His eyes remained glued to her as she moved in his direction, taking in the movements of her long elegant hands flattening her dress onto her body. Desire shot hotter through him. Lean, voluptuous body. Her legs… Is she a model? He cocked his head to the side. No, not tall enough. What is she doing here? Alistair shook himself inward. Stop this. Stop! It’s just another woman. And much too young. Most likely a trainee or Davidoff’s assistant. In all probability, she’s sharing his bed.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She has an angelic aura around her, but… He knew women. They fell at his feet everyday offering their bodies for money and status. This one won’t be any different. Christ, I really am a cynic. Come now, Alistair Connor, this is work. He smiled and extended his hand.


Sophia looked around the room and froze dumbstruck. Her heart gave a slam and stopped in her chest. She forgot how to breathe.

A man stared at her. Fixedly, intensely, consuming her. She couldn’t exactly make out his features because of the light coming through the windows.

He remained motionless. He was so muscular and so tall, so large that his frame shadowed the light that came into the room from the enormous glass windows. His height intimidated even more because of his massive shoulders and broad chest, which were not at all hidden by the extremely well-tailored dark charcoal suit, white shirt, and blue-and-green striped tie. His stare never wavered from hers, piercing her soul.

He must workout daily. Sophia, focus!

She squinted to have a better look of his face. The exceedingly handsome features and forest-green eyes struck her core. These are the most wonderful eyes I’ve seen in my whole life. They were intense, so intense that they seemed to burst into green flames, enhanced by ink-dark, long and full lashes. His slightly tanned skin. Perfect. God was inspired when He made him. He seemed designed by an Italian master painter.

The man had jet-black hair, worn in an unfashionable way, longer than usual, with uneven, long shredded bangs on the left side of his face and jagged ends, falling in straight and thick strands to his shoulders, almost past them.

Windblown! Sophia had never seen a sexier haircut. If it was cut at all.

It seemed he had scissored cut them himself. And in a hurry. He had a straight nose, high cheekbones, chiseled large jaw. His upper lip was thin, but extremely well shaped and his bottom lip was… Delicious. Pink lips. Dark. Pink. Lips. Unconsciously, Sophia wetted her own lips with a sensuous glide of her tongue and felt desire building in her body. I want to lick these lips.

He absentmindedly brushed aside a lock of midnight-black hair when it fell over his eyes, smoothing out his stern and stiff stance. She wished she could repeat the gesture herself. To delve her hands into that hair and grip it to bring his head to her and kiss those dark-pink lips.

How could pink be so male? Sophia shook her head, as if to free herself from the spell that he had cast on her. But he had ensnared her in his trap. She turned to glance at Edward, who stood behind her, as if asking his permission. She bit her lip.

Permission? Permission to do what? She didn’t know. It seemed Edward knew, because he gave a small imperceptible nod.

She walked in the man’s direction. Step–by-step, as her high heels sank into the plush carpet, her body seemed to move in slow motion. Sophia became conscious of her light pink YSL dress with a large turquoise alligator belt.

Her hand ran down her stomach and thighs to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles of her dress. His eyes followed her movement, appraising her. She almost choked with the force of his lustful gaze.

Sophia halted less than two feet from him. Oh, my. He looks like a god, a perfect Roman statue in flesh, oozing raw sensuality… She craned her neck to look at his six foot six stature and his eyes. God! These eyes… They see through me. His mouth… It’s totally succulent… And it’s moving. Damn.

He spoke to her and she hadn’t understood a word.

She looked down and saw he had stretched out his hand to her. In a haze, she put her suddenly cold hand in his warm one and he closed his around hers. A shock flared her blood into lava.

“I-I’m sorry?” she stammered.

“Alistair Connor MacCraig, CEO of The City of London Bank. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he repeated and raised a devilish black eyebrow at her speechless state. Aye, it’s always the same. Another one falling for handsome features and body. Pity. But, fuck it. Wasn’t I bored? Why not have some fun? Showtime, Alistair Connor.

“Good morning, MacCraig. This is our-” Edward said from directly behind her.

“Sophia Santo.” Sophia recovered from her state of bewilderment and shook his hand.

A firm, pleasant handshake. Good. He eyed her again from head to toe.

“I’m head of the legal department at Leibowitz Oil, Mr. MacCraig. How do you do?”

“Head of the legal department?” Alistair’s smile waned. “Any problem with the contract, Davidoff?” He greeted Davidoff and motioned to the table. “Please, let’s sit. Mr. Wales will arrive any moment now. Could I offer any refreshments? Water, tea, coffee?” He pressed a button on the wireless telephone that sat on a side table.

“Coffee and water would be fine, thanks.” Sophia seated herself at the head of the table and received a startled gaze from Alistair that she countered with raised brows and an inquisitive look.

“Davidoff? Anything?”

“The same, please.”

While he asked for the refreshments, he noticed Sophia glancing at her watch and thinning her lips. He glanced at his. Damn. Wales is really late.

“Mr. MacCraig, Mr. Davidoff assured me that you were fully aware of the contract terms and that we could discuss them with you. Shall we start?”

He looked at Davidoff, who glared at her. “If it pleases you. So, Ms. Santo-”

“Mrs. Santo,” she corrected him. “My points,” and she emphasized the plural, “are…” she raised her left hand to stress the points.

He noticed that her bare ring finger. Interesting! Mrs. Santo doesn’t wear a marriage band.

“-fees are too high; secondly, the guaranties asked are exaggerated; and lastly, the penalty clauses are absurd.” She took out four copies of the draft from her briefcase, handing one to him, the other to Edward, and kept two.

Hmm. Organized. His copy was all marked and noted. Her handwriting appeared neat, clean, and firm, with a touch of swirls showing her feminine side. The right amount of flourish and power. Feminine and bold. I like that. Mrs. Santo isn’t prudish.

She leafed through her copy. “If you please look at clause number eleven you will see that you’re demanding a hundred and fifty percent as guaranty for the loan. We are a solid firm, Mr. MacCraig, there’s no reason for this.”

He flicked his eyes at an impassive Davidoff. Seems that she’s more than a gorgeous face on a wondrous body. Mrs. Santo has brains and wields power. “I should say, Mrs. Santo that we demand this percentage because of the large loan amount, it is a long-term loan and we’re charging you quite a low rate of interest.”

“Maybe you think so. We don’t.” Sophia didn’t even look at Edward. She could see from the corner of her eye his unhappiness with her. “With such a high guaranty we surely could find a cheaper way of raising funds. You’re making exaggerated claims. We aren’t devoid of other possibilities or in such a hurry. I perfectly understand that your bank is a private institution and what your main goal is.” She leaned his direction.

Christ! He noticed the swell of her breasts pushing the neckline. He wished for an even lower neckline.

“But ours is the same and-”

MacKeenan entered the room with the refreshments and speedily served them. “Mr. Wales arrives momentarily, Mr. MacCraig,” he informed.

“Thank you, MacKeenan,” Alistair nodded. “So, you were saying…”

Edward used the gap to jump into the conversation. “What Mrs. Santo is trying to convey is that the conditions are too harsh and that we could arrange for milder fees-”

The door opened and Charles Wales came in. The men rose to greet him, but Sophia stayed seated, making a show of looking at her watch.

Aye, Wales is definitely late. It appears she detests unpunctuality as much as I do. Another point for you, Mrs. Santo.

“Miss San-”

“Mrs. Santo,” Sophia muttered dryly, interrupting him. “Seems that your memory fails you, Mr. Wales,” and she rose an eyebrow, “as always.”

Wales continued as if nothing had happened and his gaze leered over her figure. “A pleasure to see you again.” He extended his hand and Sophia handed him a copy of the contract, avoiding his hand, being nearly uncivil.

Alistair observed the weird exchange with keen eyes. Something’s wrong here.

Sophia impatiently drilled her nails on the glass tabletop.

Long dark-red nails! How did I not notice them before? What would they feel against my back? He almost hissed with the imaginable pleasure. Are her toenails painted the same shade? Alistair caught himself wondering how she would behave in bed. Rather, in his bed.

He speculated about her, watching her graceful and sophisticated movements as Wales proceeded with the dull explanations about interest and guaranties. Who is this woman? Not the lawyer, but the beauty that goes home every day to her husb- Husband! She’s married, Alistair Connor. You don’t do married women.