Chapter 30
Leibowitz Oil Building.
3.37 p.m.
“I knew I would have to face the press one day,” Sophia sighed and slumped on the navy suede sofa.
“But you hoped this day would never arrive, didn’t you?” Edward placed his ankle on his knee, settling comfortably beside her, and looked at Leibowitz Oil’s PR Director, who was seated in the other armchair. “Well, Sophia, you can’t go on hiding forever. What do you suggest, Ash?”
Ashley Carruthers was an exotic thirty-seven year old Angolan. Discreet, well-connected, sophisticated and sharp-witted, she wasn’t afraid of voicing her opinions and was everything anyone could want in a PR person. Sophia had always compared her to a black panther, with her languorous walk and quiet ways, belying her quick brain, silver tongue and sharp eyes.
Ashley tapped a finger on her red lips as she consulted her laptop. “I’ve collated everything that’s been said about you since you moved here. I don’t know how, but you have managed to avoid both the gossip magazines and the specialized press. There were some rumors of your death and a few unidentified photos of you with Alistair MacCraig, but that’s all. However,” she drawled the word to emphasize it, “I’ve written a few words.” She handed the sheet over to Edward. “English journalists are quite malicious and as soon as they recognize you, they will write about you, no doubt about it. It’s better to be prepared because they will throw their mics in your face. Don’t snub them. Be forthcoming. If their questions become too nasty, just smile graciously and leave the room. I’ll be there with you. Seven o’clock, you said?”
“Yes,” Sophia bit her lip as she read Ash’s statement. “This is it?”
“Is there anything else you want me to add? You did come to London to rebuild your life and it has nothing to do with Leibowitz Oil, which is competently run by Edward here. Ethan Ashford is your dear partner in a charity project and, yes, you’re engaged to Alistair MacCraig, whom you’re marrying in August. Make this sound like it’s confidential information, just for them. Smile a lot and bat you lashes. If they ask your opinion about the exhibit, praise it. Praise everything and smile. If there’s a question you don’t want to answer, smile and thank them for their kind interest in you. Instruct your bodyguards to act discreetly and to stay outside. Nothing will happen in the gallery. You’re in London,” Ash said. “Apart from that, what I suggest is: let’s wait for their reaction and then we can respond.”
“I see,” she whispered.
“Is Gabriela going?” Edward asked.
“No. Not today. We’ll take her another time, when it’s quieter.”
“Look, Sophia, there’s not much we can do. You disappeared from the face of the earth two years ago, after a tragedy that was in the news all over the world. Now, you reappear. Mysteriously. Out of thin air. Using your maiden name. Even richer. Living at one of the most exclusive addresses in the world. Engaged to a powerful and handsome man. Tongues will wag.”
“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?”