“Who?” Sophia impatiently tapped her fingers one to another. “Edward…”

He grinned at her. “It says here…”


London, January 21st, 2010.

Dear Mr. Davidoff,


It is with the greatest satisfaction that I send you the new contract for your and Mrs. Santo’s approval. I hope it meets your requirements.

I have to congratulate you on your choice for the head of the legal department of Leibowitz Oil. Mrs. Santo is intelligent, smart and, if I may say, a shrewd businesswoman. Quite a sight to behold.

Mr. Wales is no longer with us. Henceforth, I’m at your disposal for any future enquiries, unless you have any other director or vice-president you would wish to appoint as your contact with us. It was a pleasure to work with you, as always.

I look forward to hearing from you and I remain at your disposal.

Yours faithfully,

Alistair Connor MacCraig

CEO, The City of London Bank.


“Shrewd businesswoman?” Sophia grinned. “I like it.”

“I do, too. Especially because he thinks I’m responsible for the choice,” he chuckled. “‘Quite a sight to behold.’ This is a lot more interesting than a ‘shrewd businesswoman’.” He snatched the card from the flowers, flaunting it at her.

“Who sent those and to whom?” she asked curious.

“They aren’t for you! They are for Mrs. Santo. Head of the Legal Department.” He looked at the envelope. “Perhaps you know her?” His smile vanished. “You have to stop doing this, Sophia. It’s affecting LO.”

“I will, I will. I just need some courage and a little more time.”

His smile returned. “Can I open it?”

With a flourished wave of her long hand, she authorized it.

“Hmm…” He rubbed two fingers over his square jaw. “A personal card. There is a coat of arms engraved above his name.”

“Who is he?”

Edward looked at her with a teasing reproving look. “As if you didn’t know.”

“I don’t.” She frowned. “Who sent me flowers?”

Edward shook his head slowly at her and lowered his head to read the card. A blonde lock fell over his forehead and he pushed it back impatiently as he read the card silently. He let out a long whistle this time. “Now. This is a sight to behold!” and read out loud.


London, January 21st, 2010.

Dear Mrs. Santo,


It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

I was greatly dismayed by Mr. Wales’s undignified behavior towards you, Leibowitz Oil, and the Leibowitz family.

To undo the unfavorable impression, I request the pleasure of your company for lunch at Gordon Ramsay at Claridge’s, on January 22nd, at 1 o’clock.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours truly,

Alistair Connor


“I would say: up close and personal. Just Alistair Connor. Beautiful name. Strong.” Edward shook his head in amazement. “Heavens, Sophia! Another one! You have all these gorgeous men falling at your feet. Why not share your secret?” He pouted. “What’s the magical, invisible powder you throw to spellbind every man and woman around you?”

Her laugh rang through the room. “Take your pick. I cannot go out with more than one.” She extended her hand. “Let me study the contract.”

“Stop beating around the bush and call him to confirm the lunch,” Edward pushed.

Sophia straightened up in her chair, suddenly scared. “I’m not going, Edward. I’ll write him a thank you note for the flowers, but I’m not going. You can go.”

“He didn’t ask me out, Sophia. He asked you. And it’s solely a business lunch.” He cocked his head to look at her and spoke quietly. “Why not?”

A warning sensation tingled through Sophia. “I don’t know. Instincts, maybe?”

“You cannot skip this lunch, Sophia. Not this time,” he insisted. “It’s too important for LO. Do you want me to go with you?”

Sophia looked at her hands and sighed. “Do you really think it’s necessary?” She looked at her friend. Edward never asked for more than what she could do.

He thinned his lips and nodded. “Yes. You know I wouldn’t ask if I thought I could go in your place.”

“All right.” Sophia pressed the intercom. “Sarah, could you please call The City of London Bank and put Mr. MacCraig’s secretary on the line? Thank you.” She looked at Edward. “Have you read the contract?”

“Yes, Jason, from the legal team, and I did. A director delivered it here at eight thirty this morning.” He grinned. “It’s perfect.”

The intercom buzzed. “Mrs. L, it’s Mr. MacCraig’s secretary. His name is Angus MacKeenan.”

“Thank you, Sarah. Put him through.” The line loudly beeped. “Mr. MacKeenan?”

“Mrs. Santo, how are you? It’s Alistair Connor.” Alistair’s deep voice came through the speaker and Sophia’s heart fired up to a breakneck pace in her chest. Eyes wide, she looked at Edward, who merely raised a blond eyebrow. “I gather you have received my card.”

“Yes, Mr. MacCraig, I have. Ah…” A foreboding feeling flashed through her, leaving her at a loss for words and she licked her lips.

“So, I can confirm the reservation at Gordon Ramsay’s?” His low, deep voice soothed her.

Sophia glanced at Edward who nodded. “Yes, Mr. MacCraig, you can. I will be there at one o’clock.”

“Great. I’ll send my driver to pick you up.”

“There’s no need.” She bit her lip for a second. “A driver from Leibowitz Oil will drop me off.”

Edward shook his head, amused.

“Very well. I’m looking forward to our lunch. See you then.”

“See you, Mr. MacCraig,” Sophia murmured.

“A driver from Leibowitz Oil? Is that Steven’s new job title?” Edward inquired. “Why are you so nervous, Sophia? The guy isn’t going to bite you. He’s asking you out to a business lunch.”

“Who said I was nervous?”

“You repeated ‘Mr. MacCraig’ three times. And bit your bottom lip.” Concerned, he eyed her. “If you feel this bad about it, don’t go.”

“It’s okay, Edward. I’ll go.” Sophia waved her right hand again in the air and the long sleeve of her silk dress fell to her elbow.

Edward looked at her wrist and frowned. “What is this, Sophia?” Edward rose from the chair and went to her side. He held her hand and looked at her wrist. His expression clouded when he noticed the mark of fingers on her delicate arm, which she had tried to conceal with makeup but failed. “Sophia?”

Stupid, stupid! “It’s nothing.” She dismissed it. “I must have banged my hand somewhere.”

“Somewhere with fingers?” His blue eyes flashed, angrily. “I don’t like this, Sophia. Why did he hurt you? Don’t you dare lie to me!”

Sophia bit her lip and looked at Edward. “Really, it was nothing. I bruise easily, you know.”

“I’ll let this pass. But, beware! If I see something like this again, Ashford and I will have a private talk.” Edward thinned his lips and flexed his large shoulders; his face murderous. “I may not be as broad as him but surely I’m bigger than you. If something like this happens again, I want to know, Sophia.”


Gordon Ramsay at Claridge’s.

12.55 p.m.

Sophia entered the restaurant trailing behind the maître d’. Alistair was already seated. She looked at her watch. Five minutes to one.

He mesmerized her as he rose and straightened to his full height. His dark blue double-breasted pinstripe suit molded to his body. He flashed a white, even smile and beckoned her to him. As usual, a lock of his windswept hair fell on his forehead while another flipped over his left eye. The same deep need to tangle her hands in his hair and yank his head down for a kiss made her head spin. She breathed deep and tried not to wobble as she walked. Never clumsy, Sophia didn’t intend to start being so now.

His eyes… His emerald-green eyes framed by those long, dark, and full lashes are beautiful. It should be forbidden for men to have such beautiful, hypnotizing eyes. Sophia shivered as a disturbing feeling set in the pit of her stomach. This isn’t a business lunch. Oh, God. What am I doing? Ethan’s going to be furious. Sophia looked around, suddenly wary. And who said he needs to know?

Alistair observed Sophia as she meandered her way through the restaurant. There’s something different about her.

Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She’s… nervous! Out of her depth. Why? She was oblivious to the male gazes turned in her direction. It’s as if she doesn’t know her own beauty. He took note of her dress. Daring, to say the least. Red blooming roses were printed on her heavy black silk mid-thigh dress. Not too short, but not the conservative knee length either.

Christ! Sheer black tights covered her long legs and her feet were encased in black leather high heels, strapped at her ankles. Sexy. Hot. Too bloody hot! Fuck! I’ll have to use a penis harness when I’m around her or everyone will notice I’m sporting a full hard-on. The woman is married. Alistair Connor MacCraig! Control yourself.

A large red-silk rose clasped her hair behind her head on the right, keeping her hair from her face. His breath hitched when, with a flick of her hand, she tossed her hair over her shoulder; her red nails screamed against her raven hair.

In an elegant movement, Sophia stretched her hand to shake his.

He held it between his for a moment beyond the usual, and kissed it, his green eyes glued to hers.