“They killed any possibility of fairy tales. They showed us what real life is.” She looked deep into his eyes and faked a toast, “Prince Charming is dead. Long live the ogre.”

He chuckled.

“And, please, this is a real ogre, not the dear Shrek.” Then her eyes lit and she giggled, bit her lip to contain the mirth, and whispered, “Have you ever wanted to be a woman’s tampon?”

He exploded in a full laugh, doubling over. He shook his head at her, his black hair swinging around his face and his forest-green eyes sparkling, “No, never,” he said between whoops of amusement. He breathed deeply, struggling to regain his composure. “That was gross,” he sniggered.

She smiled broadly, glancing at Camilla. “Can you imagine? Arg! Disgusting.”

He looked at her, grinning and murmured, “Maybe that’s how he gets his kicks.”

She put a hand in front of her eyes, dramatically, “God! Please, spare us.”


Another sniffle slipped out before Sophia could stop it.

Alistair took off his 3-D glasses to squint at the woman at his side. Is she crying? Crying because of a children’s story?

His warm, large hand rested over Sophia’s. She raised the 3-D glasses, brushed her tears away, and turned her head slightly to look at Alistair with a small smile on her lips.

He tilted his head toward her and squeezed her hand. Slowly, as if afraid of startling her, he rested his free arm on her shoulders, enveloping her with his strength. His hand caressed her arm, warming her through the flimsy material of her gown.

Even in the dark, she could see the emotions churning in his eyes as his tongue wetted his lips in a move so carnal she felt as if he had licked her.

Oh, man! You’re lusting over a woman who is crying over a children’s film? You have to get your head examined. Alistair turned his attention back to the film, his control hanging by a thread as his fingers toyed with the silky hair that fell over her shoulder.

At the end of the film, Sophia shuddered violently and quickly took off the 3-D glasses. She dropped her head and put her arms around her body.

Alistair startled and glanced at her, whispering, “Are you cold?”

No. I’m a stupid woman, who’s afraid of that blue butterfly on the screen. Still looking down, she shook her head, “No.”

“Are you okay?” He gently hugged her shoulders, worried.

The film ended and Sophia tentatively peeked at the screen. The butterfly disappeared and the credits started to appear. She breathed, relieved.

“Sophia?”

She smiled softly at him, “It’s nothing. Nothing.”

He studied her now smiling face and shrugged. As soon as the lights went on, he rose and stretched his hand for her, “Shall we?”


Gauthier Soho, The Chefs’ Room.

9.40 p.m.

She looked around as she stepped into the smallest room of the restaurant in one of the cellars. The room had an intimate atmosphere. The square table could seat up to four guests, but tonight it would only seat two.

“Cozy.” She looked up to gaze at his green eyes. “I’ve never dined here.”

“I hope you like it.” He discretely pushed the waiter aside and seated her himself, brushing his fingers over her hair as he retreated. “It’s closest to the heart of the restaurant since it’s near the kitchen.”

Another waiter approached, bringing the menus.

Alistair waved his away, “I want the baby squid, please.” He turned to Sophia. “May I suggest?”

“Sure.” She closed her menu and waited.

“There is an exceptional wild sea bass with white truffles,” said Alistair. “And you ought to have the raspberry mille-feuille or the dark chocolate mousse for dessert. They are both mouthwatering.”

“So, be it.” She handed her menu back to the waiter who confirmed their orders with Alistair.

Alistair stared at Sophia’s contemplative look. She seemed far away from this world. He took the time to observe her profile illuminated by the gentle light of the cellar. He couldn’t fathom her mood.

She is too unpredictable, swinging between despondency and happiness so quickly. Remote one minute and vibrant the next. So many contradictions in such a young woman. “Did you like the film?”

She blinked and looked at him as if she had forgotten he was beside her.

This is new. Another blow to my ego.

“Yes,” Sophia stepped down from the clouds, “yes, I did.”

“Why were you crying?” His hand traced her cheek.

“I cry easily,” she smiled sheepishly at him, “and a lot.”

“But what triggered your emotions?” He asked. “It’s only a film.”

“Maybe. But it’s as profound as that rabbit hole Alice falls into. And it’s so artfully done. Children won’t understand half of what Burton put in it. Well, I don’t think it’s made for them to get everything anyway.” She sighed and rubbed a hand over her heart as if it hurt. “Everyone manipulates Alice’s life as they want. Then her own dream crashes and burns, but she still struggles to survive in a land she doesn’t understand, where she feels alone. Everyone wants to boss her around until she decides that harnessing her own dream - her life - and keeping it under a tight leash leads to happiness. There’s no room for laziness or mistakes, unless she wants to go crazy or,” she smiled, “be beheaded.”

“I see.” So that’s how she feels. That her life has crashed and burned. But… Doesn’t she like being ordered around? “How is your house renovation going?”

Sophia flung an arm over her eyes and moaned. “Don’t ask me about it!”

“Well…” He looked confused.

She laughed, “I’m joking.” And she launched into an explanation about the refurbishment and the implementation of her ideas, captivating Alistair with her passionate words and her pride in her siblings’ work.

The topic changed and it was Sophia’s turn to sit, mesmerized, while Alistair talked about his work at the bank, with the horses, and his father. She felt as if he caressed her each time his deep and masculine voice said her name. He had plenty of stories to tell about his childhood and Craigdale Castle, where he lived with his parents until he moved to Oxford.

The waiter approached the table. “Excuse me, would you like any dessert?”

Sophia stared at Alistair. “I will have what you suggested earlier. We can have both and share them. What do you think?” She licked her lips in anticipation. “I love creamy, rich desserts.”

Deliver me. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “We will have the raspberry mille-feuille and the dark chocolate mousse. To share,” he informed the waiter in a throaty voice.

“Thank you, sir.” He entered their order on his PDA and served them more of the Bordeaux wine Alistair had chosen, Château Pape-Clément. “Would you like another bottle, sir?”

Alistair shook his head, “No, thank you. I’d like to choose a dessert wine.”

A few minutes later, Sophia dipped her spoon in an impossibly soft chocolate mousse. Her eyes shone like a child who had just received her most treasured toy.

He stared at her, hypnotized, his eyes greedily following the movement of her hands and mouth. He almost asked her not to eat it.

Christ! He inhaled deeply and shifted on his seat as she closed her lips around the spoon, her eyes shut with an expression of pleasure so blatant he pictured her in bed, lapping up his erection, her head bobbing up and down, her lips stretched to accommodate his wide girth. His body reacted immediately. He fisted his hands, struggling with his raging desire.

“Good?” He didn’t recognize his voice so hoarse it was. He cleared his throat. Again.

“Open your mouth,” she commanded.

Gladly, but it is not the dessert I want. And this time he pictured himself going down on her, teasing and licking and sucking until she screamed and begged for him to finish her. But he complied and did as she asked and she put a spoonful of chocolate mousse between his lips. He clamped it between his teeth for a second staring at her with flaming green eyes, pinning her with his glare. I want you.

Sophia almost jumped out of her chair, surprised by the intensity of the desire swirling in his gaze. You cannot play with fire and come away unscathed, Sophia.


Palace Gardens Terrace.

Friday, February 26th, 2010.

1.05 a.m.

The mirror reflected Alistair’s taut body under the shower. His head was thrown back. His eyes were squeezed shut as he fisted his stiff arousal and remembered Sophia’s stunning body in his arms. His left hand moved almost violently, working the rigid flesh. He licked his lips and grunted as his body tensed. He pumped faster and his muscles bulged, his stomach tightened. He gasped as the pleasure built when he imagined Sophia going down on him, sucking, licking his erection, and he tightened his hold on himself and quickened the pace. Alistair put his right hand on the wall, steadying himself as an almost painful orgasm exploded through his body. With a loud groan, he came heavily, his semen spilling on the marbled floor, mingling with the water, and going down the drain.

He stayed there under the hot water for several minutes, his body shaking from the pleasure and intense release.

Fuck. How will I feel when Sophia and I do it?

Chapter 13

Essex, Saffron Walden. Galewick Hall.

Friday, February 26th, 2010.

Late afternoon.

Sophia and Gabriela arrived late at Leonard’s country house. When she entered the reception room, she immediately noticed Alistair sitting at the shadowed end of the room.