Because I’m going to hurt you. “Ethan...” she took a deep breath, mustering courage. “I didn’t want you to hear this from anyone else. I-I’m getting married.”
That bastard. “MacCraig.” Ethan already knew, but to hear the words from her mouth just sliced his heart open again. He drank a gulp of water to dislodge the stale taste that had filled his mouth. How can you do this to me, Sophia? I trusted you.
“Yes. Alistair Connor. In August. The seventh.” Oh, damn! Slow down, Sophia! Focus on him. She remembered Edward’s words. ‘Do be gentle when you break his heart.’ “But I don’t want it to interfere with our friendship. I like you and...” She felt bad for him. She truly did.
I don’t like you. I love you. For a minute he lost track of her words as his gaze roamed over her face and he remembered Eve, spacing out to a dark place inside his mind.
“...Ethan. But I value our friendship much more than any business transaction. I perfectly understand if you want to cancel the contribution-”
His finger landed smoothly on her mouth, “No. Never.” So, this is it. No more chances. He quietly regarded her as she stammered away inviting him to her wedding and finally fell silent.
For once in his adult life, Ethan Ashford didn’t know what to say or how to proceed.
Since Eve, no woman had dismissed him. No woman had exchanged him for another man. No one else had the chance to betray him. He was always the one in charge. He was the one who dismissed them. But with Sophia, from the beginning, things had gone awry, because he couldn’t control his jealousy or work out his inability to deal with children. He had fallen hard for her and didn’t know what to do to free himself of his obsession.
Their silence weighed over them as a suffocating icy fog.
Sophia cleared her throat. “Ethan, I don’t want you to feel...” What? I’m not his girlfriend - or lover - anymore. It’s not in my power to make him feel better. She wrung her napkin in her damp hands.
Exchanged? Betrayed? Hurt? I’m feeling that and much more. “Sophia. Darling,” he captured her hand in his and squeezed it, the two words softly and tenderly washing over her like a soothing wave. “Promise me just one thing.”
“What?” she rasped, looking down at the wrinkled linen napkin on her lap.
“Promise me you will never let MacCraig hurt you. That you will be happy,” he demanded seriously.
“I can promise you that,” she murmured relieved.
He curled his fingers under her chin and turned her face to his. There was no light in his azure eyes when he said, “Know that if you need something, anything, I’ll be here for you. Any time.” He kissed her forehead and smiled down at her, in a swift, faked, change of his mood. “Shall we order dessert?”
Atwood House.
Tuesday, June 1st, 2010.
6.05 a.m.
A low fire flowed through her veins as Sophia crawled her way up through the sea of sleep. It took her only a moment to understand why she felt hot. Alistair’s mouth was on her breast, his lips and tongue stirring an almost painful pleasure in her.
She moaned softly as she threaded her fingers through his silky, long hair, holding him close and silently inviting him to do as he pleased.
He muttered good morning, but didn’t raise his head from her breast. His tongue teased her nipple with so much care that her breathing speeded up.
“Good. Morning,” she murmured between moans, arching beneath his stroking hands and warm mouth.
There was a small part of her that still marveled at how wanton Alistair could make her even in the early hours of the morning. Thoughts soon disappeared from her mind as he made his way, with kisses and nibbles, down her belly and beyond.
“Alistair,” a ragged gasp left her mouth as she pushed up against his lips.
“Easy and slow.” His hands on her hips held her firmly in place, loving the feel of her soft, bare skin under his lips. “Relax and enjoy, sweetheart.” He kissed and teased her leisurely, stoking her desire with slow strokes of his tongue. When his fingers entered her, she was already wild with need, clawing at his hair.
“Please,” she asked in a voice so thick with desire, she barely recognized it as her own. She grabbed hold of his broad shoulders as he kissed his way back up her body with a slow pace she had no patience for. She tugged his hair, “Alistair Connor, don’t tease.”
All mine. He hovered above her, basking in her beauty, those yellow diamond eyes that he’d never seen in any other.
“I want you,” she whispered as she wrapped her legs around him and used them to make him lower his hips to hers, struggling to quench the throbbing fire inside her. She took his hard arousal in her hand and stroked him.
He closed his eyes with a low grunt. Her touch was soft and firm.
“Can you feel how much I want you?” she whispered as she kissed his neck and shoulders.
“Yes.” His green eyes opened to blister her with a possessive look while he let her position him just at her entrance. He claimed her mouth in a searing kiss and thrust shallowly, easing himself into her, bit by bit, in contained movements that left her even more heated. “You’re beautiful.”
“Ah, yes!” She pressed her feet down on his taut buttocks, pushing him deeper. His big, muscular body settled down on her more firmly and she held him close, her fingers and nails exploring the ridges of his back as he filled her, fighting to hold back the need for release mounting inside her with every long plunge of his.
“Alistair, please,” she panted mindlessly, on fire, overwhelmed by his intense passion.
“I love you,” he rasped in her ear taking her earlobe in his mouth, plunging inside her, a long movement that ended in a circling motion, teasing her clitoris.
She wound her arms around his neck, dipping her fingers in his hair, as her inner muscles contracted rhythmically around his manhood until he was moaning and a sheen film of sweat covered his forehead.
“Wait! Not yet.” He closed his eyes and took her mouth again in a fevered kiss, enjoying the slick feeling of her silken depths squeezing him in tempo with his quickening thrusts. This is when we’re one.
She dug her nails on his shoulder for support as she began to tense up and a constant shuddering took hold of her body.
“Alistair, now. Please.” Another long shove of his hips cut the last tie she had on her control.
Her climax raced through her with such force that she threw her head back and choked back a scream when she came, shaking as convulsions gripped her with the strength of her pleasure.
She was briefly aware of Alistair thrusting fast and hard a few more times before he growled out her name and trembled in her arms as his own orgasm shattered his rigid body.
He fell on her, hauling deep breaths as if he had been rescued from drowning.
Sophia welcomed his weight, her arms holding him tightly before he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him.
“You were tense,” she murmured and placed her head in the crook of his arm, resting her cheek against the warmth of his broad chest. He was all hard muscle covered with soft velvet skin and she wanted to crawl under it. Unable to move or even think, Sophia was utterly unaware when sleep claimed her again.
Alistair laid there looking up at the patterns in blue and green on the canopy over her bed, a deep frown creasing his forehead as he wondered how she would react when she discovered that the press would abound at the gallery opening later that evening.
Chapter 30
Leibowitz Oil Building.
3.37 p.m.
“I knew I would have to face the press one day,” Sophia sighed and slumped on the navy suede sofa.
“But you hoped this day would never arrive, didn’t you?” Edward placed his ankle on his knee, settling comfortably beside her, and looked at Leibowitz Oil’s PR Director, who was seated in the other armchair. “Well, Sophia, you can’t go on hiding forever. What do you suggest, Ash?”
Ashley Carruthers was an exotic thirty-seven year old Angolan
. Discreet, well-connected, sophisticated and sharp-witted, she wasn’t afraid of voicing her opinions and was everything anyone could want in a PR person. Sophia had always compared her to a black panther, with her languorous walk and quiet ways, belying her quick brain, silver tongue and sharp eyes.
Ashley tapped a finger on her red lips as she consulted her laptop. “I’ve collated everything that’s been said about you since you moved here. I don’t know how, but you have managed to avoid both the gossip magazines and the specialized press. There were some rumors of your death and a few unidentified photos of you with Alistair MacCraig, but that’s all. However,” she drawled the word to emphasize it, “I’ve written a few words.” She handed the sheet over to Edward. “English journalists are quite malicious and as soon as they recognize you, they will write about you, no doubt about it. It’s better to be prepared because they will throw their mics in your face. Don’t snub them. Be forthcoming. If their questions become too nasty, just smile graciously and leave the room. I’ll be there with you. Seven o’clock, you said?”
“Yes,” Sophia bit her lip as she read Ash’s statement. “This is it?”
“Is there anything else you want me to add? You did come to London to rebuild your life and it has nothing to do with Leibowitz Oil, which is competently run by Edward here. Ethan Ashford is your dear partner in a charity project and, yes, you’re engaged to Alistair MacCraig, whom you’re marrying in August. Make this sound like it’s confidential information, just for them. Smile a lot and bat you lashes. If they ask your opinion about the exhibit, praise it. Praise everything and smile. If there’s a question you don’t want to answer, smile and thank them for their kind interest in you. Instruct your bodyguards to act discreetly and to stay outside. Nothing will happen in the gallery. You’re in London,” Ash said. “Apart from that, what I suggest is: let’s wait for their reaction and then we can respond.”
“I see,” she whispered.
“Is Gabriela going?” Edward asked.
“No. Not today. We’ll take her another time, when it’s quieter.”
“Look, Sophia, there’s not much we can do. You disappeared from the face of the earth two years ago, after a tragedy that was in the news all over the world. Now, you reappear. Mysteriously. Out of thin air. Using your maiden name. Even richer. Living at one of the most exclusive addresses in the world. Engaged to a powerful and handsome man. Tongues will wag.”
“I...” she let out a long, shuddering breath. All right. Face it, Sophia. “You’ll be there, won’t you, Edward?”
“Seven sharp, love. Me, Ash and Zahira.” He scooted closer and squeezed her hand. “Don’t you worry. Everything will be fine.”
Atwood House.
5.55 p.m.
“Sophia?” Alistair knocked on the door and walked into her bedroom. “Sweetheart? Are you ready?”
A heartbeat later she stepped out of her dressing room and smiled at him. Her welcome-back-I-missed-you smile struck him hard. It was one of the things he ached for on a daily basis. He longed to see her greeting him every evening with it as he entered their home, her sweet scent in the air, and laughing children calling him daddy.
As always, his gaze skimmed her, head to toe and back again, devouring her. After a few months with him, Sophia knew exactly what that scorching look meant.
This time, however, when he reached her dark-red lacquered toenails peeking from her René Caovila sandals, he stopped. His thin nostrils flared and all his blood rushed down. Fuck. She’s sex on legs.
Excruciatingly slowly, his eyes traced his way back up, taking in her smooth bare legs and the short length of her flared asymmetrical skirt, flowing sensually around her toned thighs and hips in layers and layers of nude, caramel and brown organza and tulle. His fingers itched to span her slim waist and torso encased in a strapless embroidered bodice in earth tones. Then his gaze rose higher, to caress her naked shoulders and face. Long earrings of Imperial Topaz in reddish and orange hues framed her face. Her long hair was pulled back and up in a simple bun and she had shadowed her eyes in brownish tones, highlighting her hazel eyes.
Oh. My. Sophia’s breath stopped as his intense sensuous gaze blistered her body.
Without a word, he made a circle in the air with his index finger.
Dutifully, she twirled on one foot and her skirt drifted around her in a flurry of hues. As she completed her pirouette and faced him again, she saw his lips curve in a smirk.
With long, prowling strides, he crossed the room, his gaze steady on hers. “Who made this dress?” His hoarse accent-laden question showed all the burning desire that coursed in his veins.
His low, deep voice reverberated through her and she could feel the heat of his gaze as it roamed over her body again. “Victoria.”
His brows rose high on his forehead and his forest green eyes met hers. “She has my undying gratitude.”
She let her gaze linger on him, before she arched an eyebrow, “Victoria? And what, pray tell, do I receive?”
“My attention.” Alistair stepped closer. His gaze lowered, from her eyes to her full lips. “Undivided.”
His lips took hers and his hands curved possessively over her back and buttocks, hauling her soft body against his hard frame.
Sophia’s hands gripped Alistair’s lapels as their lips came together. Beneath his palms, her skin burned, a layer of fine silk organza no real barrier to his touch and her own flaring desire. Willingly, she sank into his arms, moaning as his tongue created havoc on her senses.
He broke the kiss, breathing deep to restrain his uncontrollable desire. “Unfortunately, we have to go. But I’ll take a rain check.”
She sighed and promised, “Later, Handsome. Later.” She picked up a silk golden shawl, that she threw over her left arm, and a Valentino red clutch from her bed. “I’m ready.”
With a deep bow, he pulled the door wide, “Marchioness.”
“Not yet, my lord, but soon,” she whispered on his lips.
His deep laughter drew a grin from her.
London, Chelsea. The Blue Dot Gallery.
6.30 p.m.
She was unnerving him with her silence. Alistair shifted on the car seat, taking both her hands in his. His thumb toyed with the grayish-blue diamond on her finger. “Sweetheart. They will be blinded by your beauty. Everything is going to be just fine.”
Easy for you to say. Sophia took a deep and steadying breath. “I... I have an idea. Why don’t you go in alone and I’ll slip in unnoticed after a few minutes?”
Why so afraid? “That won’t fool them,” he warned in a low voice.
“Indeed. But it will give me some room. I don’t like being smothered by flashes and mics. After I’m inside, I’ll take a photo and answer a question or two. But...” she made a vague gesture with her hand.
“I see.” It made no sense to him, but he would do anything she asked just to see a smile on her face. “I’ll get the journalists off Tavish Uilleam and he can meet you at the back entrance. Better?”
She smiled relieved and kissed his lips, “Just perfect, Amor. Just perfect.”
The cloudy sky mirrored Sophia’s confused feelings as she admired Alistair’s ease while he handled, along with the two gallery partners, the special tour for the press. She longed to be at his side but, at the same time, she was afraid of the exposure.
The group of journalists, photographers and cameramen had surrounded him as soon as he got out of the car.
He dominated the room and maneuvered the press into asking him what he wanted. Dressed in an expensive black suit, fitted to perfection to his body, with a striped green and blue tie over a white shirt, he was the embodiment of tradition and power. He could have looked intimidating, but his charming and seductive smile masked the straightforward business thoughts that she was sure he was having.
“He has a hypnotizing way with them, hasn’t he?” Tavish approached Sophia quietly from behind handing her a champagne flute.
“Yes,” she smiled up
at him, but his eyes were glued on his brother. Only with them? She clinked her glass on his. “Cheers. Congratulations on the opening. You handle them quite well too.”
“Cheers. This is a part that I don’t like very much. I’m not photogenic.”
She laughed and elbowed him on the ribs. “You’re fishing for compliments, Lieutenant-Colonel Doctor Lord Tavish Uilleam.”
He grimaced at her, “You’ll never let me forget it, will you?”
“Absolutely not!” she joked. “That was the most intimidating greeting I’ve ever received.”
“And you’re the only woman who has ever slapped me,” he retorted.
“You deserved it,” she volleyed back.
“Aye, I did.” He sighed. “Do you like the gallery?”
In the heart of Chelsea, set in a listed building, the Blue Dot Gallery was a stunning space over three floors, with five main high-ceilinged rooms, wooden floors and glass stairwells. The old and traditional façade on the outside concealed an amazing and fresh approach to contemporary art on the inside.
“It’s spectacular,” she nodded. “Valentina would absolutely love it. She’s finishing her degree in fine arts in Florence.”
“Florence? Too traditional. She should have come here or gone to UCLA,” he said.
“That’s why she went there. Her ideas are already too daring.” Sophia rolled her neck and flexed her shoulders. “Shall we get more champagne? I need to relax.”
“How are the preparations for the wedding coming along?” He offered his arm to her with a crooked smile. “Is Alistair Connor still driving you mad?”
“Good God! How can you work with him? The man is so stubborn, domineering, unmanageable-”
“And you are paranoid and a perfectionist,” Alistair’s voice interrupted her string of complaints.
She turned, blushing at being caught red handed.
He had a huge smile on his face. “But I love you anyway.” He reached out for her hand. “Come on, sweetheart, the journalists want to meet the mysterious woman that has tamed my heart.”
Trust: Betrayed Page 47