Read The Perfect Human: An Abelard Chronicles Book Page 61
Would he also find two men in her suite, this time, after him directly? Abelard in these matters was no different than other males. His decision would depend on the outcome of a compromise between his nucleus accumbens, the part of the primitive brain that looks for rewards such as food and sex, and his anterior insula, the part that assesses risk and keeps you from doing dangerous things. Unfortunately, the stronger the desire, the poorer is the ability to properly assess risk. That is why people often do unusually stupid things.
His temporarily besotted reasoning told him that he could handle anything they might throw at him so why not take the quickly vanishing risk and go for the irresistible invitation. To the drooling envy of every man, and some of the women, Abelard followed Dona Maria out of the gym. He spared another thought for Felicity, but it was quickly swept away by the visual flood sweeping through his brain as he leered at Dona Maria’s splendid legs moving fluidly into the elevator. There were, indeed, two large men in her suite, both evidently afflicted with the same apparently very itchy rash under their left armpits, where they were fidgeting with their right hands. Abelard’s flight or fight instincts had barely engaged when a nod from Dona Maria sent the two scratchers out into the hotel corridor.
“Ever since I saw your photograph,” Dona Maria cooed, “I have been looking for an excuse to meet you.”
“The personal touch, sending all those nice men to fetch me first at the farm and then at the hunting lodge was quite charming but please, next time, it would be best if you just called.”
“Details, details, I can’t be expected to micromanage everything. That was not my direct doing. I just asked that they contact you on my behalf and what do they do. Idiots. I’ve chided them and they have promised to be extra careful in the future,” she pleaded to a forgiving Abelard, who knew with certainty that at least some of her employees, the very dead ones, would in fact not ever again disobey Dona Maria.
Dona Maria was holding Abelard’s hand, her lips brushing against his cheeks, body pressed up close, and pushing him gently towards the bedroom. Both their minds were alight with anticipation, which was fortunate since little conscious room was left to take in the acrid smell of dried, layered perspiration. In the bedroom, at the floor to ceiling mirror, she stopped to remove his shirt. She was momentarily disoriented by the large number of scars covering his back. Then she spotted what Francesco had described. A neat, straight scar, about two centimeters across, just below the right shoulder. Satisfied, she moved her lips across his face, kissing his neck and then down to his chest, where again she was confronted with a plethora of small, large, jagged, indented and raised reminders of old injuries. Then she spotted the fateful one. It also fitted the helpful description the long dead clerk had so carefully recorded. She had what she needed and slid her hand to a small call button beside the mirror. Not ten seconds passed before there was a loud knocking at the door. She pressed a finger against Abelard’s lips and left him standing there in the direst need.
“I’m dreadfully sorry,” she came back to say, “but a small emergency has arisen and I must see my father. Do you think we could take up where we left off a bit later,” she asked, with apparent regret? While she had planned this scene with deliberate intent, there was something about Abelard which genuinely excited her. As far as men go, he was certainly to her taste, ruggedly handsome, evidently courageous and, most thrilling of all, he might actually be the genuine article.