“What runs in your family?” Alice asked in a low voice.

Sophia rose from the sofa, went to glass doors that opened onto the gardens, and looked outside, not really seeing the beautiful illuminated lawn. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her flared jeans.

“We have an obligation to feel guilty.” The words came out of her lips as if she were reciting an elegy. “Guilty. Because we kill the ones we love.” She stood there trying to control her tears, but sorrow had already taken hold of her. “Excuse me,” she said in a strangled voice without looking back and strolled out to the gardens, not daring to turn to close the door.

Alice stood there, transfixed, looking at her husband. “Jesus!” she mumbled. “Shall I go after her?”

“You didn’t know, Alice.” Alistair was already standing. He turned Sophia’s iPhone off, and put it in his back pocket. “Stay here. I’ll bring her back.”


Strong hands rested softly on her shoulders. Sophia raised her head from her hands. He stood in front of her, his overcoat draped over his arm.

“Here,” he spoke softly, “put this on.”

Sophia brushed away her tears and obediently put the coat on. It covered her down to her toes.

“A great man said,” he murmured, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.”

“Nietzsche died insane, you know?” she replied, as she took the handkerchief he held out to her. “We have a tragic vein in our family. Felipe, Carolina, and I insisted that my parents come to Angra that evening, contrary to my father’s wish to arrive the next day. Felipe was driving the car when Renata died. And I-I must have done something very wrong to ensure Gabriel’s death.” The laugh she let out chilled him. “We’re cursed.”

“There’s no such thing,” he murmured. “I know your pain, Sophia. Even your guilt.”

She shook her head fiercely. “I was a coward. Gabriel was killed because I wasn’t brave enough to face life and do what I should have done.” She turned to look at him. “I’m the one who should be dead. Me, not him.”

“I forbid you to say that,” he ordered, putting two fingers on her lips and gazing into her eyes. Even in the dim light, he could see the fierce pain that shimmered inside them. Nevertheless, he could understand what she was going through. Because of my tactless actions, Heather vented her anger crazily driving with Nathalie sleeping unbuckled on the front seat.

Alistair pulled Sophia into his arms and put a hand on her nape, making her rest her head on his chest. “It’s okay, Beauty. Everything will be okay.”

She listened to the beat of his heart; his caresses on her hair soothed her distress.

“Beauty?” Sophia lifted her face to stare at him, frowning.

He smiled widely at her. “This is my nickname for you.”

She laughed. “I might be pretty, but I’m no beauty.”

“Don’t you have a mirror at home?” he asked bemused.

“Oh, come on.” She huffed and ticked away the reasons for her statement on her left fingers. “I’m not tall; I’m not thin; I don’t walk in that way beautiful, fashionable women do; my hair doesn’t have highlights or anything stylish and it’s too long and too black; my eyes are big and an absolutely common brown. I could continue, but, in general, I am an average woman.”

“You’re either blind, in dire need of glasses, or want compliments.” He stroked her hair, feeling its softness beneath his fingers. “Your hair is gorgeous; silky and shiny, not harsh or rusty with highlights or dyes, long enough for a man to picture your body covered only by it and a tiny leather skirt. You have the perfect height, not too short, not too tall; your skin is like a peach and your body is amazing-”

“My body?” She looked surprised. “You haven’t seen my body.”

“Oh, I have. At the pool, last time we were here. In that blue–and-white Brazilian bikini.” His eyes were twinkling.

She blinked. “You still remember it.”

“I do. As I remember the feel of your body, of you, virtually naked in my arms.”

Sophia flushed.

And he chuckled, “I wouldn’t have picked you for a shy woman.”

“I’m not usually shy,” she whispered.

His hands wandered over her shoulders and neck until they reached her face. “And your face. Your face is astonishing. No need for makeup. The color of your skin,” and his fingers ran a light path on her cheek, “and the feel of it.” The tip of his long finger ran over the top of her nose, “Your nose, so straight and elegant.”

Sophia stood mesmerized by his words. And he continued, his emerald gaze made love to her face and his deep voice caused desire to run through her veins. “Your eyes. Your expressive eyes, they have such an unusual color. I can’t decide if they’re like golden honey or yellow diamonds. I think they reflect your feelings turning light or dark. They sparkle so much they make the stars look dimmer. And, last but not least, your mouth. Your mouth is a whole different story.” His thumb caressed it. “It puts Angelina Jolie to shame. Lush, dewy, naturally dark red, perfectly drawn, not overly plump. And the way you bite your full bottom lip.” His tone deepened. “If I could kiss you, not a stolen and quick kiss, but really kiss you, I would spend a whole day just worshipping your mouth. Then another full day, making love to you.” He paused and stared at her, his eyes burrowing into hers. “Shall I?” He asked, his hands cupping her face.

Leonard’s right. He has a strong accent. “Shall you what?” she whispered, totally unaware of her parted lips and uneven breath. His eyes and voice had hypnotized her. She shook her head slowly, as if to break the spell that ensnared her.

“Shall I kiss you, really kiss you?” He lowered his head, his thumb caressing her mouth. Time to test the waters once more.

“Kiss me?” She asked breathlessly.

He lowered his head an inch more. One hand held her nape, tilting her head toward his, the other meandering to her waist to hold her where he wanted. His green eyes gleamed with yearning.

“Aye, kiss you.”

Alistair was crazy with desire for a woman without a clue of her exquisite beauty. How can such a wonderful creature not know her power? Maybe her true beauty rests on her obliviousness to the effect she has on men around her.

His head lowered of its own volition, his mouth finding hers, just a feathery touch.

So soft. The force of his need made him close his eyes and haul her body onto his. His tongue glided over her lips. Thirty-five days. For thirty-five days I’ve been waiting to do this again.

He licked her bottom lip and lightly nibbled it. He listened to her sharp intake of breath. And he heard a moan. His.

He slanted his head and deepened the kiss. He felt her hands tentatively touch his waist and go around his back.

It’s too much. It’s too little. I want more. His tongue touched the seam of her lips, firmly and smoothly probing for entrance.

Her hand clutched his waist and she opened her lips, the tip of her tongue meeting his. She raked her nails on his back.

His desire exploded in his body. He hardened even more and pulled her fiercely to him, molding her entirely to him. I’m on fire. I’m going to spontaneously combust.

She tasted of fresh honey. She smelled of spring, of white roses in bloom sprinkled with orange juice. Sophia reminded him of a garden. And he wanted to taste all of her.

Alistair opened his eyes, breaking the kiss to look at her. A vision of paradise. Head thrown back, blood-red lips parted, and her eyes opened to look at him. They were the color of yellow diamonds. He had never seen eyes change color like that.

She breathed heavily, her breasts stroking his chest.

He couldn’t resist the temptation. And dropped his head again, being bolder this time.

Sophia didn’t refuse his entering. She met desire with desire. His kisses drove her crazy. She tangled a hand in his silky, long hair, pulling him closer, her body melting on his.

Oh, my, this is too good. She moaned low in her throat.

Alistair gripped her rump and pressed her flush to his erection. Sophia startled as she acknowledged the passion in him and gasped in his mouth. Her nipples were aching for his touch and, as if he knew it, his hand cupped the fullness of one of her breasts over her clothes and his thumb circled a nipple over her clothes.

His other hand roamed under her turtleneck sweater. I’ve touched heaven. “Sophia,” he moaned. This is pure bliss. Her skin was smooth, like velvet. His hand caressed her waist and roamed up to find her bra.

Sophia broke the kiss, panting when his fingers hovered over the lacy bra to find her breast. Her hand gripped his wrist. “Stop, Alistair. Please,” she whispered and withdrew from his embrace.

He stood there a few seconds gazing at her trying to gauge her reaction. What have I done wrong?

She moved to sit on a bench that circled a huge tree, putting her feet under her legs and leaning her head on its trunk, her eyes closed. He faced her and sat close. Their knees touched and he tucked a lock of her endless hair behind her ear, enjoying the silky touch of it. “Did I scare you?”

She seemed so vulnerable, huddled on the seat. Unable to resist, he rested his palm against her cheek. She pressed her face onto his hand. Alistair froze at the intimate movement, at the gesture of trust, of her seeking comfort from him. It’s been so long since anyone’s reached out for me like this. So gently. Such innocence, such need. Slowly he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. For a long moment, he didn’t move. He just closed his eyes and reveled in the taste of her skin. A sweetness that made him want to drop his head and kiss her again. To feel her tongue against mine. To taste-