Cyborg Doms: Fane (6 page)

Instruments clanged to the ground, spinning off in all directions.
There must be some
mistake.
The hologram depicted a man with an integrated, neural pathway. He had bionic eyes far beyond any technology she had seen before. A strange-looking, metal, egg-shaped object sat where his appendix should be.

Tamara backed away, frantically feeling behind her for the door. Fane slid off the table. His large hand flashed out and closed around her wrist as if to steady her.

She met his gaze. "I've never seen such advanced robotics." She swallowed hard and forced herself to relax. "That was very unprofessional of me. I'm sorry, Mr. Jacobs."

"I'm not a threat to you, Tamara." He sighed. "I'm sorry I destroyed your scanner." He gave her a thin smile. "I couldn't allow you to examine me. I'm classified."

Heart thumping in her ears, Tamara fought to understand his statement.

Classified?
"I doubt you could crash my system by lying on the table, Mr. Jacobs." She took in his bland expression and sighed. "Are you going to tell me you are part of some secret, military experiment?" She gave a snort of disgust. "You must think I'm gullible."

"You've seen an integrated AI matrix before?" Fane dropped his hand and sat back on the table. "I had no idea this technology had been released."

So damn casual, he sounded like a hero in a science fiction novel.
I'm losing my
mind. Pull yourself together. There must be a logical explanation.
"No, I can't say I've seen anything like you before—except in movies. Although, I would like to know who did this to you. Have you been involved in a secret, government project?"

* * * * *

Fane inclined his head. Tamara's hands were shaking, and her eyes flashed constantly toward the door. He wondered if doctors had a code of ethics in this time and accessed his AI for information. He had to say something. With a little editing, his story would satisfy her curiosity. He dropped his voice. "Can I trust you with classified information, Tamara? My story may never leave this room—lives are at stake."

"Of course. I am very interested in your story. Robotics, especially those that integrate with the brain and spinal column, are of special interest to me." Tamara began to tidy the instruments remaining on the tray. "My father was in the military. I fully understand the repercussions of divulging military secrets. You may speak freely."

"I became integrated about four years ago." He waited to gauge her reaction. "I signed up for a secret, military mission on Terros 9. They said they needed to enhance me . . . make me stronger." He frowned. "I woke up three months later with a computer in my brain and all the changes you noticed on the hologram."

"Good Lord." Tamara sat on the table beside him, her hands gripping the edge.

"Terros 9 is a secret army base, I assume? Did you go AWOL?"

Fane covered her trembling hand and stroked her wrist with the pad of this thumb. She turned her amazing green gaze on him, and his belly did a flip-flop. If she licked her lips one more time, he would kiss her. He cleared his throat. "Terros 9 is a restricted area. I signed up to be a soldier, and I ended up a freak. They tampered with my DNA, which has certain advantages." He paused to give her time to absorb the implications of his words. "It was all a lie. They didn't want a soldier at all. They sent me to an organization that wanted a cyborg. I didn't agree with their work ethics, so I decided to leave."

* * * * *

Tamara shook her head in disbelief. Her heart ached for the man. "It's hard for me to believe the government would do such a thing. Then again, the classified information they have released lately would make anyone's hair curl." She touched his face. "As a doctor, I have to ask, were you born with both sexual organs."

"Nah, they came with the upgrade." He grinned mischievously.

"Do they both work? Are you able to interact with your computer?"

"Oh yeah, they work. My AI controls everything. I have nanobots in my blood to heal my injuries." Fane met her gaze. "I
am
human, Tamara, with emotions and needs.

But to Gryd, my boss, I was a cyborg and had to obey his commands." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I left before he tried to turn me into a killing machine."

Oh, my God.
Tamara began to swab the wound on his shoulder. "You did the right thing." She dressed both wounds. "How's your head?" She stripped off her gloves and threw them into the bin.

"The pain is easing." Fane frowned. "Do you think I'm a monster?"

Tamara blinked.
I think you're gorgeous. If you were a dom, you'd be perfect.
"No.

You look perfectly normal to me, Fane. Having extra sexual organs isn't as unusual as you think."

"Okay that's my story." Fane grinned. "Tell me about Dr. Tamara Bright. How did you get interested in robotics? Do you have a man in your life?"

I guess it would be wise to keep him talking.
Tamara raised a brow." I'm not married, and I haven't found a man to meet my specifications as yet."

"Specifications? Have robotics advanced to that degree in this State?" Fane chuckled. "Or do you crave something special in a man?"

With a shrug, Tamara smiled. "I think every woman craves something special in a man." She sighed. "To answer your other question, I was a military brat, dragged around the world for most of my life. I attended medical school and later got involved in creating prostheses for men injured in war. I have a private practice on the other side of town, and I do my civic duty by volunteering my services in the free clinic twice a week. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Jacobs?"

"A lonely life for a kid . . . always moving from school to school . . . I would never do that to a kid." Fane rubbed the back of his neck. "My wants are simple . . . I'm looking for a woman to love me . . . forever."

Tamara ran her hands through his hair, searching for injuries. Silky strands brushed against her arms in a soft caress. She inhaled his warm, masculine fragrance.

His face was so close to her exposed flesh, his damp breath brushed her aching nipples.

Without warning, Fane's large hands closed around her hips.
Heavens above, what do I do
now?

"Fane . . . Mr. Jacobs, I'm your doctor, it's not appropriate to touch me."

"You are
not
my doctor." Fane sighed. "I'll put our meeting down to a good Samaritan deed on both parts." He narrowed his eyes. "But I'll be happy to pay you for fixing me up."

Tamara snorted. "I wouldn't think of asking you for payment. You risked your life for me."

"So we agree?"

"Sure."

* * * * *

Fane's fingers bunched in the back of her skirt. He met her smoldering gaze. She wanted him, he had no doubt. Tamara's breathing became heavy. He lifted his chin and brushed his lips across her mouth. Her lashes dropped, shielding her eyes, and she made a small, keening sound. With a moan, he increased the pressure, and her mouth opened to his kiss. He angled his head to slide across her delicious lips, wanting to devour her.
Slow, take it slow.
To his surprise
,
her tongue flicked out and touched his tentatively. The second his aphrodisiac saliva hit her senses, Tamara trembled under his palms. Her small fingers curled in his hair, drawing him closer. She began to kiss him back with passion. He glided his hands up her bare back, the skin soft against his fingertips. She tasted like paradise and smelled like heaven. He drew her closer, reveling in the touch of her against his bare chest, the taste of her. His heart twisted in recognition.
Tamara—my dream girl.
Chapter Five

Fane broke the kiss. His aphrodisiac had worked its magic. Tamara could not refuse him now. He had her in the palm of his hand. But, damn it, he did not intend to use the woman to slake his lust. She deserved better, and so did he. He wanted to get to know her, to enjoy the slow seduction he had dreamed of for so many lonely nights. He craved the intimacy of a permanent relationship. A quick fling on a hard table was a little too clinical—too much like the past four years of emotional hell. With a sigh, he gazed into her sultry eyes. Tamara mewed, grasped his head, and pulled his lips back to her mouth. Fane took her shoulders and eased her away.

He smiled. "Much as I'd like to continue this, I have a rule."

"What rule?" Tamara licked her bottom lip.

That sexy tongue drew his attention. He forced his gaze back to her eyes. "You don't know me. I like to date a girl before we have hot, monkey sex. Trust me, babe, if we continue, you will hate yourself in the morning."

* * * * *

Tamara frowned.
He has no idea what I'd like him to do to me.
She licked her lips, wanting to taste him again. Lord, he tasted better than chocolate. In fact, he tasted so darn good she could become addicted to him. His lips were full and generous, perfect for kissing, and what he could do with his tongue conjured images in her head that would make a prostitute blush. Now he was quoting rules. What the hell? Her knees turned to jelly at the thought of impaling herself on him. Her pussy craved him. She wanted to be on her knees, begging him to flog her. What would he do if he knew her depravity? Laugh at her? Be disgusted?

She drew a long breath and tried desperately to control the raging lust surging through her. "Sure . . . I understand. I'm not your type."

"Oh, you're my type." He touched her cheek. "Give me your number, and we'll start over."

Not unless you have a flogger in your back pocket.
Tamara sighed and stepped away.

She had little choice; to encourage him would be a mistake. Moving to the desk, she took a card from the holder, and handed it to Fane. "If you have any problems with your shoulder, ring this number and make an appointment. The free clinic is usually busy."

* * * * *

Ouch! Fuck this, I'm out of practice.
He re-ran the scene through his AI.
I know you
want me, babe, and sooner or later, you'll come round to my way of thinking.
Fane
pushed the card into the pocket of his jeans. "I'll walk you home."

"It's fine. I'll call a cab. I was intending to go to my club tonight, but I'll go straight home." She went to a cupboard and swore. "I thought there may be a surgical gown or something to wear in here."

Fane got up and reached for his jacket. He draped it around her shoulders.

"There you go."

"Thanks." Tamara smiled thinly. "Where are you staying? I'll return it with the cab."

Drawing a deep breath, Fane met her gaze. "I'm staying at the Strand Hotel. Why don't you bring it back tomorrow and stay and have dinner with me?" He held out both his hands. "I'm a lonely guy and out of practice with a beautiful lady." He inclined his head. "Tell me you'll come . . .
please
."

"I don't think that's wise." Tamara pulled a phone out of her pocket and called a cab. "You are correct . . . we don't know each other."

"What about giving me your number?"

She turned and lifted one perfect, burgundy brow. "I have a
rule
. I don't give out my number to strangers."

Fane moved toward the door
. Touché.
"I'll wait with you until the cab arrives."

Computer, get me Dr. Tamara Bright's phone number.

Outside, the wind wrapped around his heated skin in a cold embrace. The cab arrived, and he settled Tamara inside. She glanced up at him, her lips curled in a small smile, but her eyes held a distant sadness.

"Thanks for helping me. Goodbye, Mr. Jacobs."

Fane inclined his head. "I
want
to see you again."

Tamara gave Fane a slight nod and turned her green gaze away. He shut the car door, and then stood watching the cab disappear into the darkness, knowing a small part of him had left with her. He smiled at the ease his AI could hack into Earth's primitive mainframes. He accessed the cabs computer. In seconds, he had Tamara's address and place of business. With a smile, he turned to walk up the street. His AI signaled an incoming message from Jace.

"I've decided not to engage the services of hookers in the future,"
Jace grumbled.

"
Where are you?"

"Downtown. Sturt Street"

"There's a BDSM club, Whips, close to you. Bennet Avenue, I'll meet you there."

Fane instructed his AI to dress him for bondage.
"Sure."

* * * * *

Whips
stood on the corner of a street amidst an industrial area. Out front, a black, wrought iron gate, decorated with a golden whip, barred the staircase to the cellar entrance. A massive man, dressed in leather, stood beside the doorway, chatting to Jace.

Fane crossed the road and joined the pair.

"This place is for members only." Jace met Fane with a grin. "I said we'd join." He turned to the man and waved a hand at Fane. "This is Fane Jacobs."

"I'm Frank, nice to meet you." Frank held out his hand to Fane. "We need doms in a big way. What's your pleasure?"

Fane shook his hand. "I'll take anything on offer. You got plenty of sweet subs down there?"

"Sure. Whips has a wide variety of
clientele. I'm sure you'll find plenty of subs to suit your taste." Frank opened the gate and led them down a winding flight of iron steps to another door. He knocked, and the door buzzed and opened slowly. "Go through the foyer, the desk is on the left."

Inside, the dimly lit club exuded the exciting scent of leather and candle wax.

Music filtered from a room in the back. Fane led the way to the polished, wooden counter. A man stepped out from the darkness. His chest was bare, and gold nipple rings glistened against his hairless skin.

Fane pressed his hands on the counter. "We would like to join the club."

The man pushed paperwork across the counter and smiled. "This is a scene play club. Members only participate in the dungeons. If you sign in a visitor, you're responsible for them. We have rules. Make sure you memorize them. Some of the subs are here for discipline only—no sex. Make sure,
before
you participate in sex or anything dangerous, you lay the ground rules. Contracts are your business, but everyone puts their print on a waiver before they get through that door.
Always
check the girl's contraceptive implant is up to date. The club is divided into gay and straight . . . unless you're bi, keep to your own section . . . we don't like sightseers . . . same goes with visitors, if they're not in the scene don't bring them here, leave them in their own vanilla world . . . got it?"