Shades of Trust

by Cristiane Serruya

  They left the reception room and she closed the door, crossing the hall to the other set of double doors. “Here’s the dining room.”

  “You dine here?” he asked measuring the beautiful room, with its fifteen-foot ceiling, and a table for sixteen. Three fantastic English silver salves rested on the table.

  She laughed. “No, of course not. I use the kitchen. It’s small and more cozy.”

  “You have eclectic taste for paintings,” he said, pointing at two exceptional Turner paintings above Portuguese mahogany chests, which flanked each end of the room.

  “I have eclectic taste. Period,” she said, as she walked toward the kitchen, closing all the doors behind her. “We decided to put this door here to give Gabriela some privacy when I entertain.” She touched another button on her iPhone. “What kind of music do you feel like?”

  “Anything. I like anything you have on your mobile.”

  “Hmm,” she pressed another button and soft romantic music started to play through the house.

  “Here is where we eat.” She pointed to a spacious table for six, already set for two, at the fully equipped kitchen, all in stainless steel. “I tore the whole kitchen down to fully modernize it. Juliette was not interested in this part of the house.”

  “This is small?!” He looked at the table and teased, “I think you have an ego problem.”

  She made a face at him. “Want something to drink before dinner or do you want to go straight to wine?” She opened one of the refrigerators and he saw that it was perfectly organized.

  “I’ll have some water, too. Still, please.”

  She threw him a bottle of water and picked up a glass from the cupboard for him, and grabbing a small bottle of Evian for herself, drank directly from her bottle.

  He did the same, handing her back the glass. “Never thought I’d see you drinking from a bottle.”

  There’s always a first time for everything. She toed off her peep-toe shoes, bent down and picked them up, standing barefoot and wiggling her toes on the Carrara and Emperor Dark marble floor. “I installed floor heating in the whole house. I love to walk barefoot.”

  Dark-red toe nails! Oh, fuck!

  “And now, the TV room and my office.” Again, she grabbed his hand, walking out of the kitchen, and into two generous-sized rooms, where the walls displayed contemporary art with a stunning photo-based Gerhard Richter that commanded the eye. “If I want to work and Gabriela has friends, I can close the sliding doors. If it’s only the two of us, I keep the doors opened.”

  In the TV room, there were comfortable sofas begging for sitters and big square cushions on the floor.

  “Don’t you like English furniture?” he asked, amused, as he noticed the twin Louis XVI tables facing each other on the office side of the room.

  “Oh, I do. But it’s very difficult to find originals. The only one I could find was the Chippendale in the hall, and anyway,” she shrugged, “I’ve always loved French furniture. Since my first visit to France, I fell in love with the castles.”

  “You see, ego problem.” He chuckled.

  “No. Girly dreams. I was five years old when I visited Versailles. My parents had a hard time convincing me not to lie down on one of those beds, or sit in one of those armchairs and I made my father waltz me through the Hall of Mirrors.” She pirouetted as if dancing. “Long, beautiful dresses, glittering jewels and handsome men.”

  He smiled at her romantic air. “Those aren’t difficult to obtain.”

  “No, they’re not. But money can’t buy everything.” And the dream just vanishes away as we grow. She sighed and smiled at him. “There is also a small storage room and a laundry room on this floor. At the back of the house, is the famous garden you’ve already seen. I can show it to you another day.” Or tomorrow morning, if I’m lucky. “Now, the first floor.” The bedrooms!

  They turned back to climb the stairs, its runner carpet held with bronze stair rods.

  “It’s for family only. A smaller TV room with a mini fridge full of snacks because I don’t like going downstairs at night if I’m hungry.” She pointed to a door in the far corner of the room. “A small toilet. No work or homework is allowed up here. No friends either.”

  “So, I am not allowed here?” he teased, ogling her buttocks when she bent down to pick up a book and carried it with her.

  She smiled over her shoulder turning right, and opening a door. “Gabriela’s room. She chose everything with Felipe and Valentina.”

  She put away the book on the white bookshelf along a wall.

  The room was lovingly done in various shades of pink, orange, and white. Over the bed and on the ceiling, a multicolored garden with fairies was painted directly on the wall.

  “Gabriel,” he said in a questioning tone, picking up one of the frames on Gabriela’s bookshelf. The picture showed a grinning, blond, blue-eyed man, cradling a tiny Gabriela in the crook of his arm, and hugging Sophia’s shoulders. “He was much older than you.” Got a thing for older men, Sophia? Gabriel, Ethan, me.

  “Well, it depends on your point of view.” She grinned at him, “Do you think you are much older than me? If he were alive, he’d be four years your senior.”

  Nice move, Counselor. “How did you meet a man fourteen years older than you when you were so young?”

  “Thirteen, not fourteen,” she corrected, and smiled remembering. “It was at the beginning of my second year at Law School. I was sitting on a bench—studying for a test, head bent over a book—when I saw a pair of black shoes stop in front of me. When I looked up, I was staring into the most beautiful blue eyes I had seen in my whole life. He sat at my side and started a weird conversation. It was…hilarious. That important man, all dressed up in an expensive suit, who had come to give a lecture, was ignoring everyone who came to talk to him, paying attention only to me. Later, he confessed it was love at first sight. Would you believe he discovered my timetable and showed up at the campus every evening? He chased me for three months before I gave in to his charms and accepted his invitation to dinner. Six months after that, we were married.”

  “A stalker,” he affirmed.

  “What?”

  He looked from the photo to her. “He was a stalker.”

  “Or you could say he was persistent. Like you,” she finished softly.

  So naïve, Sophia. He thinned his lips and put the frame back on the shelf. “Gabriela looks exactly like him, but for the mouth and the chin.”

  She nodded and murmured, “Yes, she does. Especially the eyes and the satin pale-blonde hair.”

  He envied and hated Gabriel at that moment.

  It was unbearable thinking of another man having her unbound love. Even worse was the idea of someone else bringing her as much joy as he saw in the photograph. He wanted to be the one, the only one, to touch her body and her heart in that manner.

  He pulled her close, bent his head, and kissed her. His hands wandered on her back, one cupping her nape and the other her butt, pressing her more firmly to his hips. His tongue invaded her mouth, dueling with hers. He bit her lush bottom lip and heard a carnal moan leave his mouth.

  He broke the kiss to look at her.

  Her eyes were closed, her lips reddened and swollen by his kiss, parted, waiting for more.

  Christ, she’s a temptress. He couldn’t resist and slanted his head to plunder her mouth. One of his hands wandered to her breast, palming and gently kneading it, a thumb teasing the nipple. When she flexed her hips, he pulled her onto his straining erection, lost in the sensations.

  This time, she broke the kiss, her breathing uneven. “This is Gabriela’s bedroom.”

  The hand on her breast went back to her neck, his thumb stroking her throat, feeling a vein pulsating there. They stood for a moment catching their breaths.

  “Show me the rest of this floor.”

  “Two guest bedrooms, a bit smaller than Gabriela’s. Like this,” she opened a door to a generously sized room. A king-sized bed occupied the ce
nter, and in one corner, sat a desk with a chair. Pointing to another closed door, she said, “And this one is still empty, but is the same size as Gabriela’s.”

  “You haven’t finished it?”

  She shook her head, smiling. “I’m waiting for someone to arrive.”

  “Who?”

  “My next child.” Her grin became wider.

  Fuck. “And you think your next husband would come to live here with you?” he asked seriously.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s rather strange to live at the expense of one’s wife, don’t you think?”

  “Not at all. Don’t tell me you have such old-fashioned ideas.” She stopped in the middle of the TV room to stare at his face. “Look at it from my point of view. I’m probably wealthier than any husband I chose. I don’t have to pay for everything, but I can have and share the things I can afford. It’s not meant to make a man less proud of himself. Or to make me have the upper hand. What’s money for if I can’t enjoy it with the person I love? My bank account won’t smile at me.”

  “Hmm. When you put it that way.” But you do want someone you can order around, don’t you, Sophia? You just don’t want to confess that to yourself.

  “Upstairs,” she pointed, “with a separate entrance, there are complete apartments for Maria, Gabriela’s nanny; Lucy, the housekeeper; Aisha, the cook; Steven, my driver; Zareb and Devon, our bodyguards.”

  “Christ.” He laughed. “You have the whole world inside your house.”

  “Yeah, and all religions too.” She crossed the TV room and entered the master suite. “My room.”

  A huge four-poster canopied bed dominated the main wall and the center of the room standing on a giant Persian rug that added to the sense of grandeur. On each side of the bed were French bedside tables. Renoir, Manet, and Degas graced the walls.

  “Come here,” she motioned with her hand toward one of the three floor-to-ceiling glass doors which opened onto a large balcony where there were a table for four, two lounge chairs, and a spacious Jacuzzi. She looked at him with a wicked smile. “It’s heated, so I can bathe outdoors in the winter. It’s delicious.”

  “Naked?” he asked in his quiet voice, deep and hoarse.

  Never thought about it. And then she smiled naughtily, “Curious, aren’t we, Alistair Connor?”

  She turned back to the room and pointed to a door. “There’s an empty dressing room and bathroom on this side. They’re exactly like mine.” She went through another door. “Here’s my bathroom. Felipe did wonders in here.”

  Blue Acqua Marine marble echoed on the floors and walls defining the bathing area, contrasting with the Pink Gray Cloud marble vanity tops. A huge shower added a further touch of indulgence to the waterfall tap in the oversized, inset bath.

  “I can’t believe you have a high-definition plasma TV in your bathroom.” He looked as if he wanted to laugh. “That’s weird.”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” Sophia turned her hands up, “but Felipe’s and Vic’s. At first, I thought it ridiculous, but it helps a lot when I have a busy day. I can catch up on the news while showering.”

  At this he chuckled. “You don’t relax, even in the shower?”

  “Try keeping up with my timetable at Leibowitz, Cambridge, and with Gabriela, and still stay informed. And I don’t have a TV in my room. When I go to bed, I sleep with another one of my gadgets.”

  “You sleep with a gadget?” He smiled, a glint in his eyes. “Tell me more about this device, Sophia.”

  She laughed, playfully slapping his arm. “My Kindle.”

  “Oh, aye. Your books.” He concealed his disappointment.

  “Have you heard of Isaac Barrow?” When he shook his head she carried on, “He was an English mathematician and theologian, who died in 1677. He said, ‘He who loveth a book will never want a faithful friend, a wholesome counselor, a cheerful companion, or an effectual comforter.’ It’s so true. I am alone with a book, but never lonely.”

  “Well, well, well.” He bowed low and turned, waving his hand, still a big smile on his lips. “First, Thomas à Kempis. Now, Isaac Barrow. My medieval lady, it’s time for me to say good-bye and leave you to your books.”

  “Silly man,” she laughed. “Hey. You’re going the wrong way, that’s my—” She ran after him and heard his laughter.

  “Do you have OCD?” he asked her with a broad grin.

  “What?” She shed her jacket and hung it in its place.

  He watched as she did it and laughed out loud again. “OCD. Obsessive compulsive disorder?”

  “No, of course not.” She scowled at his laughing face. “Why do you ask?”

  “Looks like you do. You rearranged the cushions to perfection in the reception room, shut every door, and turned off every light. You have a perfectly ordered refrigerator and returned the glass immediately to its place. You put Gabriela’s book away, and hung your coat in its place. I bet you’re going to put your shoes,” he pointed to the shoes she was carrying, “back in their rightful place too. And look at this dressing room! It looks like a shop.” He turned, laughing more, shaking his head. “And I thought I was organized. I can’t show you my dressing room.” He chuckled again, this time darker, imagining her in his dressing room. Oh, Sophia. If I show you my special closet, what will your reaction be?

  “Isn’t it easier to find things when they’re organized?” she asked. “I used to have eight employees working at my apartment back in Brazil. Now, I only have four—”

  “Four?” he frowned. “You named at least seven people who live here.”

  “Six, but the bodyguards don’t help with the house. Even with the maintenance company which comes twice a week to take care of the garden, clean the pool, and do all the hard stuff it’s hard to maintain it. Coats go with coats, not with shirts. White shirts are followed by yellow and then orange and so forth. The same goes for the rest of the house. It’s not OCD. It’s just that it’s simpler to put things in their place.” Saying this, she put her shoes in their place and finished her explanation. “I could find anything even in the dark if I needed to.”

  “In the dark? You dress in the dark? Some kind of perversion? Or are you absolutely nuts?”

  He tried but could not contain a guffaw, imagining a scene.

  “Oh, Davidoff, I cannot meet the clients today,” he squealed in a female voice, and flicked an effeminate wave down his body, “you see, I mismatched the colors of my shoes—” And doubled over in a fit of laughter.

  “Oh, you’re going to pay for that!”

  He straightened, holding his hand up, trying to say “peace,” while laughing.

  As she stalked up to him, he backed out into the bedroom, still chuckling. “Sophia, you are too good to be true.”

  “He who laughs last, laughs best.” With one hand, she caught him by the cardigan and yanked his body to hers, while with the other she enlaced her fingers in his hair pulling his head down, and kissed him. He gasped at the attack and she seized the opportunity to explore his mouth with her tongue.

  One of his arms pressed her onto his body while his knee pried her legs open. The other hand rose to her breast, the silk no barrier to his touch. “I want you.”

  His face showed his disbelief as she started to undo his scarf.

  His hand stopped hers.

  She looked up.

  “Ye know what ye are about tae do, right?” His accent was so pronounced and his voice so husky that she had some trouble understanding him.

  “I know,” Sophia breathed, gazing at his forest-green eyes flaming with desire. “I want you, too.”

  Chapter 15

  Exuding an air full of passion, Sophia pushed Alistair’s scarf to the sides and kissed his chest above the V-neck of his black T-shirt. She undid the buttons of his cardigan, one by one, and yanked his shirt up, licking the line of his pectoral until she found a nipple and sucked it hard.

  Pleasure and astonishment flooded his veins as she kissed and licked his chest and hi
s abs with abandonment.

  He was so shocked at his reaction that he didn’t notice when the scarf fell to the floor. When her hand went to his zipper, he stopped her.

  How long since I’ve let a soft, gentle, normal woman take control? He remembered Tavish’s words. Don’t rush things with her. Sophia’s hand was shaking. He didn’t know if she was nervous or aroused. Quietly, he said, “There’s no hurry. Trust me on this.”

  “Make love to me, Alistair. Please.”

  A wicked look gleamed in his forest-green gaze as he shoved off his cardigan and his long-sleeved T-shirt. He cupped her face in his hands and whispered on her lips, “I like to hear you begging.”

  He bent his head ever so slowly and brushed his lips against hers, his tongue licking the contours of her mouth, leisurely.

  His gentle kiss drove Sophia insane with longing. She pressed herself onto his chest and stroked his hair as she pulled him down to suck and bite his bottom lip.

  His lips became more demanding, and his tongue dipped in her mouth, entwining with hers. He ran a hand down to the buttons of her blouse, then paused before undoing them.

  “Yes, please,” she breathed hoarsely, gliding her hands from his nape to his chest with a feathery touch. Desire throbbed between her thighs. She parted her lips to search for air as he undid only two buttons and opened her shirt over the shoulders, pinning her arms to her torso. Oh, my.

  Her ivory lace bra did nothing to hide her breasts and pink nipples. His mouth watered. He dropped his head to her shoulder and kissed it before he sucked a nipple through the lacy bra, enjoying the dual feeling of the lace and the soft skin beneath it.

  Sophia hissed through clenched teeth, her hands clutching his ribcage.

  He murmured something with satisfaction, but she didn’t understand the words. And she didn’t care.

  Alistair’s fingers wandered over her body as one of his legs pressed between hers.

  A tinge of uncertainty flashed through her mind as her belt fell to the rug with a soft thump. I shouldn’t have started this. But as his lips moved to her other breast, his tongue leaving a wet trail, another thought overrode the first. Why not?