“All right, all right.” He raised his hands in a peace gesture. “How about passion?”

“Passion…” She sat again and drilled her nails on the glass desk, meditating. “Yes, passion is an indispensable ingredient of life.” Then the smile came back to her lips, “and to war.”

So easy. “See, we came back to the beginning. It’s just a different way of putting it. I wish- No. I’m inviting you to go out with me again, Sophia. Today. An opera, a ballet, a play; choose… After, dinner.” He seized her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Please.”

He is handsome. Intelligent, charming, a gentleman. Attentive to detail. Quite arrogant and possessive, yes, but then everyone has imperfections. Don’t I have mine too? Why not fall for his seduction? Gabriel’s not returning from the dead. He wouldn’t want me to live alone for the rest of my life, ending up a bitter, dry woman.

“Okay,” she capitulated. “Just let me know what time you’re going to pick me up. I’m certain I’ll appreciate your choice, as always,” she smiled.


London, Eaton Square.

Friday, January 15th, 2010.

8 p.m.

Sophia wore a one-shoulder, dark-red turtleneck dress and black velvet high heels.

No driver. No Rolls-Royce. No driver. Mmm… She remembered Edward’s words. “He’ll want to impress you.”

Ethan arrived to pick Sophia driving a red Ferrari. Over the last few days, he had paraded four different expensive cars and took her to the best restaurants in town. He was always attentive and charming.

“Hello.” She entered the car and fastened the seatbelt, turning to look at him, a smile on her lips.

He perused her with lust in his electric blue eyes. “Each day you look more ravishing, Sophia.” His hand touched her right naked shoulder and ran down her arm, entwining his fingers with hers. He leaned in and kissed her hungrily. “This dress is quite sensual. I like you in blood-red. It enhances your face and your hair. Brings out the fire in you.”

“More compliments.” She smiled. “What do you want today, Ethan?”

His azure eyes sparkled and his grin turned wicked, but he didn’t answer the question.

As always, time flew when she was with him. He showed real interest in her opinions about his enterprises and asked pertinent questions about her lectures at Cambridge and her work at Leibowitz Oil.

“You didn’t like the set I gave you?” Ethan fingered a stunning clip she was wearing and looked at her.

“I loved it.” She cocked her head to the side. “I didn’t wear it today because it doesn’t go as well with the red dress. Why?”

“You’ve only used it twice.” He thinned his lips. “This one is gorgeous, Sophia. It’s also a Van Cleef, isn’t it?” He took in the earrings and the ring. “A gift?”

“Yes, to both questions.”

“I don’t like you using gifts given by other men.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Ethan, it wasn’t given to me by other men. My husband gave it to me. This represents a Nereid, one of the fifty maiden sea nymphs and daughters of Nereus, the sea-god, and Doris, who was the daughter of Oceanus. I love Greek mythology. Do you know the legend?”

“Did your husband think you vain and a traitress?” He was suddenly angry. “There is not an ounce of vanity or deceit in you.”

“Sea nymphs aren’t mermaids. According to the legend, the sea nymphs helped sailors navigate back to their lands. He gave me this because he said I was his beacon in life.”

His forehead creased. Now, he was angry and annoyed. “Nevertheless, I don’t like you using it. Use them to work, not when you go out with me.”

“Ethan!” Sophia laughed. “I cannot use this kind of jewelry to work. They’re high jewelry.”

He thinned his lips again, breathed deep, and changed the conversation. “Perhaps you want to have coffee at my apartment?” He flashed her a charming smile and touched her hand lightly with his fingers. “I bought a special blend from Nespresso and it just came in. Since you like coffee, I’m sure you will appreciate it.”

That’s it. It is now or never. Courage, Sophia! “Sounds good.”

They left the restaurant. The valet had already fetched Ethan’s Ferrari for them.


Park Lane. Ethan Ashford’s Penthouse.

11.01 p.m.

He lived near The Dorchester Hotel, on Park Lane, in a spectacular penthouse apartment on the tenth floor of a very exclusive building. A private lift served it.

The huge reception room was all done in white, glass, and steel with two enormous sofas and a glass center table. No building hindered the stunning vista from the three terraces encircling the apartment.

The white and dark green contemporary kitchen was immaculately kept. He went to one of the consoles where there was a Nespresso coffee machine and selected a blend. “Will you try the new blend?”

“Yes, thank you.” She stopped by one of the glass windows admiring the view. London never ceased to amaze her. She just loved this city with its majestic buildings and regal aura, but she had felt detached from it since she moved here. She had always liked to explore its mysteries, but unlike others who roamed at will, she hid from prying eyes. For how long?

Ethan handed Sophia her cup. “Do you like the view?”

“Uh-huh. Fantastic.”

“Let’s drink this in the living room.”

They sat on the sofa, side by side, Ethan’s arm casually on her shoulders, his hand, undemanding, caressing her bare arm.

“I love Pollock and Francis Bacon,” she said, looking at the paintings hanging on the wall. “They’re among my favorite painters.”

He smiled at her, “Mine, too.”

He made small talk about art, waiting for her to finish her coffee and put her cup and saucer on the center table beside his.

The second she sat back beside him, he shifted on the sofa and his hands framed her face. “Sophia…” His voice hoarse.

Oh, God. Time to face the beast or rather the beauty. She crushed the hysterical nervous laugh that threatened to escape.

Sophia looked up and stared into his eyes. They were charged with a potent hunger. She parted her lips and wetted them with the tip of her tongue.

He groaned with desire and his mouth descended on hers.

He tastes of coffee.

He ran his hands down the sides of her body, searching for the edge of her dress.

She sank her hands into his hair.

His lips were insistent and his tongue, thrusting in her mouth, danced with hers. His beard was soft and pleasant to the touch. He nibbled her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. His hand wandered up her thigh until his thumb found her panties.

She moaned in his mouth and arched on his hard chest, her nipples aching for skin contact.

“Let me love you, Sophia.” His azure eyes blazed with passion.

She was in no state to speak.

He rose and held out his hand to her. “Come.”

She put her hand in his and stood up; giving him the permission he sought.

His rooms occupied most of the second floor. They were white, glass and steel, as the rest of his home. Spectacular contemporary paintings and sculptures gave color to the rooms. An office, a bedroom, and an adjoining sitting room made up his quarters.

He stopped in front of the bed. The linens were turned down.

Sophia noticed a bottle of champagne cooling in a silver bucket with two crystal glasses on the center table in the sitting room. She smiled; he had everything prepared previously.

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she whispered.

“Yes, I am.” He dragged her into his embrace, kissing her passionately as his hand unfastened her black belt and flung it on the armchair in the sitting room, without even looking that way.

Her hand stopped him as he started to unzip her dress.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

She bit her lower lip, unsure. “I didn’t tell you. I have an ugly scar on my arm. I was shot once.”

“Hush.” He took off her dress, letting it fall on the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Immediately, his hands went to her breasts, gently kneading them. “Beautiful. Perfect.”

His eyes wandered over her body, taking note of the scar. He smiled naughtily when he noticed her dark red and gold lace panties. One of his hands went down and cupped her as his mouth latched on a nipple, sucking it into his mouth. Her head fell backwards and she tangled her hands in his brown, sun-kissed, silky hair.

“Undress me,” he ordered.

Her trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, opening them. Her hands tentatively searched his chest and felt soft chest hairs under her fingers. He was muscular and well-shaped. She felt bold and tried to free him of the shirt, but his hands were busy elsewhere. She moaned when she felt his fingers going inside her panties to tease her. Her fingers undid his belt and the sound of his zipper rang through the room. She pushed his trousers down and they fell to his ankles.

He toed his shoes off and stepped on his trousers to take them off. He ripped off his shirt and looked at her, his eyes burning her, “Touch me.”

Her hands went to his chest.

“No.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest. He took off his underwear and his socks. Covering her hand with his, he placed her hand on his rigid shaft, stroking himself. His other hand circled her throat and nape, pulling her to a scorching kiss.

Unfamiliar with his way of making love, she felt unsure of what to do.

“Tighter, faster,” he demanded with labored breath, distributing kisses on her throat. He bit her shoulder and lapped at the bite. She gave a startled gasp.