Entwined Fates

by Cristiane Serruya

  “I see,” she murmured, although she didn’t. She fished her mobile from her purse and texted her driver. This is not affection, Ethan. This has another name and I’m not liking it. Not at all. “But, I’m going home, Ethan.”

  “I can take—”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’ve already called a taxi.”

  Chapter 10

  Leibowitz Oil Building

  Friday, January 22, 2010

  9:30 a.m.

  “Come in,” Sophia called, looking up from her iMac screen to see Edward at the door and listening to the music playing in her office.

  “A waltz by Strauss. Perfect.” He literally waltzed into the room with a stack of papers in his hand, an enormous bouquet of dark red peonies and a huge grin on his face. “Congratulations! You’re a genius, and one hell of an executive. Gabriel would be proud.”

  “What is this?” She smiled at him. “The contract for the university students?”

  “No. The loan!” He threw himself in the armchair in front of her desk and put the bouquet on the other. “Exactly as you wanted it. Lower fees, a guaranty of a hundred percent, and almost no penalty clauses.” He grinned wickedly at her. “And the best part…please change the waltz to Beethoven’s fifth symphony, Allegro con brio.”

  “Come on, Edward, cut the suspense.”

  “Put it on. Just the beginning.” His grin was infectious.

  She did as he asked, enjoying the suspense he was creating.

  Exactly seven seconds after the music started, he exclaimed, “Wales was fired!”

  “Wow! There is a god!” A vindictive smile spread over Sophia’s face. “That bastard was disgusting.”

  “It’ll teach him manners.” He removed an ivory envelope with dark green motifs from the stack of papers. “Now, this!” He opened it and took from it a folded page. He unfolded the crispy vellum stationary, smoothing it gently with his fingers. Edward’s eyes quickly scanned the letter and whistled. “Change the music. Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concert.”

  She did as requested. The ominous sounds filled the room and Sophia shuddered.

  “I just love this.” He closed his eyes for a second. “Spectacular, isn’t it? So…intense. As is the man who has caught your attention.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She frowned at him.

  “Sophia, Sophia.” He threw her a secretive smile and turned his gaze back to the letter in his hand, raising a dark blond eyebrow. “He’s a gentleman; exceptionally fine woven paper, and impressive penmanship.” Edward was fascinated with the correspondence.

  “Who?” Sophia impatiently tapped her fingers. “Edward…”

  He grinned at her. “It says here…”

  London, January 21st, 2010

  Dear Mr. Davidoff,

  It is with the greatest satisfaction that I send you the new contract for your and Mrs. Santo’s approval. I hope it meets your requirements.

  I have to congratulate you on your choice for the head of the legal department of Leibowitz Oil. Mrs. Santo is intelligent, smart and, if I may say, a shrewd businesswoman. Quite a sight to behold.

  Mr. Wales is no longer with us. Henceforth, I’m at your disposal for any future enquiries, unless you have any other director or vice-president you would wish to appoint as your contact with us.

  It was a pleasure to work with you, as always.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Yours faithfully,

  Alistair Connor MacCraig

  “Shrewd businesswoman?” Sophia grinned. “I like it.”

  “I do too. Especially, because he thinks I’m responsible for the choice.” He chuckled. “‘Quite a sight to behold.’ This is a lot more interesting than a ‘shrewd businesswoman’.”

  “Who sent those, and to whom?” she asked when he snatched the card from the flowers, flaunting it at her.

  “They aren’t for you! They are for Mrs. Santo. Head of the Legal Department. Perhaps you know her?” He looked at the envelope and his smile vanished. “You have to stop doing this, Sophia. It’s affecting LO.”

  “I will, I will. I just need some courage and a little more time.” A lot of courage and a lot of time.

  His smile returned. “Can I open it?”

  With a flourished wave of her hand, she authorized it.

  “Hmm…” He wiggled his blond eyebrows. “A personal card. There is a coat of arms engraved on the center.”

  “Who is it from?”

  Edward looked at her with a teasing reproving look. “As if you didn’t know.”

  “I don’t.” She frowned. “Who sent me flowers?”

  Edward shook his head slowly at her and lowered his head to read the card. A blonde lock fell over his forehead and he pushed it back impatiently as he read the card silently. He let out a long whistle this time. “Now. This is a sight to behold! Listen.”

  London, January 21st, 2010

  Dear Mrs. Santo,

  It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

  I was greatly dismayed by Mr. Wales’s undignified behavior toward you, Leibowitz Oil, and the Leibowitz family.

  To undo the unfavorable impression, I request the pleasure of your company for lunch at Gordon Ramsay at Claridge’s, on January 22nd, at 1 o’clock.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Yours truly,

  Alistair Connor

  “I would say…up close and personal. Just Alistair Connor. Beautiful name. Strong.” Edward shook his head in amazement and pouted. “Heavens, Sophia! Another one! You have all these gorgeous men falling at your feet. Why not share your secret? What’s the magical, invisible powder you throw to spellbind every man and woman around you?”

  Her laugh rang through the room. “Take your pick. I cannot go out with more than one.” She extended her hand. “Let me study the contract.”

  “Stop beating around the bush and call him to confirm the lunch,” Edward pushed.

  Sophia straightened up in her chair, suddenly scared. “I’m not going, Edward. I’ll write him a thank you note for the flowers, but I’m not going. You can go.”

  “He didn’t ask me out, Sophia. He asked you. And it’s solely a business lunch.” He cocked his head to stare at her and asked quietly, “Why not?”

  A warning sensation tingled through Sophia. “I don’t know. Instincts, maybe?”

  “You cannot skip this lunch, Sophia. Not this time,” he insisted. “It’s too important for LO. Do you want me to go with you?”

  She looked at her friend. Edward never asked for more than she could do. Sophia sighed. “Do you really think it’s necessary?”

  He thinned his lips and nodded. “Yes. You know I wouldn’t ask if I thought I could go in your place.”

  “All right.” Sophia pressed the intercom. “Sarah, could you please call The City of London Bank and put Mr. MacCraig’s secretary on the line? Thank you.” She gazed at Edward. “Have you read the contract?”

  “Yes, Jason, from the legal team, and I did. A director delivered it here at half past eight this morning.” He grinned. “It’s perfect.”

  The intercom buzzed. “Mrs. L, it’s Mr. MacCraig’s secretary. His name is Angus MacKeenan.”

  “Thank you, Sarah. Put him through.” The line loudly beeped. “Mr. MacKeenan?”

  “Mrs. Santo, how are you? It’s Alistair Connor.”

  Sophia’s heart fired up to a breakneck pace in her chest as Alistair’s deep voice came through the speaker. Eyes wide, she looked at Edward, who merely raised a blond eyebrow.

  “I gather you have received my card.”

  “Yes, Mr. MacCraig, I have.” A foreboding feeling flashed through her, leaving her at a loss for words.

  “So, I can confirm the reservation at Gordon Ramsay’s?” His low, deep voice soothed her.

  Sophia glanced at Edward who nodded. “Yes, Mr. MacCraig, you can. I will be there at one o’clock.”

  “Great. I’ll send my driver to pick you up.”

  “T
here’s no need.” She bit her lip for a second. “A driver from Leibowitz Oil will drop me off.”

  Edward shook his head, amused.

  “Very well. I’m looking forward to our lunch. See you then.”

  “See you, Mr. MacCraig,” Sophia murmured.

  “A driver from Leibowitz Oil? Is that Steven’s new job title?” Edward inquired. “Why are you so nervous, Sophia? The guy isn’t going to bite you. He’s asking you out to a business lunch.”

  “Who said I was nervous?”

  “You repeated ‘Mr. MacCraig’ three times. And bit your lip.” Concerned, he eyed her. “If you feel this bad about it, don’t go.”

  I’m in London. Nothing will happen. No one will find me. They really must think me dead. “It’s okay, Edward. I’ll go.” Sophia waved her right hand again in the air and the long sleeve of her silk dress fell to her elbow.

  Edward looked at her wrist and frowned. He rose from the chair and went to her side, holding her hand in his. “What is this, Sophia?” His expression clouded when he noticed the finger marks on her delicate arm, which she had tried to conceal with makeup but failed. “Sophia?”

  Stupid, stupid! “It’s nothing.” She dismissed it. “I must have banged my hand somewhere.”

  “Somewhere with fingers?” His blue eyes flashed, angrily. “I don’t like this, Sophia. Why did he hurt you? Don’t you dare lie to me!”

  Sophia bit her lip and looked at Edward. “Really, it was nothing. I bruise easily, you know.”

  “I’ll let this pass. But, beware! If I see something like this again, Ashford and I will have a private talk.” Edward thinned his lips and flexed his shoulders; his face murderous. “I may not be as broad as him but surely, I’m bigger than you. If something like this happens again, I want to know, Sophia.”

  Chapter 11

  Gordon Ramsay at Claridge’s

  12:55 p.m.

  Sophia entered the restaurant trailing behind the maître d’. Alistair was already seated and waiting for her. She looked at her watch. Five minutes to one. More than punctual, Mr. MacCraig. I like this.

  He flashed a white, even smile and beckoned her to him, as he rose and straightened to his full height. His dark blue double-breasted pinstripe suit molded his perfect body. As usual, a lock of his windswept hair fell on his forehead while another flipped over his left eye.

  He again mesmerized her.

  The same deep need to tangle her hands in his hair and yank his head down for a kiss made her head spin. She breathed in deep and squared her shoulders, aligning her spine.

  Never clumsy, Sophia didn’t intend to start being so now.

  His eyes…his forest-green eyes framed by those long, dark, and full lashes are beautiful. It should be forbidden for men to have such beautiful, hypnotizing eyes.

  Sophia shivered as a disturbing feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Oh, my God! This man is absolutely gorgeous. This isn’t a business lunch. Oh, God. What am I doing? Ethan is going to be furious.

  Then she looked around, suddenly wary. And who said he needs to know? I’m doing nothing wrong and he doesn't control my life. Gabriel never did.

  Alistair observed Sophia as she meandered her way through the restaurant. There’s something different about her. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. She’s…nervous! Out of her depth. Why?

  She walked toward him, oblivious to the male gazes turned in her direction.

  It’s as if she doesn’t know her own beauty. He took note of her dress. Red blooming roses were printed on her heavy black silk mid-thigh dress. Not too short, but not the conservative knee length either. And his gaze wandered down.

  Christ! Daring, to say the least. Sheer black tights covered her long legs and her feet were encased in black leather high-heels, strapped at her ankles. Sexy. Hot. Too bloody hot!

  A large red silk rose clasped her hair behind her head on the right, keeping it away from her face.

  His breath hitched when with a flick of her hand, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and her red nails screamed against her raven hair. In an elegant movement, Sophia stretched out her hand to shake his.

  The woman is married, Alistair Connor MacCraig! Control yourself. He held it between his for a moment beyond the usual, his eyes glued to hers. “Sophia, I was very pleased you accepted my invitation.”

  The waiter pulled the table, so she could sit on the sofa next to him.

  “May I call you Sophia?” Alistair’s gaze never left hers, a knowing smile on his lips.

  “Yes,” she responded, her voice just a throaty murmur.

  She adjusted her dress and shifted on the seat. Immediately, his scent enveloped Sophia. She felt dizzy for a second and looked at his face. “Creed.” The word was out of her mouth before she knew it. She flushed.

  He startled. “Pardon?”

  “It is Creed, isn’t it? Sublime Vanille. I love that perfume. I’m wearing it.”

  “Aye, it’s Creed. I don’t normally wear Sublime Vanille—it’s sweet, more feminine. I prefer Spice and Wood.” But I’ll wear it from now on. He perused her face and boldly bent his head in her direction. “You don’t smell of it.” He closed his eyes and inhaled her fragrance deeply. “You…you smell like white roses in bloom and orange sorbet with drops of vanilla sauce. A dessert. Utterly fresh and sweet.” His dark, deep voice breathed the words near her ear.

  Seemingly startled, she lifted her face to him. Her lips parted in ragged breaths, her eyes wide.

  He opened his eyes, his face just inches from hers. He cleared his throat and adjusted the perfect Windsor knot in his dark-green silk tie. His eyes held an amused wicked gleam, but his voice sounded dry, saying, “Sophia, I don’t do married women.”

  I need a glass of water, quick. I’m feeling hot. Too hot. A thrill tingled along her spine. She wasn’t even breathing. He had a slight, sexy Scottish accent she hadn’t noticed before. What is happening to me? Mr. I’m-so-handsome-and-I-know-it is turning me head-over-heels.

  “I’m not married.” God, why did I just say that?

  His brows rose. “Why do you insist on being called missus, then?”

  “I was married.” Her response to him was terrifying. She never, ever felt such fierce awareness of a stranger before in her life. And at a loss for words. Damn.

  “Have you been divorced long?”

  She shook her head, too enthralled by his sexual power to do more than that.

  “Nae, you’re not divorced, or nae, you haven’t been divorced long?”

  “No.” Sophia felt herself falling down a never-ending abyss. “I’m not divorced.”

  “Aye?” His eyes flashed flames and his brows rose higher. “So?”

  “I’m a widow.”

  His ink-black eyebrows furrowed tightly and a sad look took over his features. “You’re too young to be a widow.”

  She pulled herself out of the reverie and harrumphed. “I keep hearing this, as if fate ought to have asked my age before…” She waved her hand in the air. Her sleeve fell.

  He held her hand gently with his fingers, his eyes darkening. He scowled at her marked wrist and she tried to disengage her hand from his. His tender grip tightened. “Someone hurt you.”

  It was a fierce statement with a touch of anger.

  “It’s nothing. I bruise easily,” Sophia said, thoroughly embarrassed. First Edward, now Alistair. She frowned at her wrist still in his hand and touched the black-and-blue marks gingerly with her left fingers.

  He grabbed the other one too.

  His thumbs caressed the back of them and his gaze pierced her, searching for a clue. He deposited a kiss on each hand, his eyes bearing down on hers. “One should never mar a woman like you.”

  “A woman like me?” Her low, bitter laugh astounded him. “Mr. Mac—”

  “Alistair Connor. Call me Alistair or Alistair Connor, whichever you feel like.”

  “I’m not special, Alistair.” She let his name roll off her tongue, tasting it. “No
one is special. We’re all equals. I’ve had much worse and I don’t break easily.”

  He squeezed her hands tenderly before signaling to the waiter. He looked down the wine list. “Red wine?”

  She nodded, “Sure.” These British men are all trying to get me drunk during lunch.

  “Have you seen the contract?” he asked in a businesslike manner masking the potent desire taking control of his mind and body.

  She nodded and sipped her water, licking her lips. “I’ve approved it. I thank you, Mr. Mac—Alistair. The clauses were modified exactly as I had envisioned them.”

  The sommelier brought a Portuguese wine, Quinta do Vale do Meão. He tasted it and served it to Alistair.

  “Excellent. Thank you.”

  She looked at Alistair’s large, long-fingered hand handling the delicate stem of the crystal glass. Her lips curled up.

  “What’s so amusing?” he asked as the sommelier left them.

  Sophia blinked, caught daydreaming about his hands. “If I didn’t know you worked in a bank, I’d say you were a doctor.”

  He observed her closely. “Why?”

  She couldn’t resist the temptation and the tips of her right fingers touched the back of his left hand. No ring. “Your hand. You have deft and elegant fingers. I can easily see you handling a scalpel.”

  He suppressed his surprise. Smiling wickedly, looking deep into her eyes, he said in a deep murmur, “You don’t know how deft they can be.”

  A sensation stirred inside her as her breath hitched. Dear God!

  He raised his glass in a toast. “To a new…partnership.”

  The last word, gliding over his tongue, had an ambiguity not lost on Sophia.

  Their attraction was so strong she felt like she was being torn apart by sitting there controlled as they talked about business, each one of their words meaning something completely different.