a long, slow one. She smiled, and he did, too.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Perfect,” she purred.
He eased away and tucked her into his side. She curled up, resting her head on his arm, her hand on his chest. His heart rate had sped up a bit, too, she noted with satisfaction. Nanos couldn’t make him totally immune to her.
“I hadn’t had sex before, but I wasn’t unprepared,” she commented. “I studied up.”
He arched his eyebrows. “How did you study?”
“Read human biology texts and, um, watched some vids.”
“Vids. Sex vids?”
“I guess you could call them that.”
“Porn.” He laughed.
“I wouldn’t call it porn.” She huffed.
“Were the people in the vids having sex?”
“Yes.”
“Was there racy music in the background?”
“Yes.”
“A stupid or nonexistent plot?”
“Yes.”
“Porn.” He laughed again.
“I’m so glad I can amuse you,” she said tartly, but then giggled. “The vids were pretty silly.” Beth snuggled up. He adjusted the pillow under their heads before tossing a few leftover ones onto the floor.
“Why do you have them if you don’t like them?” she asked.
“I hired a designer to furnish the apartment. He asked for input, but I wasn’t around enough to provide it, so I got what I got.” He shrugged. “For the most part, the furnishings are functional, so although I don’t care for all the pillows, I’m not here often enough for them to matter.”
“What would you have preferred?”
He shrugged. “That’s another reason I haven’t bothered to change the decor. I don’t care for it, but I don’t know what I would pick instead. I own several residences, but I don’t have a home.”
“I don’t have a home, either,” she said.
He tightened his embrace. “Maybe we can make a home together.”
In the shelter of his arms, she felt safe, secure, at peace. “I would like that,” she said.
He rolled over and planted his elbows on either side of her head. His erection nudged her thigh. His open, vulnerable gaze caused her heart to clench. This must be what love feels like. I’m falling for him.
“Me, too,” he said.
A smile of happiness quivered on her lips. He brushed away the teardrops that slipped from her eyes. “I’m so glad we found each other,” he said.