Cristiane Serruya - Trust: Betrayed

Lachlann sighed and turned to Sophia, “I’m sorry, my dear. Tavish Uilleam is moody sometimes.”

Both of your sons are, Lachlann. “Please,” Sophia waved away his apology. “It will be nice to explore the forest, even if I don’t do any shooting.”

“Very well.” Lachlann rose from the sofa. “So we’ll change our schedule for tomorrow. We can go riding in the afternoon, since they’re easier to find at dusk. We can leave here around six. We’ll be at the trail in an hour or so.”

Leonard stood up too and turned to his father-in-law with a smile, “Is Erskine coming too, Lachlann?”

“Sophia, I’m counting on you to bear witness to my good aim.” Lachlann made a face at Leonard. “Next time Leonard says anything, I’ll call on your testimony.”

“My pleasure, Lachlann,” Sophia agreed.

“See you at breakfast, then,” Alice said, entwining her fingers with Leonard’s as they exited the room. “Good night, everyone.”

Alexander, Andrew and Domitila rose too, bidding their goodnights. When the library door closed, Alistair raised from the sofa and poured himself a whisky, “Want one?”

Sophia shook her head as she watched Alistair drink his whisky neat, in one gulp, and poured himself another, his stiff spine revealing the tension in him, despite his controlled expression. He leaned against the edge of the huge mahogany desk sipping his drink.

“You’ve seduced me all evening in this dress of yours,” he managed to force the words past his tight throat.

Oh, please, Alistair Connor. Sophia almost rolled her eyes heavenward at his futile attempt to dismiss the topic that he knew she was going to broach. She joined him by the desk. “I think I want a whisky after all.”

When he handed her the glass, she gulped it down as he had done and put the glass down with a defiant thump.

He raised an eyebrow at her and she stepped closer, looking up at his forest green eyes.

“They don’t know, do they?”

He didn’t ask what she was referring to. He just thinned his lips and shook his head. Everything in him indicated he didn’t want to talk about the subject, but Sophia was as stubborn as him and persisted. She had to know what he thought about her wish to have more children.

“Why are you so set against having an heir-”

“I told you I’m sterile.” His voice was icy and he bent his head to kiss her, intent on changing the subject.

Despite the heated kiss, Sophia would not let him digress. “So what? Are you opposed to adoption or artificial-”

“Sophia.” He put his hands on her hips and pulled her flush to his body. His eyes glued to hers, “Heirs to the Craigdale dukedom are only thus considered if they are male heirs of the body lawfully begotten. No adoptions or donate semen could supplant what I can’t do anymore.”

Oh! Sophia, you are so stupid. “So your children... if adopted or... Would never-”

“Never.” His eyes clouded briefly and then blazed green flames. Before Sophia could comprehend the emotion that flickered there, he spun her around and bent her down over the desk.

She gasped, surprised as he stepped closer and his hand grabbed a handful of her dress throwing it over the small of her back.

“I will have you on this desk. Open your legs.” His thick thigh nudged her legs open from behind and he pulled down her panties as he opened his trousers. He pressed his torso onto her back and the tip of his erection brushed her.

“No foreplay, Sophia,” his hot breath fanned her cheek and he brushed her hair away to nip her earlobe and her neck.

“The door,” she reasoned as desire pooled in her body.

“Fuck the door. Fuck everything.” He grabbed her hair in his fist and angled her head so he could kiss her.

Sophia closed her eyes in pleasure as he pushed, firm and sure, prying her body open. The pressure of him inside her, gliding forward and then back, in shallow thrust was pure heaven and made her moan in delight, “Ah!”

He paused, “Am I hurt-”

“Don’t stop.” Sophia’s fingers gripped the edge of the table to steady herself as Alistair pressed her against the desk, holding her hips, as he pushed himself deeper still.

Sophia moaned, clutching the table, turned on by the possibility of their being discovered.

With a hard jerk and a loud groan, he plunged to the hilt inside her, only to yank roughly back and inside again.

His arousal hit deeper than ever inside her body and she cried low, “Alistair Connor!”

Anyone can open the door at any moment. Never had a man taken her like this, so hard, wild and dangerously. Even wilder than at the greenhouse. And she was loving every moment of it.

His labored breaths turned to soft groans as he moved in and out, harder, faster. “Come, Sophia.” Alistair shifted, pulling her backwards from the desk with him deep inside her. He grabbed her hand and put it on her clitoris. “Pleasure yourself.”

Pressure built, the ache of oncoming pleasure growing.

“Alistair,” she cried. “Harder, faster.” She was so close to her release and he pumped faster and harder, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her curved hip as the other tugged again at her hair to slant her mouth to better accommodate his invading tongue.

His lips muffled her scream, her whole body tensing as wave after wave of delight took control of it.

Alistair shoved forcefully inside her once more, grunting his climax through clenched teeth, crushing her on the desk with his torso as he relaxed on her back.

Moments later, he withdrew and composed himself. He cleaned her with his handkerchief, redressed her and arranged her dress while she recovered from the lethargy that always came over her in the aftermath.

“Alistair Connor,” she whispered.

Lifting her in his arms, he moved to the sofa with her on his lap. “You okay?”

“Mmmm,” she opened her yellow diamond eyes to stare at his forest green ones. Lazily, she lifted her arms and plunged her hands in his silky hair, pulling his head down to kiss him leisurely. “You are turning me into a wanton woman. I want more. I want something different.”

This gets better every day. He laughed and murmured on her lips, “As you wish, my lady.”

Ethan Ashford’s Penthouse.

Friday, April 2^nd, 2010.

2.23 a.m.

Ethan stared gloomily out the window of his living room into the London night. His heart and soul were in complete turmoil.

He knew that what he felt for Sophia was not simply lust or a passing infatuation. He wanted her, yes. There was no doubt about it. However, it was not his libido that made him obsessed. It was love. But, he wouldn’t take what wasn’t willingly given and the last thing he wanted was to cause her pain.

He braced his forearm on the cold window and rested his forehead on it. I should rid myself of this madness. He looked up to the almost full moon as if hoping for an answer. I just don’t know how.

The sound of the soft footsteps on the stairs reached him.

Barbara climbed down the last step and her eyes searched the moonlit room for Ethan.

He turned and saw her standing in the shadows, wearing a diaphanous black negligé. I need Sophia.

His unfocused gaze was so frightening that Barbara froze and the room went deathly quiet for many seconds before she whispered, “Ethan?”

He shook his head as her voice took him out of his reverie. Sometimes, Ethan lost himself in a dark place within his mind. He cleared his throat and turned his back on her, waving her away, “Go back to sleep.”

Even though he was her employer, hearing the torment in Ethan’s voice hurt Barbara in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“I woke up and you weren’t in bed,” she said barely above a whisper, approaching him. She hugged his waist and laid her head on his back. “It’s late, my dear. Come back to bed.”

Sophia had been the sweetest pleasure he had ever tasted, but having had her and knowing she was now forbidden to him, worst still because of his own bad choices, was an agony beyond any wound he could receive.

As Ethan turned and crushed Barbara’s lips in a hot kiss, his last coherent thought was that he needed Sophia back in his life.

Ells Hall.

Friday, April 2^nd, 2010.

7.03 p.m.

The party dismounted and tethered their horses to trees in the clearing. The forest was bathed in the last rays of the sun. The sunset in that part of Northumberland was a sublime spectacle; the mist, the colors and the changing light were a wide field for Sophia’s romantic imaginings.

Everyone was carrying rifles, but Sophia. She had declined, as she had never shot before.

“This way, Sophia,” Alistair said in a low voice. “They usually appear near the stream.”

“Watch your step. It’s a bit slippery,” Lachlann murmured and immediately Alistair grabbed her hand.

They walked silently through the woods until they reached a good spot to observe the stream, a small hilltop just above it. Moments passed and a young deer appeared to drink.

Sophia peeked at Alistair.

He shook his head and murmured, “A halfling.”

A few minutes later, his stance changed abruptly, and he mouthed to Leonard that was a few feet away with Alice, “Mine.”

A striking buck had emerged from behind some trees. His antlers were rather opened and straight, with the fourth and fifth tines forming a crown giving him a regal aura. His hide glinted dark red under the last sun rays that peeked through the trees.