Unbroken Love_Shades of Trust

by Cristiane Serruya

  And deeper still, his primeval instincts were jerking at his need to dominate. Irrationally, all he wanted to do was grab her, hold her, and never let go. Make love to her until they were both tired and sated; until their scents mingled together, branding her as she was already imprinted all over him. It was consuming him with such an intensity that even though he knew he should resist it, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

  She was too beautiful.

  She was too sweet.

  She was a force field that inexorably pulled him in.

  As he executed his turn with perfection, pushing against the pool wall, a word superseded all other thoughts. Mine. She is mine.

  Sophia paused at the top of the stairs admiring her husband’s body. When he swam at home, Alistair used smaller trunks that fit snuggly around his lean hips. She always enjoyed the sight while she worked out in the mornings.

  His muscles surged and bulged, as water sluiced around his skin. His wet black hair gleamed bluish and the jagged ends caressed his neck. Strong arms and long legs matched his broad back well. He was not overly-muscled, but well-defined and there was an underlying strength and power that could not be overlooked.

  She closed the door and climbed down the steps, her bare feet making no sound. She didn’t want to disturb him. Nonetheless, she wanted to be there if he needed her.

  As soon as she sat crossed legged on the pool’s edge, perfectly tuned to her, he stopped and surfaced.

  He was so tall that, in the middle of the pool, his shoulders and his pectorals were out of the water.

  Sophia’s mouth went dry. The look in his gaze made her freeze; his eyes were gleaming in a mix of anger, desire, fear, and wildness.

  For Alistair, anger was easier to deal with than the hurt of another loss. But he didn’t know exactly whom his anger was directed to: the message sender for jumbling his thoughts; Sophia for having lunch with Ethan; or himself for even a split second of doubting her.

  A few locks fell over Alistair’s forehead and eyes as he shook his head forcefully to straighten his thoughts.

  It took him just one look to make her body tingle all over; to make her desire him with all her might. He robbed the air from her lungs. Sophia’s hands itched to open her dress, to dive in to meet him, and make love to him right then and there.

  He was looking too hot.

  He was looking too sexy.

  Alistair walked the distance between them, studying her face and her posture, legs crossed, hands on her knees, and a welcoming smile on her face. He watched as she parted her lips, her breathing speeding.

  “Hi,” she whispered huskily when he reached her.

  He was too shattered to think straight, much less talk. He picked her up by the waist and pulled her into the pool.

  “My dress,” Sophia gasped, surprised.

  Fuck the dress. Fuck everything.

  She grasped his biceps and looked up at his face, trying to understand what was going on.

  He backed her onto the pool wall, while she wrapped her legs around his waist. Their eyes were locked on each other.

  He towered over her, as intense and savage as only he could be, making her feel small and delicate in comparison, surrounded by his utter maleness. She felt trapped and she wanted to stay in his cage forever.

  Alistair watched her, enraptured. There was so much love sparkling on her face that he closed his eyes and lowered his head to take her mouth with the urgency of a starving man and the softness of an experienced lover, biting her bottom lip and then licking it with the tip of his tongue as he untied her dress and untangled it from her legs.

  Her arms wrapped around his neck, fisting his hair in her hands, as she paired his kiss with one of hers.

  He tried to slow things down, but she began to writhe against his arousal, lost to the sensations.

  She nipped at his bottom lip and he growled, “Harder.”

  He gently kneaded her breast with one hand, his grip on her buttocks strong, too strong, but just like before she didn’t seem to mind the incongruence of his touches.

  For her, he had this powerful quiet command. As if when he was around, the whole universe, her included, answered to him.

  Her back arched, pressing her lower body more firmly against his.

  He found a measure of release when his erection pressed against her. But in seconds, it became a deeper need. His hands seized her lacy panties. “Rip?”

  “Please,” she rasped.

  “I like that word on your mouth.” His blood was set aflame by her eagerness and he ripped the delicate strips of her panties, pushing them back.

  He buried his face in her neck, kissing her throat and moving up to bite her earlobe. Her intoxicating taste invaded his veins. He groaned and she slanted her head, giving him room to explore.

  Ear shell, lobe, neck, shoulder, collar bone. When he tried to sit her on the edge to feast on her, Sophia’s arms and legs tightened around him.

  “Now,” she murmured in his ear, as she tugged hard at his hair, moving his head down to the other side of her neck. “Rough and fast.”

  “Hold,” he ordered. In a split second, he lowered his trunks and moved his hips up, putting just the head of his penis in. He shuddered with the intensity of the pleasure.

  She moaned breathlessly as she bit his shoulder and raked her nails on his back to dig them into his waist. “Don’t hold back.”

  He licked the cord of her neck and pushed shallowly. He slid backward, and she squeezed at him, trying to hold him inside.

  Sophia pulled his head back by his hair and hissed, “Don’t. Hold. Back.”

  It was a good pain that he was getting addicted to. Taking her mouth, he slammed forward, giving her more, harder. His need for her now was too great to be leashed and Sophia liked it just as it was.

  “Ah, Sophia! You feel so good,” he grunted as his mouth followed the line of her chin to lick at her neck.

  “Ah, yes. Meu amor, eu te amo,” she declared, moaning her need out loud, shuddering with release and still begging for more. “Love me. Take me.”

  “Don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” He utterly ravaged her, taking and giving back. When he knew she couldn’t resist anymore, he raised his head to watch her.

  He saw Sophia throw her head back with a broken cry of delight, a rapturous look on her face.

  He saw his freedom, his love, his everything.

  He saw his paradise.

  The pleasure utterly consumed him and he thrust once more and her name left his mouth as his sublime satisfaction reached its peak.

  Leaving him drained.

  Sated.

  Awed.

  She kissed the hammering pulse at the base of his neck and combed his silky hair, enjoying the feel of it. Alistair was a powerful and insatiable man. Just right for her: dominant, sensual, extremely vocal, and slightly kinky.

  “Husband?”

  I never tire of hearing that. “Yes, Wife?”

  “What happened?”

  Fuck! He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if in pain, asking hoarsely, “How do you do this to me?”

  “Do what?” she asked in a whisper, almost afraid of what he was going to say.

  “Make me want you, despite everything.” He had forgotten about the messages, about the photo. He had forgotten his fear, doubt, and anger.

  Despite everything? Sophia heard only those two words. What is everything?

  “I’m a disaster,” he said hollowly.

  “Well.” She smiled making things light. “Now that you’ve said it, I can confess. Yep, you’re a disaster. You ruined my dress. And what should I say about my sanity?”

  He had to tell her the truth about what happened and explain everything. He’d already withheld information once and she ran away. Will she think less of me for doubting her even for a heartbeat? How could she no’?

  What the hell happened? She peered at him and decided for another course of action. “Aren’t you hungry, Alistair Connor? I am. Fam
ished.”

  He had made too many mistakes to make another. He wanted her protected and their marriage cemented with trust.

  He gave her a smile. “So, let’s go up, shower, and feed you.”

  Chapter 2

  Mayfair, The Dorchester Hotel

  The Harlequin Suite

  8:41 p.m.

  The Harlequin Suite was fashionable, emulating The Dorchester’s original style, reminiscent of the Hollywood glamour of the thirties, and although it had been refurbished in a more modern and fresh way in two-thousand-seven, it was not exactly Ethan’s taste.

  Ethan exited the master bedroom done in emerald and red hues, and the sycamore lined dressing room, which had ample space, but still left him feeling confined. He liked his rooms at his penthouse. Clean, contemporary, understated luxury, which let his art collection come to the fore.

  From the living room, he observed Barbara outside on the large terrace, enjoying the unrivaled view of Hyde Park, in a sensuous pose, hip flung to one side and her buttocks thrown in the air. The effect was stunning, all the more so because she was dressed in a red long sleeve silk blouse with black leather snug mini skirt and black Louboutin ice-pick high-heels.

  She’s becoming bolder every day. More Barbara and less Sophia. “Good evening, darling.”

  She pivoted when he spoke and her gaze slid over him. He wore gray tailored trousers and a white turtleneck sweater. The effect was one of careless sophistication. It gave him a softness, and her nipples hardened more than they already were from the low temperature.

  She knew it was only an illusion. Ethan was a hard man. In many ways. But she couldn’t help herself, his azure, electric eyes were pure allurement. Unbidden, her feet brought her inside the living room set in ivory to yellow-gold tones, her footfalls hushed by the bespoke wool and silk Nepalese rug and her lips opened in a genuine joyful smile. “Hello, Ethan.”

  “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, after giving her a kiss on her lips, his hands journeying from her shoulders to hold her hands in his. Jesus, woman. All this just to show off? It’s freezing!

  She shook her head, with a wider smile at his concerned gesture. “No. I just stepped outside for a minute while I waited for you. So, tell me, how was your meeting today?”

  Are you asking about my meeting with Sophia?! It astonished him that Barbara could be interested in her rival. He squinted at her briefly before asking, “What meeting?”

  “The one at Leibowitz Oil,” she asserted without blinking. Barbara wanted to know. She pulled him to the ivory plush sofa. “Wine?”

  He looked at his watch. “Aren’t we having dinner?”

  “Not yet. I hope you don’t mind. I ordered red wine and some cheese for us. I want to know all about your meeting.”

  Call Scott, then. He nodded and waited for her to call one of the butlers. Instead, she started serving him herself, bent down, thrusting her rounded buttocks in the air, her leg muscles flexed beneath the smooth leather of her skirt. Ethan smiled inside and sat more comfortably, enjoying the show.

  She brought back a tray with assorted cheese and served him Reblochon on a delicate toast. “Open your mouth.”

  He inhaled her scent and realized that she was not using Sublime Vanille. “What is your perfume?”

  “Hermés Vingt-quatre Faubourg. It goes very well with my skin. I love it.”

  Smells good, baby. He felt a wicked flare in his gut again as she provoked him, leaning over him once more to serve him more cheese.

  “What are we toasting to?” he asked and handed her one of the wine glasses. To a night of mindless sex.

  “To your success,” Barbara whispered. She licked her lips and let out a victorious sigh, seeing his eyes sparkle before she moved away from his reach to click her glass with his.

  But is sex all I want from her? Guilt had never been a problem for Ethan, but then he’d never wanted more than sex with his paid women before. With Barbara, he was becoming too interested for his own ease. He took in every scrumptious inch of her. His eyes followed her around the living room, hating that he had any sort of conscience where she was concerned. Is this what she deserves by treating me so well?

  “So, tell me. Sophia presented the project? Was it the way you wanted?” she asked, curious, her hand on his thigh.

  He ogled her trying to decipher what were her true intentions. There was nothing on her face but genuine interest. He shrugged and told her how the meeting and the lunch had gone and how happy he was with the project.

  Two dedicated butlers served a delicious dinner carefully ordered by Barbara while they made small talk.

  The wine was delicious and the food tasty and Ethan was too conscious of the slow seduction web Barbara was weaving around him.

  He was well aware of the differences between him and other men, even more so, if compared to the male examples in his family: his debauched, sick father who shared himself and his own wife with God only knew how many; and his grandfather, who had been loyal to his wife during her life, only to scatter his physical affection on the wind after her death. He wondered if in a strange way he was becoming much the same.

  Although Ethan’s sexual experience with Eve had been very enjoyable, the betrayal that had come after still tasted acrid in his mouth. It took him a long time before he’d decided to indulge again. He had his first girlfriend only in his last year in Oxford. And it had been a disaster. Later, even though women were all too happy to accept his favors, it was always cold and impersonal for him, as emotionally unfulfilling as it was physically satisfying.

  Alone for many years. Until Sophia. And, now? Is this going to lead me anywhere?

  London, In a dimly light room

  11:54 p.m.

  Ghost had always liked a good game of chess. No dice. No luck. It was all about intelligence and strategy. He had both in abundance. All the pawns, rooks, bishops, knights, and the queen—the most powerful piece of the game—were working to protect him, the black king.

  Just like the pieces in the game, he didn’t mind if all of his team were destroyed along the way, as long as he, Ghost, stayed safe. In fact, now all he cared about was the destruction of Sophia, whom he had nicknamed the white queen. After all, he had to fulfill a contract and had a reputation to maintain.

  He was absolutely sure the game was won.

  He smiled.

  After he had succeeded, more contracts would come. His fees would increase. After Sophia had been cleared from every one’s path, he would receive the last payment.

  He checked his cell phone and saw no messages had come.

  He sent one:

  Unknown. 11:59 p.m. - Don’t bargain. I want his place. Or you are out.

  Atwood House

  9:47 p.m.

  Throughout dinner, Alistair had remained eerily controlled, weighing his words, as Sophia had been his opposite, warm and playful.

  She felt her husband was still a huge mystery in need of unwrapping. It confused her because she thought she had understood him: his problems, his issues, his needs, his goals.

  They moved to the upstairs TV room.

  He peered at her for a long while as she sorted through delicacies and chocolates she kept in the small fridge for their night cap. His tone was not combative when he said, “Sophia, sit. We have to talk.”

  She eased onto the plush sofa next to him, put a chocolate in his mouth and ate another, before linking their fingers and setting them on his thigh. “I’m all ears.”

  He wondered when he had lost his distrust and hard edge; and when he would overcome the incapacitating fear of betrayal. Or the fear that his reactions would make her leave him. He was in love with her and worried about her feelings and her reactions. It had scared the hell out of him when she said that their marriage would not last, and if talk was all it took to keep it alive, he would talk.

  He grasped her by the waist and sat her on his lap. Then he rested his forehead against hers as he blew out a ragged sigh. Contact with her was as necessary
as breathing.

  Something is wrong, very wrong. “What is going on? Whatever it is, you can trust me,” she coaxed gently.

  Fishing his iPhone from his cardigan pocket, he cleared his throat. Measure your words. Contain your anger. In dubio pro reo. “I received four messages today. And they were about you.” This is not about her. This is not about your present, but about your past, about your and her future.

  And? Her gaze never wavered from his. “You’re very cryptic today. What is this all about?”

  Alistair put the iPhone in her hands. “You, us, and Ethan Ashford.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t see why Ethan’s name should be linked with yours or mine.”

  He motioned to the screen.

  Her mouth fell open when she saw the first message. She rolled through the messages from the unidentified number. Have you passed judgment yet? She looked at her husband. “Well, what do you think I was doing? Cheating on you?”

  I hope not. Alistair ran his fingers through his long ink-black hair and hoarsely bit out, “Nae.”

  “Good. Because I was on my way to have lunch with Ashley, Scott, and, yes, Ethan. We had a long meeting to present the project to his team, and went over all the details.”

  As he watched her lips, he relaxed, but only slightly. Absent-mindedly, his hand dipped under her sweater and stroked the velvety skin of her back.

  He considered how rare a find she was. In addition to her loyalty, she was intelligent and had a sensuous body, which aroused him as none ever had. He had gone after her just in lust, looking for nothing more than sex and found his salvation instead. Even his sexual desires, which had been violent and ugly, practiced only to take out revenge for his guilt and pain, she had turned into something beautiful.

  “I have done nothing wrong,” she stated.

  “Nae, you haven’t,” he said simply, still drunk from her softness and her sweet scent. “I never said that you had.”

  A pregnant silence weighed heavily on them. Sophia didn’t talk. She could almost see the whirling inside Alistair’s head.