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Project Sapphire: The World’s first AI. A top-secret project exposed to a select group of scientists. Lei Heaton, a man desperate to save his daughter, is at the top of the bionics empire. He not only hired the team to repair his daughter’s damaged body, he plans to reanimate her dead mind using the Sapphire AI. A dangerous man—a killer that is no regular human… Maxwell Landon—codename: Deimos—is the Adelphi Organization’s top agent. His M.O is simple: Never fail. He's used to annihilating anyone that gets in his way. But this time, he's being called to protect and deliver. Deimos is aware that this mission won't be like any other. Then he lays eyes on the resurrected Ms. Heaton, and instantly he knows: That is not Magdalena Heaton. And he will never be the same again. Control, his most prized possession, is ripped from him with a single glance... The violent attraction he feels for the girl complicates matters immediately. But what Deimos doesn't know is that things are about to get much worse. Sapphire isn't just a completely different person than the dead Ms. Heaton—she's the AI miracle of the century. An advancement that many would kill to own. Including himself, no matter how hard he fights against it. A girl determined to protect her creator. A man determined to protect her... Despite the fact that she is not Magdalena, Sapphire is bent on taking her place as Mr. Heaton's daughter in order to keep her creator safe. Deimos knows that he has to honor her wish. But the thing inside him is demanding more. More than a touch. A lot more than a taste. It responds to everything about her...every stuttered breath that lets him know she wants him as much as he wants her. How does he walk away when he knows that no matter how far he is from her, she’ll always be in danger and he'll always hunger for her?
Genre Erotica/ Sci Fi
Publication Date May 1st 2014
“I’m awake.”
Her soft whisper makes my hand flex on the door. “I can see that,” is all I say, and I can’t help it. The corners of my lips stretch into a smile at her obvious statement.
Her face flares red. Bright, worrisome red. I can see it even in the darkness of the car.
She stares up at me, blinking, like she’s never seen me before. I feel like a misshapen, recently landed UFO. And when I say misshapen, I’m talking tentacles.
She somehow turns redder—I’m starting to worry about her health—and her head flies around to stare at the front of the car. She nervously tucks her hair behind her ear and fidgets.
The moment her incisor comes done and she bites on the corner of her plump lip, I catch it. I so fucking catch it.
Flares go off inside me, a primal nerve reaction that rushes through every muscle. I’m not tentacle-infested UFO anymore. No. I’m a seventeen-foot tall God of Virility, standing on top of that mountain at the peak of my prime.
Attraction. I saw it. My body recognizes it on all levels. That reaction speeds ups, until my head is spinning from battling back every urge howling to life within me. I jerk back from the shock.
The sound of my head hitting the roof makes her gasp.
“Oh my God. Are you okay?”
The tone of her voice. It does things to me, man. “I’m fine.”
She shot across the seat and is now in front of me, staring up at me with eyes full of worry. For me?
“Are you sure?” Her hair moves over her shoulders as she tilts her head, accessing me.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I—” Have no idea what else I’m going to say. All I can do is take her in, getting sucked further into something I don’t understand. At all.
Why is this happening? It can’t be about the sex. As hot as this little thing is, I don’t understand why my body is acting so… so… deprived.
It’s not like I’m not getting any. I had sex yesterday morning, in fact.
The reminder that there is someone else should dampen things a bit. Right?
I already told you, I don’t do relationships. It’s only sex, and I made that very clear from day one. Noemi knows the deal. But we work together. She’s part of the Organization. Starting something else without ending it first wouldn’t just be fucked up. It’d be straight up inconsiderate. Considering we work together, that wouldn’t be a smart move.
You can’t start anything anyway, you fucking genius. Cargo. Mission. Deliver.Pull out your phone and Google that shit if you forgot.
“Are we leaving? We have fifteen minutes before departure. And we can’t take the direct route to the plane, as planned. They closed that route.”
I fly out of that car, this time managing to spare my head any damage. “What do you mean they closed the direct route? Why?”
“Don’t know. No time to find out. We gotta go.” Gage stares pointedly at the car.
Alright, alright. I get it. Stop delaying the mission with your bullshit, Deimos.
When I lean into the car, the girl’s in the process of putting her things back in her bag. She slips on a dark hoodie next and lifts the hood. A black pair of Ray-Ban glasses is donned last.
I have the same exact pair.
I see her hesitate, and it’s all the excuse I need to lean back in.
Frigging hell, I’m magnetized.
“Is everything alright?” I don’t like the tone of my voice. It’s suspiciously close to sounding worried. Too intimate.
The girl shakes her head and stares up at me. “Yeah. I’m just a little out of it.”
Understandable. She’d died. Then she was brought back to life after countless surgeries. She’s bionic now. Part human, part machine.
I know from experience how much of a mind-fuck it is to wake up to that.
So why does her behavior make me suspicious? There’s this niggling doubt whispering like a devil in my ear.
I’m an idiot. I should’ve spent the time she was sleeping looking into that USB. Instead, I spent the time staring at her.
I’m aware of how stupid all of this is. These thoughts are going through my head and I hear them loud and clear. I am busy berating myself for being the most monolithic fool in history.
And I still hold out my hand to help her out.
She doesn’t grab it and that hesitation is back. I’m about to pull it back and move out of her way when she finally reaches for it.
Thick leather separates her flesh from mine, but the moment of contact reverberates everywhere.
Every-fucking-where.
I forget about the mission, about everyone waiting for us outside, about Noemi, and the million other reasons why I need to stay away.
I'm not the only one that feels it. Her glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose, so I see her eyes. I watch as those long lashes rise, and her stare moves from my hand to my face.
Fucked. So fucked. This thing is alive, palpitating back and forth between us.
I can't have her.
In a single, blazing instant my body decides otherwise. It doesn't care about anything. As a last ditch resort, I remind myself that the girl is almost a decade younger than me. Surely, if nothing else matters, at least that should.
N. Isabelle Blanco was born in Queens, NY (USA). At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.
An avid reader in her teens, her fascination with Japanese anime eventually led her to the universe of fan fiction, which became her on-again, off-again hobby for the next ten years. During that time she amassed a following of fans that, by her own admission, she would never be able to live without. It was those fans who encouraged her to step beyond the fan fiction realm and try her talent in the publishing world.
N. Isabelle Blanco spends her days working as an author, web programmer, marketer, and graphic designer. That is when she isn’t handling her “spawn”, as she calls her son, and brainstorming with him about his future career as a comic book illustrator.
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