She undid his pale yellow tie and opened the first buttons of his shirt, putting her open mouth on his neck and her hand on his chest. The clean and masculine scent drifting from his skin turned her on even more.
He pushed down her neckline and his hand closed over her flimsy lace bra, his thumb caressing her nipple.
She gasped. Pleasure raced through her and warmth pooled between her legs as he bent his head and sucked the nipple into his mouth, tugging at it lightly with his teeth. She moaned louder, running her hands along his chest to his shoulders, and dug her fingers into his hair, scraping her nails on his scalp.
He tore his mouth away from her breast and she protested with a low sound from the back of her throat.
She opened her clear eyes to discover Ethan watching her closely.
His hand moved up under her dress, sliding over her stocking and over the garter and further upward. He grabbed her tiny lace thong and ripped it, his fingers caressing her intimately.
“Now, Ethan,” she said, as he stroked her. She felt wanton, as she never imagined she could. Sophia, you’re in a car, for God’s sake. She shooed the thought away.
“Sophia,” he moaned, as she stroked up and down his length.
She rose onto her knees, positioning herself and put her hands on his shoulders for leverage.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said thickly, and entered her with one swift thrust of his hips.
She threw her head back and gasped with pleasure.
“You are mine, Sophia. Mine,” he murmured as he held her hips, diving into her hard and fast.
She lifted her eyes to meet the blistering azure of his gaze and ran the tip of her tongue over his lips.
He made a sound deep in his chest; a laugh and a groan combined as he lost himself in the pleasure, just as she was. He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her deeply. Demanding and possessing, he thrusted and fingered her.
The car moved slowly through the heavy Londoner traffic and they were oblivious to everything but themselves.
She pushed down the other side of her dress neckline and brushed aside her bra, grasping her breasts, offering them to him as she moved up and down, slowly.
He took a breast in his mouth and sucked. “Sophia. I’m close.”
Her face sank into the hollow of his neck. She kissed and nibbled him, deranged with the unexpected danger she felt from being exposed. “Oh, Ethan.”
She bit his suit on the shoulder to muffle her shout of pleasure. She loved the feel of him inside, filling her. She tensed up as he groaned and thrust fiercely.
The pleasure tightened and spiked, rising high. Higher and higher. And burst, flooding her with heat and warmth, making her dizzy with its force.
Crazy. You are crazy, Ashford. He held her tightly while she came back to herself.
“Oh,” she gasped softly. “You’re crazy. We’re crazy.”
He drew back a little to look at her with a smile on his face.
She gazed at him dreamily. “You have no inhibitions, have you?”
Many. “I do. But I lose control when I’m with you. I’ve never made love in a car.”
She stroked his beard. “Neither have I.”
The warmth of their lovemaking fogged the windows a bit, and his mind started to thicken again along with his arousal, still inside her. He took her hand and kissed it. As he did so, his gaze strayed to the tinted window. “Curse it,” he blurted.
“What?” she demanded in a murmur, her forehead still on his shoulder. “What?”
“We have arrived,” he said, adjusting his trousers. He ran his fingers over her hair, combing the wisps that had escaped her braid and extended his handkerchief to her. “Here.”
“Thanks,” she said, stuffing his soiled handkerchief in her purse and picking up her gloves and coat from the floor of the Rolls Royce. She smiled naughtily at him, “You are debauching me, Mr. Ashford. I should be working. Instead, I’m having sex with you on the backseat of your car with your driver in the front, probably listening.”
He shook his head amused. “Of course he was not listening, Sophia. The glass is soundproof.”
The car parked in the garage and Wilkins got out and opened the door for her with an impassive face.
Sophia blushed and looked at Ethan, who just laughed and whispered in her ear, “I can assure you he doesn’t know what happened here. Come on, baby, let’s move this to the bed.”
“Ethan, Ethan,” she shook her head at his eagerness and exited the car with a bright smile on her face.
5:35 p.m.
Sophia waited for Ethan in his sitting room. She pulled 1984 from the shelf and leafed through it.
Ethan approached her from behind and put his arms around her and inhaled her scent. “You smell so good, my darling. What are you reading?” He perused the book over her shoulder, “George Orwell?”
“I read this book when I was very young. It made a huge impression on me. Do you remember the book well?” She turned in his arms to watch his face.
“Yes. Why?”
“Room 101. Have you ever imagined being in a room with your worst fear?”
He looked at her askance. “No. Never. Why, Sophia, I don’t even know what my worst fear is. Not rats, for sure,” he chortled.
“Mine is moths and butterflies.”
“You’re kidding,” he laughed this time. “I don’t believe it.”
“I’m serious. I loathe butterflies and moths. That’s why I said earlier today that I didn’t wear jewelry depicting these insects. A room 101 full of moths and butterflies would be the most effective and horrible torture I could ever imagine undergoing.” She shuddered.
Ethan hugged her, “Don’t worry, darling. No one is going to torture you.”
Chapter 7
London, The City, Victoria Embankment
The City of London Bank Headquarters
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
10:06 a..m.
Alistair entered the meeting room from the connecting door of his office. The room was empty. He looked at his vintage Patek Philip watch. Wales is already six minutes late.
Alistair didn’t do late. He opened the door to the reception room, looked around and noticed the back of two heads, one dark, one fair, inclined close together, engaged in an intimate conversation. He motioned for his personal assistant to come in. “MacKeenan, could you please let Wales know that he is late while I start the meeting?”
Sophia looked at her watch and whispered to Edward, “I hate waiting.”
“Heavens, Sophia. It’s only been ten minutes.” He smiled at her. “How did you cope with being pregnant with Gabriela for nine months?”
Her eyes sparkled and the corners of her lips twisted. “Perfectly fine. I was already working then and if I was bored I just invented a new idea for her room or bought something new for her.”
“Poor, poor Gabriel,” he chuckled.
“Poor Gabriel?” She giggled, remembering how protective and overwhelming her husband had been. “Poor, poor me! He panicked when I told him I was pregnant. In the last month, he almost locked me inside the apartment.” She repressed a laugh and whispered to him, “When I told him it was time to go the hospital, I thought he was going to faint. But he stayed by my side the whole time. Gabriel was the best husband a woman could wish for, Edward.”
Edward opened his mouth to say something when The City of London Bank CEO’s secretary approached them. “Mr. MacCraig is ready to receive you. This way, please.”
“Sophia, let me do the talking,” Edward whispered in her ear before entering the meeting room.
She paused at the tall, wide door, raised one eyebrow, looked at him, and made a face.
Men! “Trust me, Edward, I won’t put my foot in my mouth.” She put a hand on his arm, squeezed and stepped into the room.
Alistair scowled at his watch again and turned to look out at the London skyline. A well-known boredom took over his soul.
Another unvaried, insipid
day. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. Every day is the same. Will light ever come back to my wearisome life? He heard the door open again.
Another dull meeting discussing this contract. Today, I’ll get this account. At least, something to brighten my day. He pasted a smile on his face, turned on his heels and stepped forward to greet the CEO of Leibowitz Oil.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Suddenly, Alistair’s private sun shed a bright ray of light from behind the dark, heavy clouds that had enclosed his life for more than five years.
Fuck! Davidoff is accompanied by a woman. Nae, not a woman, a beauty. His world spun on its axis, leaving him lightheaded.
He watched, paralyzed, as Sophia paused at the door, made a teasing face at Edward, rested an elegant hand on his arm, spoke something, and gave him a reassuring smile.
Are they lovers? The thought annoyed him. He didn’t know why.
Sophia advanced a few steps and looked around the room, halting with parted lips when her gaze locked with his.
The most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen. Black as night, endless as the universe. Her flawless and honey-dipped skin. Her light hazel eyes, fringed by long lashes. Her thin and straight nose, and her mouth… He felt unsettled. Christ! Her mouth is full and moist. Red. No lipstick, no gloss, just a natural, lush, fucking mouth.
His gaze surveyed her as she looked at Edward. Her long and slender neck. And she’s biting her full bottom lip and I…I’m getting an erection from this simple action. Ah. Fuck. The way she just licked her lips. His lust applauded and he gave himself a brisk mental shake.
For Christ’s sake, Alistair Connor. You’re not a horny teenager anymore. His eyes remained glued to her as she moved in his direction, taking in the movements of her long elegant hands flattening her dress onto her body. Desire and heat shot through him. Lean, voluptuous body. Her legs— Is she a model? He cocked his head to the side. No, not tall enough. What is she doing here? Alistair shook himself inward. Stop this. Stop! It’s just another woman. And much too young. Most likely a trainee, or Davidoff’s assistant. In all probability, she’s sharing his bed.
She has an angelic aura around her, but no woman is an angel. But he knew women. They fell at his feet every day, offering their bodies for money and status. This one won’t be any different. Christ, I really am a cynic. Come now, Alistair Connor, this is work.
With a smile, he extended his hand.
Sophia looked around the room and froze, dumbstruck. Her heart gave a slam and stopped in her chest. She forgot how to breathe.
A man stared at her. Fixedly, intensely, consuming her. She couldn’t exactly make out his features because of the light coming through the windows.
He remained motionless. He was muscular, so tall and so large that his frame shadowed the light that came into the room from the enormous glass windows. His height intimidated because of his broad shoulders and chest, which were not at all hidden by the extremely well-tailored dark charcoal suit, white shirt, and grayish-blue striped tie. His stare never wavered from hers, piercing her soul.
Hmm…he must workout daily. Sophia, focus!
She squinted to have a better look at his face. The exceedingly handsome features and forest-green eyes struck her core. These are the most wonderful eyes I’ve seen in my whole life. They were intense, so intense that they seemed to burst into green flames, enhanced by ink-dark, long and full lashes and his slightly tanned skin. Perfect. God was inspired when He made him. He seemed designed by an Italian master painter.
Alistair had midnight-black hair, worn in an unfashionable way, longer than usual, with uneven, long shredded bangs on the left side of his face and jagged ends, falling in straight and thick strands to his shoulders, almost past them.
Windblown! I have never seen a sexier haircut. If it is cut at all. It seemed he has scissor-cut them himself. And in a hurry.
He had a straight nose, high cheekbones, chiseled large jaw. His upper lip was thin, but extremely well shaped and his bottom lip was fuller.
Delicious. Pink lips. Dark pink lips. I want to lick these lips.
Unconsciously, Sophia wetted her own lips with a sensuous glide of her tongue and felt desire building in her body.
He absentmindedly brushed aside a lock of midnight-black hair when it fell over his eyes, smoothing out his stern and stiff stance. She wished she could repeat the gesture herself. To plunge her hands into that hair and grip it to bring his head to her and kiss those lips.
How can pink be so male? Sophia shook her head, as if to free herself from the spell that he had cast on her. But he had ensnared her in his trap. She turned to glance at Edward, who stood behind her, as if asking his permission.
Permission? Permission to do what? She didn’t know. It seemed Edward knew, because he gave a small imperceptible nod.
She walked in his direction. Step-by-step, as her high-heels sank into the plush carpet, her body seemed to move in slow motion. Sophia became conscious of her light pink YSL dress with a large turquoise alligator belt.
Her hand ran down her stomach and thighs to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles of her dress. His eyes followed her movement, appraising her. She almost choked with the force of his lustful gaze.
Sophia halted less than two feet from him.
Oh, my. He looks like a god, a perfect Roman statue in flesh, oozing raw sensuality… She craned her neck to look at his six-foot-six stature, and his eyes. God! These eyes…they see through me. His mouth…it’s totally succulent…and it’s moving. Damn!
He spoke to her and she hadn’t understood a word.
She looked down and saw he had stretched out his hand toward her. In a haze, she put her suddenly cold hand in his warm one and he closed his around hers. A shock flared her blood into lava.
“I-I’m sorry?” she stammered.
“Alistair Connor Davenport MacCraig, CEO of The City of London Bank. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he repeated, raising a devilish black eyebrow at her speechless state. Aye, it’s always the same. Another one falling for handsome features and body. Pity. But, fuck it. Wasn’t I bored? Why not have some fun? Make your move, Alistair Connor.
“Good morning, Mr. MacCraig. This is—” Edward said from directly behind her.
“Sophia Santo,” she said, recovering from her state of bewilderment, and shook his hand.
A firm, pleasant handshake. Good. He eyed her again from head to toe.
“I’m head of the legal department at Leibowitz Oil, Mr. MacCraig. How do you do?”
“Head of the legal department?” Alistair’s smile waned. “Any problem with the contract, Davidoff?” He greeted Edward and motioned to the table. “Please, let’s sit. Mr. Wales will arrive any moment now. Can I offer any refreshments? Water, tea, coffee?” He pressed a button on the wireless telephone that sat on a side table.
“Coffee and water would be fine, thanks.” Sophia seated herself at the head of the table and received a startled gaze from Alistair that she countered with raised brows and an inquisitive look.
“Davidoff? Anything?”
“The same, please.”
While he asked for the refreshments, he noticed Sophia glancing at her watch and thinning her lips.
He glanced at his. Damn. Wales is really late.
“Mr. MacCraig, Mr. Davidoff assured me that you were fully aware of the contract terms and that we could discuss them with you. Shall we start?”
Alistair looked at Edward, who glared at Sophia. “If it pleases you. So, Ms. Santo—”
“Mrs. Santo,” she corrected him. “My points,” and she emphasized the plural, “are…” she raised her left hand to stress the points.
He noticed her bare ring finger. Interesting! Mrs. Santo doesn’t wear a wedding band.
“—fees are too high; secondly, the guaranties asked are exaggerated; and lastly, the penalty clauses are absurd.” She took out four copies of the draft from her briefcase, handing one to him, the other to Edward, and kept two.
; Hmm. Organized. His copy was all marked and noted. Her handwriting appeared neat, clean, and firm, with a touch of swirls showing her feminine side. The right amount of flourish and power. Feminine and bold. I like that. Mrs. Santo isn’t prudish.
She leafed through her copy. “If you please look at clause number eleven you will see that you’re demanding a hundred and fifty percent as guaranty for the loan. We are a solid firm, Mr. MacCraig, there’s no reason for this.”
He flicked his eyes at an impassive Edward. Seems that she’s more than a gorgeous face on a wondrous body. Mrs. Santo has brains and wields power. “I should say, Mrs. Santo that we demand this percentage because of the large loan amount. It’s a long-term loan and we’re charging you quite a low rate of interest.”
“Maybe you think so. We don’t.” Sophia didn’t even look at Edward. She could see from the corner of her eye his unhappiness with her. “With such a high guaranty we could surely find a cheaper way of raising funds. You’re making exaggerated claims. We aren’t devoid of other possibilities or in such a hurry. I perfectly understand that your bank is a private institution and what your main goal is.” She leaned in his direction.
Christ! Alistair noticed the swell of her breasts pushing the neckline. He wished for an even lower neckline.
“But ours is the same and—”
MacKeenan entered the room with the refreshments and served them. “Mr. Wales arrives momentarily, Mr. MacCraig.”
“Thank you, MacKeenan,” Alistair said. “So, you were saying…”
Edward used the gap to jump into the conversation. “What Mrs. Santo is trying to convey is that the conditions are too harsh and that we could arrange for milder fees—”
The door opened and Charles Wales came in. The men rose to greet him, but Sophia stayed seated, making a show of looking at her watch.
Aye, Wales is definitely late. It appears she detests unpunctuality as much as I do. Another point for you, Mrs. Santo.
“Miss San—”
“Mrs. Santo,” Sophia muttered dryly, interrupting him. “Seems that your memory fails you, Mr. Wales,” and she raised an eyebrow, “as always.”
Shades of Trust Page 8
