Shades of Trust

by Cristiane Serruya

  “Nae, Fairy. It’ll be sooner than you think,” Alistair smiled, relieved, caressing her blonde hair. “Until then he will only sleep, eat, poop, pee, and cry.”

  “Hmm,” Gabriela scrunched her nose. “That doesn’t seem much fun.”

  “We’ll make it fun, Fairy,” he stated, in his commanding way and Gabriela smiled adoringly at him.

  Sophia grinned, love pouring from her eyes into Alistair’s.

  All she wanted to focus on right now was taking care of her family, the rest could wait a few months.

  She needed it; she deserved it. She had died a thousand deaths and had to be reborn a thousand times these past months, but in the end it was worth it.

  Craigdale Caisteal, The West Wing

  The Duchess of Craigdale Apartments

  Sunday, December 24, 2011

  11:07 p.m.

  Alistair closed the book and put it back on the bedside table. Silently, he rose from the chair and kissed Gabriela’s blonde hair. He switched off the table lamp and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly.

  He crossed the shadowed corridor, leaned on the doorjamb of the room opposite and let the serene atmosphere take hold of his soul.

  He sighed, contented.

  Sophia raised her head, put a finger on her lips, and motioned him in with a smile on her lips.

  She looked younger than ever, with her growing short raven hair leaving her neck half exposed and falling in cropped bangs over her forehead. It made her look like a pixie.

  He sat beside her on the sofa and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her and their son to his embrace. There was a look of elation on his face and his eyes glowed at her with adoration. “My private ray of sun. My light, my life, my love. There’s no greater gift than you, Gabriela, and Peter Liam.”

  “Perfect, isn’t he?” There was a rasp of deep emotion when she spoke, enthralled by the beautiful baby boy cradled in the crook of her arm, with his small mouth latched on to her nipple and a tiny fist resting on the upper swell of her breast. Her long fingers caressed his tiny head and fluff of silky, shiny ink-black hair. “He took after you.”

  “After you, you mean,” he breathed, his voice thick with love. Then he pressed his mouth to her ear and said huskily, “I like your breasts like that, bigger.”

  “Pervert!” Sophia flushed and he laughed, the deep tone waking up the baby, who opened sleepy forest-green eyes to look at his mother. “Shhh, my love. They are all yours.”

  “Oh, nae! They are not.” The baby let go of the nipple, more interested in the deep voice he could already recognize. “Come here, you’ve monopolized your mother for almost an hour. Let’s have a talk, man-to-man.” Alistair lifted their son from Sophia’s arms.

  She put a cloth over Alistair’s turtleneck sweater and he carefully rested the baby on his shoulder, delicately patting the little back with his long fingers. Sophia giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” he whispered, looking sideways at her.

  “You. You are so large you can almost hide Peter Liam with your hands. I’d expect you to be clumsy but I’ve never seen a man more skillful than you. One could guess you have a dozen children.”

  The baby burped. Alistair got up, changed his diaper with ease, and put him in the crib, tidying everything back in its place.

  “You see?” She smiled, endeared, as she cleaned herself and straightened her clothes. “A dozen children.”

  “Wife, you only gave me two so far,” he said, as he sent heavenward a silent prayer for Nathalie. And arched a brow at Sophia. “Where are my twins?”

  Keep behaving this way and I’ll give as many children as you want. “I’ll think about it.” She tied the straps of her long green halter dress behind her neck, flung her red shawl over her shoulders and arms, and joined Alistair by the crib, as he marveled at their chubby son and caressed his dark hair with the tip of his index finger. In less than a minute, their son was sleeping.

  “You were born for this,” she breathed, circling his waist.

  “Sophia,” he whispered her name lovingly as his arms went around her. “Any fool can change a pre-shaped, pre-glued diaper. Fathering is a subtle combination of love, wisdom, and patience. Fathering is knowing when to talk, to walk, and to rock. It is knowing how to comfort, help, and scold. This knowledge comes with time and no short-cuts.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but just turned on the video camera and pulled her by the hand, saying, “Come on. You need a few hours’ sleep.”

  He closed the door and they walked hand in hand to their suite, passing by their children’s suites, her studio, and the small private sitting room adjacent to their bedroom.

  “Will you untie this for me, please? I think it turned into a knot,” Sophia asked, turning her back to Alistair.

  “Sure.” He slid the vivid-red shawl off her shoulders, folded it in half, and laid it over the armchair. He untied the knot and massaged her neck, then he unzipped the back of the dress and let it fall to the floor.

  He realized that he was undressing her and that he didn’t want to stop.

  Her bra came off next.

  His hands ran over her velvet arms and settled on her round hips, pulling her against his erection. He whispered in her ear, “I’ve never unwrapped such a beautiful and loving present.”

  She shivered and turned to look at him, with parted lips and suspended breath. Hello, Lord Sexiness. It has been a while.

  “Sophia,” he whispered when she got closer. Her sweet scent of roses, oranges, and vanilla wafted over him. She slid one delicate hand across his chest, the gentle touch stirring the coals in his gut, making his skin tingle with anticipation. “I think I’ll never get enough of you.”

  I hope so. The longing in his voice made her heart beat faster. Eyes heavy with desire, she brushed her lips across his, letting him know she wanted him as much as he did.

  He drew in a breath at the slight contact, his senses kicking into high gear at the supple feel of her mouth. Be gentle.

  Her tongue licked his lips, coaxing him to open, and those smoldering embers burst to life at the feel of her silky wetness. A need to taste her rushed through him like lava. His lips parted, searching and he took her lower lip between his teeth, biting it, as she divested him of his trousers and boxers.

  When her feminine hand circled and tightened around his erection, his loud needy moan surprised even himself. He opened his forest-green eyes, a burning desire in them. “I’ve missed you.” Very much.

  “I did too,” she whispered, “my lover, my love, my life.”

  “I love you,” he breathed. His long ink-black hair framed his face as he looked down into her swirling yellow-diamond eyes. There was a fire, a burning flame inside them that was drawing him closer and closer with its spell.

  Laying her down on their bed, he whispered on her lips, “I’m going to make love to you, Sophia. But I’m doing it nice and slow, even if it kills me.”

  The tenderness in his voice just made Sophia want him more. Breathless, she looked up at his face. She wanted to close her eyes and at the same time she didn’t want to miss the passion in his face.

  She looked down and the sight of him fisting the base of his large erection made her feel needier. She wrapped her thighs around his tapered waist and cried out when Alistair eased slowly inside her tightness, the erotic burn of being stretched open by something so rigid. “Oh, so good.”

  Sophia buried her face against his neck and pressed tightly against him, moaning, as his thick, hard arousal slid deeper inside her.

  “So warm, so tight. So mine,” he growled. The sensation of entering her became amazingly intense, the snug and perfect fit of their bodies making him burn. He slowly started to rock his hips until he was fully settled into her. Control yourself, Alistair Connor. Control yourself. It was the last coherent thought he had, the only one he could focus on as he leashed his desire, waiting for her. He managed to ask, “Fast or slow? Tell me what you want.”

&n
bsp; “Fast, hard,” she moaned, hurting to come. She dipped her hands in his silky, long ink-black hair and ordered, “Rough.”

  He groaned in pleasure and took her mouth in a scorching kiss as he picked up the pace.

  “Alistair,” she moaned. “I need—”

  “I’m here, Sophia,” he groaned. His free hand settled between them to stroke her clitoris, as he thrust up with more force. “Come for me.” Paradise. My paradise.

  “I’m coming,” Sophia cried, thinking she was going to die as waves of unending climax slammed into her.

  He slowed his thrusts to deep, violent jerks, and his entire body tensed. His arm hooked around her waist to lock her against his chest, and his body jerked violently one last time as he came, shouting her name, delirious pleasure rippling through him.

  They clung to each other, panting for air, their hands tightening around their bodies, anchoring themselves as they came down together from their fierce orgasm.

  “I love you,” he breathed against her skin and brushed a kiss on the top of her shoulder, rolling over and pulling her with him.

  With her eyes closed, she whispered sleepily at him, “I love you more.”

  He didn’t have time to contradict her because Sophia’s breathing had already deepened.

  For a few minutes, Alistair listened to the beating of his own heart as her sleeping breath feathered over his chest.

  He thought about the deep connection they had and he was sure this was just another shift on the endlessly long journey of their souls, where they encountered each other from the beginning of the world. Its many twists and turns had caused them to meet and to morph but their essences were and would always be the same until the end of time.

  A peace he was again growing used to made him close his eyelids too and fall into a deep and restful sleep.

  Epilogue

  Ells Hall

  Sunday, April 22, 2012

  11:33 a.m.

  The cool spring morning slid toward a sultry, lazy sunny day.

  Her large, black-haired, rugged husband lay sprawled on a huge blanket made of the MacCraig’s tartan colors with their dark-haired son, his spitting image, lying on his naked chest.

  Sophia had a strange sense of dejá vu as she heard the baby’s giggles over a deeper rumbling laughter. She could see them there, only a few inches away from her as she leaned on her elbow next to them. And with a dreamy sensation, she stretched out her hand to touch them almost not believing all the changes she had unquestioningly welcomed in her life.

  Alistair’s familiar shoulder was hard and stable as rock and her hand moved for her son’s cheek, its softness completely fascinating her. The sunrays that poured through the leaves shined on their ink-black locks making the sight even more magical.

  Gabriela’s and Ariadne’s playful squeals reached them before they arrived, running with Tavish, Valentina, and Victoria behind them.

  Tavish’s sea-green eyes softened when he took in the scene of his sister-in-law, brother, and nephew in perfect harmony. “Sophia, I’m taking my godson to take his bath.”

  She smiled at him and said, “Aren’t you a wonderful nanny, Lord Perfect-Godparent?”

  Tavish smiled happily at her and picked up Peter from Alistair’s chest, cooing at the baby, who gurgled at him happily.

  “He might be ready for his sleep too,” Sophia said, standing up to caress Peter’s hair. “I breastfed him a while ago.”

  Girlish giggles and Alistair’s deep laughter made her turn. Ariadne and Gabriela were perched over Alistair’s strong shoulders and Valentina and Victoria knelt in front of the three whispering in secrecy, while he bobbed his head, grinning widely.

  Sophia could bet they were planning a big surprise to celebrate her upcoming birthday. She raised an eyebrow at Tavish, who winked at her and mouthed, ‘Mad Hatter’s Tea Party’, before saying out loud, “Come on, girls, you have your other chores to prepare.”

  The twins and the girls ran away teasing Tavish, who amused shook his head and calmly followed the group.

  “It’s funny how we rarely see in advance when the most important incidents in our lives are unfolding,” Alistair said when she sat back on the blanket beside him, laying down and pulling her with him.

  She looked up to see two small yellow butterflies dancing around each other over them.

  “When I met you, I could never have imagined my whole life would change to such an unrecognizable extreme. And more, that I’d commit so that I would make room in my heart not only for such an unending love, but that I could be a father again, to two beautiful children. To set aside my own interests, and give my family my time and my love.”

  “You know, Alistair Connor, it wasn’t only you.” Studying the bewitching courtship dance of the gracious insects flying above their heads, Sophia realized that from cocoons either beautiful butterflies or ugly moths could come. “I think this unwavering acceptance of our metamorphosis is proof of our trust in ourselves and in the gracefulness of life. Every day, we undergo transitions in our lives. Our toiling, fretting, and anger are useless against the turning tides of nature.”

  “Some adjustments came easily, without conscious effort,” he said, looking up at the bright blue sky. “Others required…a bit of understanding, of letting go. Gabriela, Peter Liam, and you will always come first. My children will no’ grow up to say they never saw their dad because he was at work. I want to be a positive role model, involved in their lives, a loving, silly, annoying, and disciplining father.”

  “Your deepest change, my love, came from opening up what was already inside you.” She smiled, bewitched at his words, put her head on his chest, and felt his heart beating under her face. His wonderful scent reminded her of sweet wood; a mix of vanilla and oak. It was as earthy and male as the Highlands. Almost absentmindedly, she began to stroke a circle around his nipple. She loved the feel of his skin. “I remember when you told me you were a selfish man, on our first outing; and then that you were guilty of sins, which weren’t yours.”

  “What you never believed me to be. Neither selfish, nor guilty,” he said seriously.

  What if I hadn’t trusted my instinct? “When I hear you talking now, of such selflessness and patience…” She brushed her lips against his. “Those are the most precious gifts a man can give his family, his wife. This is my best birthday. I couldn’t be happier.”

  Neither could I. “I know.” He smiled smugly at her and Sophia rolled her eyes at him.

  He became acutely aware that they were alone and that she felt divinely soft, lying over his hard body. He thrust his hands in her hair, whispering, “I love you.”

  They looked at each other as if they had just met.

  They kissed as if there was no tomorrow.

  And they made love knowing their hearts would be united forever.

  Sneak a peek at Cristiane Serruya’s new contemporary romance

  Love painted in red

  a Kindle Scout winner, available at Amazon.com, by Kindle Press.

  Prologue

  Ireland

  “We’ve been doing everything we can,” the private investigator said, in defense of himself. He looked pointedly at Geoffrey Callaghan, hoping for some support.

  “I’ll double the reward if you find her in the next three months,” said a husky male voice. “Put more men on her. Do whatever is necessary. I’ll pay the extra cost.”

  The PI nodded once and quickly made his exit, not wanting to hear the or else, which was implicit in the order. He had never been inside that monastery, much less inside that room. It was the first time in years that he had to deal with a person other than Geoffrey, who was scary enough.

  “They will find her,” Geoffrey said.

  “If I were a suspicious man, I would wonder why you didn’t have more men searching for her.” Bluish-white smoke rose from the corner, which would have been completely dark if not for an orange glow. “Or why you weren’t more careful that night.”

  “You
were the one who chose her.” A faint smile touched Geoffrey’s wrinkled, thin lips. “I told you she was a freak.”

  He had no answer to that. “Go! Leave me alone.”

  “That’s exactly what you asked of me years ago. Look what happened.” Geoffrey smirked.

  “Leave me alone.” He grabbed the nearest object—a heavy ashtray—and flung it at Geoffrey’s head. Despite his old age, Geoffrey ducked, avoiding being hit by the object but not by being showered with butts and ashes from the homemade cigar.

  “Don’t do that again, my son.” He shook his bald head at the once handsome man sitting in the dark. “Don’t forget who gives the orders here.”

  “Do I ever?” A fury raced through the man’s blood. There had been a time when he met his unruly desires in his own ways. Not anymore. He had become dependent on the old man in front of him to fulfill them.

  “I will go.” Geoffrey smirked. “But you need to relax. I’ll send a cup of yagé and a devotee for you to fuck.”

  The man stayed silent for a moment. “Send the yagé and the devotee.”

  “A wise decision. Be at peace,” Geoffrey said, before he closed the door behind him.

  The orange light glowed brighter as he dragged deeper. He imagined he could see her face and body take shape in the smoke as he exhaled.

  She had become the reason he arose every day, breathed, and endured pain. She had become his obsession.

  He would find her. Touch her as she had touched him. Make her scream as he had.

  Until he tired.

  Until she begged.

  Then, only then, he would kill her.

  Chapter 1

  England, London

  Sapphire Club

  Friday, August 29, 2014

  5:45 p.m.

  Some had wondered if after the war Tavish Uilleam Davenport MacCraig had become asexual. He would say he had, in a certain way. His calm, easy behavior churned to intense and controlling; his unsmiling face kept others away. He had tried to date, but failed miserably, and he had not even managed to form as much as a friend with benefits. Therefore, he usually abstained from sex or masturbated. But giving pleasure was one thing he couldn’t go without: it was one thing he rejoiced in, and he couldn’t well do it alone.