She lowered her voice to a whisper, “No. She’s into…stronger things.”
“Hard core? BDSM, maybe?”
BD What? “Whips, handcuffs, you know…those kinds of things,” Sophia murmured.
Mary took a good look at Sophia’s face then. She narrowed her eyes, noticing the long natural hair, her washed, bruised face, long-sleeved purple T-shirt, flared dark jeans and asked, “May I see your ID, please?”
“My ID? What for?”
“It’s illegal to sell sex toys to minors,” explained Mary.
Sophia almost broke into hysterical laughter, but managed to shove it deep down, while she fumbled with her purse and showed Mary her driver’s license.
“Thanks. Come through here.” The middle-aged woman strolled farther into the shop and looked at her watch discreetly.
Sophia did the same. Past midnight and I’m buying sex devices. I must have gone insane.
They went through a curtained door and Sophia sucked in a breath.
She had entered a world made of black-and-red leather sex toys. Most of them had a purpose Sophia couldn’t even begin to imagine. They stared back at her, making the blood rush from her face and making her feel dizzy. What have I gotten myself into?
“Are you feeling okay?”
Sophia looked down at the woman and noticed Mary was watching her with a concerned look. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
Mary pointed and explained to Sophia the myriad of products until she could bear no more.
“Mary, please, I just need a strange whip with many tails. That is what I’m supposed to take. Can you choose one for me?”
“Ah, a cat-o-nine or a flogger. Any special kind?”
“Is there more than one kind?” Sophia was bewildered.
“Oh, yes. They can be plain, braided, with beads, fangs. We have a nice collection: Natasha, made of sharkskin, is our new addition. Come this way.”
Natasha? They give names to whips!
Mary stopped in front of a long rack where more than fifty types of cats and floggers, in different colors and sizes hung neatly.
Sophia pointed to one randomly. “This will do.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not. But since I have no experience in this, I can’t judge it, can I?”
Mary pursed her lips and picked out two different floggers, showing them to Sophia, “Why don’t you start with this one?” She raised the one in her right hand. “Instead of the one with fangs? This one is made from bullhide. Its thicker leather has both thud and bite. It’s a beautiful top-grain leather, thick yet supple. It can easily serve both for warm-ups and moderate end play.”
Sophia almost choked when Mary demonstrated it on her own thigh.
Then Mary raised her other hand, which held a different whip and calmly continued, “Or you can take this one. It’s lighter and special. One of our best suppliers managed to find a small source of quality horsehides. This material has many unique properties. It’s strong and durable even in extreme conditions, and, unlike other types of hides, it’s naturally waterproof.”
What? Horses? Is there no limit to this? Sophia breathed in, concentrating hard on not being sick all over the floor.
The woman didn’t notice and carried on. “Horsehide is so tough that when kangaroo isn’t available for bullwhip falls, Australian whip makers will often use it as a good replacement. Today these hides are still very scarce, since all our horsehide leather is sourced from animals with natural deaths. Horses can’t be killed for their hides.”
“Indeed,” Sophia managed to say in a small voice. “I’ll take the one with…ah…fangs, then.”
Mary checked the price. “Oh, you’re in luck. This one’s got a very good price. It’s four hundred and seventy-five pounds.”
What? In luck? Sophia almost asked out loud. Nearly five-hundred pounds for a whip? People really are crazy.
“I’ll make a nice gift package for you. How will you be paying?”
“Credit card.”
“Come this way, please.”
Leibowitz Oil Building, In the garage
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
1:03 a.m.
Sophia called the lifts.
So quiet. The loneliness of the marble hall on her floor seemed to slap her in the face. This is how my life will be without Alistair.
She shook her head and walked resolutely to her office, taking her key card out of her Chanel bag. You’ll never know what you’re dealing with without good research, Sophia.
She entered her office with Steven and Zareb on her heels. “I won’t be long.”
“There’s no need to rush, Mrs. Leibowitz,” Steven assured her.
“We’ll wait right here.” Zareb had a strange expression on his face.
Sophia entered her office and closed the door. She made a fortifying cappuccino and sat on her chair.
She typed in her password and her iMac came to life. Plugging her iPhone into it, she transferred the pictures she’d taken of Alistair’s dressing room. Opening her internet browser, she added tab after tab, typing in the various things into search.
When she returned to the first one, she narrowed her eyes.
Her hand was not steady as she opened the first link.
Sophia’s Office
3:28 a.m.
The sound of paper being crumpled ripped through the silence in the office.
Reaching for the drawer, Sophia’s long and slender fingers pulled out another cream sheet with her name elegantly printed in navy at the top of the page. Her Cartier exotic dragon fountain pen ran smoothly over the surface.
April 6th, 2010
My Dear,
Our relationship is doomed. I can’t carry on with it. My heart is bleeding but I have to ask you to forget me.
I’m sorry. More than you can imagine but I know that, in the end, it’s going to destroy me. You are
The pen stopped midair and Sophia thinned her lips. She crushed the sheet in her hand and threw it with rage in the already full wastepaper basket. She wiped her tear-stricken face with the back of her hands, pulled out another sheet, and started again.
3:48 a.m.
She walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the sprawl of London across the water with the London Eye visible in the distance. Making a resolute decision, Sophia picked up the iPhone and booked a chartered flight for Gabriela and herself, leaving in three hours.
She opened the door to the hall. Steven and Zareb were calmly talking as if it were the middle of the day. They immediately got up.
“I’m so sorry. I—it took longer than I imagined. I just need one more minute.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Leibowitz.”
She hastily added a post scriptum, folded the letter and sealed the envelope with red wax, and pressed her monogrammed stamp on it.
She took out another sheet of paper and caressed her dragon pen, thoughtfully. Her eyes moistened, but she brushed her hand over them with anger, wrote down a message for Sarah, and she took out the black box from her bag.
Sophia called Maria and asked her to pack a small bag with some light clothes for Gabriela and herself.
Then she walked out of her office, leaving the note, the sealed envelope, and the black box on Sarah’s desk.
“I’m ready to go,” she informed the men and walked to the lifts.
The sealed envelope was addressed to:
Alistair Connor MacCraig
Personal and Confidential
Ethan Ashford’s Penthouse
4:50 a.m.
Ethan’s BlackBerry rang in the silent room. Once. Twice.
“Hello?” he answered on the third ring.
“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but there is a situation.”
Instantly, Ethan pushed his fit and muscular body up, resting his broad back on the headboard, alert. “Tell me.”
“Something strange is going on. My contact just called, informing me she left her house after returning for jus
t ten minutes.”
“Alone?”
“No. I guess her daughter was with her because she wasn’t in the McLaren. They left in the Jaguar, but I don’t know if she was driving or not. Sir, I’ve checked her last calls and she booked a private jet. It’s supposed to leave from Heathrow in an hour and a half.”
“Heathrow?” He flung his body out of the bed in an agile movement and went to his dressing room. “Where is she going?”
“Rio de Janeiro.”
He frowned as he picked up his carry-on and started filling it with clothes for warm weather. “Any problems with her family?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. I’d say that it’s a matter involving her.”
“Cancel her flight. I’m heading to Heathrow. Inform my driver that I’m going down in a few minutes.” He closed his suitcase with finality. “Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Did she call him?” He unlocked his safe and retrieved his passport and some money.
“No, sir.” There was a pregnant pause on the other side of the line. “Sir, if I may…”
“Shoot,” he walked into the bathroom with a white linen shirt, black briefs, and a pair of dark blue jeans in his hand.
“I’d say they’ve had a fight.”
A dark smile spread over Ethan’s rugged face as he listened, and his azure eyes flashed. “His loss. Keep an eye on her and brief me again in fifteen minutes.”
“Of course, sir. Also, Ghost traced a credit card payment made at a…sex shop in Soho…hmm…a few minutes after midnight.”
Ethan gave a few instructions to Scott and hung up, entered the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror as he changed. Money and power do not make a man honorable. Worlds can be destroyed in mere seconds. Empires fall after centuries of absolute power.
Ethan knew this better than anyone. His whole world had ended in such a way. All his dreams had been ripped from him in the blink of an eye. Twice.
With his grandfather’s loving lessons he had reinvented himself. And he had prepared himself for any eventuality. He learned how to use every opportunity life gave him. He was not going to miss this one.
Love is what keeps people going. Grandpa taught me well. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, while reasoning with himself. MacCraig must have let his mask slip. I will do anything to protect Sophia.
Even from herself.
No matter how.
No matter the cost.
Chapter 1
Heathrow Airport
In one of the Heathrow by Invitation lounges
5:31 a.m.
Ethan’s cell phone vibrated and he looked down at the BBM message from Scott:
Her car will be arriving in a few minutes.
With deft touches, Ethan texted back:
Inform crew.
Ethan walked slowly to the lounge door. After a few minutes he spotted Sophia’s bodyguard. Zareb was broader and a head taller than most people around him and his white smile and bald black head shined under the lights.
Ethan walked out of the room pretending nonchalance.
“Sophia?” he asked.
She stopped and looked at him as he called her name. Maria, Zareb, and Steven, who was carrying a sleeping Gabriela, stopped too.
“Hey Ethan,” she gave him a tired smile. “We keep meeting at airports.”
“So it seems, darling.” He approached her and kissed her cheeks. His eyes bulged when he took in the bruises that marred her face. His hand brushed her hair back to better look at the small patch protecting the stitches. Why don’t I know about this? “What happened to you?”
“I fell.” She shrugged. “No big deal.”
Hmm. Is this true, Sophia? “I’m leaving in a few minutes. I have a meeting in São Paulo. I’m thinking of opening a branch there.”
“Really? I’m going to Rio.”
“Why don’t you come with me, then? You know I’ve got enough space for you.”
Sophia bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at her sleeping daughter.
Ethan immediately added, “For all of you, of course.”
“I— Ethan, really…thanks, but I’ve already booked—”
“Cancel it, darling.” He looked at the little girl and smiled. Go for the kill, Ashford. “Gabriela will be more comfortable in my plane than in any other. I guarantee.”
“All right,” she conceded, and turned to Steven. “Could you please see to it? If they charge any fees, pay them with the credit card.”
“Of course, Mrs. Leibowitz,” he answered, and transferred Gabriela to Zareb’s arms.
London, Mayfair
Edward Davidoff’s apartment
5:50 a.m.
Edward’s iPhone chirped again informing him of an incoming email. He frowned as he recognized Sophia’s ringtone. He looked at his digital clock and his frown deepened even more. He kissed the blond head lying beside him and heard a soft, male moan come from him.
He got out of bed and put a hand on his pounding head, muttering, “I drank too much.”
He got up and searched through the heap of clothes on the floor for his mobile.
There was one call and one email. When he touched the screen to read it, the battery died. He cursed and went to his office.
To: Edward Davidoff ([email protected])
From: Sophia Santo ([email protected])
Subject: Some time off
Date: Tuesday, April 6, 2010. 5.47.53 GMT
Dear Edward,
I’m taking some time off with Gabriela. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t worry. Everything is okay. I just need time to think about a couple of things that happened this weekend.
I know LO is in competent hands. I trust you.
Thanks.
S xx
“What happened?” Edward murmured as he speed-dialed Sophia’s phone and got her voicemail. “Shit!” He waited for the beep. “Sophia, love, it’s me. Please, call me as soon as you can.”
He hastily got up, an idea forming in his mind. He paused in the doorway and looked at the mess in his bedroom. He shook his head, amazed, and went to the bathroom to get ready for what he guessed would be a very unusual day.
Dr. Andrew Volk’s Office
9:27 a.m.
The death of someone close to you usually is emotionally devastating. A daughter’s death, in your case, is especially debilitating. In my opinion, by having those physical encounters, you experienced and released the anger, guilt and emptiness that you were not able to deal with. I’m not judging your choice, but you have to understand that that was your way for you to come to terms with your loss. How do you feel now?”
Seriously? Alistair raked a hand through his hair and looked at the doctor with narrowed eyes. “Do you have kids, Andrew?”
Dr. Volk cleared his throat. “That’s not what I’m asking. I have a seventeen-year-old son. I’m not saying that I know what you felt when your daughter died. Or what—”
“But let me tell you, anyway.” He stopped the doctor, raising his palm. “It was as if my heart had been ripped from my body. I was soulless. For a long time, I was hollow. There was nothing inside—” Alistair frowned and corrected himself, “No. That’s wrong. I was heartbroken and soulless, yes. However…I felt…I felt hate, anger, pain. I hated Heather. I loathed myself. I was totally consumed by dark emotions—they made me numb to everything else. I wanted to shout my rage at the world. I wanted to destroy every woman that came my way. I lost all capacity to relate to others. Mere days after the funeral, I became even more ruthless.” He put his elbows on his knees and hissed at the doctor, “I was a coward and couldn’t take my own life.”
“So, you wanted to destroy and be destroyed in each and every way possible. This is sado-masochism.”
Alistair’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead.
“And I wouldn’t call it cowardice—”
“Oh, nae! Of course no’,” Alistair gave a harsh laugh and pushed both hands in h
is hair, resting his forehead in his hands. “All I could think of was that I wanted to be buried with Nathalie. Alive. She didn’t like the dark, you know? I wish I were inside her little coffin. Singing her a lullaby to keep her fears away. Holding her, so she wouldn’t feel cold and alone. Protecting her—” His throat closed and tears filled his eyes.
He was overcome by a longing so devastating, it would have cleaved him not so long ago.
But Alistair was a different man now.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply a few times, his mind seeking comfort in his memories of Sophia and Gabriela.
Dr. Volk was a professional and was more than used to listening to sad stories, but he was a father too. He was moved by the gut-wrenching pain that was ripping apart the man seated on the sofa.
Alistair dried his eyes, leaned back on the couch, and looked at his therapist. “I couldn’t fulfill my desire to be with her. I was powerless to go back in time and save her from—” He waved his hand in the air. A minute passed before Alistair opened his eyes again and asked hoarsely, “Does that give you an idea?”
“Yes. And I can relate to your feelings. You didn’t think it was fair to love and to be loved. To feel pleasure, to give pleasure. Let me tell you, I would call this a normal reaction, if you had stopped on the feelings and had not advanced into action. Don’t be afraid of feeling, Alistair. Give yourself over to all these dark emotions that scare you because you think that they will make you less than a man. They will not. On the contrary, they will make you grow.”
A grimace appeared on Alistair’s face. “I did feel them. They tore me apart. I can’t—” He shook his head so hard that a lock fell over his eye. “I can’t face it all over again. You can’t imagine the pain. I can’t. I should have been more careful. I should have called Alice. Nathalie—” Alistair choked on his daughter’s name and looked down at his hands, moved. I loved you so much, my dear, my baby.
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