He tenderly brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

She closed her eyes for a moment enjoying the caress. “I met Ethan at Heathrow Airport last year, in October and he gave me a much-needed ride. He was very insistent and I was too lonely. You know the drill,” she shrugged. “In January, I decided I had to let go. But as you already know, the relationship didn’t last. He had-”

“Two years,” he breathed, flabbergasted, “you were alone for almost two whole years. Why?”

“I,” she sighed, “I don’t know. Because I loved Gabriel too much? Because I was a mess? Because I was scared and sick - outside and inside? Because I was afraid? Because I had to begin everything anew? Take your pick.” Again, she waved her hand in the air. “As things are, I mistook a good friend for a… boyfriend.” Lover, don’t you forget, Sophia.

She shooed away the memories and kissed Alistair’s chest, a grin lightening her features. “Don’t worry, this, ah, weirdness, as you put it, doesn’t happen with the same intensity every time. It depends on my mood and,” she giggled, “a job well done.”

“So, I passed inspection,” he smug smiled told her he had no doubt about his performance.

“With honors, Alistair. With honors.” She put her head back on his chest, yawning, “Let’s sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.” She caressed his chest and abs with her nails until she drifted off to sleep.

He lay there, awake for a long time, mystified. He combed through her hair with his fingers and questioned why everything felt so right when she was around.

That night, as they slept clasped in each other’s arms, neither Alistair nor Sophia had any nightmares.

Chapter 23

Ethan Ashford’s Penthouse.

Saturday, March 13th, 2010.

9 a.m.

Ethan sat in the living room armchair as another gorgeous woman entered. He tilted his head to the side and ordered, boredom showing in his voice, “Disrobe.”

Unashamedly, the dark-haired woman took off her clothes and ambled through the room. She stopped in front of him and pivoted.

He looked her over and shook his head, “No, thanks. You can pick up your payment on the way out.”

Without a word, the woman redressed and left the room.

Ethan glowered at his personal assistant as the thin man entered the room, with a bright smile on his face, clutching a black leather case in front of his chest. “Goddammit, Scott. It’s been weeks and not one even comes close.”

Scott stopped and his smiled broadened even more. “Sir, I found her.” He opened the door and a young woman walked in.

Ethan sucked in his breath and rose from the armchair. Jesus! People might mistake them for twins. He motioned for the woman to stop in the middle of his living room as he strolled to her and then around her. He gripped her chin in his hand and raised her face to look into her eyes. He frowned. Yellow contact lenses. “Disrobe and undo your hair.”

She undid her bun and her long black tresses fell over her shoulders until the small of her back. Her hands lifted to unfasten the belt of her dress. But before she did, she looked at Ethan with eyes hooded by long lashes and, in a movement of uncertainty, bit her full bottom lip.

Ethan felt his body stir. “Stop!” he ordered before she started to undress. He invaded her personal space and shoved his fingers in her hair. “Your hair. Is it natural?”

“No, sir. Its natural color is light brown. But I dyed it bla-black,” the woman stammered.

He grimaced a bit and ran his fingers over her smooth face. Hmm. No makeup. “Any children?”

“No, sir,” Scott informed from behind him. “And sir, if I may?”

“Shoot.”

Scott neared the couple and spoke in a low voice to the woman, “Show him the scar.”

Ethan stepped away, giving the woman some room. Her belt clunked on the marble floor and her dress opened in a graceful movement. The woman shrugged and it fell over the belt.

Ethan couldn’t believe his eyes. On her right arm, the woman had a scar similar to Sophia’s. He surveyed her body. “Turn around. Slowly.”

She did as commanded. When she did the full turn, Ethan approached again and looked deep into her eyes. “You know the terms of the contract?”

“Yes,” the woman whispered and nodded slightly.

“You will do. Scott will show you the guest room. You’ll need for nothing, if you please me. Take a shower, pick out one of the outfits in the closet, and go up. I’ll wait for you in my room. Your name from now on is Sophia.”


Atwood House.

10.03 a.m.

Sophia awoke feeling that something was different. Then a big, warm body shifted behind her. An arm snaked around her waist pulling her toward a hard chest.

She turned her head and smiled, “Good morning.”

“‘Morning,” he grinned at her. “Sleep well?”

“Mm-hmm,” she stretched out like a dancer, her arms entwining above her head and her body undulating. She flexed the soles of her feet on his.

“You look like Sleeping Beauty, totally perfect and ravishing in your sleep,” he combed her hair with his fingers. “Your hair doesn’t even get tangled.”

“Hmm, Sleeping Beauty is blonde.” As were all your lovers before me.

He laughed, “Well, then. Snow White.”

“Only in my sleep?” she teased.

“No,” his finger traced a line from her waist to her hip, “always.”

“You haven’t seen me with the flu,” she laughed.

He chuckled, “I bet you are stunning even when you have the flu.”

“Too many compliments to start the day, Alistair Connor,” she turned her head, smiling at him, “you surely want something.”

He pressed his rigid length into her butt, “Oh, I do want something, but I can have it without praising you.”

“Hmm, sure of yourself, aren’t you?

He raised an eyebrow at her, a smug smile on his face.

“You are so vain, Lord I’m-so-handsome-and-I-know-it.”

He laughed, “I’ve told you, I’m not vain.” And kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re really, really ravishing when you sleep and when you’re awake. It’s not just your looks. It’s you, Sophia. You,” he whispered the last word on her lips, “and you are mine.”

He made love to her slowly, tenderly, words of worship whispered in her ears as he revered her body.

Afterward, they lay there spent and enjoying each other’s company, before going downstairs for breakfast.


Sophia watched Alistair as he helped her put away the dishes. He talked about his childhood and holidays as an adult with his family. Clearly, he had a happy family and he missed his deceased mother a lot. Heather’s name never came up.

“I have to go home to pick up some clothes. I can’t wear my jeans the whole weekend.”

“Well, you don’t need your jeans. You can just stay naked. It’ll save time,” she grinned wolfishly at him.

“Minx,” he laughed and swatted her butt. Hard.

She squealed, jumped, and turned to look at him, a wary expression on her face, “Alistair… We haven’t talked about last night.”

“What about last night?” His features acquired his characteristic poker-faced mask as he leaned on the counter, nonchalantly.

“The pain and violence thing.”

“What about it?” he crossed his arms on his chest, the muscles bulging.

“It- Will you always want that?”

“No. Not always.”

“Not always,” she mused, sitting on a chair by the table. “But frequently?”

“It depends on you,” he tilted his head to the side and studied her guarded and cautious look. “You said you liked it.”

“Not exactly. I said it was disturbing. Disturbing and wonderful,” she sighed. “What if this storm of passion ends? What if you see me as I am? And if this pain thing overwhelms me?” she made a remark interweaving the lyrics of the Snow Patrol song he had chosen. “Passion is a sickness. It confounds and makes you do things just to please the other person. Quite different from love. In love, you find delight despite the person’s flaws.”

“I want to see you as you are, every day that I live,” he remarked, almost quoting the song and narrowing his eyes at her.

She just looked at him, not answering.

“I see you paid attention to the song,” he frowned.

“Paid attention to the song?” No, I did not. How could I? “Not really, but I love it. It’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s a bit dark and blue.”

“Why did you choose it then?”

“I like the piano and the beat. And the lyrics are-”

“Beautiful. It’s about a relationship. Besides,” she sighed and her lips curled a bit, more a grimace than a smile. “I’m despondency and darkness personified.”

“You don’t know what darkness is, Sophia,” he sat down on the chair next to hers, gripping her chin in his left hand. “You’re like the fresh air from an orchard in spring,” he shook his head, his long bangs falling over his right eye, “I am darkness.”

“I don’t believe in your biased and poor opinion of yourself,” Sophia’s hand raised to brush away the hair from his eye. “Seems we have a lot to learn about each other.”

“So it seems.” He tilted his head, “Did I hurt you? Yesterday?”

She looked down at her fingers and bit her lip.

“Sophia?” He rubbed his jaw with two fingers quietly studying her, his face inscrutable again.

“I-” She looked up at his face. “It did hurt. It’s so confusing.”

“But are you hurting? Now?”

She frowned and answered indirectly, “I’ll probably have marks by tomorrow,” she whispered, “I bruise easily.”

“If you don’t like it, we can try other things.” Marks… Fingerprints. My fingerprints. I shouldn’t have hurt her. At all. “What have you planned for us?” he changed the subject abruptly.