Unbroken Love

  That made his smirk turn into a smug, male laugh, the sound warming Sophia all over.

  “Nae, mo chridhe, I’m not convinced, I’m just sure. I’m wrapped around your finger, clay under your talented hands. And I don’t know how or why, but your eyes tell me you are mine. Only mine.”

  The Dorchester

  10:22 p.m.

  Ethan waited in the doorstep as Guinevere finished a call that had just come through when she got out of his Ferrari.

  I’m starting fresh. In every way. He breathed in the rainy air, looking up at the sky. The rain had stopped but it was still overcast. He thought not even rain could rob him of his good mood that night. He looked Guinevere over, wondering how she would be in bed, when he felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him.

  “Hello, Ethan,” Barbara said softly. “I was waiting for you. I—I came to kiss you happy birthday and—and I—”

  Damn. “Barbara,” he acknowledged her drily. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her. Barbara was carefully dressed, but not even the expertly applied makeup could hide that she was thinner and had shadows under her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “Ethan, darling, I’ve missed you—” She paused, unsure of how she was going to tell him about her feelings. “Why don’t we sit for a moment in the bar? I—” She stopped when Guinevere stepped by Ethan’s side and smiled at her.

  Ethan immediately passed a loose arm around Guinevere’s shoulders.

  Seeing him with another woman should have reinforced to Barbara that he had indeed moved on with his life.

  Instead, she was remembering those sensual lips pressed against hers, those azure eyes demanding her climax and that gorgeous face thrown back in passion when she pleasured him. She could almost feel him orgasming and emptying himself inside her body.

  She tightened her jaw and forced the thoughts from her mind as a deep pain cut her. She squinted her eyes at Guinevere. She didn’t look like Sophia, with lighter skin and shorter, lighter hair, but was the same age, and what was more important, the same classy elegance. Barbara’s heart broke when she realized he had easily replaced her after all the love she had given him; after all she was prepared to do to be with him.

  “Hi, I’m Barbara.” She swayed but Ethan’s hand steadied her. “Are you the new whore? You do look very much like Sophia.”

  Appalled, Guinevere put a hand over her mouth.

  Jesus! Protectively, Ethan brought Guinevere closer to his body, hissing to Barbara, “You’re drunk. Go home. We have nothing to say to each other anymore.”

  “No, I’m not drunk.” She leaned closer to Guinevere as if she were sharing a secret. “A piece of advice. Run. While you still can. He drives his women as crazy as the phantom in his castle.”

  Guinevere was gaping at her with a baffled expression on her face.

  That’s enough. He turned to the doorman. “Please call a taxi. The lady is not feeling well.”

  “No, Ethan. I’m not feeling well. I’m heartbroken and—” Barbara breathed and straightened. In an evil tone, she said to Guinevere, “He used me to impersonate Sophia Leibowitz in bed.” She whipped her head back to Ethan. “You think your money pays for everything? You’ll discover it—”

  He raised his eyebrows and spoke in a dark, low voice, “Served you well when you needed, didn’t it?”

  “You bastard,” she shrieked and raised her hand to slap him on the face but he caught it mid-air.

  Security approached.

  Ethan saw Guinevere and the other guests staring at the scene. Appearances.

  He started backing her away from the hotel door, but it was not easy without putting his hands on her, which he didn’t want to do again.

  “Does Sophia know? Do you want her to know?” Barbara had lost all composure and was screaming now. “And her, the new whore? Does she know what you do?”

  Take control, Ashford. “Barbara.” His voice was even but his azure eyes had turned a dark blue. “You’re making an unnecessary scene.”

  “Sir, the lady’s taxi has arrived.” The doorman was impassively opening the door of the taxi.

  “You have a creep in your hotel.” She backed away as he stepped closer, pushing her back without touching her. “A stalker—”

  “Mind your head,” Ethan said icily and disguising it with care, he fisted her hair in his hand and shoved her inside the black taxi. Taking a bunch of fifty pound notes from his note-clip, he gave them to the driver. “Please, drive the lady home. She’s not feeling well.”

  “Ethan, you—”

  He closed the door on her, turned on his heels.

  “I’m sorry for the scene, Guinevere. Barbara was a girlfriend I had in between Sophia and you. She was always jealous of her and has never accepted it was not Sophia’s fault that I broke up with her.”

  “I understand.” she said politely. Guinevere was not a hard woman, but she was young and fresh out of college, with her whole life to think of. Even though Ethan was a handsome and intelligent man, she decided she didn’t want to pamper rich men with complicated lives, much less get involved with the ex-boyfriend of her boss’s wife. “I have a bad headache. Could you drive me home?”

  Ethan sighed inward and towed a pale Guinevere back to his Ferrari that was still waiting for them.

  The silence in the car was deafening.

  Ethan shifted gears robotically, thinking how he was going to explain Barbara’s words to the shocked woman beside him or where he should take her. He wondered if she were thinking the creep was him or if Barbara was an old lover with a grudge.

  In less than five minutes he was parked in front of her garage. “Guinevere—”

  “Happy birthday, Ethan,” she cut him softly and bent forward to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll call you. Thank you for the dinner. It was wonderful. Goodbye.”

  “Take care, Guinevere.” He didn’t say anything else.

  After she entered the building, Ethan’s head bumped on the rest and he closed his eyes.

  A middle-aged woman passed by the Ferrari and looked inside. The man behind the wheel of the luxury car struck her as someone so lonely and ill that she almost stopped to knock on the window and ask if she could help.

  Then she shrugged and moved on, thinking that it was better not to meddle in other’s affairs. She had her own problems and he appeared to be wealthy enough to pay for a doctor to solve his troubles. After all, in her opinion, money solved everything.

  London, In a dimly lit room

  Thursday, February 10, 2011

  1:43 p.m.

  “So, stop beating around the bush. I’m a businessman. I dropped everything to answer your call. What do you need? I have to return, urgently.”

  “No fucking way. Our guy and his troupe are very difficult to please. He requested the best suites, an absurd number of towels, round the clock room service, including double-D-breasted escorts, the best vodka, and the translator couldn’t understand half of the other things.”

  The computerized laugh didn’t please Alberto.

  “Prepare to be around for a while. I need your services.”

  “Hire another translator,” Alberto shouted, enraged, not used to being ordered around.

  “I have but she resigned. Too much slang, curses, and a very difficult accent.”

  “Hire another. Hire two. Change the group,” he suggested. “Money is not the problem.”

  “No more time. He knows all the floor plans and cameras videos. Besides, we can’t afford this getting out. He talks too much and boasts a lot about himself.” Ghost looked at his notes. “He says he is the owae thou burrougoudouh, or something like this.”

  There was a long and pregnant pause before the elder man corrected, “Uó do borogodó.”

  Ghost answered the question with one of his. “What the fuck is owae thou burrougoudouh?

  “OU-AW.” Alberto rubbed his tired eyes. “This is hard to explain. O is the article the and also it’s the forth vowel. Then, aw is the
tonic sound of the same vowel. Borogodó has only a common vowel, the o, but the last one is tonic. In the middle of equals, there is only one that distinguishes itself. It’s a Carioca slang that refers to sexy, smart people. Not necessarily physical beauty, but ginga. Cleverness. There was a criminal nicknamed Uó, that used to terrify Rio de Janeiro some years ago.”

  “The one and only.”

  “I couldn’t possibly be. How did you find him?” Alberto asked astonished.

  Ghost smiled. “Nothing escapes my radar, and I have connections all over the world. Your beautiful daughter-in-law had pressed his buttons a few years ago and he disappeared. He was looking for her. There is a reward on her head. So, prepare your stay. I’ve booked you a suite next to his—”

  “No, no!” There was clear fear in Alberto’s voice. “He’s a convicted criminal on the run. He’s wanted for many horrible crimes. I don’t want to meet him, cross paths with him. Put me in another hotel—”

  “Hey, man! Don’t piss your pants. It’s fucking booked and you’re going to stay there. You won’t have to meet him. I’ve set everything up. You’ll communicate via an encrypted line. You’ll talk to him and order room service or whatever he wants.”

  Alberto asked, resigned, “For how long?”

  Ghost laughed. “Who knows?”

  “I can’t—”

  “You don’t want your plans thwarted now that we are so close, do you?” he threatened. “You lost your son, your wife, and your grand-daughter. Ah, and the wealthy Leibowitz Oil. Are you going to let her win?”

  Alberto swore he would make her pay for how all his dreams had been turned to ashes. He would do whatever was necessary to see to it. “No.”

  “Good. Enjoy your stay.”

  The City of London Bank Headquarters

  In the Main Meeting Room

  6:51 p.m.

  “Very well, Malcolm. I’ll be here during Carnival.” Alistair rose with such a dark grimace on his face that everyone at the table shuddered. “Ah, gentlemen, for your information, the other account, from which you made the first payment, is closed now and only I and Tavish Uilleam know the new one.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he walked out of the room. Instead of feeling vindicated, he was feeling hollow.

  In his business dealings, he was all about control, but when anything involved his dear, beloved wife, he never had any. Looking impartially from outside, Sophia had wrapped him around her finger from the first moment they met, and he had been under her spell ever since.

  It was Sophia he wanted, not money. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to accompany her to India was killing him.

  Chapter 20

  Atwood House

  10:51 p.m.

  Alistair was rubbing his chin in quiet deliberation, his eyes appraising Sophia’s reaction.

  Shoo, Lord Pokerface, you’re not welcome. “Very well, Alistair Connor,” she muttered, gaping at him. “So be it.”

  He saw her hesitating as if she was going to say something more. She appeared lost. Oh, fuck it. This is not a business discussion, Alistair Connor. Stop being so icy cold. He picked her up in his arms and put her on his lap. “Don’t be angry.”

  Hmm, better. “I’m not angry at your decision. I understand. This is an important matter that can affect even our private lives. It’s just that it sounds like your heart isn’t talking at all. It’s rather logic and facts instead of really feeling sad and regretful for not going. It’s the old Alistair Connor again, afraid of being betrayed and hurt. Seeing the scene from afar.”

  Marchioness Freud. His fingers moved her head slowly to face him. He rose his eyebrows as her serious stare pierced his soul. Make it light, Alistair Connor. A ghost of a wry smile touched his lips. “Possibly. But you knew I didn’t have a heart.”

  Damn you. Sophia jumped from his lap and stomped her foot on the rug. “Oh, stop this, Lord Heartless. I’m not find this amusing.”

  How I love you, Sophia. He looked contrite. “You’re right, mo chridhe. This is serious, really. I’ll go a long way to put these men in their places. The first time was bribery. Wrong, but—”

  “A crime,” she corrected. One LO has committed many times too.

  “A crime,” he accepted, “but usual in your country. Malcolm and Berkley dealt with it naïvely because it was expected. Now they want more bribes and are threatening. I won’t accept blackmail. How much is enough? I need to be here and settle it.”

  “And you won’t be mad if I go? Alone with Ethan?” She sat back on his legs, unsure of his previous words saying she should still go. “Really?”

  “Nae, I trust you.” He pushed her hair back and his mouth touched her skin just under her ear. He bit her earlobe and she shuddered, cuddling against his chest. “By the way, you won’t be alone. Ashley, Mrs. Chanda, Scott, and those many volunteers are company enough.”

  When his mouth made its way to her neck, her hands stopped his head. “Ah, no. I guess not.”

  What? His head moved up and he gazed down at her, arching a black eyebrow. “Are you retaliating?” Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Don’t even think of it.

  “Retaliating for what?”

  “Me not going to India.”

  Oh, no. Sophia managed not to blush, and she rolled her eyes at him. “This is so not like me. I just don’t feel like making love tonight.”

  Ah, I see. He whispered on her lips, “Liar.”

  Sophia could see that he knew exactly what she was lying about. “It’s…it’s awkward. Embarrassing.” Gabriel never liked it.

  He smirked. “You have so much to learn.”

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Nae, Beauty, never. I’ve learned not to laugh at you,” he said, before he picked her up in his arms and entered the bedroom, kicking the door closed, his eyes burning hot. “I’ll give you two minutes before I meet you in the shower.”

  “Aw…Alistair Connor—”

  His fingers dipped in her long hair, angling her head. His forest-green eyes hypnotized her as he slowly drew his tongue over his lips and bent his head, doing the same with hers. It was just a smooth touch of his tongue over her skin but it fueled her with his passion.

  Everything inside Sophia ignited in flames and she melted against his hot body. She clasped her hands on either side of his face as he kissed her deeply, possessing her mouth and her soul.

  When she moaned against his lips, he said, “We’ve done enough talking. You have only one minute now.”

  “Counting!” she shouted, as she ran to her bathroom and his laughter followed.

  She threw her clothes in the hamper and her tampon in the bin, glancing at her flushed face in the mirror. He’s so good at making me feel unashamed and comfortable with our desires. She ran to the shower, opening it and washing herself with her scented vanilla soap.

  “That’s my favorite perfume,” he breathed, pulling her flush to his body. His erection probed her buttocks. “You, soap, and water. Sophia MacCraig. Mine.”

  She turned and dipped her fingers in his hair, bending his head to hers, and kissing him with passion.

  He groaned, using his bulk to crowd her against the wall until there was no room for her to move. He grabbed her hips, hefting her up against him as her legs wound around him. He shifted her so his hard manhood settled perfectly between her lower lips, teasing her as he moved his hips back and forth.

  He looked at her with so much lust in his hooded eyes that Sophia’s breathing spiked and she felt hot anticipation coursing through her veins. He leaned in, ducking his head until their mouths hovered a mere breath apart.

  “Have me now,” she whispered on his lips. “I’m so hot for you.”

  “There’s no rush.” Alistair eased into her, slowly, filling her, tormentingly and exquisitely slow, staring at her as he did it. The passion on her face was beautiful to watch, the way her lips parted and opened in shallow breaths as she reveled in the fullness.

  She gasped when he flexed and circled his hips. Her
eyes closed in senseless delight. “Oh, Alistair Connor.”

  “Sophia,” he grunted in the hollow of her neck, nipping at her shoulder with small love bites. He loved to hear her call his name hoarsely; he wanted to hear it all night long in that sexy way that showed she was loving every little thing he did to her. He took her earlobe in his mouth, nibbling at it as he moved his hips back leisurely, almost pulling out of her, only to push in again, as if he had all the time in the world, and there it was again, his name called out loud. Rotating his hips, changing angles, he pulled out completely in a slow withdrawal.

  When the head of his cock left her, Sophia was gasping in loud breaths. He pushed in again, the torture and ecstasy so acute she was sure she would die of it. Her nails dug in his scalp and she screamed her pleasure out loud.

  Although Sophia knew he enjoyed making love slowly, building the pleasure to its maximum height, testing new ways and movements with her, there was something different in that moment.

  It wasn’t a sexual need. Or sexual desperation, or fury, as he sometimes had. Nor was it one of his sexual games. This tormenting had an underlying meaning, but she couldn’t discern it as she felt her climax grip her, and screaming his name, she came apart in his arms, grinding against his pelvis, clamping him inside her.

  But Alistair was not ready yet. He was aroused and stiff as he had never been before, a spicy lava running so hot in his veins he was sweating under the warm water. When he first entered her, he thought he would spill himself immediately. Sophia was always a tight velvet glove for him, but he had managed to control it. As her sex gripped him in spasms, it made him painfully aware and pleasurably glad of his unspent desire.

  He wanted more. And more.

  And unbidden, the word left his mouth, “More!”

  As if apologizing for staying in London, he wanted to be inside her forever, to leave his mark imprinted so deep she would not forget him. He shifted his hold, pressing her against the wall and liberating a hand, moved it between them to caress her clit, leading her to another orgasm.