Shades of Trust

by Cristiane Serruya

  “Aye,” he answered, “a thousand pounds.”

  “I don’t gamble with money. Let’s say…” she paused, thinking.

  He leaned over and proposed, “Your ass.”

  Her hand stopped moving. “What?”

  “Your ass,” he repeated, his breath fanning her earlobe before he licked and nibbled it. “If I win, I’ll fuck your ass tonight.”

  She leaned away from his caresses, blinking and biting her lip, too astonished to speak.

  “You’ve never done it,” he said. The information simultaneously surprised him and made him happy.

  “No, I’ve never done it,” she murmured, shaking her head slowly.

  “And?” His blood ran hot with expectation and desire. He lifted his hand to tuck a strand behind her ear, letting his fingers brush her face and neck.

  “And?” she parroted, trembling with uncertainty. God, what should I answer now? Yes? No?

  “Do you feel like trying?”

  “I don’t know.” She withdrew her hand and put it demurely on the arm of the chair, looking down at her lap. “Not yet.”

  Don’t push your luck, Alistair Connor. He held her hand gently and his thumb caressed her knuckles. “Let’s take a rain check, Beauty. There’s no need to be frightened, it’s quite pleasurable.” He kissed her inner wrist and signaled to the waiter. “Shall we order dessert?”

  “I know what I want.” She waved her menu away. “Alain’s selection of six mouthwatering desserts.”

  “Mademoiselle, it takes up to twenty minutes to prepare this dish,” the waiter informed her.

  Sophia looked up at Alistair who answered, “We have time.”

  “Let’s share it,” she suggested as he studied the menu.

  “All right.” He closed the menu and handed it back to the waiter who thanked them and left, after replenishing their glasses with wine.

  “Can I ask something personal?” she started tentatively.

  “Aye,” he answered.

  She drank a gulp of wine and cocked her head, studying him, still unsure how to broach the subject.

  “Come on, Sophia, don’t be shy,” he coached.

  “All right, here it goes,” she inhaled deeply. “Someone, er…showed me some photos of you with…lots of different women. I mean, I’ve seen—”

  “I don’t keep tabs, but I had more than three women, perhaps around three hundred,” he smirked. “But no one as—”

  “You’re lying!” she interrupted him. When he shook his head, her eyes opened wide. “Dear God! So, I’m bound to bump into one of your exes.”

  “They were mere encounters to abate lust, not my exes, or whatever you want to call them. I always made that crystal clear from the get-go. And some are not from our circle.”

  Unsettled, Sophia chewed her lips as she studied his inscrutable face. “What do you mean by some are not from our circle?”

  He sighed. “Some were professionals.”

  “You mean, you mean…” She couldn’t complete the thought.

  His lips curled at her hesitation. “Sophia, every now and then a man like me calls an escort.”

  “Like you?”

  “I have a very high-sex drive.” His face split with an amused grin, his eyes twinkling.

  “You’re laughing at me,” she huffed.

  “It’s impossible not to,” he sniggered, “you’re too good to be true.”

  “So, you weren’t lying when you said that you would call an ex or an escort.” She blushed and looked down.

  “Nae. I don’t need to lie, Sophia.” He curled his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to peer into her troubled eyes.

  “Sometimes you seem so cold. All business; all logic and facts.”

  He gave her that ghost of a smile and he stared appraisingly at her remark. “Possibly.”

  “And where…”

  “Where?”

  Sophia bit down on her lip, thinking for a second. “No dates, no one to love. Where is your heart in all this?”

  “It’s buried six feet under with Nathalie,” he answered in a dry tone. Let it be, Sophia.

  Why do you insist on saying that? She flicked her eyes to the other tables. “And you appear to like only blondes…”

  “I have a preference for blondes.” She flinched and opened her mouth to speak but he immediately reached out and put his finger over her mouth. “As I was saying before being interrupted by your unconvinced remark about the number of my sexual partners, I’ve never had a woman like you. There’s something about you, something special, that makes me want to do things I’ve never wanted before, with or for any other woman.”

  His deep voice transfixed Sophia.

  “Something has attracted me to you since that Wednesday—a cold and gray January day—when you entered the meeting room. It was like…” Christ, Alistair Connor! You’re swooning like a lovesick teenager. He stared at her face, enthralled by the bafflement imprinted there. Fuck!

  “Like?”

  Fuck my rules, fuck my promises. Fuck everything. He cupped her face in his long fingers, his thumb pressing on the center of her soft and plump lips. “It was like the sun had appeared again in my life, Sophia,” he said. “You. You changed everything when you stepped into that room. You have a freshness, a strength, an allure I’ve never seen before. The way you walk, talk, hold yourself. You’ve become the light of my life.”

  His words turned her speechless. How can he say these things after saying he has no heart? His beautiful words reminded her of Gabriel’s a long time ago and she shivered. Too soon, too soon.

  “I was mad with jealousy.” He exhaled as if he had run a marathon.

  She shook her head to disperse the spell he had cast over her. “Jealousy?”

  “I thought you and Davidoff were lovers,” he said sheepishly.

  “Really? I don’t believe it.” She smiled and cocked her head. “Why would you think that?”

  “You were so intimate, you touched him with a…” He frowned, searching for the right word to describe the way she touched and talked to Edward. “I dare say you were overly familiar with each other.”

  “I’ve known Edward since I got married and—what can I say—I’m Brazilian. A Carioca. We touch and kiss and hug all the time. We are friendly people. For you British, it may be strange, but it’s common behavior for us.”

  “I’m not British, Sophia. I’m a Highlander,” he said, and releasing her face, shoved his hand through his raven strands to push away a lock that had fallen over his eye.

  “I love your hair,” she murmured, running her fingers over his hair. “I-don’t-give-a-fuck hair.”

  He burst out laughing.

  “What?” She stared at him. “Are you laughing at me again?”

  “Nae.” He chuckled and murmured, enchanted, “It’s the first time I’ve heard you saying the F-word. It’s adorable. Everything about you is adorable and I—”

  A movement caught his attention and he turned his head to look at a couple exiting the restaurant.

  Sophia followed his gaze and watched as a distinguished older man escorted a gorgeous blonde, blue-eyed woman scantily clad in a tight lemon-yellow dress, who reminded her of Juliette, the previous owner of her house.

  The blonde woman discreetly pointed at them and whispered something into the man’s ear.

  Sophia flashed a look at Alistair and back at the couple in time for her to see the man studying her carefully, and then said something that made the woman change directions and walk toward them.

  But Alistair’s glare and slight shake of head stopped her short.

  Is she one of his exes-or-whatever? A sudden chill ran through Sophia’s spine. A coincidence? Or just my imagination?

  The woman’s face fell and she again whispered in the man’s ear and threw her head back in a fake and spiteful laugh. The man just smiled and nodded at them.

  Sophia looked at Alistair, who sat rigid on his chair. His fists clenched and his eyes narrowed, hi
s gaze fixed on the woman.

  Just before the blonde exited the restaurant, she blew a kiss to them.

  “Alistair.” Sophia put a hand over Alistair’s clenched right fist and he whipped his head toward her, his hair flying over his face from the sharp movement.

  “What!” he growled, looking at Sophia, but he saw the shimmering mask of his beautiful blonde, blue-eyed late wife.

  “Are you okay?”

  His hand ran over his face and nape and he rolled his neck over his broad shoulders, cracking it.

  “Aye,” he answered in a more normal voice. “Everything…is fine.”

  “What—” Sophia interrupted herself when the waiter approached with their dessert. She licked her lips and smiled at him, a sassy look in her eyes. “Mmm, your favorite part of dinner. Prepare yourself, Alistair Connor.”

  “Sophia.” He entwined his fingers with hers. “I don’t think I’ll ever be prepared for you.”

  11:07 p.m.

  On the way out of the restaurant, Alistair took Sophia’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, squeezing it lightly. He looked down at her. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the cottage?”

  “I’d like a relaxing Armagnac.” She stopped and craned her neck to look at his face, raising an eyebrow at him with a mischievous look in her eyes and licking her lips. “And also, I find it very, hmm, stimulating to smoke a cigar after dinner.”

  He flashed a grin of even, white teeth, his forest-green eyes sparkling. “Surely, you’re not provoking me, are you?”

  “No, no,” she answered with a naïve grin, batting her eyelashes. “I’d never dream of doing that.”

  “Sophia, Sophia,” he breathed, shaking his head at her. “You drive me to distraction.”

  “Do I?” Sophia stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. She pushed him with her hands on his hips, her thumbs brushing his already semi-hard member. “Will you ask a waiter to bring our drinks and cigars? I’ll wait for you here, Handsome.”

  He leaned down to nibble her earlobe and whispered in her ear, “You’re playing with fire, Sophia.”

  “Maybe I want to get burned,” she answered in a throaty voice, turning and leaving him standing.

  He watched her, mesmerized, as she walked to the edge of the riverbank. He shook his head, slowly in disbelief, not sure if he should be amused. She ordered him around, expecting him to obey. And worse, he knew he would do as she asked.

  A smile of pure joy appeared on his face as he strolled inside, lighthearted, whistling one of the songs from Sophia’s playlist.

  11:12 p.m.

  Alistair narrowed his eyes at the scene by the river. Sophia laughed at something a blond man was saying.

  Rage boiled in his veins as the man leaned near her to say something, and she put a hand over her right breast, an unconsciously sensual gesture, as she laughed harder. The man put a hand on her shoulder, laughing with her.

  Before Alistair knew what he was doing, he strode up to them with the liquid grace of a panther and stopped beside them. Neither one had noticed him as they laughed on. He cleared his throat. “I’m not intruding, am I?”

  “Alistair!” Sophia jumped and then smiled at him. “No, of course not. This is Judge Albert Ackerman. Albert, this is a friend of mine, Alistair MacCraig.”

  “How do you do?” The blond man stretched out his hand to shake Alistair’s.

  “Your Honor.” Alistair shook it briefly and discouraging further intimacy, turned to Sophia, grabbing her hand and informing her in an icy voice, “I have ordered that our drinks and cigars be brought to our private garden.”

  “Oh,” she breathed surprised. “I—”

  “Good night, Your Honor.” Alistair bowed his head in a sharp movement to the blond man and lugged Sophia, who waved hastily to her friend and tripped behind Alistair.

  “Wait. Wait!” Sophia pulled his hand and stopped when they arrived at the cottage door. She squinted to peruse his expression in the moonless night and took a deep breath when she felt his dark mood.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low and laden with distrust, and exasperated, mimicked her, “This is a friend of mine.”

  “Well, I wasn’t quite sure how to introduce you,” she answered shakily. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Boyfriend, date, lover, whatever. Not a friend.” He released the doorknob, leaving the door open, and moved aggressively toward her. “Do you fuck your friends, Sophia?”

  “Alistair…” She was thoroughly shocked at his sudden rage.

  “I’m in a relationship with you, just as you asked me. But still, I’m a friend?” He put his forearms on the outer wall of the cottage and caged her between his arms and body. His eyes narrowed to thin slits. “What were you two talking about?”

  “We were just chatting about a funny case he heard yester—”

  Alistair’s large hand shot to her throat and he tightened his fingers around it.

  Her eyes became huge with astonishment and her head banged on the wall.

  “Do no’ lie,” he warned and tightened the grip, cutting off her air. “I noticed your body language. It was too intimate.”

  When her hand wrapped around his wrist, he released her throat, shocked at his violent reaction, and moved his hand up to cup her face.

  Sophia felt her own fingers, still wrapped around his wrist, against her jaw. It was almost a tender gesture despite the anger in his eyes. She gasped and coughed lightly, cupping her throat in her other hand. She glared at him.

  “Are you crazy?” she graveled. “Release me. Now.”

  He winced. Since he had met Sophia, he’d been on his best behavior with her and had been unconsciously suppressing his rage at Heather, while also denying himself his normal venting process with disposable women. Seeing Sophia with another man was just too much. He couldn’t go through that sort of pain and betrayal again.

  Palming his chest with both hands, she pushed him back, and stepped forward, hissing, “I will talk to whomever I want, whenever I want, about whatever I—”

  Alistair grabbed her, one hand gripping her hair and the other sliding down her thigh. He propelled her back until she felt the cold wall against her back through her dress. His hard body aligned with hers forcefully.

  “I don’t want to see another man’s hands on you. Ever.” He yanked her head back, and hissed through clenched teeth, “Do you understand, Sophia? You don’t want to see me lose control.”

  He parted her mouth violently with his tongue and caught her bottom lip with his teeth, biting down.

  Sophia shoved her hands in his hair and tugged back trying to free herself from the kiss, but the movement just spurred his lust.

  His hand slid over the curve of her back, massaging it with his long fingers. He wasn’t being careful or gentle now.

  Alistair lifted her left leg, pulling her thigh around his hip and pressing her between him and the wall. His huge erection imprinted itself on her belly, leaving no room for doubt about his state of arousal. Her shawl dropped, rustling to the ground.

  “You are no’ going to slip through my fingers,” he grunted, his mouth trailing down the column of her neck.

  My goodness! “Alistair Connor, stop being paranoid. There is no need,” she avowed in a raw voice. The man is more jealous than Gabriel and Ethan put together. “If I am here with you, I am with you and nobody else.”

  That wasn’t what I saw. But the thought slipped away when her scent filled him. He nipped her bare shoulder. “I’ve told you before: I don’t share.”

  “Neither do I,” she said, breathless from his bold caresses.

  His fingers slid under her dress and up her thigh, teasing the skin encased in black thigh-highs until it reached her frilly lace thong.

  “Christ, this is—” His hands seized the thin, delicate embellishment and ripped it apart.

  “God, Alistair,” she breathed. “Have you gone completely insane?”

  “Aye, you ma
ke me unhinged. In so many ways, I can’t start counting now.” His eyes glinted green flames in the semi-darkness. He held up the torn thong for a second before fisting it in his closed hand. He smiled dangerously before pressing his lips to her ear. “Is this for me?”

  She reached up and grasped a fistful of his hair, dragging his head down and hissing fervently on his lips, “For you. Only you. Always you.”

  Without warning, Alistair lifted her, pressing her against the cold wall.

  “Don’t,” she gasped. “We’re going to get caught.”

  “One of these days, I’m going to have my wicked way with you.” He let her glide down his body.

  He picked up her shawl and put it around her shoulders. He brought the thong to his nose, inhaling her scent, shoved it in the inner pocket of his jacket, and towed her inside the cottage with sparse movements. “Someday, I’m going to tie you down,” he said with a gruff voice, “and not allow any movements and drive you mad with desire—just like you torture me—until you beg me to fill you and let you come.”

  She didn’t think it would be possible for her to become aroused after what had just happened, but she was wrong. Images of herself bound and subject to his every whim sent a bolt of desire into her pelvis.

  He locked their room door and pressed her against the silk paneled wall of the sitting room of their suite. His hands ripped away her shawl, flinging it across the room. “I can see you like the idea.”

  Oh, yeah, I do. She liked that idea too much, if her reaction was any clue.

  “I’m going to fuck you. Here. Against the wall,” he hissed in her ear. He took his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a condom, shoving it between her teeth, while with his left hand, he unzipped his trousers, shoving them and his boxers lower on his hips. “Open it.”

  She clamped her teeth on the foil and he pulled, taking out the condom and sheathing himself.

  He gripped her dress and shoved it up, binding it around her waist, then grabbed her buttocks and lifted her easily. The long, thin heels of Sophia’s delicate booties caught the curves of his butt and he groaned, his eyes sizzling her.

  Sophia had a hard time organizing her thoughts. She gave up and let them scatter away when he pressed his massive length on her.