“The scene of the crime. Blood. Dead bodies.”
Dead bodies. She paled but recovered quickly. Two can play this game, Lord Me-myself-and-I. A very sinister smile started to form on her mouth, twisting her lips.
Fuck! The Avenging Angel. The same look she had at Galewick Hall. He could almost see her growing taller, sprouting wings, and yielding a fiery sword, ready to pierce his black heart guilty of Nathalie’s death.
“Please, think hard before you answer this question. Was my client there? Or had he been there at any moment?”
Was I there? “No. I don’t think so.”
“Ha! You don’t think so! So, you’re not sure!”
His head dropped a bit, his eyes glazed. The memories of his little blonde angel all battered and bruised flooded his brain. “No, but-”
She raised her hand, stopping him, demanding silence. “This was not a question. It was a conclusion.” His head came up abruptly. “The prosecution has no proof that the defendant was, or had been, at the scene of the crime.” Indeed. It’s something he didn’t do. Guilt by omission. The dark smile broadened and her eyes flashed a golden honey color as she counted her conclusions on her fingers, “Firstly, Me-myself-and-I is the one pressing charges. Secondly, Me-myself-and-I is the defendant, who had never been at the scene of the crime. Thirdly, there is no evidence, other than the photos of the crime scene. So I ask you my last question: Is there any proof that my client has ever committed these sins? These unproven sins?”
His eyes widened. She’s destroyed my case. And she’s enjoying every minute of it.
“No answer?” She pressed.
Are my sins unprovable? It seems so. He shook his head, stupefied, and incapable of answering. Her verdict pending over his head as the sword of Damocles. Are they pardonable? No. Never.
She stabbed a finger hard on his chest, like a dagger. “Therefore, this lawyer is pleading innocent in the name of Me-myself-and-I,” she glared at him, pinning him under her angry stare, “or rather in your name, Alistair Connor.”
How dare she? How dare she absolve me? The fear that her absolution could destroy the detachment he had achieved so far, erupted in him a need to destroy the woman who had so trustily absolved him. Alistair’s arms encompassed her waist swiftly, hauling her body flush with his. His hand fisted and twirled her hair tightly as his mouth crushed hers.
The unpredicted and violent assault startled Sophia. Her hands gripped his arms to steady herself as his tongue pursued and forcefully demanded an entrance. She allowed it and moaned when he invaded her mouth. He slanted her head with a rough tug on her hair to have better access to her mouth.
Sophia stiffened and gasped at the sharp pain and her hand flew up. Her slender fingers wrapped around his wrist and surprised Alistair, causing him to loosen his hold on her hair. Immediately she relaxed into his embrace.
Breathe. Control yourself. She’s not Heather, Alistair Connor. He lifted his head to look at her. Her head was pulled back in his grip and her lips were dark red from his kisses. “You don’t like?” he murmured.
“What?” She opened her yellow diamond eyes.
His head bent to the hollow of her neck and he bit her playfully there. “A touch of pain, of violence.” Here it goes. Slowly, Alistair Connor, slowly.
Pain, violence? “I-I don’t know,” she stammered. “I’ve never thought about them as sensual or erotic.” What the hell? Why am I not answering no?
“It can be,” he whispered, his voice tickling her ear. He suckled her earlobe, sinking his teeth in the soft flesh.
She moaned and his hand on the small of her back pressed her on his body as he ground his erection on her belly.
“See?” His husky voice and accent betrayed his arousal. “Do you want to try?”
“You like that?” Her hands pulled his head up to look at his forest-green eyes. They burned her with pure carnal lust and his grip on her hair tightened. “Pain, violence?” she gasped. “What kind?”
“I’ll be gentle. I promise.” His own words penetrated the fog of rage that had installed in his mind. “Let me show you what I can do to your body,” he murmured, “to your soul.”
Oh. She could not answer. Dared not. What now? She felt paralyzed by fear and dread. And arousal. How?
“Come on, it’s just role-play,” he coached, quietly. “And you can always stop it.”
“I-” she breathed deep. I don’t know.
“Please,” he crooned and vowed, “I won’t hurt you. It’s all about pleasure.” His lips curled. And he bent his head, his nose brushed hers in a gentle caress and he spoke against her lips. “Do you trust me?”
“This is not fair,” she said slowly.
“Not fair?” His face fell and disappointment flashed. “No, I guess it isn’t.” His hands dropped away from her and he stepped back as if he had been slapped. Of course, it isn’t. You want to hurt the only woman that has absolved you so unhesitatingly. But then, you don’t want absolution, do you? Do you, Alistair Connor?
Sophia observed his face, as an uncommon kaleidoscope of emotions played on it.
He stepped back again.
“Wait!” Her hand shot out to grab his arm, holding him in place. “Wait.” She stared intently into his eyes. “I told you that I trust you. And I do,” she whispered the last few words.
“Are you sure?” He cocked his head
“Yes,” she breathed, “yes, I am.”
He could barely hear her low assent.
“Sophia,” he murmured and closed the distance between them, burying his head in her hair and inhaling deeply. His fingers untied the sash at her waist and nudged the dress off her shoulders, dropping a light kiss on one, then the other. The dress pooled on the floor at her feet.
He lost his voice as he saw her wearing the most sensual black-and-silver lingerie he had ever seen. Thin silky ribbons held her bra in place. Her breasts strained against the lace and the same thin material tied the panties on the sides. The satin hid exactly what he wanted, and the lace showing everything else. Hot! His fingers itched to untie the ribbons. No, I wish to rip them to shreds. Breathe, Alistair, breathe. This is Sophia.
He lifted her to his chest and she wrapped her legs around his waist, his hard erection probing her through his jeans.
She gasped in his ear, “Alistair.”
“I’m right here,” he whispered back and carried her past her bedroom into her dressing room. He deposited her softly on her feet and shed his cardigan, throwing it on the armchair in the corner.
“Do you have rope?” His demeanor suddenly turned serious, muscles bunched, and his eyes flashed.
Sophia jumped back. “No.”
“Scarves?” His eyes were burning with lust and something more she couldn’t identify.
“Sca-scarves, yes,” she stammered. She spun on her heels and went to a corner of the room, gesturing to a shelf. “Here. Silk scarves.”
“I want three.”
She gave him the first one and he coiled it around his hands, snapping it, testing its softness and strength. “Two more,” he crooned.
She eyed him askance, almost regretting her acceptance. Nonetheless, she picked up two more scarves and handed them to him.
He took her hand without a word. In her bedroom, he put the scarves on the bed and turned to look at her, studying her intently. “Can I put on some music from my phone?”
She picked up his cell phone from the bedside table, and connected it to the Wi-Fi network. She handed it to him and he typed in the name of a song, smiling when he found it. “Pay attention to the piano, the song’s rhythm, the voices, and the lyrics.” He touched the screen and put it on the bedside table next to the pack of condoms. “Forget everything else.”