He chuckled, saying mockingly, “From my
point of view
, you can always wear them.”
She looked up, trying to discern why he said that, when she realized he had a predatory grin on his face.
Sophia stopped and turned to look at him, smiling, “You pervert.”
Pervert? I haven’t even started
. He ran his hands from her collarbones to her hips and back again, ending on her breasts, “This dress complements your body.” He gripped her waist dragging her into his arms, “or should I say that your body complements the dress?” He kissed her. “You confound me.”
She laughed, squirming from his embrace, “I’m hungry, and I’m dying for a glass of wine.” Lifting the hem of her dress, she ran in the direction of the cellar.
He smiled and followed her, entering the dim cellar, nearly bumping into her. She frowned looking at a bottle in her hands.
He glanced down at it. “You don’t want to open that.”
“Why not?” She looked up from the 1982 Château Mouton-Rothschild to search his face.
“It’s unnecessary to open such an expensive-”
“Do you know the price of this bottle?” As he nodded, she put it back with the others and moved to another section, pulling out a 1934 Romanée Conti and peered at him with raised brows.
He shook his head, his emotions swinging from astonishment to aggravation, a twinge of uneasiness in the background.
She slipped it back and seized another bottle.
He frowned, “Sophia, please. Don’t be a child.”
“You don’t like the 1978 Montrachet Domaine de la Romanée Conti?” She put it back and moved again dragging out a 1945 Château Mouton-Rothschild this time, “How about this one?” She flung the bottle in the air, carelessly, catching it with one hand.
“Sophia, stop.”
“No?” She turned and glowered at him, her honey eyes blazing. Her trembling hand held the expensive bottle. “I don’t understand what’s happening here. I asked you to choose a bottle for us from the ones I have. You came back empty-handed. I select one and you say I cannot open it because it’s too expensive? Too expensive?” Breathless, she said, “I can’t open a bottle that costs ten thousand pounds for you to drink? Or a fifty thousand one?” She swallowed and narrowed her eyes. “Why? Would you rather I crashed it on the floor?”
“Christ, Sophia.” His anger flared, “Control yourself.”
“Yes, my lord. I apologize, sire.” She bowed, seriously. “But you drank from my body, didn’t you? Is this” she motioned to the bottle, “more valuable?” Her hand holding the bottle lifted an inch higher. “I don’t think so.”
“Stop!” He ordered nearly shouting, his voice reverberated on the rocky walls. He understood her rage. “Stop,” he lowered his voice to an even and commanding tone. “I didn’t mean to insult you,” he breathed deep and continued in a low, silky voice. He stepped forward slowly, as if she were a scared and hurt little animal that any sudden movement would frighten, “Nothing compares to your taste, Sophia. Not even one of your most expensive wines.” He moved in front of her and lifted his hands slowly. He caressed her face with his knuckles, “Choose. I will drink with pleasure whatever you desire.”
She leaned on his body, her forehead resting on his chest. “Sorry, I overreacted.”
“You do have a temper, don’t you?” He laughed when she punched him in the arm, after putting the 1945 Mouton-Rothschild in its place.
“Try me.” She reached for the bottle she had chosen first, leaving the cellar.
Back in the kitchen, she put the bottle on the island. She put an opener and a crystal-and-silver decanter next to the bottle. “Here, help me or I won’t feed you.”
“Are you threatening me?” He snatched her to him and his arms circled her in a tight hug. He spoke so near her lips, she could feel him breathing. “Feed me or I will not pleasure you again. Your decision.” His beautiful green eyes held an inscrutable expression.
“That’s your problem,” she dismissed his warning, not at all afraid of the big man looming over her. “You lose on both counts.” She kissed him, “You’ll starve,” kissing him again, “for food,” another kiss, “and for me.”
He eased his stance and embraced her as she playfully kissed him, dismissing her ultimatum. “Witch.” Giving her butt a loud and heavy swat. She yelped.
Aye, Beauty. First lesson
. He grinned at her and turned to open the bottle. “Why do you have so many expensive bottles of wine in your cellar?”
“Because.”
“Sophia.”
“Oh, yes, I remember. That’s not an answer,” she restated his words and searched in her cupboard for the pot she needed. She filled it with water and put it on the stove. “I love wine, those are considered the best. I bought them.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Isn’t that enough?”
He poured just a bit of wine for each of them and let the rest breathe in the decanter. “Indeed. A good answer. I missed the foot stomping on the floor.” His lips curled up slightly and he handed the crystal glass to her. “A toast,” he prompted, “to you, the most beautiful and intelligent woman I’ve ever met.”
“To you, an intriguing man, and to us,” she replied and drank the wine.
To us, an uncertainty
.
“To us, may we together create a new path in life.” He hardened just imagining the things he would teach her.
“To… A new beginning,” she smiled at him. Then she remembered, “The foot stomping?”
“Yes. Just like children do.”
She looked at him, bewildered. “What?”
“You know, children stomp their feet when-” He laughed, lowering, as she hurled the dishcloth at him.
Hmm. And now, Alistair Connor?
The doorbell rang, saving her from his counterattack.
“Are you expecting someone?” he frowned.
“Yes. I’ll be right back.” Sophia went to the back door. “Don’t move.”
Fuck. I’ve never been ordered around before
. He rolled his broad and muscular shoulders and his neck.
Relax, Alistair Connor. She’s worth it
. He could hear her moving around the back of the house and speaking with someone.
“Who was it?” he asked when Sophia returned to the kitchen with a mischievous grin and a white plastic bag in her hand.
She didn’t answer and demanded, “Close your eyes.”
“Who was it, Sophia?”
“Never mind. Close your eyes. Please,” she asked again, approaching him with a sexy and mischievous expression on her face.
“I don’t know if I should,” he teased, but closed his eyes. He heard the sound of plastic rustling and felt as her long soft fingers held up his hand and, turning it over, put a small box on his palm.
“Open your eyes,” Sophia softly said, still holding his hand. On it was a pack of condoms.
“How…” He shook his head, bewildered.
“I have my ways. Come on, let’s eat before this pasta becomes mushy.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the table.
She added the chopped items, put the pasta in, and stirred again. After a few minutes, she picked up a bowl and put everything inside.
Sophia went to the table with the steaming bowl, served the pasta for them, and sat in front of him. “There’s some Grana Padano Riserva, if you want.”
He put some of the cheese on his pasta and handed her the bowl. She looked anxiously at him while he tried the pasta.
“Mmm,” he closed his eyes, savoring it. “This is very good.”
“So, you approve of me as a cook?”
He flashed a grin at her, “You’re approved, period.” He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Where did you learn how to cook?”
“When I studied in Lausanne. I told you, remember? A Cordon Bleu teacher taught one of the extra classes. He called it
Cordon Bleu pour les jeunes
. Can you imagine a bunch of teenage girls in a kitchen?” She smiled, “It was one of the best classes. He had a funny way of teaching and kept us all interested in the difficult art of Cordon Bleu. But pasta is very easy. One day I’ll cook something more elaborate for you.”
“But surely, you don’t cook usually. Your nails give you away.”
“No, I don’t cook every day. But after that year in Lausanne, I improved my skills at home. When I got married I made it a habit to cook at least once a week for Gabriel,” the last word she barely whispered.
He interlaced his finger in hers. “Did you know you could make a fortune with the wines you have? There are specialized investment funds that trade on wine.”
“What would I do with more money?” She sighed in disbelief. “Money is also for spending, Alistair. I work a lot. I can afford some extravagances.”
“Do you like being in Gabriel’s shoes?” He perused her face, seriously. “As far as I know, you relinquished your career as a successful lawyer to run his company.”
“I don’t run his company. I just give the last opinion on matters that are more important. And, well, life didn’t leave me much choice. It was never a question of what I wanted to do, but what I had to do. I did what was right. But, you know,” she drank her wine and tilted her head to side, in thought. “I never thought I’d have what it takes to fully understand and manage such an enormous and complicated organization. It seems that I do. At the beginning, the employees didn’t have much faith in me, but gradually I showed them I could do it. I have to thank Edward for all I’ve achieved in the last year. More than a business partner, he has been a great friend and companion.”
“Edward. Davidoff?” As she nodded, he frowned and enquired, “He was Gabriel’s partner?”
“No. But Gabriel trusted him. He started as a trainee and rose by his own merit to the position of CEO. I gave him five percent when I inherited Leibowitz and he has been a great help to me.”
He gapped at her.
“What?”
“You
gave away five percent of Leibowitz Oil?”
He couldn’t believe his ears. “Beauty, if you had given any other man five percent of Leibowitz Oil, he would have laid on the floor for you to step on with your stilettos.”
“Maybe you’re right, but I didn’t need a doormat. I needed a trustworthy friend and a great CEO to support me. And before you say that I’ve done a senseless and stupid thing, hear my reasons.” She raised a hand and started to count, “First, he worked for Gabriel for more than seventeen years. Second, Gabriel trusted him. Third, I already knew him and his work, and I liked what I knew. Fourth, I was utterly alone in a strange country and needed someone by my side. And last, most importantly, my instincts said
he
was
the
man who would help me through it.” She drank more wine and handed him her empty glass for more.
Gabriel, Ashford, Davidoff. How many men are a part of your life, Sophia?
“Instincts? You do business based on instincts?”
“No.”
“Thank Chr-”
“I do everything in life based on my instincts. It is the first thing that guides me. If my instincts say no, I say no. It doesn’t matter how many reasons there are for me to say yes. It drove Gabriel crazy,” she laughed. “Edward, at first, didn’t trust my opinions, either.”
“And now?”
“He’s learned that, although strange, it works well.”
“No kidding,” he frowned.
“For example, the contract I signed with your bank. I didn’t trust Wales. Turned out I was right.” She shrugged. “Haven’t you ever had a feeling you shouldn’t do something? Or that a person is worth trusting, contrary to all proof?”
“No, not really.” He finished his pasta. “Is that how you used to decide on your pro bono work?”
“Want more?”
He shook his head. She took their plates, rinsed them, and stashed them in the dishwasher. “I only accepted cases when I believed in what the person was telling me. Either guilty or innocent. And that is the way all the lawyers at my foundation are directed to do as well. Of course, if the evidence is too strong against the person, I couldn’t do magic.” She covered the bowl of pasta with plastic film and put it in the refrigerator. “Contrary to Leonard’s beliefs, I’m not a witch.”
He smiled at this. “I think you have a book of spells and a caldron hidden somewhere. What does your instinct say about me? Innocent or guilty?”
“It says I should trust you,” she answered sincerely. “Dessert? There’s a banana cake that I usually heat up, or ice cream. Or chocolate? Pierre Marcolini. The same I gave your father the weekend of Tavish’s birthday.”
“Chocolate.” He scowled at her, “Innocent or guilty?”
“Bring the wine, will you?” She didn’t answer and exited the kitchen with the pack of condoms in her hand. “Come. Or I get to choose the film,” she shouted from the stairs.
He didn’t move from his chair.
What had started as a joke unexpectedly turned into something serious.
Why isn’t she answering?
He wanted, no, needed to know her opinion. He ran after her, the decanter in his hand.
“Sophia.”
“Please, choose the film.” She didn’t look up from where she hunched near the small fridge. “I have champagne truffles, marzipan, or dark chocolate-seventy percent-for grown-ups,” she pointed to a beautiful big black box by her feet with the number sixteen stamped on it, and her lips curled up, teasing, “or milk for the kids. Or,” she grabbed a different box, “macaroons. Which do you prefer?”
“Dark and macaroons.” He put the decanter and his glass next to hers.
She’s beating around the bush
. He approached the window, looking outside, but not seeing the park. “But I’d rather you answered my question, Sophia.
“I have answered.”
“No. You. Have. Not.” His voice was icy thin. “Innocent or guilty?”
10.55 p.m.
Sophia stiffened and rose from the floor with the boxes in her hand.
Alistair turned from the window, a stern look on his face. She didn’t face him, but she could see his unhappiness.
She took her time putting the boxes on the square ottoman and picked up her glass, refilling it. He watched as she breathed deep, her ribcage expanding.
She drank a steady gulp. “Whom shall I judge?”
He tipped his head to the side, “Me. Me, myself, and I.”
“Me, myself, and I,” she repeated, in a whisper, straightening to her full height.
Sophia turned and watched his face intently before asking in an austere voice, her forehead creased. She gazed at him in the way she sometimes did, as though she thought she could read him. “How do you plead?” Gone was the playful Sophia.