Authors: Cristiane Serruya
Awed.
She kissed the hammering pulse at the base of his neck and combed his silky hair, enjoying the feel of it. Alistair was a powerful and insatiable man. Just right for Sophia; dominant, sensual and extremely vocal and slightly kinky.
“Husband?”
I never tire of hearing that.
“Yes, Wife?”
“What happened?”
Oh, fuck!
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if in pain, asking hoarsely, “How do you do this to me?”
“Do what?” she asked in a whisper, almost afraid of what he was going to say.
“Make me want you, despite everything.” He had forgotten about the messages, about the photo. He had forgotten his fear, doubt, and anger.
Despite everything?
Sophia heard only those two words.
What is everything?
“I’m a disaster,” he said hollowly.
“Well.” She smiled making things light. “Now that you’ve said it, I can confess. Yep, you’re a disaster. You ruined my dress. And what should I say about my sanity?”
He had to tell her the truth about what happened and explain everything. He’d already withheld information once and she ran away.
Will she think less of me for doubting her even for a heartbeat? How could she not?
What the hell happened?
She peered at him and decided for another course of action. “Aren’t you hungry, Alistair Connor? I am. Famished.”
He had made too many mistakes to make another. He wanted her protected and their marriage cemented with trust.
He gave her a smile. “So, let’s go up, shower, and feed you.”
Mayfair, The Dorchester Hotel,
The Harlequin Suite.
8.41 p.m.
Ethan exited the master bedroom of the Harlequin Suite done in emerald and red hues. Although the sycamore lined dressing room had ample space, it made him feel confined. He liked his rooms at his penthouse. Clean, contemporary, understated luxury which let his art collection come to the front.
The Harlequin suite was fashionable, emulating The Dorchester’s original style, reminiscent of the Hollywood glamour of the thirties and although it had been refurbished in a more modern and fresh way in two-thousand-seven, it was not exactly Ethan’s taste.
Barbara was outside on the large terrace, enjoying the unrivaled view of Hyde Park. He observed her from the living room, her sensuous pose, hip flung to one side and her buttocks thrown in the air. The effect was stunning, all the more because she was dressed in a red long sleeve silk blouse with black leather snug mini skirt and black Louboutin ice-pick high-heels.
She’s becoming bolder every day. More Barbara and less Sophia.
“Good evening, darling.”
She pivoted when he spoke and her gaze slid over him. He wore gray tailored trousers and a white turtleneck sweater. The effect was one of careless sophistication. She was instantly attracted to the look. It gave him a softness, and her nipples hardened more than they already were from the low temperature.
She knew it was only an illusion. Ethan was a hard man. In many ways. But she couldn’t help herself, his azure, electric eyes were pure allurement. Unbidden, her feet brought her inside the living room set in ivory to yellow-gold tones, her footfalls hushed by the bespoke wool and silk Nepalese rug. Her lips opened in a genuine joyful smile. “Hello, Ethan.”
“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, after giving her a kiss on her cold lips, his hands journeying from her shoulders to hold her hands in his.
Jesus, woman. All this just to show off? It’s freezing cold!
She shook her head, with a wider smile at his concerned gesture. “No. I just stepped outside for a minute while I waited for you. So, tell me, how was your meeting today?”
Are you asking about my meeting with Sophia?!
It astonished him that Barbara could be interested in her rival. He squinted at her briefly before asking, “What meeting?”
“The one at Leibowitz Oil,” she asserted without blinking. Barbara wanted to know. She pulled him to the ivory plush sofa. “Wine?”
He looked at his watch. “Aren’t we having dinner?”
“Not yet. I hope you don’t mind. I ordered red wine and some cheese for us. I want to know all about your meeting.”
Call Scott then.
He nodded and waited for her to call one of the butlers. Instead she started serving him herself, bent down, thrusting her rounded buttocks in the air, her leg muscles flexed beneath the smooth leather of her skirt. Ethan smiled inside and sat more comfortably, enjoying the show.
She brought back a tray with assorted cheese and served him Reblochon on a delicate toast. “Open your mouth.”
He inhaled her scent and realized that she was not using
Sublime Vanille
. “What is your perfume?”
“Hermés
Vingt-quatre Faubourg.
It goes very well with my skin. I love it.”
Smells good, baby.
He felt a wicked flare in his gut again as she provoked him, leaning over him once more to serve him more cheese.
“What are we toasting to?” he asked and handed her one of the wine glasses.
To a night of mindless sex.
“To your success,” Barbara whispered. She licked her lips and let out a victorious sigh, seeing his eyes sparkle before she moved away from his reach to click her glass with his.
But is sex all I want from her?
Guilt had never been a problem for Ethan, but then he’d never wanted more than sex with his paid women before. With Barbara, he was becoming too interested for his own ease. He took in every scrumptious inch of her. His eyes followed her around the living room, hating that he had any sort of conscience where she was concerned.
Is this what she deserves by treating me so well?
“So, tell me. Sophia presented the project? Was it the way you wanted?” she asked, curious, her hand on his thigh.
He ogled her trying to decipher what were her true intentions. There was nothing on her face but genuine interest. He shrugged and told her how the meeting and the lunch had gone and how happy he was with the project.
Two dedicated butlers served a delicious dinner carefully ordered by Barbara while they made small talk.
The wine was delicious and the food tasty but Ethan was too conscious of the slow seduction web Barbara was weaving around him.
He was well aware of the differences between him and other men, even more so, if compared to the male examples in his family: his debauched, sick father who shared himself and his own wife with God only knew how many; and his grandfather, who had been loyal to his wife during her life, only to scatter his physical affection on the wind after her death. He wondered if in a strange way he was becoming much the same.
Although Ethan’s sexual experience with Eve had been very enjoyable, the betrayal that had come after still tasted acrid in his mouth. It took him a long time before he’d decided to indulge again. He had his first girlfriend only in his last year in Oxford. And it had been a disaster. Later, even though women were all too happy to accept his favors, it was always cold and impersonal for him, as emotionally unfulfilling as it was physically satisfying.
Alone for many years. Until Sophia. And, now? Is this going to lead me anywhere?
London. In a dimly light room.
11.54 p.m.
Ghost had always liked a good game of chess. No dice. No luck. It was all about intelligence and strategy. He had both in abundance. All the pawns, rooks, bishops, knights and the queen, the most powerful piece of the game, were working to protect the black king. Just like the pieces in the game, he didn’t mind if all of his team were destroyed along the way, as long as he, Ghost, stayed safe. In fact, now all he cared about was the destruction of Sophia, whom he had nicknamed the white queen. After all, he had to fulfill a contract and had a reputation to maintain.
He was absolutely sure the game was won.
He smiled.
After he had succeeded, more contracts would come. His fees would increase. After Sophia had been cleared from every one’s path, he would receive the last payment.
He checked his cell phone and saw no messages had come.
He sent one:
Unknown. 11.59 p.m. - Don’t bargain. I want his place. Or you are out.
Chapter 10
Atwood House.
9.47 p.m.
Throughout dinner, Alistair had remained eerily controlled, weighing his words, as Sophia had been his opposite, warm and playful.
She felt her husband was still a huge mystery in need of unwrapping. It confused her because she thought she had understood him: his problems, his issues, his needs, his goals.
They moved to the upstairs TV room.
He peered at her for a long while as she sorted through delicacies and chocolates she kept in the small fridge for their night cap. His tone was not combative when he said, “Sophia, sit. We have to talk.”
She eased onto the plush sofa next to him, put a chocolate in his mouth and ate another, before linking their fingers and set them on his thigh.
He wondered when he had lost his distrust and hard edge; and when he would overcome the incapacitating fear of betrayal. Or the fear that his reactions would make her leave him. She was everything he had never known he needed; everything he could never live without. He did care if their relationship was affected. He was in love with her and worried about her feelings and her reactions. It had scared the hell out of him when she said that their marriage would not last. If he needed to talk, he would talk.
“I’m all ears.”
Without looking at her, he grasped her by the waist and sat her on his lap. Then he rested his forehead against hers as he blew out a ragged sigh. Contact with her was as necessary as breathing.
Something is wrong, very wrong.
“What is going on? Whatever it is, you can trust me,” she coaxed gently.
Fishing his iPhone from his cardigan pocket, he cleared his throat.
Measure your words. Contain your anger. In dubio pro reo.
“I received four messages today. And they were about you.”
This is not about her. This is not about your present, but about your past, about your and her future.
What?
She lifted an elegant eyebrow at him. “And?”
“Look and tell me yourself,” he said dryly.
Her gaze never wavered from his. “You’re very cryptic today. What is this all about?”
Alistair put the iPhone in her hands. While she looked down, tapping his password and the message icon, he said, “You, us, and Ethan Ashford.”
She whipped her head up, her eyes thin slits. “I don’t see why Ethan’s name should be linked with yours or mine.”
He motioned to the screen and she angled her eyes down. Her mouth fell open when she saw the first message. She rolled through the messages from the unidentified number.
Have you passed judgment yet?
She blinked twice, composed herself and looked at her husband. “Well, what do
you
think I was doing? Cheating on you?”
I hope not.
Alistair ran his fingers through his long ink-black hair and hoarsely bit out, “Nae.”
“Good. Because I was on my way to have lunch with Ashley, Scott and yes, Ethan. We had a long meeting to present the project to his team, and all the details.”
As he watched her lips, he relaxed, but only slightly. Absentmindedly, his hand dipped under her sweater and stroked the velvety skin of her back, considering how rare a find she was. In addition to her loyalty, she was intelligent and had a sensuous body, which aroused him as no one ever had. He had gone after her just in lust, looking for nothing more than sex and found his salvation instead. Even his sexual desires which had been violent and ugly, practiced only to take out revenge for his guilt and pain, she had turned into something beautiful.
“I have done nothing wrong,” she stated.
“No, you haven’t,” he said simply, still drunk from her softness and her sweet scent. “I never said that you had.”
A pregnant silence weighed heavily on them. Sophia didn’t talk. She could almost see the whirling inside Alistair’s head.
“But I must have.”
A shiver went through Sophia’s spine and she clamped it down inside.
You have?
“You must have what?”
“I must have done something wrong,” he fretted, running his fingers over his jaw. His train of thought had been leading him to a path he didn’t like at all. “I am probably the cause for this. It could be any of the women I had. Or—”
Don’t you pity yourself, dammit.
“Or?”
“Or Emma again. This may be another one of Emma’s schemes.”
Oh, God. Not again.
A veil of anger descended over Sophia’s face and her mouth opened to unleash it on him.
I don’t want to hear you faulting me.
“Listen!”
I can do it myself.
The command made her pause.
“It’s my fault, Sophia! Mine. Can’t you see?
I’ve been destroyed. Utterly laid to waste from my own actions. The many women I’ve had... I thought sex would make me forget what had happened to Nathalie, that I could forget about being helpless, but it only made me feel worse.”
Oh, Alistair Connor, you’re not listening.
Her shoulders dropped, tired, and her hands cupped his drawn face in her soft hands. “No, that wasn’t what I was going to say. Stop, please just stop. How is it that everything Emma does is always your fault? Do you think other people don’t have a say in their actions? Whenever anything bad happens, it’s automatically because you did something wrong?” She shook her head. “You’ve risen again. A Phoenix, more powerful.”
No condemnation. No judgment. Is there any woman like her?
He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “You have a way with words, don’t you, Counselor? You wind them around my heart and soul.”
“I don’t want to see you referring to yourself in such a way. I don’t like it. Everyone regrets things in their past,” she said. “Even me. Especially me.”