Authors: Cristiane Serruya
“Of course, sir,” Scott bobbed his head while he wrote furiously. “Shall I contact a company to store the furniture?”
Ethan looked around the dining room and his mind wandered through his penthouse. “No, you can take it all if you want. I’m sure your mother could use a new sofa and your brothers and sisters a new television, couldn’t they? Include the upstairs furniture too.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Scott, with a wide grin. He thought of how much money he could make selling a few pieces that surely wouldn’t fit in his mother’s humble house and his grin widened even more, if that were possible. “Thank you, sir. We really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome, Scott,” Ethan smiled at his assistant. He did like Scott and all his idiosyncrasies.
Scott raised his watery-blue eyes. Cautiously, he asked, “When should Sophia move to The Dorchester?”
Ethan’s chair almost crashed back, when he abruptly stood up, startling Scott. His azure eyes blistered down on Scott for a second. Then he turned away and put the heels of his palms on his closed eyes.
Sophia… But then
she
is not my Sophia. Sophia is with MacCraig miles away. It’s not my name she is screaming in pleasure. It’s his. It’s not my body she is holding in her arms. It’s his.
Scott mopped the sudden perspiration on his forehead with his white handkerchief as he watched the tension ripple across Ethan’s shoulders and his ribcage expand and deflate, several times.
Don’t think about it. Just don’t.
He pressed his hands on the cool glass but his eyes remained closed tight for a brief second as a headache started to insinuate its ways into his temples.
I need a break.
“Give her a few days to see her mother. She moves in when I do. Inform her.”
“Yes, sir,” Scott mumbled.
Slowly, Ethan opened his eyes but he didn’t see Park Lane or the trees in the park below. His mind was occupied with Sophia and other matters.
He stomped away from the dining room directly to his rooms upstairs, leaving a much confused Scott looking at his back.
Atwood House, Employees’ Floor, Devon’s Room.
Sunday, August 22
nd
, 2010.
11.23 p.m.
“Devon, he needs my full attention,” said a feminine voice on the other side of the line. “I need a bigger monthly allowance to keep things progressing. I’m sure you want to see your son grow into a normal man, not a handicapped one.”
“Never, baby, never,” Devon answered, running his hand nervously over his cropped hair. “I’m giving you all I’m receiving for the extra service I’m doing here and part of my salary but my wife is starting to get suspicious. You knew I had a family; you have to understand that—”
“I don’t care what you do, or what your wife thinks. You made a son with me and he needs medical care and your love. Find another one of these extra secret services that pay you so well and bring me the money.”
The woman didn’t make a threat, but Devon knew that he needed to find a way out of the mess he had put himself in.
Indian Ocean, Maldives,
Huvafen Fushi Resort & Spa.
Monday, August 23
th
, 2010.
1 p.m.
Resting on the Indian Ocean, near the Equator, with a concept of one resort per island, the Maldives guaranteed the perfect relaxing holiday. A paradise with its warm shallow waters of the most unique turquoise-and-green sea, beautiful beaches of powder white sand, lush tropical vegetation and friendly people.
Alistair had planned to surprise Sophia with the most romantic setting and had kept everything about the last part of their honeymoon a secret. After admiring centuries of old wisdom in the temples and villages of Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam, he wanted them to spend their last days languishing and enjoying each other in the very essence of idyll living.
Further out in the Indian Ocean, the Ocean Pavilion Alistair had booked had a private access only for its guests through a charming wooden walkway.
Their personal
thakuru,
or butler, called Amir, was carrying their bags and Farah, an exotic Malayan young woman with a shy grin, was accompanying Sophia and Alistair to their bungalow.
“We’re on call round the clock during your stay, sir. We’ll be glad to help you with all your requests at all times,” Amir enthusiastically explained. “If you want to experience spa treatments, our Lime spa is like no other. It’s in an underwater aquarium and we only do individual and personalized treatments.”
Farah opened the door to them and Sophia stepped inside the huge bungalow. There were so many white rose petals scattered on the ground that it felt like they were walking into a giant flower.
The living room had an enormous white sofa with colorful cushions facing the private infinity pool, which blended naturally with the magnificent turquoise-clear sea waters and the horizon. In a corner, there was a fifty-five inch TV and high-tech sound equipment. On the center table, a bucket with Krug champagne on ice and crystal flutes waited for them.
With a happy smile and shaking her head at Alistair, she whispered, “You are definitively certifiable, Lord Craziness.”
He entwined his fingers with hers and raised them, gallantly kissing her hand. “You, my love, are my craziness. Come and see.”
While the hotel employees took their luggage to the main bedroom, Alistair lead Sophia through the luxurious and modern pavilion, showing her the main dining area, with the Frank Gehry table and chairs and a discreet sideway butler entry; the verandas and wooden decks, where there was a round heated pool.
The master bedroom was an open plan, incorporating an en-suite bathroom featuring an infinity bathtub that filled from a faucet in the ceiling and a hydro spa shower that was pure indulgence. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the wonderful blue waters.
“This is... hot,” Sophia remarked in a sensuous whisper, looking around the bathroom. “It’s the utmost luxury provided without opulence. It surpasses my expectations.”
“You have yet to see the spa. I came here before doing Airgead’s spa to gather ideas. It’s breathtaking.” He smiled down at her and pulled her back to the bedroom, where Amir and Farah were awaiting instructions.
Alistair accompanied the young man outside, while Sophia started opening her luggage to unpack her things and Farah took care of Alistair’s.
Amir showed Alistair the other side of the bungalow and explained the facilities the hotel offered.
Alistair tipped the friendly Amir. “By the way, we’d like a light lunch in one hour, and also, we would like to dine in tonight. Say, nine o’clock. Is that okay?”
“Of course, sir. Here is the menu.” Amir showed him the available menus and wine list. “We can also accommodate any especial orders.”
After discussing and ordering their lunch and dinner, Alistair went searching for Sophia. He leaned on the bedroom threshold, delighting in observing her.
She was dressed in a long white cotton dress, made with the delicate Brazilian bobbin lace. It enticed his senses as it left parts of her flat belly and elegant legs apparent under the lace and contrasted nicely with her skin, which was beautifully light tanned.
“Lady OCD,” he called, amused that he was acquiring her habit of nicknaming him.
Sophia pivoted on her bare feet and was struck by the view of her husband.
Alistair was looking totally rested, rejuvenated even. His poise was relaxed, but he also had an inborn seductive and dangerous air about him that called to Sophia.
Her eyes roamed over his rugged face. His lips were stretched in a happy grin and his forest-green eyes sparkled with merriment. Dark stubble shadowed his chiseled jaw. His jaggedly cut ink-black hair was even longer than usual and touched his broad shoulders in its wind-blown way.
The top three buttons of his white linen shirt were unbuttoned, revealing his chiseled, broad chest and his strong, tanned forearms peeked from under its rolled sleeves. His thumbs were hooked on the waistband of his washed jeans, his large hands resting on his hips.
Sophia nearly lost her breath, thinking about the torrid sensations those magical hands could make her feel. Unbidden, her eyes continued down, over his tall, masculine frame.
Alistair didn’t move from where he was. Sophia’s heated gaze had paralyzed him in a state of blissful arousal. He had planned their honeymoon to be a celebration of their love, culminating in that intimate, secluded paradise. He had thought that having her to himself for twenty days would be enough to slack the unquenched hunger he felt for her. He was not so sure anymore.
Unconscious of her actions and mindless of the maid arranging Alistair’s things in the wardrobe, Sophia licked her lips, suddenly famished for her husband’s attention. In fact, she wasn’t concerned about anything at all.
As her eyes made their way back from his bare feet crushing the white rose petals, up to his light blue jeans that were molded to his firm, muscled thighs, she noticed the bulge forming at the front of his jeans. She flexed her fingers, itching to reach forward and divest him of his clothes.
A low, deep rumbling sound, more a groan than laughter, broke into Sophia’s musings.
She blinked in surprise, having nearly forgotten where she was or what she had been doing.
“Come.” His voice was gravely, and he held out his hand.
Unaware of the ongoing sexual undertow between husband and wife, Farah immediately said, “I’ll finish this, ma’am.”
Sophia looked around. There were only Alistair’s bathroom toiletries to be put in the bathroom. She cleared her throat, trying to bring some sense to her aroused body. She thanked and tipped the maid, informing her she would finish it herself.
Grabbing Alistair’s hand, she left the room as if walking on the clouds of paradise.
In the veranda, Alistair took hold of her waist and pulled her toward him until her back was pressed against him and she could feel his readiness as he rubbed himself on her lower back.
Sophia tried to engage him in light conversation, not sure the maid had already left the bungalow. “This is amazing. Calm, wonderful sea and beautiful landscapes.”
He just grunted in agreement. He was in no mood for talking after what happened in the bedroom. Sophia had an incredibly erotic effect on him. He pushed her hair away and bit her shoulder, licking it afterwards.
Her hands dipped into his silky hair and she angled her head, baring her neck to him.
He bit again and sucked, his hands moving to pull her dress up to her thighs, caressing them, while the other went to her breast, his thumb making round circles on the already hard nipple. “Hmm, no bra. You naughty girl.”
“Stop,” she chided him. “You’ll leave love bites. Besides, our lunch will arrive soon. Anyone can walk in on us.”
“My hickeys over your neck.” He pressed the heel of his hand to her lacy thong and rumbled something unintelligible but clearly lustful.
“Alistair Connor,” Sophia whispered, not knowing anymore if she wanted him to stop or to continue.
Fuck, Sophia, I want you now.
He could hear the desire in her voice and didn’t care for lunch or anything, anymore. His hunger was only for her. His talented fingers dipped under her thong, teasing her.
“Fucking hell!” he exclaimed when he felt she was ready for him. He turned her to face him and pulled her up in his arms as she wound her legs around his waist.
“In the smaller bedroom,” she whispered.
In three long strides, he entered the bedroom by the pool door and put Sophia down on her feet. “Close it.”
He walked to the other door and placed the red ‘
Do Not Disturb’
sign on the door, locking it as she closed the glass doors and shut the fine linen curtains. When she moved to pick up the remote control to close the electric shutters, Alistair stopped her.
She looked up.
There was a feral look in his forest-green eyes. “I want to see you.”
“But
—
”
“They will not disturb us,” he said. He shed his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans, already hard and erect. “This is a place for honeymooners. For fucking.”
Sophia should have been accustomed by now to his crude bedroom talk, but he still sometimes shocked her. Her mouth opened but he didn’t let her speak, ravishing it with a greedy, rough kiss while his hands untied the thin straps of her dress which pooled around her feet.
“And I want to fuck you as you fuck with my mind. Senselessly,” he whispered in her ear. He bit and licked his way down her neck, walking her backward to the bed. The back of her knees bumped onto the edge of the bed and he went down with her, softening their fall with a stretched arm.
Sophia moaned when his mouth closed on one nipple. She lifted her hips to take off her thong so he wouldn’t rip it off, as he sometimes liked to do.
“Nae.” Without raising his head, just moving his mouth to the other bared breast, his hands closed over her wrists and he pulled both into one strong grip over her head, while the other framed her face and pressed her head down on the bed.
When Sophia squeezed her fingers over his hand, unsure, his head came up immediately and his stare burrowed down on hers, his heavy Scottish accent betraying the need he was feeling. “Let me. I want to look at you. I want to savor you.”
“Yes,” she murmured.
The burning inferno of his gaze lingered over her, caressing every part of her creamy skin. His eyes mapped her body, from her feet to her head, and imprinted it in his mind forever. The love that shone in her face made him realize how precious what they had together was.
“You’re so…”
Beautiful? Nae.
“You’re so
Sophia
.” He had no other adjectives for her, than herself. She was unique for him.
She smiled, endeared. “You’re my hot, sexy, Highland warrior. My pagan god. My beloved husband. My perfect Alistair Connor.”
What started with a rush became a slow torture, the way he preferred, as he kissed and licked his way down her belly as his other hand took off her thong, following his mouth.