Shades of Trust

by Cristiane Serruya

  She added the chopped items, put the pasta in, and stirred again. After a few minutes, she picked up a bowl and put everything inside, and took it to the table, setting it in front of him.

  He served the wine and handed a crystal glass to her, prompting, “A toast. To you, the most beautiful and intelligent woman I’ve ever met.”

  “To you, an intriguing man, and to us,” she replied, and drank the wine. To us, an uncertainty.

  “To us, may we together create a new path in life.” He hardened just imagining the things he would teach her.

  “To…second chances.” She smiled at him, serving the pasta. “There’s some Grana Padano Riserva, if you want.”

  He put some of the cheese on his pasta noticing she looked anxiously at him while he tried the pasta.

  “Hmm!” He closed his eyes. “Where did you learn how to cook like that?”

  “So, you approve of me as a cook?”

  “I approve of you, period.” He flashed a grin at her. “But this…God, Sophia! This is scrumptious!”

  “I had classes when I studied in Lausanne.” She smiled. “A Cordon Bleu teacher taught Cordon Bleu pour les jeunes. Can you imagine a bunch of teenage girls in a kitchen?”

  “Nae, but I won’t mind eating like this every day,” he said. “Don’t tell me you usually cook?”

  “Not every day. But after that year in Lausanne, I improved my skills at home. When I got married I made it a habit to cook at least once a week for…Gabriel.”

  Fuck off, Gabriel. He interlaced his fingers in hers and perused her face, seriously. “Do you like being in his shoes? As far as I know, you relinquished your career as a successful lawyer to run his company.”

  “I don’t run LO, Edward does. I just give the last opinion on matters that are more important.” She drank her wine and tilted her head to the side in thought. “And, well, it was never a question of what I wanted to do, but what I had to do. But, you know…I never thought I’d have what it takes to fully understand and manage such an enormous and complicated organization. In the beginning, the employees didn’t have much faith in me—even I didn’t, if you want the truth—but gradually, with Edward’s help, I’ve somehow succeeded. More than a business partner, he has been a great friend and companion.”

  “Davidoff?” As she nodded, he frowned and enquired, “He was Gabriel’s partner?”

  “No. Edward started working in LO as a trainee and rose by his own merit to the position of CEO still under Gabriel’s management. Since I inherited Leibowitz, he has been a great help to me. Last year, I gave him five percent.”

  He gaped at her.

  “What?”

  “You gave away five percent—five percent!—of Leibowitz Oil?” He couldn’t believe his ears. “Beauty, if you had given any other man five percent of Leibowitz Oil, he would have lain on the floor for you to step on with your spiked stilettos.”

  “Maybe, but I didn’t need a doormat. I needed a trustworthy friend and a great CEO to support me. And before you say that I’ve done a senseless and stupid thing, hear my reasons.” She raised a hand and started to count, “First, he worked for Gabriel for more than seventeen years. Second, Gabriel trusted him. Third, I already knew him and his work, and I liked what I knew. Fourth, I was utterly alone in a strange country and needed someone by my side.” She finished her wine and handed him her empty glass for more. “Lastly, and most importantly, my instincts said he was the man who would help me through it.”

  Gabriel, Ashford, Davidoff. How many men are an integrant part of your life, Sophia? “Instincts? You do business based on instincts?”

  “No.”

  “Thank Christ.”

  “I do everything in life based on my instincts. If my instincts say no, I say no. It doesn’t matter how many reasons there are for me to say yes.” She laughed, “It drove Gabriel crazy. Edward, at first, didn’t trust my opinions, either.”

  He frowned. “And now?”

  “He’s learned that, although strange, it works well.”

  “No kidding!”

  “For example, the contract I signed with your bank. I didn’t trust Wales. Turned out I was right.” She shrugged. “Haven’t you ever had a feeling you shouldn’t do something? Or that a person is worth trusting, contrary to all proof?”

  “Nae, no’ really.” He finished his pasta. “Is that how you used to decide on your pro bono work?”

  “Want more?”

  He shook his head.

  “Stay seated,” she said when he motioned to help. She took their plates, rinsed them, and stashed them in the dishwasher. “I only accepted cases when I believed in what the person was telling me. Either guilty or innocent. And that is the way all the lawyers at my foundation are directed to do as well. Of course, if the evidence is too strong against the person, I can’t do magic. Contrary to Leonard’s beliefs, I’m not a witch.”

  He smiled at this. “I think you have a book of spells and a caldron hidden somewhere. What does your instinct say about me? Innocent or guilty?”

  “It says I should trust you,” she answered sincerely. She covered the bowl of pasta with plastic film and put it in the refrigerator. Turning to him, she asked, “Dessert? There’s a banana cake that I usually heat up. Ice cream. Or chocolate? Pierre Marcolini. The same I gave your father the weekend of Tavish’s birthday.”

  “Chocolate.” He scowled at her. “You didn’t answer. Innocent or guilty?”

  Does it have to be black or white? “Bring the wine, will you?” She exited the kitchen with the pack of condoms in her hand. “Come. Or I get to choose the film.”

  Why didn’t she answer? What had started as a joke, unexpectedly turned into something serious. He wanted, no, needed to know her opinion. He followed her, the decanter in his hand. “Sophia.”

  “I have champagne truffles, marzipan, or seventy percent dark chocolate for grown-ups.” She didn’t look up from where she hunched near the small fridge, just pointed to a beautiful big black box by her feet with the number sixteen stamped on it. “Or milk chocolate for the kids. And macaroons. Which do you prefer?”

  “Dark and macaroons.” He put the decanter and his glass next to hers. She’s beating around the bush. He approached the window, looking outside, but not seeing the park. “But I’d rather you answered my question, Sophia.

  She frowned. “I have answered.”

  “Nae. You. Have. Not.” Alistair turned from the window, a stern look on his face, and asked in an icy-thin voice, “If I were your client, would I be innocent or guilty?”

  Chapter 17

  10:55 p.m.

  Sophia stiffened and rose from the floor with the boxes in her hand. She didn’t face him, but she could feel his uneasiness. She took her time putting the boxes on the square ottoman and picked up her glass, refilling it, and drinking a steady gulp. “You are not my client.”

  “Let’s make an exercise, Counselor,” he said, watching as she breathed deep, her ribcage expanding.

  “Are you serious?” she asked astonished. This game is ridiculous, Alistair Connor, and I know quite well its rules.

  “Aye,” he answered. “Me, myself, and I is your defendant.”

  “Me, myself, and I,” she repeated, in a whisper, studying his face intently, her forehead creased. I know exactly what you’re looking for. But I’m not game for condemning someone without a cause.

  She gazed into his eyes, in the way she sometimes did, as though she thought she could read him.

  “I have to hear my client first. I cannot judge before a fair hearing.” She felt as if she was wading into a muddy and sticky pool, which could well not have a way out. “State your plea and your crime, please.”

  “Too many sins and most of the seven capital vices,” he answered quickly, without doubt.

  “Too general,” she riposted promptly in a calm way. “Go on.”

  “Debauchery, perversion, anger, hate, selfishness, murder, indifference, and detachment. And, of the seven vices: lust
, wrath, pride, and envy,” he said, trying to shock her. “In that order, since December 1999.”

  “Who pressed charges?”

  He stood there looking at her. She’s still evading. Oh, come on, Counselor Leibowitz, stop this. Condemn me, once and for all.

  “I’m waiting.” She tapped her foot on the rug, aggravated at the silliness of this psychological pretense. “Who pressed charges?”

  “Me, myself, and I.”

  How can you press changes against yourself, Alistair Connor? She mused, frowning, evaluating his eyes, face, and body language, searching for something more. Guilty by omission? Maybe. She turned her back to him and pinched the bridge of her nose. But there’s more to this. He’s lying. Why? She wouldn’t deny him the right of lying, even to himself. “Any evidence? Proof?”

  A fight. A destroyed car. Blood everywhere. Two dead bodies. “Photos,” he answered brusquely.

  “No documents? Testimonies? Fingerprints?”

  “Nothing conclusive.” He stood still, watching her pace the room.

  “Photos can be manipulated,” she mused. “The jury sees what the lawyer wants them to see.”

  “The photos weren’t forged.” His deep voice sounded angry and sad at the same time. “Guilty as charged.”

  A piece is missing from this puzzle. She finished the wine, placing the glass on the other side table and paced some more. She voiced her thoughts to herself in a whisper, “Just photos.”

  She spun around and her dress swirled around her. The Japanese hair stick dropped to the ground and her hair tumbled down. “Who or what was in the photos?”

  “The scene of the crime. Blood. Dead bodies.”

  Dead bodies?! Eleven faces floated in her mind making her sick and anger twisted her lips into a sinister smile, I know this game better than you do, Lord Me-myself-and-I.

  He could almost see her growing taller, sprouting wings, and yielding a fiery sword, ready to pierce his black heart, guilty of Nathalie’s death.

  “Think hard before you answer this question. Was me, myself and I there? Or had he been there at any moment?”

  “Nae.” His head dropped a bit as the memories of his little blonde angel all battered and bruised flooded his mind. “But should have been.”

  Bingo! Something he didn’t do. Guilt by omission. “Ha! So there is no connection to the supposed crime.”

  His head came up abruptly. “Nae, but—”

  She raised her hand, demanding silence. “This was not a question. It was a conclusion. Neither the supposed criminal, nor the accusing party, has no proof that the defendant was, or had been, at the scene of the crime, or is guilty of sins, why should I condemn him?” You?

  His eyes narrowed.

  “No answer, Alistair Connor?” she pressed. She stabbed a finger hard on his chest, like a dagger. “Therefore, this lawyer is pleading innocent in the name of Me-myself-and-I.” She glared at him, pinning him under her angry stare. “Or rather, in your name, Alistair Connor.”

  How dare she absolve me? The fear that her absolution could destroy the detachment he had achieved so far erupted in him a need to destroy whomever could have absolved him.

  Alistair’s hands encompassed her waist swiftly, hauling her body flush to his, his mouth crushing hers.

  The unpredicted assault startled Sophia. She gripped his arms to steady herself as his tongue explored.

  He clutched her hair in his fist and with a rough tug on her hair, slanted her head to his invasion.

  Sophia stiffened and gasped at the sharp pain. Her slender fingers wrapped around his wrist and surprised Alistair, causing him to loosen his hold on her.

  She pulled his head up to look at his eyes. They burned her with pure carnal lust and his grip on her hair tightened. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I am a sinner.” His head bent to the hollow of her neck and bit her there. “And I’m going to show you my hell.”

  “I—” I don’t know. She could not answer, paralyzed by sudden fear and dread. And intense arousal.

  “You might even like the devil.” A need to brand her as his whipped through him. He closed his eyes and imagined her bound by ropes or cuffs. He became so hard he hurt. As he bent his head, his nose brushed hers in a gentle caress, and he spoke against her lips, “Do you trust me?”

  “This is not fair,” she said slowly.

  “No’ fair?” His hands dropped away from her and he stepped back as if he had been slapped. Fuck. She doesn’t know the first thing about this game. “Nae, I guess it isn’t.”

  Sophia observed his face, as a kaleidoscope of emotions played on it. Her hand shot out to grab his arm, holding him in place. She stared intently into his eyes. “Wait. I told you that I trust you.”

  “Are you sure?” He cocked his head.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  His fingers untied the sash at her waist and nudged the dress off her shoulders, dropping a light kiss on one, then the other.

  The dress pooled on the floor at her feet.

  He lost his voice as he saw her breasts straining against a sensual black-and-silver bra made of lace and silk, and matching panties with thin ribbons tying it. The silk hid exactly what he wanted, and the lace showing everything else.

  He lifted her to his chest and she wrapped her legs around his waist, his hard erection probing her through his jeans.

  She gasped in his ear, “Alistair.”

  “I’m right here,” he whispered back, and carried her past her bedroom into her dressing room. He deposited her softly on her feet and shed his cardigan, throwing it on the armchair in the corner.

  “Do you have rope?” His demeanor suddenly turned serious, muscles bunched, and his eyes flashed.

  Sophia jumped back. “No.”

  “Scarves?”

  His eyes were burning with lust and something more she couldn’t identify. She nodded, spun on her heels, and went to a corner of the room, gesturing to a shelf. “Silk scarves will do?”

  He nodded. “Let me see.”

  She gave him the first one and he coiled it around his hands, snapping it, testing its softness and strength.

  “Two more.”

  She handed them to him and he took her hand without a word, towing her back to her bedroom.

  He put the scarves on the bed and turned to look at her, studying her intently. “Can I put on some music from my phone?”

  She picked up his cell phone from the bedside table, and connected it to the Wi-Fi network. She handed it to him and he typed in the name of a song, smiling when he found it.

  “Pay attention to the song.” Snow Patrol The Lightning Strike flooded the room. “And forget everything else.”

  He backed her on the wall, cupped the back of her head, and kissed her hard.

  Their lips clashed and he bit her lip.

  She moaned.

  Aye, Sophia, that’s it. He stepped away from her and started to divest himself of his jeans, boxers, and loafers, to advanced on her naked, sporting an already full erection.

  When her hands faltered on the fastenings of her bra, he had to inhale deeply, controlling the urge to snap the ties of her bra, to delicately unfasten the silk strings that held it in place.

  Alistair led her to the bed and laid her down, reclining on the bedpost to study her for a long moment.

  Sophia stared at him, a twinge of anticipation rolling down her spine. His whole bearing had changed.

  He took his time before sitting on the bed and leaning to kiss her neck and shoulders. His hands roamed over her body, driving her crazy with need. He picked up the first scarf and paused to gaze into her eyes. “Let me guide you through this.”

  When his fingers gently touched her face, she almost gasped. Oh, my! What is he planning to do?

  “Don’t be afraid.” He licked her throat with the tip of his tongue. “Can I blindfold you?”

  She nodded. Her hands started to tremble and she fisted them as he folded the white scarf.

&
nbsp; “Close your eyes,” he ordered again, and covered her eyes with the scarf. “Anytime you want to stop, just let me know, okay?!”

  “Yes.” Sophia heaved a deep sigh as the darkness enfolded her and she fumbled for his biceps. In the darkness, everything became overwhelming: the feel of the cotton against her back, the silk around her wrists, the fluttering brush of his fingers on her arms and shoulders, the shift of the bed, the music, the lyrics.

  “I’m going to tie your wrists with the scarves.” He held her hands in his and guided them to rest on the bed angled upwards to the bedposts. He knotted the first scarf around her right wrist and tested the fastening, then did the same to the other wrist.

  Sophia’s mouth dried out in anticipation and her breathing shortened.

  “Now, the scarves to the bedposts.” He tied them to the bedposts and pulled her down, arms stretched to the point where she couldn’t move. “Sophia. You with me?”

  “Yes,” she rasped.

  “Free your mind.” The mattress dipped between her legs as he settled himself there and she exhaled. “Don’t rationalize.”

  She felt his chest and abs as he hovered over her. The touch of his silky skin and hard muscles was all she could feel.

  His thumb brushed her mouth and she opened her lips. He pressed it inside and she sucked on it.

  He breathed in sharply and his other hand fluttered against her throat and down her shoulder, finding a breast.

  “Oh.” She never thought how arousing being tied and blindfolded could be.

  He bent to suck a breast, tonguing the nipple slowly with gentle strokes, teasing, tormenting.

  Sensations overwhelmed her, and she gasped as he closed his teeth around her nipple. The unknown brought on by the darkness and the impotence of being at another’s mercy was arousing and scary. Sophia was sinking, desperate for a lifeline.

  “Be as loud as you want. I want to hear your pleasure,” he said when he noticed she had sunk her teeth into her lip to keep from screaming. He tightened his hold on her head as he sucked and tongued and bit her nipple. “I can’t get enough.”

  She arched on his mouth and gasped low and long, thrashing her head on the hand holding it. He traveled to the other breast and applied the same sweet torture. His hands went down to her panties and, untying the ribbons, he felt for her slit, his middle finger entering her.