Shades of Trust

by Cristiane Serruya

  “It’s like riding a stallion or an untamed horse. You have to control it but you have to allow it to control you too. It’s like a dance, a precise balance between giving and taking. But…” She unlaced her fingers and splayed them. Then snapped them shut and opened wide again. “You can lose everything with the wrong movement. An hour driving at high speed on a winding road? It’s one of the most satisfying experiences you can have. And it wears you out. It’s orgasmic.”

  His desire was running rampant. So you like controlling too, don’t you, Sophia? “And you drive it to work?”

  “No. It turns too many heads. Sometimes, at night, when I need to unwind I go for a drive. Alone.”

  “You unwind driving? Every day?”

  She laughed. “No. I run, workout, swim, fence—”

  “And drive alone at night through winding roads…” He leaned in, causing the muscles of his arms and shoulders to bulge and stretch his blazer.

  Sophia’s mouth went dry. He was so much bigger and wider than she was. Unbidden, her eyes moved over his frame and came back to meet his. So powerful.

  He gave her a knowing smile.

  You are too arrogant, Mr. I’m-so-handsome-and-I-know-it.

  “There is no need to unwind alone behind the wheel of a car to have an orgasm, Sophia,” he murmured and leaned in further, “I can help with that.”

  “An org—” she gasped. The car suddenly became smaller. “No, I said it was orgasmic.”

  “Same thing.” His eyes were burning her and he raised his hand to caress her face with his knuckles. “How long are you going to run and hide from the experiences I can provide you? Remember what I told you that afternoon in your apartment?”

  “What? I don’t…” She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  A blast from a horn startled him. The light had turned green.

  Christ! Alistair Connor, pay attention. Alistair pressed on the gas and Sophia changed the subject.

  “So, Mr. President of Scotland,” she mocked. He smiled. “You were born there, weren’t you?”

  “Aye, in the Highlands, Inverness. My father is a Highlander and my mother was English, so we used to travel a lot to London with her. That’s why I don’t have such a strong accent.”

  “Do you go there often?”

  “I have to. Not only because of the bank but also because we have a stable and hotels there.”

  They arrived at the restaurant and a liveried doorman opened the door for Sophia, momentarily interrupting the conversation.

  He le ne Darroze at The Connaught

  8:19 p.m.

  “We’ll have some champagne,” Alistair informed the sommelier, who handed him the champagne list. He surveyed it quickly and smiled to himself. Sophia, I’ll have you by the end of this evening. “Krug. Clos D’Ambonnay, please.”

  Sophia waited for the sommelier to step away and turned on the sofa to look at Alistair. “What a coincidence. That’s my favorite champagne.”

  “You have good taste. It’s mine, too,” he answered with a smile, putting his arm over the back of the sofa, his fingers brushing her hair.

  Sophia stiffened a bit, but it didn’t deter Alistair from delving his fingers in her silky black tresses, the tip of his fingers caressing her neck.

  Sophia shifted on the sofa, getting away from his hand, and he let his fingers fall.

  “When did you move?”

  “Last week. But I can’t say I have really moved, I’m camping.” She smiled. “But I couldn’t wait anymore. I was impatient and it’s easier to supervise everything from there. It’s almost finished—just needs a few final touches.”

  “Why did you move? Your apartment was big enough for a single woman and a child. And it was beautifully decorated.”

  “Yeah, it was nice. But Kensington Palace Gardens is…perfect. No traffic or strangers allowed, in a good neighborhood, it’s near everything.” She shrugged. “And there is a garden behind the house. Gabriela can play outdoors and be safe there.”

  “Didn’t you have access to the private gardens in Eaton Square?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And still you didn’t think she would be safe there?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” She shrugged again.

  He searched her face, trying to glimpse beneath the cool façade she presented. “Don’t you feel lonely there?”

  She looked away from his prying eyes, thinking about his question. Yes, I feel lonely. Very much. Everywhere I go. Even in a place full of people. She turned her face back to him, and staring into his eyes, answered in a soft voice, “Alistair, she is the most important thing in my life. I can’t afford to put her safety at risk. I would do anything for her. Anything. If, quote, isolating myself and living alone, unquote, in an enormous house is the price to pay for keeping Gabriela happy and safe, I dare say it is more than a bargain. It’s a free ticket to heaven.”

  “Not everyone would make that sacrifice,” he replied.

  “Sacrifice? Living in Kensington Palace Gardens is no sacrifice. On the contrary.”

  “You are a young woman, Sophia. Living alone is a sacrifice.” Unashamedly, his forest-green eyes expressed a naked desire that threatened to consume Sophia. “You need a man to bring you pleasure.”

  Sophia cleared her throat before changing subjects. “So, do you always go to the movies?”

  If the woman with him were not Sophia, he would have skipped dinner, dragged her directly to his apartment, and had sex for hours until he was done with her. Instead, he continued with the conversation, talking about his interests and asking about hers.

  As Sophia evaded his sexual teases with charm, Alistair, without realizing it, started to relax and focus on the conversation as she told him about the last book she had read. Soon, he had shifted on the sofa to imitate Leonard during a trial and told Sophia funny stories from his younger days.

  11:38 p.m.

  He glided behind the steering wheel with an elegance that amazed Sophia. “Shall I show you my apartment?”

  Sophia schooled her expression before facing him, “Don’t we have to wake up early tomorrow to go to the zoo?”

  “Early? Nae. No’ really.”

  Quickly, Sophia, quickly. “Gabriela wakes up early. And I like to enjoy the mornings with her.”

  Okay. Not today. Understood, Sophia. He smiled at her. “So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow at ten. Prepare to spend the day with me. I’ll make reservations for us at a restaurant that’s near the zoo. It’s simple, but the food is excellent.”

  After dropping her off, Alistair drove home immersed in thought.

  He opened the door to his apartment and looked around. Empty and cold.

  He poured himself a glass of wine and swirled the red liquid, the dark shade reminding him of Sophia’s lips.

  I need to fuck. That’s all. He palmed his erection and sighed. He hated to jack himself off. He picked up his phone and scrolled down to Madame Blanchet’s number, but turned it off, briskly shaking his head. He was not in the mood for an escort tonight.

  He wanted her.

  He needed her.

  Only she would do.

  I need no one. He rose from the armchair in an irritated mood. He didn’t want any relationships, but if this was what it would take to have her, so be it. Let her have her way for now.

  Leibowitz Oil Building

  Monday, February 22, 2010

  9:18 a.m.

  “Oh, he has a wicked sense of humor and made me laugh all night.”

  “I see,” Edward sighed, “but, still, Sophia, bear in mind that he’s not Gabriel. I’ll ask Mendes to do a—”

  “Why?” Her forehead creased. “You didn’t suggest anything like that for Ethan.”

  “You didn’t have this look of wonder on your face either,” he replied with a smirk. “Since you first met him, whenever you hear his name you look like a teenager. Worse. You act like a teenager.”

  �
�Well, I’m not a teenager anymore, Edward,” she snapped at him. “Stop talking nonsense.”

  “Love, I’m sorry to scare you,” he replied sternly, “however, this is not nonsense. He has captured your heart and if you don’t take care, he is going to crush it with his bare hands.”

  “Good heavens, Edward.”

  He took out his cell phone from his inside suit pocket. “Let me call—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t do it.”

  “Why not?” he asked, baffled. She had never had such scruples before. “It’s for your own protection.”

  “And if he discovers?”

  Edward shook his head. “Sophia, you know Mendes is a highly praised professional. His reports are completely confidential and he is very discreet.”

  “I don’t see any reason—” She stopped at his dark look.

  Edward rose from the armchair and circled her desk, reining back his temper with every step, his blue-eyed gaze holding hers.

  “Stubborn woman,” he muttered, and leaned over her iMac and typed Alistair’s full name into Google. Thousands of pages were listed. “Has he told you he is a Marquis? Heir to a dukedom?”

  “No. But it doesn’t mean—”

  “You aren’t dealing with Brazilians, Sophia. Here, in the UK, some families still value those things.” Edward scowled at her.

  “I don’t think it is the case. If it were, he would have told me from the beginning.”

  “I checked his name and the coat of arms on the personal card he sent you. He’s the Marquis of Ells and his father is the Duke of Craigdale. And they have some other titles up their sleeves. Peerage of England, Scotland, and even the United Kingdom. A very traditional, powerful, and rich family. I would say they’re just below the Royal Dukes. His mother was the daughter of an English duke too. His sister is married to a very important duke. Still doesn’t mean anything?”

  “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. After all, it is his social circle. If it were so important to him, he would have made it clear from the beginning, Edward.”

  “Maybe,” Edward said, then clicked on ‘images’. The screen filled with photos, almost all of them of Alistair accompanied by beautiful women, in public appearances or taken by paparazzi. “Take a look. He doesn’t have relationships. He only has one-night stands.”

  He scrolled until he found what he was looking for and clicked on it. An image of Sophia and Alistair leaving Gordon Ramsay at Claridge’s filled the screen.

  She gasped.

  He slowly turned his face to look at her. He closed the photo and opened another. This time they were photographed in his car, at a red light on Kensington High Street, near her house.

  Sophia felt a chill in her spine as she saw a photo of them taken during the weekend.

  And, what shocked her the most was an image of a smiling Alistair carrying Gabriela in his arms and holding Sophia’s hand, on a gossip blog with the headline, ‘Mystery Woman Captures Elusive Alistair Connor MacCraig’s Heart’.

  The story described—with saucy details—the great number of women passing through Alistair’s life and how easily he disposed of them.

  Sophia scrolled down, her heart beating fast in her chest. The article was full of images. All of Alistair’s dates were blonde with blue eyes.

  “See what I mean, Mystery Woman?” he sneered. “Want to see something even more interesting?” With a few more clicks, a younger Alistair appeared on the screen playing with a blonde, blue-eyed little girl in a park.

  Edward zoomed in on the girl’s face and Sophia inhaled sharply. “Yeah! Digest that!”

  “They could be sisters,” she said in a small voice.

  “I have been haunted by this photo ever since I first saw it,” he said, then returned to the armchair, and flung himself in it. “Only a background check, Sophia, for Gabriela’s protection. And yours.”

  “Edward, I don’t feel at all comfortable about this checking thing. He is not my competitor. This is a personal relationship.”

  “Sophia.” He shook his head and sighed. “Sometimes your innocence baffles me. How can a,” his fingers made quotation marks in the air, “shrewd businesswoman be so naïve? Do you think if he were in your place he wouldn’t do it? Anyone would. Everyone does.”

  Sophia bit her lip and looked at the photo again, and decided. “No, Edward. This isn’t business. I have morals and principles. Life isn’t a war.” Enough is enough. I can’t risk crossing these lines anymore.

  “Well, then. Think about it. But think hard. I don’t want to see you crying later because of principles and morals.” His blue eyes flashed with an undefined emotion. He picked up an envelope from her desk and opened it, ending the argument.

  Chapter 3

  The City of London Bank Headquarters

  Tuesday, February 23, 2010

  8:30 p.m.

  The building was virtually empty. Heavy footsteps on the marble floors echoed on the walls.

  The burly man knocked on the door, observing the dimly lit conservative room he was standing in, so unlike the man who owned it. He laughed inwardly, darkly amused. If he were a gossiper, half of London would be doomed.

  The door opened and Alistair invited the man into his office.

  “Good evening, Baptist. You worked quickly, as always.” His certainty about the detective’s capacity for professionalism remained unspoken.

  “Mr. MacCraig, you know that my reports are the best in Britain,” he boasted. “I informed you before that Sophia Santo didn’t exist. And that the woman you were looking for was another person, had another identity.” He handed over the file he was carrying. “But, if I may say, this was one of the most difficult jobs I’ve ever had. Challenging. The woman is an eel.”

  Alistair motioned for the man to sit down, opened the file, and commented as he quickly scanned over the information. “Something about her family, Gabriel Leibowitz, and Leibowitz Oil. More about the Sophia Leibowitz Foundation for Women and Children. So on and so forth. Hmm.” He stroked his jaw and perused the pages. “What about her private life?”

  “Nothing that is relevant. She’s a very private person. So was her late husband. However, Mr. MacCraig,” said the man politely, “I could say the same about you. There is a lot of information available about you, but nothing vital.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Although much could be discovered through your late wife.”

  Fuck. Alistair’s temper flared. He thinned his lips and fine lines appeared around his narrowed eyes. “Maybe. But I’m not paying you to investigate me. I know all there is to know about myself and my late wife.”

  He leafed through the photos, some new, some old, and paused at one from Sophia’s wedding. She was a beautiful bride. So young, so happy. “It’s not possible that she hasn’t left any clue, any hint that you could follow,” he murmured, turning over the few pages of the file.

  “If I were to give my personal opinion based on my research, I would say she had an uneventful and happy life until her husband’s kidnapping. She is well-traveled, as you can see. Her family is important and rich, though not as much as Mr. Leibowitz’s. They were originally from the state of Minas Gerais and have farms, country houses, and many properties. I couldn’t find any boyfriends from before her wedding. She married very, very young, and quickly. Her family emancipated her for it.”

  That’s not good. “Was she pregnant?”

  “I cannot confirm, but I’d say she was not.”

  “Facts, Baptist, facts,” he prompted.

  “Well, based on the lack of the evidence,” the man rephrased, “she was not.”

  “What about Gabriel Leibowitz?”

  “Basically business information. The age difference between them was great. Many previous girlfriends, but nothing serious before his marriage. No paid sex, so my contact in Brazil couldn’t retrieve much information about his sexual preferences. He traveled around the world frequently, and he either took along his partners, or he kept to himself. An easy
man, excellent employer, highly praised businessman.”

  “I see.” Jealous and angry, Alistair snorted, “The perfect gentleman. A man of honor.”

  “So it seems,” Baptist concurred. “The perfect couple. The perfect family.”

  “What about his death?”

  “One more kidnapping case poorly handled,” he answered. “Too many mistakes made by those conducting the negotiations, and at the end, by the police. They procrastinated too long to pay the ransom. A misfortune.”

  “So, this is all you’ve achieved.” He looked again at the meager folder.

  “Unfortunately,” the burly man nodded. “She’s been even more evasive in the last two years. But I’ll seek out more information. Everyone has secrets, Mr. MacCraig.” A dark smile appeared on the man’s face. “I’ll discover hers, don’t worry.”

  “Thank you, Baptist,” Alistair rose from his chair. “I will transfer the funds as agreed.”

  “Mr. MacCraig, it has been a pleasure doing business with you, as usual.” They shook hands. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out more.”

  Alistair closed the door to his office and moved to one of the sofas, drumming his fingers restlessly against the polished wooden surface of the side table, intrigued as much by the elusiveness of the woman as by his strange reactions to her.

  As a CEO and majority shareholder of one of the biggest banks in the UK, he wielded a great deal of power. He owed his position entirely to his exceptionally sharp and quick mind, dispassionate observation of strategy, and ability to crush his and others’ feelings during any business transaction. Aside from his family, very few things moved him.

  The one time he had let his feelings control him and he relinquished his heart, he’d been betrayed and ended up losing the most important person in his life.

  He opened the file again and turned to the last page: ‘Mystery Woman Captures Elusive Alistair Connor MacCraig’s Heart’.

  His bitter laugh echoed in the room. I have no heart. Not anymore. It’s buried six feet under with Nathalie.

  The tip of his left index finger traced the contour of Sophia’s face in the photograph. She was so different from the women he was used to going out with.