Her glass flew away, exploding against a sculpture of twisted iron forming a macabre rainbow made of sharp shards and splashed champagne.
Sophia fell on the mess of glass and golden liquid, dropping her shawl and her purse.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, controlling her need to cry and reeling with embarrassment.
Two waiters immediately helped her up from the mess.
“Here. Let me help,” said a velvet coated voice, and a soft arm over Sophia’s shoulders guided her to the nearby bathroom.
“Thanks,” she murmured, head lowered, not bothering to pick up her shawl or clutch. All she wanted was to be away from there. I’m not going to cry. I’m not.
As she walked to the bathroom, she brushed away the small pieces of glass from her wet dress. A piece caught in her palm and she flinched. She turned her hand up and pulled it out, biting her lip to stop the flow of tears. Idiot. Idiot.
“Here, my dear.” The arm guided her inside the bathroom.
“Thanks, you’re so kind,” she whispered through the lump in her throat as she entered the huge travertine marble room.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, Sophia’s eyes rounded. Her dress was torn and stained, her knees were scraped and bruised and one of her legs was cut, a shard protruding from it.
God! Oh. My. God! She was so shocked with her appearance that she didn’t hear the lock on the bathroom door being turned.
Tavish felt as if he was watching a humorless slapstick film. He opened his mouth to get Sophia’s attention from the other side of the huge room, but it happened too quickly for him to warn her.
Emma approached Sophia from behind, waited for her to get her champagne glass and pushed her against a John Chamberlain sculpture.
He cut through the chatter of people who didn’t seem to notice the accident, ordering the waiters to clean the mess.
When he looked around for Sophia, she was already gone.
Alistair’s head snapped up when he heard the noise of breaking glass, but he was too far away to see what had happened. Christ! Let it not be Sophia.
He crossed the rooms, a fixed smile on his face, his eyes scanning the crowds for Sophia or Emma.
But neither was anywhere to be seen.
Sophia’s and Emma’s eyes locked in the mirror.
Damn! What the hell does she want?
Emma was a gorgeous woman. Natural blonde hair cascaded down to frame a perfect face, where blue eyes with mascara-painted lashes were blistering and plump lips were sneering. She was very tall and lean and her sexy and cruel nature screamed from inside the Hervé Léger short black bandage dress.
“So. You’re the chosen one.” Emma tilted her head, raking her cold gaze over Sophia with spite. “Hmm. Alistair Connor used to have better taste.”
Sophia put her hands on the sink to steady her jelly legs and lifted her chin. “And you are?” I’m not giving you this to gloat over.
“Emma Miller, his sister-in-law.” Her hand traveled down her body, from her breast to her thigh. “He used to fuck us. Alistair, Heather, and I had some great times together.”
The thoughts were wiped clean from Sophia’s mind at the same time that bile rose in her throat.
“Shocked, my dear? I have it all on photographs and film for when I want to reminisce. Maybe you’d like to join me?”
Disgusting, repulsive, sick. Sophia bit back all the harsh retorts that came to her mind, deciding that silence was the best treatment for that woman. Her cuts were stinging from the champagne and her hands and legs were throbbing and hurting now that her blood had cooled down.
Sophia raised an elegant eyebrow at the woman, dismissing her, and with her heart hammering hard in her chest, she turned and walked to the door on trembling legs.
She pressed the handle down and pulled the door. And pushed.
Sophia rounded, facing Emma. “Open the door.”
Emma tut-tutted. “That’s the education your mother gave you?”
Screw you, bitch. Sophia stiffened and pushed her shoulders back, narrowing her eyes at Emma. “Ever since I first saw you in Berkshire, I knew you were a debased woman.”
“A whore, you mean.” Emma smiled, amused at the formal way Sophia spoke.
Whore, if you prefer. “What do you want?”
“Me? Nothing. I just wanted to say hello,” she purred as she stepped closer, backing Sophia into the wall, “and acquaint myself with the woman who fucked up the head and the dick of the hottest man in the UK.”
Not me. Sophia thinned her lips. You and your sister, dammit.
“Alistair and I, we’ve been seeing each other.” Emma smiled when her half-lie made Sophia blink, surprised. “Oh! Don’t worry. I like real men. Not pussy-whipped losers,” she snorted as she stepped closer. “I thought I’d taken away that nasty habit of his. But it seems that it’s back.”
Wait. What? What is she talking about? What does she know? Sophia didn’t deign to answer.
“He’s so fucked up now that he didn’t even let me give him a little blow job. For old times’ sake.” Emma stretched out her hand and her fingers traced the jagged scars on Sophia’s left arm.
Sophia pushed her back, hissing, “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”
“Oh! The little cat has claws.” A cruel smile opened slowly on Emma’s face as she examined Sophia’s arm carefully, clearly enjoying the situation. “He’ll tire of you, kitty-kitty. He’s a man with wild, hungry passions.” She ran her hands over her body and licked her lips in slow motion. “Wild like you couldn’t ever imagine; hungry in a way you will never be able to fulfill—”
Before she could even think about what she was doing, Sophia’s hand flew at Emma’s face. She used the moment to push Emma away, freeing herself from the corner. “Give me the damn key!”
“Oh! Now we’re having some fun.” Emma dabbed at the blood on her lip and licked it clean from her fingers.
This is disgusting!
She opened her purse and looked at Sophia with a dark grin and a strange gleam in her blue eyes. “Or what?”
“GIVE ME!” Sophia screamed. Screw the press. Screw everything. I want out of here. “NOW!”
Angry male voices sounded on the other side of the door and the handle shook.
They heard Alistair shout for Emma to open the door and ordered someone to get a spare key and call the police.
Yeah. Sophia smiled confidently and stepped closer to take the purse from the woman. “The key, bitch! Or I’ll press charges.”
“Ah! Now we are talking, bitch,” she drawled and laughed. “I like how you say it!” Emma’s eyes flashed as she put her hand inside the purse and took out, not the key, but a beautiful mother-of-pearl butterfly knife. “You already have two scars.” With a flick of her wrist, she opened the blade. “How about I carve a few more?”
Oh, damn. Damn! DAMN! Sophia’s adrenaline spiked. She put her hands up. “Okay, now. You don’t want to do this.”
“I do, kitty-kitty. He’ll remember me every time he fucks you.”
“You’ll be arrested.” She looked for something to defend herself with, but there was nothing in the modern luxury bathroom. Her eyes paused on a pair of tall, heavy Baccarat Spirale vases filled with purple Tulips on a table in the furthest corner. Just a few feet away.
“Will not, kitty. I have his photos. Fucking,” she gloated, and left the threat hanging in the air.
Sophia considered her options. Three, four paces max. It’s all I have.
“You need a prettier face, kitty,” Emma drawled as she got closer.
Concentrate, Sophia. She tuned out the pounding on the door and Alistair’s shouted commands, blocking out everything but Emma’s movements and hers.
She angled her body and moved cautiously back, flexing her right hand, preparing to grab the spiral end of the crystal vase. You can’t miss it, Sophia. You can’t.
One.
Emma followed, smirking, brandishing the knife.
Two.
She lost her balance when her hurt leg faltered and her heel caught in a small indentation between the marble slabs. The blade pierced Sophia’s dress and pricked her left arm.
Sophia gasped in pain. Warm blood trickled down slowly.
Focus. Don’t look down. She righted herself and hauled in a gulp of air, struggling not to black out.
Three.
Sophia’s hand groped the wall for the table. Emma’s arm shot forward again. A gash opened on Sophia’s left forearm and a piercing cry left her mouth.
“You scream like a dying pig,” Emma smirked.
Four.
Sophia turned and snatched the vase.
With a hard yank, her right arm sliced the air with the vase as Emma flung the knife toward Sophia’s navel.
The vase slipped from Sophia’s hand and flew through the air.
Both women cried out loud.
Chapter 21
Nerves wound tight and seething, Alistair paced the corridor outside the bathroom as they waited for the spare key. Sophia’s first scream robbed him of the last of his patience.
“Get out of my way,” he shouted, and crashed his shoulder against the door. It rattled, but didn’t give.
“Wait.” Tavish’s hand stopped him from throwing himself against the door a second time. “Let’s do it together. On three.”
Alistair heaved when both women cried one last time, but paced away taking distance and giving his brother his back. “Ready?”
Tavish nodded and counted, “One. Two. Three.”
The brothers threw themselves against the door, flinging it off its hinges.
Alistair looked around horrified.
In the middle of the bathroom floor among water, purple tulips and the broken Baccarat vase, Emma was lying in a pool of blood that was gushing from her face.
“Call an ambulance,” he shouted over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping the room. Fuck! Where is she? Breathe, Alistair Connor! It’s not the time for panic. “Sophia!”
He stepped over Emma and his heart stopped for a second when he saw her.
“Sophia!!” He fell on his knees in front of a very pale Sophia, sitting with her back against the wall. His eyes and hands hovered over her bloodied dress and the knife stuck in her stomach, not knowing exactly what to do. Fuck, fuck! “Mo gradh, don’t worry. Everything will be okay,” he said resolutely.
“Cold,” she whispered through blue lips, a loud roar filling her ears. Her wide dark eyes roamed over him as he immediately took off his jacket. “I’m cold.”
“Lay her down after you put your jacket on her,” Tavish ordered calmly, kneeling beside her with a first aid kit.
“How?” He looked pointedly at the blade protruding from between her fingers.
“Right, Alistair Connor, keep her calm. Keep her warm. Lay her down, but be careful no’ tae jolt her. I’ll put a dressing around the wound, and apply pressure. Any doubts?” Tavish didn’t even look at him and kept his voice soothingly calm. “Do it. Quickly and calmly. The shock will have lowered her blood pressure and body temperature.”
Oh, Christ! Let it not be as bad as it looks. “All right.” He gently put his jacket over her and laid her down. Neither his hands, nor his face betrayed the guilt and shock he was feeling inside. I’ve brought this on her.
“Let me,” Tavish took her fingers from her belly and put his handkerchief around the blade, pressing down firmly. He looked up at an ashen Edward on the threshold. “Give me your jacket, too.”
Sophia’s gaze shifted to Tavish as a giddy, floating sensation took hold of her. Am I going to die? “Numb.”
He squinted at the blade and back at her face. “The wound doesn’t seem deep. The cold is from the shock, okay? Doona move.”
As if I would go dancing, you moron. The thought seemed so out of place that her lips curled up.
Leonard entered the room with two police officers. His face was taut and he stepped over Emma to squat near them. “The ambulance is coming. How is she?”
“Mostly superficial cuts. Nothing to worry about,” Tavish said soothingly, smiling back at her, covering her legs with Edward’s jacket and directing Alistair’s fingers to substitute his.
A strange calm had fallen over Sophia as she observed Tavish’s sure movements. She couldn’t see the woman on the floor, but her presence was grating on her nerves. Her gaze moved back to Alistair’s face. Apart from a slight darkening in his eyes, he maintained a calmness that helped keep at bay the panic that was threatening to pull her down.
Did I kill…? “Is she…” She couldn’t say the word or bear the thought of one more death hanging over her head.
Alistair understood the question, but he couldn’t care less if Emma was dead or not.
Tavish grinned, shaking his head at her. “Only you, Sophia.”
But, for her, there was nothing funny in the possibility.
Alistair noticed Emma’s chest expand and deflate. “Unfortunately, she’s still alive.”
“The ambulance must be arriving at any moment,” Tavish said, rising, intending on helping Emma.
“Tavish Uilleam.” Alistair’s growl was full of menace and anger.
Tavish stopped. “Brother?”
“Let her rot.” In hell.
Marylebone, The London Clinic Main Hospital
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
3:17 p.m.
Whispered voices shrieked inside her ears. Bright lights sucked her away from the darkness. She was feeling dizzy and weak. And her fuzzy brain couldn’t tell her why.
She shivered and slowly opened her eyes. Gravity suddenly weighed on her and she hurt. Everywhere.
Oh, God. Emma. She closed her eyes and moaned.
A door closed and soft steps approached her.
“I’m here.” Alistair bent down and pressed his lips tight on her forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Hurt. All over. Lights, please,” she whispered. When the brightness diminished, she peered at him through half-open eyelids, only to close them again. I’m so tired. Take me home, meu amor.
She can’t even bear to look at me. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her.
“Can I go home?”
“I believe so. The nurse just left and said everything looks good. He even took you off the IV, but you were sleeping so profoundly that you only sighed. The doctor has been here twice. She will come back later. She said it’s a normal reaction. Your blood pressure lowered and you lost some blood. But the wound wasn’t too deep. She said that the best medicine for you is to rest now.” He spoke every thought that came to his mind to scare away the frustration with his inability to protect her.
It was weird to listen to Alistair’s babbling. He was never nervous. In her fuzzy state, she gave it the briefest passing thought and let it go.
All she wanted was to go home and sleep for days until all this had dissolved into nothing more than a horrible nightmare. “Gabriela?”
“With Alice. Safe and sound. And happy. We didn’t tell her what happened.”
All she could do was nod. She ached in so many places that she couldn’t have done more.
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her pale face with dark shadows under her eyes. His gaze hovered over her shoulders and arms. All he could see now were the two white dressings on her arm.
Tavish said she had been very lucky. And the doctors confirmed. A couple of inches to the side and farther into her stomach and the blade would have hit the femoral artery. She could have died. And he was responsible. “Sophia.”
She opened her eyes, astounded by the stern way he said her name. Is he mad at me? Or… “Is she okay?”
Really? He snorted. “The vase hit her temple and broke the skin. That’s why there was so much blood. She had some stitches and her face is badly swollen and bruised. That’s all.” And a concussion that will keep her in hospital for a day or so. You hit hard, my love.
Oh, God, thank you. Tears of relief filled her eyes and she turne
d her face into the pillow trying to hide her angst and horror at what the situation that could have been.
“Don’t cry, mo cridhe. Emma deserved it.” And much more.
Maybe. But I don’t want any more deaths on my CV. Guilt, confusion, and anger wedged their ways into her mind and a dam of tears broke loose.
Oh, Christ. He leaned over her and cradled her gently onto his chest, comforting her. “Hush, sweetheart, hush.”
And what if she comes after you next time? Sophia wrapped her arms around his broad back and cried.
Believing he was the main cause of her distress, her disheartened tears compressed around his heart. He ran his hand over her back, saying tender words, but nothing seemed to calm her. He understood it was the psychological trauma. However, he couldn’t deny that the stabbing had come from his past.
She’s young, gentle, and beautiful. She needs a better man. He had dragged her into his complicated life and she deserved much more than he could possibly offer her. Without her, you’ll be a hollow shell. Don’t even think about the alternative.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered with a last shuddered sob. She let her arms fall on the bed. He lowered her and she wiped her face dry with the sheet.
“I’m sorry too.”
For once, in an unselfish and fair conclusion, he decided to give her an option. His deep intake of breath called her attention to his face.
Alistair looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept the whole night. Dark whiskers shadowed his jaw and his forest-green eyes were bloodshot. Troubled. And pained.
Sophia had seen enough hurt in his eyes to know that he carried too much weight in his soul and that he had added tons to it since yesterday. A tremor washed through her. “I don’t want to hear—”
His fingers came to rest tenderly on her mouth. “Let me speak, please. What happened yesterday was all my fault. I should have known that she would be there. I should have instructed security better. They looked in her purse and found nothing. Fuck!” He ran a hand through his hair exasperated, rising from the bed and pacing the room like a caged tiger. “She was armed to kill, for Christ’s sake.”
TRUST Series 1-8 Page 86
