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Sara hated having to visit the Irons mansion. Since the fateful day she’d battled Kenneth Irons – before that, if she were honest with herself – the place had always given her the creeps. However, this time it was a necessary evil. She had to find Ian, ask him to help her explain the visions the Witchblade had been showing her lately.
The entry hall was deserted as usual. Geez, all the money this guy has, you’d think he’d get some security or something, she mused. Not to mention some electric lights. These candles gotta go. She heard a faint sound and suddenly felt a feather-light touch on her shoulder. Sara whirled, gun at the ready, to find Ian smiling mischievously at her; he was obviously pleased with himself for once more having caught her off-guard.
“Nottingham! God, would you stop that?” Sara disgustedly stuffed her pistol back into its case. “What is it you get out of sneaking up on me like that?”
“The pleasure of observing you, unobserved,” he responded softly. That took her aback; she blinked at him for a second before finding her voice.
“Well… uh. I have to ask you…”
“About the Witchblade? What it’s been showing you?”
“I – Yes. How’d you…”
“I always know, Sara.” He smiled at her discomfiture, and moved past her to the fireplace. It was warm outside, but here, in the lair, the fire was kept stoked to ward off the ancient chill. Once at the fireside, he turned his face back to Sara. A bit to his own surprise, she had followed him. The combination of firelight and candlelight played across her face. Her expression was one of unaccustomed openness. Ye gods, he thought, she is so beautiful and doesn’t even know it. What would she do if I…if she knew how I…
Instantly, like a slap in the face, Irons’ voice came to him: “Virginity is invulnerability.” Ian tried to clear his mind of the pictures flooding through his consciousness: Sara, naked, flushed beneath him… Ian clenched his hands; a deep breath helped him maintain his composure.
“Ian.” I can’t believe I’m doing this, saying this… “The Witchblade has been showing me… us. Together. Intimately, together.” Ian… naked and stark in the candlelight…a powerful warrior, taking what he wanted… Sara blinked and raised her eyes to his face in time to catch the widening of his eyes, the guilty expression before he quickly turned his face away. “My God. You too?” Why does this damn thing have to show him everything it shows me? Sara groaned inwardly and started to retreat. She wanted to follow her first instinct to flee before she embarrassed herself any further.
“Sara. Don’t leave.” Ian’s hand, gentle on her arm, stopped her before she took a step; she turned back to face him again; her many questions were evident in her face. “I don’t know what it means.” He bowed his head to avoid eye contact; he couldn’t look into her eyes and speak. The desire to touch her, really touch her, was too intense. What is happening to me? “I don’t understand why the Witchblade is showing us these things. I thought it was only me—that I was only dreaming, imagining it all. I … I didn’t know you were…” An involuntary shudder passed through him when he felt the brush of her hand on his chest.
“Ian…” His skin feels so hot! Sara had intended to reach for his arm; how her hand had come to rest on his chest was more than she could comprehend. She tried to move her hand but only succeeded in sliding it an inch to the side. What is going on here? The Witchblade winked once, as if to say, ‘Guess.’
Ian took a deep, calming breath – then released it with a small groan, for it filled his nostrils with the unique aroma that was Sara. She called me Ian… his own response to the simple sound of his name on her lips shocked him. What is happening to me?
“Sara… I can’t…” His hand clutched at hers, stopping its tentative movement. The silk caressed her palm. The warmth of his hand enveloped her. He’s not wearing his gloves, she thought dazedly. “Please, Sara, I…” Virginity is invulnerability! The harsh voice of Irons in his head caused Ian to flinch. He bit his lip to rein in the unaccustomed need pouring through him.
Sara tucked her chin against her chest, looking askance into Ian’s face. He flushed and averted his gaze, but she had seen enough. The conflicting emotions –love, desire, terror, and guilt – chased each other across his visage. Whoa. Ian’s afraid? Of what? Realization slowly dawned on her.
“You’ve never made love before, have you?” At his shamed flush, Sara immediately regretted her own bluntness. Her free hand – the one not clutched against Ian’s hard chest – drifted up to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. He flinched a little as her hand brushed his face.
“I… I’ve never… I was taught… touch was forbidden,” he whispered finally. His hand shook as he clutched hers tighter against his chest. He lifted his gaze to hers; the sorrow written on his features wrenched at her heart. “This…” fiercely he held their joined hands before her stunned eyes… “This was not done. Do you think I always wore gloves because I wanted to?” Isolation is safety, Ian. Virginity is invulnerability. The voice of Irons now pounded within Ian’s skull. It took all of his strength to ignore its accusatory tone.
“My God,” Sara murmured. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t.” Tenderly, lingeringly, Ian kissed the back of Sara’s hand; the gesture was achingly familiar to both. “Teach me Sara. Please.” The candles created flickering shadows in his eyes. His warm breath teased her skin where his touch had so recently been.
“Yes.” Her voice was no more than a strangled whisper; she tried again. “Yes.”
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