Blue Acqua Marine marble echoed on the floors and walls defining the bathing area, contrasting with the Pink Gray Cloud marble vanity tops. A huge shower added a further touch of indulgence to the waterfall tap in the oversized, inset bath.
“I don’t believe you have a high-definition plasma TV in your bathroom.” He looked as if he wanted to laugh, “That’s weird.”
Sophia turned her hands up. “It wasn’t my idea, it was Felipe and Vic’s. At first, I thought it ridiculous, but it helps a lot when I have a busy day. I can catch up on the news while showering.”
At this he chuckled, “You don’t relax, even in the shower?”
“Try keeping up with my timetable at Leibowitz, Cambridge, with Gabriela, and still stay informed. And I don’t have a TV in my room. When I go to bed, I sleep with another one of my gadgets.”
“You sleep with a gadget?” he smiled, a glint in his eyes. “Tell me more about this device, Sophia.”
She laughed, playfully slapping his arm, “My Kindle.”
“Oh, aye. Your books.” He concealed his disappointment.
“Have you heard of Isaac Barrow?” When he shook his head she carried on, “He was an English mathematician and theologian, who died in 1677. He said, ‘He who loveth a book will never want a faithful friend, a wholesome counselor, a cheerful companion, or an effectual comforter.’ It’s so true. I am alone with a book, but never lonely.”
“Well, well, well.” He bowed low and turned, waving his hand, still a big smile on his lips, “First, Thomas à Kempis. Now, Isaac Barrow. My medieval lady, it’s time for me to say good-bye and leave you to your books.”
“Silly man,” she laughed. “Hey, come back here. You’re going the wrong way, that’s my-” she ran after him and heard his laughter again as he entered her dressing room.
“Do you have OCD?” he asked her with a broad grin.
“What?” She shed her jacket and hung it in its place.
He watched as she did it and laughed out loud again. “OCD. Obsessive compulsive disorder?”
“No, of course not,” she scowled at his laughing face. “Why do you ask?”
“Looks like you do. You rearranged the cushions to perfection in the reception room, shut every door, and turned off every light. You have a perfectly ordered refrigerator and returned the glass immediately to its place. You put Gabriela’s book away and hung your coat in its place. I bet you’re going to put your shoes,” he pointed to the shoes she was carrying, “back in their rightful place. And look at this dressing room! It looks like a shop.” He turned, laughing more, shaking his head. “And I thought I was organized. I can’t show you my dressing room,” he chuckled again, this time darker, imagining her in his dressing room. Oh, yes, Sophia. If I show you my special closet, what will your reaction be?
“Isn’t it easier to find things when they’re organized?” she asked. “I used to have eight employees working at my apartment back in Brazil. Now, I only have four-”
“Four?” he frowned. “You named at least seven people who live here.”
“Six. But the bodyguards don’t help with the house. They are strictly dedicated to protecting Gabriela and me. And there’s a maintenance company that comes twice a week to take care of the garden, clean the pool, and do all the hard stuff. This house is big and difficult to maintain. Coats go with coats, not with shirts. White shirts are followed by yellow and then orange and so forth. The same goes for the rest of the house. It’s not OCD. It’s just that it’s simpler to put things in their place.” Saying this, she put her shoes in their right place and finished her explanation, “I could find anything even in the dark if I needed to.”
“In the dark? You dress in the dark?” He chortled, hugging his stomach. “Some kind of perversion? Or are you absolutely nuts?”
He tried but could not contain a guffaw, imagining a scene, “Oh, Davidoff,” he squealed in a female voice, “I cannot meet the clients today.” He mimicked her, swinging his hips from side to side, dramatically. “You see,” he flicked an effeminate wave down his body, “I mismatched the colors of my clothes and my shoes. I dressed in the dark-” And doubled in a fit of laughter.
“Oh, you’re going to pay for that!” She advanced in his direction.
He straightened, his hand up, trying to say peace, while laughing.
“Too late, Handsome.” As she stalked up to him, he backed out into the bedroom.
“Sophia,” he said, still chuckling. “Stop. I wasn’t laughing at you. But you are too good to be true.”
“He who laughs last, laughs best.” With one hand, she caught him by the cardigan and yanked his body to hers, while with the other she enlaced her fingers in his hair pulling his head down.
She stood on her toes and kissed him. He gasped at the attack. She seized the moment to explore his mouth with her tongue. One of his arms pressed her onto his body while his knee pried her legs open. The other hand rose to her breast, the silk no barrier to his touch.
“Sophia, I want you.”
His face showed his disbelief as she started to undo his scarf. His hand stopped hers. She looked up.
“You know what you are about to do, right?” His accent was so pronounced and his voice so husky that she had some trouble understanding him.
She arched on his body, gazing at his green eyes flaming with desire, “I want you, too,” she whispered.
“There is no turning back from here,” he warned, quietly.
“I know,” Sophia breathed.
Chapter 20
Sophia exuded an air full of passion. She pushed Alistair’s scarf to the sides and kissed his chest above the V-neck of his black T-shirt. She undid the buttons of his cardigan, one by one, and yanked his shirt up, licking the line of his pectoral until she found a nipple and sucked it hard.
Pleasure and astonishment flooded his veins as she kissed and licked his chest and his abs with abandonment. How long? How long since I’ve let a soft, gentle, normal woman take control? He remembered Tavish’s words. Don’t rush things with her. Try to become the younger Alistair again.
I’m enjoying this. He was so shocked at his reaction that he didn’t notice when the scarf fell to the floor. When her hand went to his zipper, he stopped her again.
“There’s no hurry,” he said quietly. Sophia was shaking. He didn’t know if she was nervous or aroused. “Trust me on this.”
“Make love to me, Alistair. Please.”
A wicked look gleamed in his emerald gaze as he shoved off his cardigan and his long-sleeved T-shirt. He cupped her face in his hands. “I like to hear you begging,” he whispered on her lips.
He bent his head ever so slowly and brushed his lips against hers, his tongue licking the contours of her mouth, leisurely.
His gentle kiss drove Sophia insane with longing. She pressed herself onto his chest, in an attempt to ease the hunger she felt. Her hands stroked his hair and pulled him down as she opened her mouth to suck and bite his bottom lip.
He took control of the kiss, his lips became more demanding, and his tongue dipped in her mouth, entwining with hers. His thumbs caressed the column of her neck and pressed down on her throat as his hands encircled it, narrowing his grip.
Sophia gasped at the unusual caress. The insinuated violence made her giddy with pleasure. What the hell? But the thought left as soon as his hands lowered, expanding over her shoulders, and down to the buttons of her blouse, pausing there.
Sophia pushed his head away and stared at his face. “Yes, please,” she breathed hoarsely, gliding her hands from his nape to his chest with a feathery touch. Desire throbbed between her thighs. She parted her lips to search for air as he undid only two buttons and opened her shirt over the shoulders, pinning her arms to her torso. Oh, my.