“Darling, we make our own luck,” he retorted enigmatically.
“Not always,” she riposted. “Trust me, I know.”
He exited the car and rounded it to help her out, offering his hand again.
“I’m not crippled or old.” She laughed, accepting his hand to leave the car.
“High-heels,” he pointed at her knee-high black boots and arched an eyebrow at her, closing the door. He waited for her to take his arm. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“No offense taken. I’m well-versed in getting in and out of all types of cars. Never had a problem with my heels.”
“I love women in high-heels, Ms. Santo.” He flashed a smile at her.
“Mrs. Santo,” she corrected him.
“Sophia. Calling you Mrs. Santo makes me feel like I’m going out with a married woman.”
“I see,” she gave him a small smile. I still feel married.
Sophia noticed when Ethan tipped the doorman who had collected the cone. Yeah, he makes his luck. Her smile died when she remembered her late husband doing the same thing.
Ethan watched her. “Everything okay?”
“Sure.” Lies; more lies; always lies.
The restaurant was full. The staff treated Ethan in a deferential way. On the way to their reserved table, he possessively put a hand on her shoulder and greeted some acquaintances with a nod, but didn’t stop, concentrating fully on her.
Forty minutes flew by as they chatted and enjoyed an entrée of hot foie gras and duck crispy pancake perfect foiled on a Sauternes Chateau D’Yquem.
“Monsieur Ashford, mademoiselle. C’est un plaisir!”
“Michel! How are you?” Ethan greeted the owner of the restaurant in perfect French. “This is a dear friend of mine, Ms. Sophia Santo.”
“Monsieur, the food is magnificent,” Sophia complimented the chef, also in French.
“Merci, Mademoiselle Santo. I’m happy you enjoyed it.” He turned to Ethan. “Mr. Ashford, I prepared a special dessert for you. Chocolate, of course, but spicy. Let me know if you like it or desire something else.” He made a small bow and continued his wanderings through the restaurant.
Sophia was certain Ethan had asked for the service to come very slowly but she didn’t care. He was intelligent, witty, extremely well-read, and they shared many mutual interests.
“Mademoiselle, the chef presents your grilled scallops with carrots, and for monsieur, the roast milk-fed lamb with flageolets beans and thyme-scented jus.” The waiter put their plates in front of them and with a flourish and opened the silver coverlets. The sommelier tasted the wine, approved it, and served a little for Ethan’s assent.
“Do you like the wine?”
“Excellent.” Sophia reveled in the way Ethan clearly prepared everything for her. She gave him a teasing scowl. “I think you’re trying to get me drunk.”
“No, I’m not.” He pierced her with his sparkling blue eyes. “You have it the wrong way around. I’m the one who is drunk, Sophia. You’re so beautiful, so intelligent, so perfect that it makes a man forget what he’s doing.”
You haven’t seen my scars. “Beautiful?” she sniggered. “I’m not beautiful. Much less, perfect.” Not perfect at all.
“Yes, you are. More than beautiful and perfect. You’re…” He scooted to her side of the booth. He lifted his hand to touch her raven strands. “Your hair is shiny and lustrous.” His knuckles caressed her cheek, “Your face is like a cameo.” He opened his hand when it reached her neck and then it descended to her shoulder. “Your body… You leave me speechless, and this is not a common thing.”
“Compliments, compliments!” She waved her hand in the air, uncomfortable, trying to recapture the light conversation they had been having. “When men desire something, they scatter compliments in the wind.” That sounded terrible, Sophia. Why are you so nervous?
“And what do I desire, Sophia?” he lowered his tone, his voice husky, and leaned into her. The movement showed his strength that had been hidden within his suit, making visible his muscles. Sophia’s mouth went dry and she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and bit her bottom lip.
“Don’t, Sophia.” His thumb caressed her bottom lip.
“Pardon?”
“Don’t do this.” He was serious, his voice hoarse. His knee touched her thigh and she almost jumped. “You drive me crazy with desire.”
His voice and hand hypnotized Sophia. “Ethan…”
“I want to take you out to dinner, Sophia. Are you free on Thursday?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I’m traveling on business tomorrow.” My little, loved baby daughter needs her mother for a few days.
“When do you return?”
The waiter arrived and she waited for him to serve the dessert before answering.
“On Sunday afternoon.”
“Sunday evening, then.” His azure eyes were so brilliant they surpassed the color of the Mediterranean Sea.
Sophia found herself answering before she could think. “Sunday, then.”
Chapter 4
Leibowitz Oil Building
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
9:45 a.m.
Ethan entered the building where Sophia worked with the firm intention of requesting a meeting with her. He didn’t even know if she was there. She had not answered his calls since the day she was supposed to return from her holiday trip to Brazil.
Sophia was the most difficult woman to please he had ever met. He thought she’d call him first thing when she arrived. He’d taken her to lunch and dinner more than a dozen times and at the last dinner, just before her trip to Rio de Janeiro, he had given her a Christmas gift that would’ve made any other woman come running back to his arms.
How could an Oiseaux de Paradis clip, earrings, and a ring from Van Cleef and Arpels with spectacular yellow and blue sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds not ensure her return to me? He knew she had liked it. She had thanked him and apologized for not remembering to buy him a gift, but he dismissed it, saying that she was his gift. Still, she had resisted his charm. A small peck on his lips was his reward.
Jesus! This obsession annoyed him. It was weird for him to behave like this. Ethan felt unsettled. I’m pining, and I don’t pine. Not at all. For no woman.
Whatever he wanted, he got; it didn’t matter how. There was nothing he could not have, nothing he could not buy. He had only the best.
I want her. He had decided she would be his the first minute he saw her. If necessary, he would move worlds to have her.
“Good morning. I’d like to see Ms. Santo. It’s Ethan Ashford,” he identified himself at the building reception and handed his ID to the receptionist when asked.
“Is she expecting you, ah, Mr. Ashford?” the attendant inquired, checking the computer.
“No, but I’m sure she will see me. Anyway, it’s an emergency.”
“I’ll contact her secretary.” The receptionist typed quickly and said, “Just a minute, sir.”
“No problem.”
After a little while, the receptionist printed a tag with a copy of his ID and handed it over to him along with his document. “Would you like me to accompany you?”
“No, thank you,” he answered. “Just tell me the way.”
Sophia’s secretary, Sarah Brandon, a slender, salt-and-pepper haired, middle-aged woman, wearing a conservative black suit, was waiting for Ethan at the lifts. “Good morning. Mrs. Santo will receive you now.”
“Good morning.” Ethan followed her to the farthest door of the hall.
After knocking, Sarah opened it, announcing, “Mr. Ashford.”
At once, Sophia rose from the chair behind the table and strolled to the door. She smiled and motioned her hand to Edward. “Ethan, let me introduce you to Mr. Edward Davidoff. He is the CEO of Leibowitz Oil.”
Ethan and Edward shook hands, measuring each other. “A pleasure to meet you, Davidoff.”
“My pleasure, Ashford.” He turned to Sophia, “Mrs.
Santo, I expect your analysis soon.” Edward gave her a wicked wink before closing the door.
“How are you, my darling?” he kissed her softly on her lips, respecting the boundaries she had set. “You look adorable today, as always.” One might think of her as a fashion designer, not a lawyer.
“Sarah told me it was urgent, Ethan. Please, sit down.” She motioned to the armchairs in front of her desk. “Do you want some coffee, tea, or something else to drink, water?”
“Tea, please.”
She went to a wood-paneled wall, pushed it and a hidden cupboard appeared. She took out a tea chest and placed it on her desk in front of him. She turned on a machine and placed two cups under it. In a few seconds the cups were filled with steaming water.
“Milk? Sugar?” she asked.
“Nothing, thank you.” He observed her. A very beautiful woman with elegant gestures but her cool façade doesn’t fool me. Sophia looked utterly natural and fresh, only a little makeup to enhance the amber of her eyes. She wore a long Indian-style vest, with a navy-and-dark green pattern, and navy trousers that hugged her legs.
Sophia handed him his cup and saucer with a small napkin and waited for him to choose a tea. He selected an Earl Grey. She smiled down at him, picked out the same, and sat on her chair opposite him.
“I thought you worked for Holbrook,” he said. He wanted to know all about her but in spite of their outings she was still a mystery to him.
“No. I told you I worked with Professor Holbrook. Quite different.”
“Indeed.” He looked around, “You have a splendid office.”
She quirked an eyebrow.
“Not what I expected for someone so young.”
“Well, I’m the head of the legal department here.”
“Impressive. But I should have imagined it. You’re very intelligent. And you seem competent too.”
“I am. Competent, I mean.” Her gaze wandered over him, taking in the way his hair was combed, his softly groomed beard, his expensive suit, the way his legs were crossed, and even his shoes. She steepled her fingers, tapping them, impatient when he didn’t say anything. “How may I help you?”
He started to feel uncomfortable. Ethan cleared his throat. Turn the tables on her, Ashford. She won’t make this easy. “This is a private matter, Sophia. So if you’re too busy, please, feel free to tell me.”
“Ethan.” He could hear the annoyance in her voice. “If I were too busy, I wouldn’t have received you.” Her smile softened her firm answer. “Please, tell me what you so desire.”
Ms. Santo’s fire is kindling. Keep going, baby. Let’s make you burn. “Since you put it that way, I’ll be blunt.” He didn’t smile. “Have I done something to offend you?”
Sophia’s face showed surprise; her fingers interlaced. “Offend? No, not at all. Why?”
“You haven’t answered my calls since I last saw you in December. And you didn’t phone me when you returned.”
“I have been quite busy. I’m overseeing the renovation of my new home and had some pressing matters to take care of. Besides, I didn’t promise to call as soon as I arrived, did I?” She sipped her tea, waiting for him to continue.
“No, you didn’t. The thing is, Sophia, I…” Say it. You’re Ethan Ashford. No one refuses you. It will not start with her. He rose from his armchair, circled her desk, and propped a thigh on the corner of her desk, near her chair.
“Yes?” She turned her chair to face him, crossing her long legs.
Jesus! Naughty thoughts entered his mind, making him bold. “I want you, Sophia. I’ve wanted you from the minute I saw you at Heathrow,” he admitted. “And what I want, I conquer.” He leaned in her direction, with a crooked smile complementing the bold statement.
Sophia smiled back, teasing. “And you think as Julius Caesar: Veni, vidi, vici?”
He grinned. “Exactly. Just like that.”
“Ah…” Her smile widened. “But I’m not that easy to conquer, Mr. Giulio Cesare Ashford.”
“So, it seems that I will have to put all my resources to the task,” he growled. He liked sparring with words. Easy victories are for lesser men. Besides, it will add spice to the relationship. Relationship? Jesus! Where has this sprung from?
“So you barge into my office to propose…” She tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “What are you proposing, Ethan?”
“Not a one-night stand. That’s for sure. I want something more permanent for us.”
“I see.” She sipped her tea again, playing for time.
“What do you fear?” He leaned in toward her.
“Oh, please!” She suddenly looked exasperated. “Seriously. Do you really think life is a war?”
“Have you read Dell’Arte della Guerra?” He was startled and straightened his back to tower over her.
“Machiavelli’s entire work,” she boasted, and rose from her chair, facing him. “First Julius Caesar, then Machiavelli. Who’s next? Robespierre? Oh, no. Too revolutionary, wasn’t he? Life is not a war, Ethan.”
Ethan smiled, amused. “All right, all right.” He raised his hands in a peace gesture. “How about passion?”
“Passion…” She sat again and drilled her nails on the glass desk, meditating. Gabriel’s not returning from the dead. He wouldn’t want me to live alone for the rest of my life, ending up a bitter, dry woman. “Yes, passion is an indispensable ingredient of life.” Then the smile came back to her lips. “And to war.” I see your point, Ethan.
So easy. “See, we came back to the beginning. It’s just a different way of putting it. I wish—No. I’m inviting you to go out with me again, Sophia. Today. An opera, a ballet, a play; choose… After, dinner.” He seized her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Please.”
He is handsome, intelligent and charming. Not quite the gentleman but attentive to detail. A bit too arrogant, and possessive, yes, but then everyone has imperfections. Don’t I have mine too? Why not fall for his seduction? “Okay,” she capitulated, with a smile. “Just let me know what time you’re going to pick me up. I’m certain I’ll appreciate your choice, as always.”
London, Eaton Square
Sophia Leibowitz’s Penthouse
Friday, January 15, 2010
8:00 p.m.
Ethan arrived in a red Ferrari. Over the last few days he had paraded four different expensive cars and took her to the best restaurants in town. He was always attentive and charming.
No driver. No Rolls-Royce. No driver. Hmm… She remembered Edward’s words, ‘He’ll want to impress you’.
“Hello.” She entered the car and fastened the seatbelt, turning to look at him, a smile on her lips.
He perused her with lust in his electric blue eyes. “Each day you look more ravishing, Sophia.”
Sophia wore a one-shoulder, dark-red turtleneck dress and black velvet high-heels.
His hand touched her naked shoulder and ran down her arm, entwining his fingers with hers. He leaned in and kissed her hungrily. “This dress is quite sensual. I like you in blood-red. It enhances your face and your hair. Brings out the fire in you.”
“More compliments.” She smiled. “What do you want today, Ethan?”
His azure eyes sparkled and his grin turned wicked, but he didn’t answer the question.
As always, time flew when she was with him. He showed real interest in her opinions about his enterprises and asked pertinent questions about her lectures at Cambridge and her work at Leibowitz Oil.
“You didn’t like the set I gave you?” Ethan fingered the stunning clip she was wearing and looked at her.
“I loved it.” She cocked her head to the side. “I didn’t wear it today because it doesn’t go as well with the red dress. Why?”
“You’ve only worn it twice. This one is gorgeous, Sophia.” He thinned his lips, taking in the earrings and the ring. “It’s also a Van Cleef, isn’t it? A gift?”
“Yes, to both questions.”
“I don’t like you wearing gifts g
iven by other men.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Ethan, it wasn’t given to me by other men. My husband gave it to me. This represents a Nereid, one of the fifty maiden sea nymphs and daughters of Nereus, the sea-god, and Doris, who was the daughter of Oceanus. According to the legend, the sea nymphs helped sailors navigate back to their lands. He gave me this because he said I was his beacon in life.”
The damned Greek. I hate all Greek things. He was suddenly angry. “Nevertheless, I don’t like you wearing it. Wear them to work, not when you go out with me.”
Sophia laughed. “I cannot wear this kind of jewelry to work.”
I will give you others then. I will give you everything. “Perhaps you want to have coffee at my apartment?” He flashed a charming smile and touched her hand lightly with his fingers. “I bought a special blend from Nespresso and it just came in. Since you like coffee, I’m sure you will appreciate it.”
That’s it. It is now or never. Courage, Sophia! “Sounds good.”
Park Lane
Ethan Ashford’s Penthouse
11:01 p.m.
He lived near The Dorchester Hotel, on Park Lane, in a spectacular penthouse apartment with a private elevator on the tenth floor of a very exclusive building.
The huge reception room was all done in white, glass, and steel with two enormous sofas and a glass center table. No building hindered the stunning vista from the three terraces encircling the apartment.
The white and dark green contemporary kitchen was immaculately kept. He went to one of the consoles where there was a Nespresso coffee machine and selected a blend. “Will you try the new blend?”
“Yes, thank you.” She stopped by one of the glass windows admiring the view.
London never ceased to amaze her. She just loved this city with its majestic buildings and regal aura, but she had felt detached from it since she moved here. She had always liked to explore its mysteries, but unlike others who roamed at will, she hid from prying eyes.
Ethan handed Sophia her cup. “Do you like the view?”
“Uh-huh. Fantastic.”
“Let’s drink this in the living room.”
Shades of Trust Page 4