Entwined Fates

by Cristiane Serruya

  She touched her glass to his and looked up. “To new partners,” she mumbled, and quickly drank a gulp of wine. “Have you been the bank’s CEO for long?”

  “Since 2008, when I bought thirty-five percent and became the majority shareholder. Now I own sixty percent of it, and my brother and two other partners own the rest,” he boasted.

  “Really?” She dismissed his accomplishment with raised brows and tilted her head to the side. “I would have imagined…”

  “What?”

  “That you were more than a CEO,” she said cryptically.

  “What do you mean?”

  Sophia waved her hand. “Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but your looks…”

  He raised a dark eyebrow at her.

  “I mean, comparing you to Edward, you’re quite the rebel.” She blushed at her bold commentary. Sophia. Did you lose your wits?

  “Edward? You mean Davidoff?”

  She nodded.

  “Don’t judge the book by its cover.”

  She smiled. “That’s just what everyone won’t do with me. Take you, for example. You judged me on your first impression.”

  “Mea culpa.” He grinned, surprised she had realized it.

  “I liked your praise of me in the letter you sent Ed—er, Mr. Davidoff.”

  “Quite a sight to behold?”

  “Ah, no.” Her hands were sweating and she twisted her napkin. “A shrewd businesswoman.”

  Alistair shifted on the seat to face her better and draped his arm over the back of the sofa. “You’re much more than that. You’re an intriguing, ravishing, intelligent woman, Sophia.” He brushed her hair aside. Silk. And his fingers touched her nape. Velvet. “Quite a sight to behold.”

  She shivered at the light contact.

  Responsive. She’ll set my bed on fire. I just have to touch the right buttons. The marks on her wrists are not bondage marks. Fingers. Perhaps…is she a submissive?

  Sophia breathed deeply and asked hoarsely, “Can we order? Please?”

  He took pity on her and signaled for the waiter to bring the menus.

  Sophia smiled at him after he took a perfunctory look and closed the menu. “What do you suggest? It’s quite a torture to choose from a menu like this.”

  Torture is what I’m suffering under the pressure to maintain a tight leash on my desire. He looked down discretely at his pants and cursed inwardly.

  The into-pain submissive wants a suggestion? My apartment; on the wall, on the floor, on the bed, in the tub; tied, blindfolded, gagged, and thoroughly fucked. Hard. Or maybe she’s up for a blowjob in the restaurant toilet…aye, that would be quite satisfactory to start with.

  “Alistair?” She placed her hand on his forearm, his face captivating her.

  Christ! What happened to her eyes? “Are you wearing lenses?” He frowned.

  “Contact lenses, you mean?” She blinked. “No. I don’t need them.”

  “Drugs?” He cupped her chin and moved her face upward to get a better look at her eyes, which widened at his blunt question. Oh, please, not another druggie. “Do you do drugs?”

  “Seriously?” she snapped. “Do you, Mr. MacCraig?”

  “Not Mr. MacCraig,” he breathed, amazed. “Alistair. Alistair Connor.” Fire! Her eyes are flames and I’m burning in them. “How do you change the color of your eyes like that?”

  “I don’t.” She frowned at him. “They’re light brown. A very common color. Nothing special.”

  He let go of her face with a soft stroke of his long fingers and repeated her words softly, “Nothing special…”

  She looked baffled. “Have you decided? Do you have any suggestions?”

  “Well, it depends.” He eyed her figure, measuring her lean body. “Are you only going to eat salad?”

  “God, no. Why would I eat only salad?” She peered at him as if he were insane. “I love food. Especially desserts. I was wondering…is the spicy duck a good choice? What do you think?”

  “A wonderful choice,” he answered, completely befuddled by the woman at his side. “I’ll have the salt cod brandade.

  Alistair barely noticed the coming and going of the waiters. The two of them were attracting awe-filled, lustful stares. Their sexual tension radiated and disrupted even the most serious men at their business lunches.

  He felt incapable of playing down his strained condition. She seemed more controlled, her movements light, whereas his were clipped. He dispensed with the bitter chocolate tartine he so liked. I want another dessert.

  “Mmm…” Sophia closed her eyes as the lemon flavor of her dessert exploded on her tongue and slowly pulled the spoon out of her mouth. “This is absolutely delicious.”

  Christ! This ought to be forbidden. She’s making love to her dessert. He wanted her on her knees and filling her mouth with him. Now!

  To the utter desperation of the man beside her, Sophia licked her lips and gazed at him with her yellow-diamond eyes. “This is scrumptious. Do you want a taste?”

  Alistair lost himself in the kiss-me-now look on her face. What did she ask?

  “You want some?” she asked again.

  He shook his head, but his eyes said yes. Aye, I want you.

  “Coffee or tea?” he rasped when she finished her lemon tart. This lunch is going to win the prize of ‘Most Sensual Lunch of All Time’.

  “Coffee, please,” she said, oblivious to her companion’s problem of disguising his huge erection.

  Coffee arrived with chocolate truffles.

  When she bit into one and closed her eyes, moaning, Alistair almost came then and there.

  She cleaned her fingers on the napkin but couldn’t resist sucking her index finger.

  Now! I need to fuck her now! He made a strangled sound.

  She sheepishly stared at him. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

  “Please, don’t. By all means, suck the others if you want.” He didn’t recognize his own voice; deep, dark, husky. How in hell am I going to walk out of the restaurant? He discreetly inhaled a deep breath. Alistair signaled for the waiter and handed him his credit card.

  Sophia immediately grabbed her purse. “Don’t, please.”

  His hand flew to prevent her from opening her purse and closed around her bruised wrist.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured when she flinched, and tenderly kissed the inside of her black-and-blue wrist. “Is the driver waiting for you?”

  “Not yet.” She shook her head. “I have to call him.”

  “I’ll drive you back,” he stated as he signed the credit card slip with a swift movement of his left hand.

  Sophia felt utterly dominated by the sheer maleness beside her. “That would be lovely,” she heard herself replying. Why she bothered, she didn’t understand, because he hadn’t asked.

  Outside, a few minutes later, Sophia relaxed on the seat of the navy BMW 760Li, listening to Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto in C minor playing on the stereo. But when Alistair entered the car, her hand clutched the door handle nervously.

  It had one-way tinted glass, and as he sat, he closed the specially made privacy divider. She immediately regretted having accepted the ride to her office. Too tall, too broad, too much. He needs a stretch limo, not a car.

  She crossed her long legs, tightening inside her the desire his sexual magnetism and potent energy in the enclosed space had heightened. “Do you know the address?”

  He chuckled, a deep sound that made Sophia’s stomach constrict with a flaming need to jump him. He shifted and drew a knee onto the seat, facing her, his green gaze swirled.

  My eyes are nothing like this intense green inferno of yours.

  “Of course,” he said, huskily, “how could I not know?”

  What is that supposed to mean? “I love this concerto. Rachmaninoff is so…”

  “Profound, dark?” He moved closer, searching her eyes, studying her features.

  He had been silently manipulating her, exuding strength and a powerful command on he
r will during the entire lunch. Her head lifted without her consent; she was too turned on to care anymore. She licked her lips, her breathing already altered, his scent hitting her with full force. Sublime Vanille and a touch of oak somewhere.

  Sublimely male.

  Alistair saw how she’d lost control and took charge. Something withered inside his chest but he shoved the feeling down deep. Too busy dealing with his bubbling lust he didn’t notice a shy and lonely sunray hiding behind his darkness. Enjoy it, Alistair. This one has resisted a bit more, but in the end, she’ll be just like all the others.

  An arm under her knees and another behind her back did the job of transferring her onto his lap as his tongue licked the seam of her lips and she opened to him. Honey. She tastes of honey and coffee and chocolate. He didn’t wait and dipped in for more. Her lips were everything he had imagined, full and soft.

  He kissed her lustfully.

  Mindlessly.

  Senselessly.

  His passion blindsided Sophia. His kiss was bold. His lips stoked her desire and his tongue tasted her in leisurely licks, not hurrying, taking all her will from her and demanding more, requesting all. One of her hands dove into his luscious hair, the other gripped his hard biceps, and her breath quickened.

  He felt her nails raking his nape, his erection hardened even more, and he shifted to better press her thigh against it. His hand behind her knees moved under her dress, caressing her leg encased in silky tights and found her garter.

  Fuck! His fingers looked for and found velvet skin. His hand cupped her upper-thigh, massaging the lean, muscled flesh while his mouth ravaged the column of her neck, kissing and nipping. He gripped her hair and gently yanked her head back, baring her throat to have better access. He inhaled her intoxicating scent. Sweet petals of white roses in bloom. I could lick her forever.

  “Sophia.”

  His lust-filled whisper shook Sophia out of her dream-state and she pushed hard at his chest. “Stop. Now,” she struggled to command, but she could barely stutter a whisper.

  His thumb brushed her lacy panties and her hand flew to his wrist before he did any more damage to her sanity.

  “I’m sorry.” She scrambled back on the seat, rearranging her dress. She combed her hair with her fingers and lowered her eyelids. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

  Alistair glared at her unwrinkled dress, her hair barely out of place, only her mouth showing any evidence of his passionate kisses. And then he looked down at his pants where one of his biggest erections he remembered having in a long while strained his fly. This drove him mad. She completely unsettled him. How is she in such control? “Why?” he almost barked.

  She started and stared at him, biting her lip.

  Christ! Her eyes changed color again.

  “It’s none of your business, Mr. MacCraig.”

  “Davidoff?” he growled.

  “I’ve already apologized for my behavior. It was unacceptable,” she snapped, angry with herself. “Ask your driver to stop the car. I’m getting out.” She needed fresh air.

  “The hell you are.” He raked his fingers through his hair, taking note that her eyes were changing color again. “You came to have lunch with me. I’ll see that you’re safely dropped off back at your office.” He crossed his arms over the wide expanse of his chest, ending the argument.

  Sophia waited until the car slowed down after entering Fleet Street and opened the door and jumped out of the car, almost in front of The Royal Courts of Justice.

  People stopped to look at her.

  She grabbed her iPhone and dialed while dodging her way through the crowd with hurried steps.

  “Christ!” Alistair exclaimed, her actions paralyzing him for a few seconds. The woman is utterly insane. But so fucking hot!

  His driver, Garrick noticed that the door had been opened and stopped the car.

  Alistair threw himself out of the car and went after her. “Stop, Sophia!” he ordered, but she didn’t even look back. Hmm. Not so submissive.

  When she slowed her pace because of the flow of barristers, solicitors, and the throng of people going in and out of the court, he gripped her shoulders and whipped her around roughly, caging her in his arms. Gently, Alistair Connor, or she’ll bruise. “Where do you suppose you’re going?”

  “Back to my office, which I should have never left,” she retorted in a low, enraged voice. “It seems to me, Mr. MacCraig, that you just repeated the same behavior you condemned in Mr. Wales.”

  “That’s not true. You encouraged me, allowed it to happen.”

  “Oh, that is rich.” She glared at him. “It’s always that way. Women are to blame.”

  Her eyes flicked toward the entrance of the Royal Courts and she blanched so unexpectedly that Alistair was alarmed.

  Her hand shot to her throat, her coat fell to the ground, and she swayed on her feet, looking around, desperate.

  “Sophia?” He narrowed his arms around her, enveloping her, and bringing her to his chest, giving support. “What’s wrong?”

  “Get me out of here, please.” Her voice was barely a wisp. “Now.”

  The BMW was right beside them, Garrick had caught up to them. Alistair opened the door for her and helped her in.

  She trembled so much she could barely walk.

  “Stay here,” he ordered, closing the door.

  He picked up her coat from the ground and rounded the car to enter on the other side.

  She was already on the phone, chewing nervously on her lip. “Oh, Edward,” she whimpered. “He’s here. Alberto. Yes, I’m sure. I’ve just seen him leaving the Royal Courts. He will. What are you going to say? What am I going to do?” She closed her eyes to stop tears from welling up and took a deep breath. “With Alistair MacCraig. In his car.” She turned to Alistair and held her iPhone to him. “It’s Edward. Davidoff.”

  Alistair eyed her with a calm expression he wasn’t feeling and took the phone. Why I am always involved with complicated women? “Tell me, Davidoff.” He sighed inwardly, while he listened to Edward’s cryptic explanation, worried about the pale woman beside him, wringing her hands. Who has frightened her so much? “Don’t worry. My afternoon is free. I’ll stay with her until you arrive.”

  She made another phone call, speaking quickly in nervous, incomplete sentences, in a language he didn’t know.

  Alistair froze as he realized that an urgent need to help her had wedged under his skin. To breathe safety into her trembling body. To whisk her into his arms and caress her until she stopped feeling threatened. He didn’t do this kind of thing anymore. Not since Heather. Love isn’t worth the risk of betrayal, of pain, of death.

  Sophia finished the call and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist as if they could protect her.

  Alistair touched the intercom when she ended the call. “Garrick, please head to…”

  “74 Eaton Square,” she dutifully informed him her home address.

  He repeated the information and sat back, watching Rachmaninoff’s concerto toy with her feelings.

  He inhaled deeply, struggling to control his raging emotions. Her scent caught his senses and the need to protect her overrode his self-preservation and restraint.

  Fuck the risk. He opened his arms, softly ordering, “Come here.”

  She pressed herself onto the door but his arms enveloped her, pulling her into his body.

  “I’m not a monster, Sophia.” He handed her his soft, white handkerchief, embroidered with his initials in dark-green. “Cry, if you will. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” The yearning to protect Sophia made Alistair narrow his embrace around her. This delicate, fragile side of her awoke in him something so male, so primitive that he had to fight the urge to tell Garrick to drive straight to his home in the Highlands.

  The tender understanding and refuge the huge, rugged, and intense man gave seemed to crumble the last of Sophia’s remaining control.

  “We’ve arrived,” Alistair said quietly.

  Sophia
lifted her forehead from the hollow of his neck and looked at the building. “Could your driver park in the garage, please? It’s just around the corner.”

  “Sure.” He gave Garrick the instructions. “I’m going up with you.”

  Not a request. More like an order.

  Sophia raked her hands through her hair and rearranged her dress. “Thank you.”

  Nobody has thanked me for such a simple thing for so long. But then, when have I done something like this for a woman since Heather? He didn’t know what to make of Sophia. He really didn’t. Alistair opened the door and held out his hand to help her out.

  She edged toward the lift. When the doors opened, she looked over her shoulder, scanning the garage before entering it. She quickly punched in a long code on the panel. The lights flashed as they climbed up to the penthouse. When the lift jerked to a stop, Sophia almost fell, her knees weak with relief.

  Alistair reached out to support her as the doors opened into a private hall.

  She opened the door to the apartment and turned to Alistair. “Thank you very much.”

  He stood in her hall, aghast. She’s dismissing me? “I’m staying until Davidoff arrives.”

  “Please?” She tried to convince him by putting her hand on his arm. “There is no need. You were kind enough to bring me here.”

  He shook his head. “Just until Davidoff arrives.”

  “Very well.” She sighed, entering the living room and motioning him in. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” He looked around, taking in the richness of the paintings hanging on the wall. “You have a very nice apartment. You live here alone?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “With my daughter. Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Once again, as she had done at the office, Sophia masked her emotions. But he knew better. Her eyes betrayed her. They showed the fright she’d been through. They were dark, not clear anymore.

  He jammed his hands into his pockets and strolled through the apartment to a small home office. He stopped in front of her bookcase, analyzing her books, which were carefully arranged in a methodic way.