It tortured him to watch as she wandered down the lawn, the wool clinging to her curves, the fringes of the shawl caressing her butt. Mouth dry, he buttoned his jacket making sure his erection stayed hidden.

“Have you brought the wine?” Sophia asked, tucking a strand of her long, midnight-black hair behind her ear.

He cleared his throat, “I left it with the concierge when we checked-in.”

“Right.” She eyed him askance, “Is everything okay?”

He loomed over her, pressing her onto the restaurant outer wall. “Actually, Sophia, I’d rather return to the room,” he answered in his deep and hoarse voice.

She laughed, pushing at his chest, “Later, Handsome, later. Now, I have to replenish the strength you devoured.”

“Well said, Beauty,” he grinned at her, “it was quite a feast. I’ll indulge you.” He slapped her butt and towed her inside. “For now.”


“Everything I hoped and expected,” Alistair said, putting a hand on his flat stomach. “The Roux family is blessed.”

They were seated at the rear of the restaurant. The tables were more intimate, and they could enjoy the ebb and flow of the River Thames, reflected in the mirrored panels above their heads.

“If only every day were like this,” she sighed, contentedly, enjoying the elegant environment.

“This is just the beginning, Sophia. Our days together will be memorable,” he leaned in her direction to kiss her leisurely on the lips. “Now, the best part of dinner: dessert.”

“I didn’t know you liked it so much,” she said.

He grinned broadly. “Oh, I do like dessert. But, sweetheart,” he brushed his thumb over her lips, “what fascinates me is the way you make love to the dammed thing.” He pressed his finger on her lower lip, “To say it drives me crazy doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

She laughed, “Next time I’ll order dessert as an entrée, main course aaaand dessert.”

“Then, I will have to have you on the table, in the middle of our dinner,” his beautiful eyes flashed devilishly.

She thinned her lips, trying to contain her laughter, but it bubbled up anyway, “Alistair Connor! You have the strangest ideas.”

“I love it when you call me Alistair Connor,” he smiled.

“Alistair Connor,” she said, raspy. “It’s a beautiful name. As strong as its owner. What does your name mean?”

“I have no idea,” he shrugged, “and yours?”

“Sophia is Greek for wisdom.” She grabbed her iPhone from her purse. “Let’s see what yours means.”

She whistled low as the answer appeared on the screen and looked at him, “That’s what I call powerful, Alistair Connor.” Her eyes flickered back to the screen. “Alistair means the savior of mankind and Connor,” she typed in his second name. Her eyes scanned the information. “Also Gaelic, like Alistair, but,” her lips curled up and she looked at him with teasing eyes, “Sure you want to know?”

He nodded, smiling. I’m no savior, Sophia. Nothing is less apt.

“Connor means a lover of hounds. I thought you were fond of women,” she giggled.

“Still in doubt about that, Sophia?” Alistair raised his brows at her taunting, “Seems to me that I’ll have to strive to prove it to you.”

“Seems so, Alistair Connor,” her smile broadened and a mischievous look appeared in her eyes.

Alistair jumped in his seat. “Christ, Sophia,” he hissed in a breath when her hand clamped down on his crotch.

She shifted on her chair and blinked innocently at him, “What?”

“Don’t play with fire,” he leaned toward her, his hand diving under the table to press hers down onto him, “if you don’t want to get burned.”

She batted her long, dark lashes at him while brushing her fingers on his growing erection, “Alistair Connor, I’m just testing a theory.”

“Very funny,” he huffed. A slow rakish grin spread on his face, “Please, feel free to test it, then. Right here, right now.”

She threw her head back and laughed, “Are you coaxing me, Alistair Connor?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged.

“Oh,” she breathed, the mix of the potential danger and strong lust turning her blood to lava. “Oh.” She smiled as she bent in his direction, her hand still fondling him, “Wouldn’t I?” she murmured in his ear, “Wanna bet?”

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

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

He leaned over and proposed in her ear, “Your ass.”

Her hand stilled on him. “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 backed away from his caresses, blinking and biting her lip, too astonished to speak.

“You’ve never done it,” he breathed, a weird expression spreading on his face. 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.

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, no need to be frightened.” 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, “It’s up to you, Beauty. We have time.” He studied the menu.

“Let’s share it,” she suggested.

“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 deep. “Someone, err, showed me some photos of you with lots of different women. I mean, I’ve seen-”

“Aye, I’ve had many women, but no relationships.”

“Even when you were married,” she affirmed.

“Yes, even then,” he nodded.

“How many?” she blurted.

“I don’t keep tabs, but I had more than three.” He smirked at her, avoiding answering her.

She made a face at him, “So, Lord Expert, with all your knowledge you still think I am a beauty.”

“I’ve had hundreds of women but no one like-”

“Dear God!” she interrupted him, her eyes huge, “Hundreds?”

“Hundreds,” he confirmed with an irritating simper on his lips.

Sophia’s eyes opened wide, “So, I’m bound to bump into one of your exes.”

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

Unsettled, Sophia’s eyes darkened to a shade of brown. She chewed her lips as she studied his inscrutable face. And then his last sentence popped back into her mind.

“What do you mean by ‘some are not from our circle?’” she asked with a puzzled frown.

He sighed. “Some were professionals.”

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

His lips curled at her hesitation, “Sophia, yes, 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.” He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose and then her lips.

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

“No. I don’t need to lie, Sophia.” He curled his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to peer into her troubled eyes, “And?”

“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?”

“I don’t have a heart, Sophia. Not anymore. It’s buried six feet under,” he answered in a dry tone. Let it be, Sophia.

“Why do you insist in saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” his lip curled into a grimace.

“You appear to like only blondes,” she flicked her eyes to the other tables.

“I have a preference for blondes.”

She flinched and opened her mouth to speak. He immediately reached out and put his finger over her mouth.

“But as I was saying before being rudely interrupted by your unconvinced remark about the number of my sexual partners,” he teased, “I’ve never had a woman like you. There’s something about you. Something special,” he murmured. “Something 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! 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 crooned. “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. The way you move your hands, with your long red nails. 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.

She chuckled, “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 is strange. But it’s common behavior for us.”

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

Sophia ran her fingers over his hair. “I love your hair,” she murmured. “It softens your controlled and rigid posture. It betrays you.”

He frowned, puzzled, “Betrays me?”

“It’s windblown, and… I-don’t-give-a-fuck hair-”

He burst out laughing.

“What?” she stared at him, “Are you laughing at me again?”

“No.” He chuckled, “Sorry. Yes, I am. It’s the first time I’ve heard you saying the F-word. It’s adorable.” He chortled again and murmured, enchanted, “Everything about you is adorable.”

A movement caught his attention and he turned his head to look at a couple stopped in the middle of the restaurant.

Sophia followed his gaze. Sophia watched as a distinguished older man escorted a gorgeous blonde, blue-eyed woman scantily clad in a tight lemon-yellow dress. The woman 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. She flashed a look at Alistair. The man nodded at them and studied Sophia carefully. He said something that made the woman laugh out loud. Still giggling, she put a hand over her mouth and started walking in their direction. Alistair’s glare and slight shake of his head stopped her short.