Dangerous Obsession Page 4

  “There’s no need,” Sophia gently interrupted him.

  He looked at her, “Sophia, you—”

  “I believe you. That’s enough for me.” You have to learn how to believe in yourself too, Alistair.

  Last time I did what a woman told me—Stop this, Alistair Connor. Stop. This. Try to listen to what she is telling you.

  John watched, intrigued, the silent dueling of power and dominance between the two of them as emotions crossed over Alistair’s usual poker-face, first disbelief, shame, then acceptance.

  “I see,” Alistair murmured, giving in, but not at all convinced. “Don’t you want any other reassurance, Sophia?” Please, say you do.

  “None,” she shook her head, “besides your word.”

  Honor. That’s what she is trying to tell me. His eyes bore down on hers and what he saw in them made him nod, reluctantly, “So be it. I’ve already given it.” He rose from his armchair and stretched out his hand to help her, putting an arm around her waist, squeezing it lightly. “Let’s not waste any more of John’s time.”

  “No problem. It was a pleasure to help you. But, please, Alistair, don’t call me every time…ah…Sophia floats on to cloud nine,” John teased, his face opening in a full smile.

  Alistair couldn’t contain his own smile, “Nae, I won’t. If I did, you wouldn’t be able to—”

  “For God’s sake, Alistair Connor,” Sophia slapped Alistair’s biceps, blushing, “behave.”

  He laughed out loud. He so loved to watch her blush. “That, sweetheart, I can promise you I won’t do.”

  Outside Dr. John Walter’s Office

  12:25 p.m.

  Hey, relax,” Sophia coaxed, caressing his knuckles with her thumb, while they walked out of the clinic. “If you want to have your tests done again, do them.”

  “It’s not that.” He looked down at her from his full height, his brows drawn over his Cartier gold Santos sunglasses. “I don’t understand why you didn’t let me pay John’s fees. I asked for the appointment. I should pay.”

  She blinked and frowned, halting instantly in the middle of the street. She put her hands on her hips and glowered at him, “Alistair Connor. John Walter is my gynecologist. Mine.”

  With one step, he stood closer and gripped her chin, taking off her Louis Vuitton sunglasses to peer into her eyes, “I asked for the appointment.”

  “So?” she shrugged.

  “You are keeping me out and I don’t like it,” he hissed the last words between clenched teeth.

  “Ah…” Comprehension dawned on her. “But I’m not keeping you out. I’m just setting a boundary for you. And I hope you respect it. Let me make myself clear again, Alistair. John Walter is my doctor. If you need any information concerning me or my body, you first have to ask me if they are available to you.” She slightly narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not giving you this power. You are already an overbearing—”

  The fingers that held her chin plunged into her hair, the other hand, still holding her glasses, snaked around her waist, dragging her flush to his body and he kissed her stormily in the middle of Earl’s Court Road.

  He raised his head, panting. “You drive me crazy when you defy me.”

  “If this kiss, in the middle of Kensington, is what I can expect for my defiance,” she licked her reddened lips, “then, I think I will defy you again and again.”

  “I don’t know if that’s very bad, or very good,” Alistair shook his head, with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

  Her fingers were drawn inexorably to his gorgeous silky hair and she teased, “My lord Marquis, you are so feudalist, demanding full obeisance of your wishes…”

  “And you are an anachronism, my lady. You love medieval theologians and philosophers, but also you have totally contemporary and inappropriate teenage behavior. I can’t place you.”

  “Teenage? Really?” she smiled, amused. “Mmm. You are not the first to think I behave like a teenager around you. Maybe I give you this impression because when I’m around you, you make me want to do things to provoke you.”

  “Provoke me?” He didn’t mind at all that they were in the middle of the busy sidewalk, at lunch hour, and he tugged her hair, making her move her head back to escape the pain.

  Her lips stretched and curled open in a devious smile. “I love seeing you out of your depth when I do things you don’t expect. It’s almost…comical. It makes me giddy,” and she finished in a whisper, “and horny.”

  Comical? The grip on her hair loosened as Alistair’s jaw dropped open. He was speechless. Not one coherent thought came to his mind to answer her provocation.

  “Yeah, teenage perhaps,” she continued and shrugged, “but then, I’m entitled to be a little irresponsible. You’ll just have to come to terms with me,” she paid no heed to his stern regard, “and my behavior. Now, if you want my company for a quick lunch, move! I have to work and Gabriela demands my presence at home by five. Ah,” she rose on her tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on the lips, “by the way, thanks for the doll. She loved it.”

  Alistair’s face split in a huge grin at the mention of Gabriela. “She already called me. What time am I supposed to be at your house tonight?”

  “Six, if you want to play with Corolle,” she smirked at him. “Gabriela dines at six-thirty and goes to bed at seven-thirty.”

  She tugged him by the hand and he pulled her in the other direction. She paused and looked at him.

  “This way. I’m going to take you to a new restaurant: Kitchen W8. Have you been there?”

  “Not yet. I thought we could get some Chinese food.”

  “I’ve already made reservations.”

  More orders, Alistair Connor? “Oh. You did.” The sarcasm was not lost on him.

  You really don’t take orders well, do you, Sophia? “The food is delicious. Traditional English food, but with a modern twist. You’ll like it.”

  “Very well,” she complied.

  They walked a few minutes, hand in hand, in companionable silence.

  Sophia glanced at Alistair’s thoughtful face, “A penny for your thoughts.”

  He looked down at her for a moment and then asked, “You don’t go out much, do you?”

  “Not really. I don’t have many friends here and I don’t see the fun in going to the theatre or eating alone in a restaurant. I prefer staying in with Gabriela. Besides, I’m very exacting when it comes to food, in general. From its freshness to the final dish presented to me. I guess it comes from having been a Cordon Bleu student.”

  “Hmm, I guess.” He put his arm around her back, dragging her close to him as they walked toward the restaurant. “But…”

  “But?”

  “That not it, is it, Sophia?”

  No. It’s not. I need to remain hidden. “What else could it be?”

  He stopped in front of the restaurant door and lifted her sunglasses to look into her eyes. “Why don’t you trust me with whatever secrets you are keeping?”

  She looked away and murmured, “There are no secrets, Alistair.”

  He gripped her chin in his hand and raised her face toward his, ordering, “Look at me.”

  Alistair Connor, you don’t want to discover my dark secrets. And when she gazed into his eyes, her features were already composed.

  Alistair wondered what such a young and innocent woman could have done, to keep it buried so deep. “You know, Sophia, this mysterious aura around you…just makes you more enticing. I’ll uncover and solve whatever enigmas you’re hiding.”

  Kensington, Kitchen W8

  1:09 p.m.

  Why do you insist on turning me into a hero? I’m no hero, Sophia.”

  She gave him a small smile. “A hero is a man who does the best he can. Nothing more.”

  Sophia, Sophia. I didn’t do the best I could. I’ve been evil for years. “Hmm. All this just because I sent your daughter a doll?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “You really don’t get it. You care, Alistair Conno
r. Gabriela said she wanted the Corolle doll just once during our dinner yesterday. And you cared enough to remember and send it to her first thing this morning. With your personal card attached. And flowers. This, my dear, is so much more important than anything.”

  I…I care? The way Sophia turned what he considered a simple gesture into a grandiose thing left Alistair discomfited and scared. He immediately repelled the good image she made of him, “You see good where there is none.”

  “And you see bad always and everywhere,” she retorted instantly. “Why you should have such a poor opinion of yourself eludes me.”

  It’s because I know who I am, Sophia. “It’s not a bad opinion, just a fair one.”

  She frowned in thought. “I don’t remember who, but someone once said, ‘The mask, given time, comes to be the face itself.’”

  “Marguerite Yourcenar,” he prompted.

  “Ah, yes.” She looked at him seriously. “Is that what you want to become, a heartless and callous man, a misogynist, who’ll live alone for the rest of his life? Just because you were hurt once?”

  Hurt once? Alistair’s thin nostrils flared wide. Careful, Sophia. Dangerous ground. The echoes of his despicable, vengeful wife and the horror of his daughter’s broken body resonated in his mind, but Alistair was stunned to watch the memories through a lighter filter, their surfacing not poisoning him as they usually did.

  The approaching waiter interrupted their conversation. “Ma’am, sir, the fillet of cornish pollock.”

  “Thank you,” Sophia and Alistair said at the same time. She glanced at him and grinned at the coincidence as he squeezed her hand, his mood lightening in a second.

  “Mmm,” Sophia moaned, closing her eyes, “this smells very good.”

  “I knew you would like it here,” he glanced at her hand, admiring it with his gift on her finger. “Do you still have many friends in Brazil?”

  “I have very good friends in Brazil, but few. One doesn’t need many friends, just good ones. I’m a private person and…” I need to hide. I can’t afford to make new friends.

  “And?”

  “I have my daughter, my family, my PhD, my work, my books. I barely have time for myself.”

  “Aye, you should work less, Sophia.” He paused and sipped his wine, musing, “I don’t know how you manage to do everything.” He put the glass on the table and counted on the fingers of his right hand, his plain white-gold Love ring catching the soft light. “Between your studies, your lectures, your foundation and Leibowitz’s problems, what time do you have for Gabriela?”

  “More than enough. The trick is being extremely organized, working only with top people and not being self-centered. I demand excellence from those who work with me. I don’t tolerate laziness, I don’t accept unpunctuality or rudeness. And I hate mediocrity. I give my best, always, and so must the ones that work with me.”

  His eyebrows were almost at his hairline, “Exacting, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “We, my siblings and I, were raised by my grandparents, Alistair. A Portuguese upbringing. Very different from the Carioca one. They could have chosen to pamper and pity us, trying to make up for what we had lost. But they didn’t, because nothing would ever make up for my parents’ death. We had everything: love, attention, the best money could buy, but we were taught that we had to first give to then receive. And they only praised us when we endeavored to achieve the best we could. They brought out the best in us.”

  “A little harsh, don’t you think? You were so little, even your brother was young when your parents died.”

  She thought for a moment, before answering, “You know, it may seem a little harsh, but it made me who I am and I am grateful for it. I wouldn’t exchange it for a less challenging upbringing. If I hadn’t been taught how to be strong and face difficulties, my father-in-law would have destroyed me when Gabriel died.”

  “What?”

  “A very long and complicated story,” she ended the subject and he let it go, sensing it was a sore subject.

  “You know, Sophia, I never thought I would engage in another relationship.”

  She put a forkful in her mouth, gaining time. Hmm. Treacherous territory. Should I ask? “And how do you feel about it?”

  He smiled. “Are you trying to analyze me?”

  “Why? Isn’t this a normal question for an unusual statement? Especially after what we were just talking about, Lord Misogynist?”

  Should I answer? He chewed his fish thoughtfully, and decided on stalling. “An unusual statement?”

  “I would say so. Everyone wants to feel loved and to love, and, to do so, a relationship or commitment is a prerequisite. If not, it’s not love, it’s unilateral adoration. In that light, don’t you think your statement is unusual? Don’t you think I would like to know how you are feeling about it? Do you know how you feel about it?”

  “How long have you been in therapy, Doctor Leibowitz?” he teased.

  She smiled sadly and looked down at her plate for a moment before raising her eyes to look into his forest-green ones. “Since I lost my parents. I have a fifteen year unofficial PhD on the subject.”

  The inevitable and brutal truth made Alistair’s heart squeeze in his chest as he pictured a small orphaned Sophia. He curled a lock of her raven hair around his fingers and asked quietly, “And does it help?”

  “A lot. But you didn’t answer my question, Lord Slippery. How do you feel about our relationship?”

  “I told you yesterday, have you forgotten?”

  “Do you think you can outsmart me in this game, Alistair Connor?” She didn’t fall prey to his game of hide and seek. “Humor me again, please.”

  “Sophia.” His deep voice was low as he confessed, “you have to understand that I was…I was so numb, only violence could touch me. I felt old and jaded. Cruelty came easily to me, maybe too easily. I felt a deep need to punish and be punished by my disgust with myself. I didn’t want a bond with anyone. I just wanted to cause pain and feel it.”

  Sophia drank a big gulp of wine, astonished. “God, Alistair.”

  “First, I was a hedonist drunk on sensation. I tasted everything that was proposed to me. But then…after Nathalie’s death, I couldn’t stand to be loved. I’ve lived the last year in excruciating, endless solitude. Each night, I scrubbed my scars raw again. Scars I was responsible for. I embraced the shadows, regardless of any need to love, to link, even in friendship. Since I couldn’t be entombed with Nathalie, I buried myself under hard work during the day, and in depravation at night.”

  She was too shocked by his confession to say anything, having even forgotten to continue eating.

  “Being with you is inspiring, Sophia. You radiate light; you are good, young, and pure. Everything about you is honest and decent. So different from what I was used to.”

  Good? Pure? Decent? You couldn’t be more wrong, Alistair Connor.

  His fingertips caressed her cheek. “I don’t know what I would have done if you had walked away Saturday night. And you had every right to, after what happened.”

  “I told you, you are forgiven.”

  He gave her a sad smile. “You have an immense capacity for forgiveness. Even though,” his fingers lowered to the scarf tied skillfully around her neck, “your body does not.”

  She shook her head at him. “You’re wrong.” And she put his fingers on her left upper arm. “My body can heal as easily as my soul. It’s this capacity that keeps me alive, that every day renews my belief in good and in human beings in spite of everything that has happened to me.” In spite of what I’ve done.

  “Maybe that explains your refreshing innocence.”

  “Maybe. What happened…Saturday night, it’s nagging you, isn’t it?”

  “Aye,” he admitted, looking into her eyes very seriously. “I’ve never…attacked or harmed a woman in that way. It…I freaked out.”

  “I never gave you cause to doubt my actions.”

  “It’s not you, So
phia. It’s me. I know now it was unfair. I’m distrustful to the extreme.” He inhaled deeply and his hand sought hers, enlacing their fingers, he looked into her eyes and said, “Heather hurt more than just my pride. She broke me in so many ways that I lost the ability to love. And after Nathalie’s death, I…lost the desire to live, to put it lightly.”

  Sophia swallowed the crusted aubergine she was eating with difficulty. She put her silverware on the plate and turned on the sofa to look at him. In a wisp of a voice, she started to say, “You thought about…” But couldn’t finish the thought, it pained her so much.

  He shifted to face her. “Suicide? Aye, I did. More than once. You can’t imagine what it is to love a child as I loved Nathalie and to know that I was partially responsible for her death. It drove me insane.”

  “Oh, my dear,” she breathed, tears in her eyes, and threw her arms around his torso, hugging him fiercely, not caring about the scene she was making.

  He embraced her and buried his head in her hair, letting her sweet smell soothe him and whisk away the painful memories.

  “Oh, Alistair Connor,” she murmured, “I’m so sorry.”

  His deep voice reached inside her, “‘You become responsible for what you’ve tamed, said the fox to the little Prince.’”

  She lifted her head to stare into his beautiful eyes and waited for him to continue.

  He cupped her face in his big warm hands. “You’re responsible for my heart and soul now, Sophia. Don’t let me down.”

  She combed his hair with her fingers and shook her head, “Never. It’s a promise.”

  He kissed her briefly on the lips. “You’re an amazing woman.”

  “You’re an amazing man, Alistair Connor. I’ll make you believe it.”

  Alistair almost scoffed at what she said, but the belief he saw in her light honey eyes prevented him. It brought such joy and peace to him that he felt lightheaded.

  She smiled at him and asked, “Ready for your favorite part of our meals?”

  His face lit up and he licked his lips. “Ah, dessert.”