“I...” she let out a long, shuddering breath. All right. Face it, Sophia. “You’ll be there, won’t you, Edward?”

“Seven sharp, love. Me, Ash and Zahira.” He scooted closer and squeezed her hand. “Don’t you worry. Everything will be fine.”

Atwood House.


5.55 p.m.

“Sophia?” Alistair knocked on the door and walked into her bedroom. “Sweetheart? Are you ready?”

A heartbeat later she stepped out of her dressing room and smiled at him. Her welcome-back-I-missed-you smile struck him hard. It was one of the things he ached for on a daily basis. He longed to see her greeting him every evening with it as he entered their home, her sweet scent in the air, and laughing children calling him daddy.

As always, his gaze skimmed her, head to toe and back again, devouring her. After a few months with him, Sophia knew exactly what that scorching look meant.

This time, however, when he reached her dark-red lacquered toenails peeking from her René Caovila sandals, he stopped. His thin nostrils flared and all his blood rushed down. Fuck. She’s sex on legs.

Excruciatingly slowly, his eyes traced his way back up, taking in her smooth bare legs and the short length of her flared asymmetrical skirt, flowing sensually around her toned thighs and hips in layers and layers of nude, caramel and brown organza and tulle. His fingers itched to span her slim waist and torso encased in a strapless embroidered bodice in earth tones. Then his gaze rose higher, to caress her naked shoulders and face. Long earrings of Imperial Topaz in reddish and orange hues framed her face. Her long hair was pulled back and up in a simple bun and she had shadowed her eyes in brownish tones, highlighting her hazel eyes.

Oh. My. Sophia’s breath stopped as his intense sensuous gaze blistered her body.

Without a word, he made a circle in the air with his index finger.

Dutifully, she twirled on one foot and her skirt drifted around her in a flurry of hues. As she completed her pirouette and faced him again, she saw his lips curve in a smirk.

With long, prowling strides, he crossed the room, his gaze steady on hers. “Who made this dress?” His hoarse accent-laden question showed all the burning desire that coursed in his veins.

His low, deep voice reverberated through her and she could feel the heat of his gaze as it roamed over her body again. “Victoria.”

His brows rose high on his forehead and his forest green eyes met hers. “She has my undying gratitude.”

She let her gaze linger on him, before she arched an eyebrow, “Victoria? And what, pray tell, do I receive?”

“My attention.” Alistair stepped closer. His gaze lowered, from her eyes to her full lips. “Undivided.”

His lips took hers and his hands curved possessively over her back and buttocks, hauling her soft body against his hard frame.

Sophia’s hands gripped Alistair’s lapels as their lips came together. Beneath his palms, her skin burned, a layer of fine silk organza no real barrier to his touch and her own flaring desire. Willingly, she sank into his arms, moaning as his tongue created havoc on her senses.

He broke the kiss, breathing deep to restrain his uncontrollable desire. “Unfortunately, we have to go. But I’ll take a rain check.”

She sighed and promised, “Later, Handsome. Later.” She picked up a silk golden shawl, that she threw over her left arm, and a Valentino red clutch from her bed. “I’m ready.”

With a deep bow, he pulled the door wide, “Marchioness.”

“Not yet, my lord, but soon,” she whispered on his lips.

His deep laughter drew a grin from her.

London, Chelsea. The Blue Dot Gallery.


6.30 p.m.

She was unnerving him with her silence. Alistair shifted on the car seat, taking both her hands in his. His thumb toyed with the grayish-blue diamond on her finger. “Sweetheart. They will be blinded by your beauty. Everything is going to be just fine.”

Easy for you to say. Sophia took a deep and steadying breath. “I... I have an idea. Why don’t you go in alone and I’ll slip in unnoticed after a few minutes?”

Why so afraid? “That won’t fool them,” he warned in a low voice.

“Indeed. But it will give me some room. I don’t like being smothered by flashes and mics. After I’m inside, I’ll take a photo and answer a question or two. But...” she made a vague gesture with her hand.

“I see.” It made no sense to him, but he would do anything she asked just to see a smile on her face. “I’ll get the journalists off Tavish Uilleam and he can meet you at the back entrance. Better?”

She smiled relieved and kissed his lips, “Just perfect, Amor. Just perfect.”

The cloudy sky mirrored Sophia’s confused feelings as she admired Alistair’s ease while he handled, along with the two gallery partners, the special tour for the press. She longed to be at his side but, at the same time, she was afraid of the exposure.

The group of journalists, photographers and cameramen had surrounded him as soon as he got out of the car.

He dominated the room and maneuvered the press into asking him what he wanted. Dressed in an expensive black suit, fitted to perfection to his body, with a striped green and blue tie over a white shirt, he was the embodiment of tradition and power. He could have looked intimidating, but his charming and seductive smile masked the straightforward business thoughts that she was sure he was having.

“He has a hypnotizing way with them, hasn’t he?” Tavish approached Sophia quietly from behind handing her a champagne flute.

“Yes,” she smiled up at him, but his eyes were glued on his brother. Only with them? She clinked her glass on his. “Cheers. Congratulations on the opening. You handle them quite well too.”

“Cheers. This is a part that I don’t like very much. I’m not photogenic.”

She laughed and elbowed him on the ribs. “You’re fishing for compliments, Lieutenant-Colonel Doctor Lord Tavish Uilleam.”

He grimaced at her, “You’ll never let me forget it, will you?”

“Absolutely not!” she joked. “That was the most intimidating greeting I’ve ever received.”

“And you’re the only woman who has ever slapped me,” he retorted.

“You deserved it,” she volleyed back.

“Aye, I did.” He sighed. “Do you like the gallery?”

In the heart of Chelsea, set in a listed building, the Blue Dot Gallery was a stunning space over three floors, with five main high-ceilinged rooms, wooden floors and glass stairwells. The old and traditional façade on the outside concealed an amazing and fresh approach to contemporary art on the inside.

“It’s spectacular,” she nodded. “Valentina would absolutely love it. She’s finishing her degree in fine arts in Florence.”

“Florence? Too traditional. She should have come here or gone to UCLA,” he said.

“That’s why she went there. Her ideas are already too daring.” Sophia rolled her neck and flexed her shoulders. “Shall we get more champagne? I need to relax.”

“How are the preparations for the wedding coming along?” He offered his arm to her with a crooked smile. “Is Alistair Connor still driving you mad?”

“Good God! How can you work with him? The man is so stubborn, domineering, unmanageable-”

“And you are paranoid and a perfectionist,” Alistair’s voice interrupted her string of complaints.

She turned, blushing at being caught red handed.

He had a huge smile on his face. “But I love you anyway.” He reached out for her hand. “Come on, sweetheart, the journalists want to meet the mysterious woman that has tamed my heart.”

Sophia saw that Zahira, Ashley and Edward were at the door posing for photos. She breathed deep.

“Go on. They’ll love you,” Tavish assured her.

Alistair put her hand on the crook of his arm and covered it with his.

Sophia bit her lip and raised her eyes to his.

He tsked and bit his lip, drawing a smile from her. “Good. No one is going to resist you now.”

8 p.m.

The five hundred select guests for the opening of the gallery had each paid five hundred pounds, to be donated to the Sophia Leibowitz Foundation. Among them, beautiful and elegant young men and women well versed in art history explained the concepts of each artist and endeavored to interest prospective clients and the directors of foundations and museums. The event was turning into a huge success.

“Sophia!” Warm hands rested on her shoulders.

She angled her neck back with a smile, “Hello, Ethan!”

His hands ran over her back to circle her waist and turned her to face him. “You look ravishing, darling.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she teased as she returned his kisses. “You know Edward Davidoff and Zahira Chanda, don’t you? And this is LO’s PR director, Ashley Carruthers.”

“A pleasure to see you again, Ashford,” Edward stretched his hand.

“Davidoff, Mrs. Chanda, Ms. Carruthers,” he greeted them and turned to Sophia. “I guess that after tonight you’re not afraid of the press anymore. So, Mrs. Chandra you can set up a date and location for our event.”

Zahira only smiled at Ethan, knowing full well that Sophia didn’t want the ball.

Aren’t you insistent, Ethan? “Why do we need a gala ball?”

“It’s free marketing, darling. If MacCraig can benefit from it,” he motioned to the crowd mingling around, “Ashford Steel and Leibowitz Oil can too.”

What? “Come again?”

“Everyone likes to have a good excuse to throw a party. Better if you can couple beauty and youth with wealth and charity. You personify every quality to make our project a huge success, Sophia.” And spend more time at my side.