Shades of Trust

Chapter 10-2

Now! I need to f**k 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 s****l 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 her 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 f*****g 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.

He chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, standing next to him.

“Your display order. Work on one side; leisure on the other; every book in alphabetic order by the author’s last name. It looks like a library.”

“You’re the first one to decipher my organizational code without an explanation.” She stared at him, flabbergasted.

He raised a black eyebrow at her. “The first one?” He returned his attention to her books.

“Well, I don’t have many guests. You like to read?” As he nodded, she continued, “I devour books. I can’t live without them. I read anything that falls in my hands. Classic literature, novels, anything.”

“In any language, it seems,” he murmured, perusing the books. He took Inferno by Dante Alighieri, in Italian, off the shelf. He skimmed through it and stopped at a page. He turned to her, his eyes questioning.

“You know, Dante was wrong. Hell is here. We live in a place of woes, of eternal pain, and loss,” Sophia said, feeling desolate. “We should abandon all hope when we are born. Happiness is a mere sparkle in the darkness.”

“‘A mighty flame followeth a tiny spark,’” he quoted in Italian as he studied her notes in the margins.

Her laughter sounded like a rasp, betraying how crestfallen she remained from her earlier encounter. “Good, Alistair, very good. Dante would be proud.”

“You were feeling desperate when you read Inferno,” he stated. “What was your sin at the time, Sophia?” Lust?

“If hell exists, like he said, I shall go to the seventh circle of hell.”

He stroked his chin, his brows creased in thought. “Violence? It is violence, right?”

She nodded.

No submissive is violent. Hmm…you’re difficult to unveil, Sophia. He returned the book to its place and went on with his exploration. “I haven’t read this.” He paused when he reached The Name of the Rose and pulled it out. “Not as many notes,” he said absently, his mind still puzzled by the woman next to him.

She shrugged.

“Ah.” He halted at the last phrase, which she had highlighted. His brows knitted. He angled the book down. “What does this mean?” he asked, pointing.

“It’s Latin; a quotation by Thomas à Kempis, a German medieval monk and writer. It means ‘Everywhere I have searched for peace and nowhere found it, except in a corner with a book.’ One of the most truthful sentences in the world.” Her finger traced the lines.

“Whoever you saw turned your mood to a despondent one,” Alistair uttered quietly.

She remained silent, stoically enduring his scrutiny.

“May I borrow it?” Say yes. I need a reason to see you again.

“If you—” She swallowed and lifted her face to his, “Alistair, I’m seeing someone.” She blushed and murmured, “Best to keep this as a business relationship.”

She can really read my mind. Dumbfounded and endeared by her embarrassment, he smiled wickedly at her. “My dear, if this man knew how to satisfy you, you wouldn’t have responded to me like you did in the car,” he whispered sensuously. “Aren’t you curious to know how I could make you feel?”

She licked her lips nervously.

He cupped her jaw between his hands.

“Ah-ah. Don’t!” His thumb caressed her full lips.

She freed herself from his grip, suddenly hot from his touch. She walked to the balcony doors and he followed.

He dropped his head until his hair tickled her cheek. “You haven’t answered my question.” He put his arms around her and slightly pressed his hips on her back.

“You can borrow it,” she answered quickly.

His throaty, low laughter fanned her neck and he could feel the ripples of desire careening up her spine. “Smart, Sophia. Smart.” He laughed, moving back to his position in front of the shelf. “I like it.”