Untamed Passion_Shades of Trust

by Cristiane Serruya

  A slow, sensuous song flowed through the air from the well-hidden speakers. He turned to the living room. The glass doors opened and Sophia appeared, glistening as if she had been dipped in gold.

  Alistair nearly jumped up when he saw her wearing a long pearl necklace that snuck between her breasts to reach her navel. A white flimsy bra made do as a top, plastered and turned completely transparent by the oil she had liberally massaged on her body. On her low hips, she had loosely tied an embroidered transparent sarong as a make-shift skirt that didn’t hide her g-string. The torch fires outlined and illuminated her body, enhancing the shimmering even more.

  Oh, fuck! “Dance,” he said, hoarsely, forcing himself to stay seated. His already tense state of half-arousal stirred with lust to torment him, when throwing her arms up in the air, she pivoted on one foot, one leg up and backward in the air, showing fully her buttocks. Her hair flew around her as a black veil contrasting with the clothes.

  She finished her turn with her back to him and lowered her arms as her skirt floated down. She could feel the seductive music stirring her senses to a primal passion, and she looked boldly at him over her shoulder. Sparks flew between them as she undid her bra and turned, peeling it slowly off her breasts and letting it fall to the ground. Her hands cupped her breasts and she raised a leg until her toe was almost near his face. When his mouth opened, she snatched it back, whispering, “No touching.”

  Sophia had never felt more empowered in her whole life.

  Alistair was panting, his hands gripped behind his head and his shorts were tented with an impressive hard-on.

  He was frozen in deep lust, his eyes widened in bewilderment.

  The skirt followed the halter all the way to the floor and Alistair shot forward to better look at her, and groaned loudly.

  She moved her hips in agonizingly slow circles, her hands running over her oiled body in a languid caress. She opened her legs, and tantalizingly, undulated to the floor and back up.

  “Sophia.” His rumble told her he was on the edge. He wanted to grab her and impale her on his painful erection, listening to her cries of pleasure, and hammer inside her until she came shouting his name and he exploded, filling her. Instead, he gripped the edges of the reclining chair.

  She knew she had his undivided attention. The pulse of desire was a throb inside her and a light breeze caressed her bare body, making her nipples harden more. Under Alistair’s scrutiny, Sophia lithely danced away, undoing the tiny buttons that held together the last piece of cloth that covered her. The g-string dangled a second on her fingers, before she threw it at him.

  Alistair caught it and brought it to his nose; his chest rose and fell with each deep breath; sweat beading on his forehead.

  She stood naked on the edge of the dock, just the subtle lighted blue sea and the torches made her body shimmer as if she were a nymph, wearing only the pearl necklace. She motioned for him to stand up.

  In a heartbeat, he was out of his shorts, his arousal springing free of its restraints. He didn’t move, but his eyes blazed like an inferno as they roamed over her. She is delectable. Edible. Utterly Fuckable!

  She ran one of her hands over her breasts, her navel; brushed the small patch of her curls and cupped herself. She saw him swallow, unsure of what she was doing.

  When she moved her hips, feigning she was going to masturbate on her hand, he gripped his arousal utterly compliant.

  She smiled—she couldn’t help herself. Her hand made its way back, lightly touching her body, ending on her lips. And she sucked her middle finger.

  He heaved and stroked himself.

  Then she pivoted and dove into the sea.

  Alistair couldn’t believe his eyes. He crossed the deck in three long strides and jumped after her. He spotted her under the deck, the underwater lights playing on her body as her hands caressed her breasts, enticing him, driving him crazy with lust. Snaking his fingers in her hair, he grumbled, “Enough foreplay.”

  She wound her legs around his waist and with a forceful thrust he plunged deep inside her.

  “Ah.” Her hands tangled in his hair and she moaned as she took him into her body. “I want you to look into my eyes and tell me you love me as you move inside me. I want this memory to last forever.”

  “I’ll keep reminding you, my enchantress,” he breathed and kissed her, plunging faster and harder until they were coming together, shouting each other’s name in a fast and fierce climax that sucked them into a vortex of pleasurable sensations.

  Thursday, August 26, 2010

  6:01 a.m.

  Sophia smiled as she opened her eyes and saw Alistair sprawled on the bed, one of his arms a little bent over her stomach, with his fingers around her ribs and his thumb under her breast. The sheets were half covering his naked and firm butt and her eyes traveled over the broad expanse of his back.

  She almost giggled at the white mark of his shorts contrasting with his tanned back, and feeling naughty, she lifted the sheet to admire him. He’s a fine specimen.

  His hand tightened a little and fisted. His arm recoiled as he turned onto his side, still sleeping.

  She sneaked away from the bed to work for a while before coming back to bed, as she had been doing since the start of their honeymoon.

  Alistair shifted again as if he missed her warmth and knew what she was doing, but this time he moaned as if in pain.

  Sophia stopped, concerned, as more low murmurings came from his lips. She leaned closer, trying to listen to what he was saying. But she couldn’t understand as he spoke in a mix of Gaelic and English.

  “Alistair Connor?” She placed a gentle hand on his bare shoulder, shaking him, but he just mumbled her name, over and over again, his tone growing progressively more anguished.

  All of a sudden, his head twisted from one side to the other and he let out a heart-wrenching shout, “NAE!”

  Just as she turned to grab him with both hands, he bolted upright, sitting on the bed, gasping for air.

  Sophia moved closer, touching his heaving back. “Alistair Connor…are you all right?”

  He let out a rough breath as he lowered himself onto the pillows and gathered her to his chest, hugging her fiercely, his eyes closed tightly.

  “Meu amor?”

  After a tense moment, he opened his eyes. The green was almost gone, his pupils dilated, his face taut. He watched her as if reassuring himself she was there, she was real.

  She saw his throat swallow his anguish down, and her fingers traced his face, softly caressing it.

  “It was just a nightmare,” he whispered in her hair. Still shaken and unconvinced, he repeated, “It was just a nightmare.”

  That, I know. But she waited. Sophia had learned that the silence was sometimes the best way to ask the question she wanted answered.

  After a few minutes, he cleared his throat and said in a whisper, “I saw Nathalie die in the hospital. There was blood everywhere and her little body was contorted in a very weird shape. Her last word was, ‘Daddy’. She saw me and I was impotent to help; to even embrace her and give her any comfort. I was there when…there was nothing more to do. How they tried—” He went silent for a long time, the memories haunting him. “I just saw you die the same way, calling my name.”

  “I’m here. Safe. In your arms,” she whispered. She could sense there were cracks in his dam and it was about to break. “Nothing will happen to me.”

  He cursed and crushed her in his arms, his head bent forward and his face pressed against hers. His hands fisted on her back and a razor-edged growl of anger and anguish left his chest.

  She could feel its force rumble through him and echo in her. The keen ferocity of his emotions surprised her. Her instinct was to soothe him, drive his pain away with all her love but she knew that nothing, not even time could do that. She flattened her hand on his shuddering shoulder as sobs shook him.

  Even though she’d had many losses in her life, she knew nothing could compare. She couldn’t possibly u
nderstand the sheer agony that must have ripped his soul apart and left so many still mending scars.

  Sophia had never seen him cry before and was shaken by the way he seemed so broken inside.

  He’d been holding in the sorrow and guilt much too long. And alone.

  “Christ.” His voice was muffled by her hair. “I miss her so fucking much.”

  She wanted to wrap her arms around him but he held her so tight to his chest that she could barely move one arm up until her fingers dipped in his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, trying to put his emotions in order, but unable to do it.

  “No. Don’t be. There is no shame in mourning.” She pressed a kiss on his wet cheek and said quietly, “Cry, Alistair Connor. Let out your tears.”

  “They’ll never be enough,” he sobbed. “Not even when I’m old. Not even when I’m dry.” Only when I’m dead.

  After Alistair had cried for a long time, they stayed in bed, in quiet silence broken only by an occasional shuddered breath of his.

  “I’m sorry,” he croaked again, loosening his hold on her.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  He stifled a last shuddering breath. “I don’t usually cry like a child.”

  “My silly husband.” She propped herself on her elbow and her hand tenderly dried his cheeks. “Tears aren’t childish, Alistair Connor. Neither are they reserved for women. How many times have you held me when I cried?”

  We are on our honeymoon. His fingers traced the delicate line of her straight nose and her lips. “We were supposed to be laughing, not crying.”

  You were wronged, you were hurt and lost your daughter. You suffered greatly. “You’re allowed to react, and I like that.”

  “I’m a man—”

  “You’re human,” she offered.

  He gave her a sad smile. Sophia searched her mind for something to say and she remembered The Blood of the Lamb. She had come across it recently when she had gone to Rio to tidy up the loose ends of her life.

  “Alistair, time may not heal everything, and there is grief beyond the reach of solace. You are not alone in your mourning. The mourners’ bench upon which we sit is what links ourselves, all of us, by friendship and love. I am with you.” She gave him a tender smile and sat up, her hands running over his shoulder until they cupped his face and she bent to kiss him lightly on the mouth.

  Breaking the kiss, she studied his face, his long black lashes wet, his eyes a darker forest-green. “Not fair, you know? When I cry, my eyes get puffy, my nose gets red. I look horrible, but you...you still look handsome as always.”

  You are distracting me, my dear Sophia. He offered her a slow, smug smile, “I know.”

  “Then I take that back, Lord I’m-so-handsome-and-I-know-it,” she breathed on his lips.

  “Sorry,” he smirked at her. “No take-backs, Beauty. But just for the record, your eyes don’t get puffy and your nose doesn’t get red. You are Lady Beauty. Always.”

  She put her head on his chest and embraced him. “I love you.”

  Chapter 34

  London, In a dimly lit room

  7:12 a.m.

  Ghost, the hacker and private detective hired by Ethan to spy on Sophia, turned off his hi-tech notebook, wrote himself a reminder, and reclined his body on the chair, deep in thought.

  His pen traced and retraced the letters on his notepad while he analyzed his next steps.

  Since Scott had called him saying that the research and surveillance was cancelled he’d been in a sour mood.

  Of course, he’d demanded payment for his work and had immediately received the whole amount previously agreed upon.

  But still he wanted the work done. It had become a matter of honor. He thought her a stunning, brilliant woman with an immaculate past and morals. He’d never found anyone that perfect, that good. So, he kept digging.

  If nothing else, Ghost knew the value that the right information could bring him. Although he was used to investigating the lives of everyone with whom he got in contact, he was very surprised by how much time it’d taken him to discoverer the real Sophia. She’d completely befuddled him, for the longest time by his standards.

  His problem was that his desire for wielding power and exercising his superior intellect was too great for his own good. He hadn’t been able to break through her company’s or her house’s security system and that jarred him. If the mole inside her house hadn’t installed the device he’d built on her wi-fi, he would still be in the dark and throwing fits of rage.

  It was proof of his powerlessness, failure, and inferiority.

  He dug until her dark secret unfolded. And a pot of gold appeared with it. He knew he should stop before he pushed past the point of no return, but his inner envious and greedy demon had taken control of his soul.

  If he were to be honest with himself, it was a bit of a disappointment. For once, he wished he had found someone flawless.

  Then he shrugged and his thin lips opened in a small smile, as he imagined what he would do.

  The Ocean Pavilion

  7:29 a.m.

  Sophia and Alistair were having breakfast by the pool in the cool shade of a big white parasol.

  “How about a night dive?” Sophia asked. “They told me it’s particularly beautiful and that we can see tiny, interesting creatures we don’t usually see during daylight.”

  “Hmm. Sorry. Not tonight.”

  She lifted her eyelids from her papaya to look at him. He rarely said no to her whims. Maybe he’s still feeling sad.

  “The bank partners scheduled a conference call for tonight. I need to settle the last few details for the purchase of the bank in South America. You know…”

  “Yeah, I know. Lower, lower, and lower price.” She smiled at him.

  “Smart girl.” He gave her hair a teasing tug. “You can enjoy the spa meanwhile. Perhaps tomorrow? Would you mind?”

  “No. I also need to catch up on my emails and work a bit on my thesis.”

  A frown appeared on Alistair’s forehead. We have to talk about your workaholic mania.

  “What?” She shifted, turning sideways on the chair to better look at him.

  “Are you planning on keeping your work schedule?” he asked. “You have been working a few hours every day since we left London. And this is our honeymoon.” This will not do. It must stop.

  Hmm...why? “Does it bother you?” she retorted, giving him the chance to explain himself.

  Say this the right way, Alistair Connor. His fingers combed her long hair pensively. “No. If it were only that. But I don’t like the sneaking around in the morning, coming back to bed and pretending you weren’t up.”

  Oh, damn. “Yeah. Maybe I overdid it a little.” She bit her lip, caught red-handed.

  He wasn’t expecting her to agree and pulled her bottom lip from her teeth. “So, do you plan to keep this pace now that we’re married?”

  Wait! “What does our marriage have to do with my work?”

  Wait! “Don’t get me wrong. I love that you’re an independent woman and that you have your own life and routine. I think you, as a woman, should have other priorities than just your partner—your husband,” he corrected himself, quickly. “And this is important and I’ll never think of asking you to stop being like this, but I’ve always thought Gabriela and you could use a little more free time. And now, of course, me too.”

  Hmm. I see. “Well, now that we are together—”

  “Married,” he corrected her instantly.

  “Married.” A smile opened her lips wide. “Well, I can use Munro to come and go to Cambridge. It’ll save me a considerable amount of time. I don’t know why I never thought about it before. By June, next year, my thesis will be finished and my teaching contract will be up. It’s just one more year of hard work. I can’t throw it all away now.”

  “Nae. Of course no’. But at least while you’re getting your PhD and teaching, you could work less at Leibowitz Oil and on the foundation, don’t y
ou think? Davidoff and Mrs. Chanda are quite competent.”

  “Yes, they are.” She sighed. “But—”

  But? Without taking his eyes from her face, he leaned back on the chair, crossing a bare ankle over his knee. He didn’t understand her workaholic mania, never had. She doesn’t need to work that hard. “But…”

  “Oh, I—You wouldn’t understand.” No one does. Only my therapists. “I have to do it. Simple as that.”

  He mused at her answer. Talk, so I can understand. “I can’t figure out why you keep pushing yourself, Sophia.” Worried, he frowned when her face fell. By her reaction, he knew that he had plucked the right chord. “To prove what? To whom?”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone. I don’t care what others think about me.” Really, Alistair Connor!

  Bullshit, Sophia! It was then that he remembered all the things Tavish had explained to him when she had run away to Brazil; how all the many traumas Sophia had suffered could be driving her away from social contact to relieve them, or yet to relive them in the places where they happened.

  How can I make her see it? “Hmm. Bear with me. You entered law school when you were fourteen through a court order your grandparents secured for you. Why, Sophia? You left your friends behind and never really made new ones with the new, older students at law school. Because you needed to prove to yourself that you, an orphan, could do it better than anyone else?”

  He almost stopped and apologized when she flinched but he needed to unravel that side of her.

  “I passed a test just like anyone else did, only with the highest grades. The university gave me a full scholarship. It was based on merit, not on my financial needs. They wanted me.”

  They wanted you? My dear Sophia! Everybody does. He raised a hand, stopping her. “So, a full scholarship. You finished law school when you were nineteen, already married to an older, successful man. Followed it with a Master’s degree. At Cambridge no less. You were already working as a lawyer.”