Alistair walked the length of his office with long strides, a caged panther, as he read the messages again and again.

He had entered his office, closing and locking the door, which was atypical, and informed his assistant on the intercom, “MacKeenan, I don’t want to be bothered.”

“Of course—”

Alistair cut off the answer, being unusually rude. He was more concerned with beating the doubts that had wedged in his mind. Who could possibly be doing this? Why do they want me to doubt Sophia?

He peered again at the image attached to one of the messages.

Ethan was holding Sophia’s hand, helping her into his Rolls-Royce. Both of them had huge smiles on their faces.

This is…this is… Alistair fell on his chair. He didn’t even want to contemplate what that was. Who is chasing Sophia and getting so close to take pictures of her? Who is trying to make me think she is betraying me?

He picked up his mobile to call his wife, but didn’t place the call not wanting to alarm her unnecessarily.

* * *

“Oh my God, Ethan.” Sophia licked her lips. “This is so unfair.”

Yes, so unfair. Ethan felt dizzy sitting there beside Sophia.

“I really don’t know what to choose. What do you think, Ash?”

Ashley looked at her boss and shook her head. “I don’t, either. I love the food here.”

“How about we ask Chef Francesco to suggest something for us?” Ethan offered. “His food entices the senses.” As you have done with mine, darling.

“Great idea.” She turned to Scott. “I’m really impressed with your ideas for The Dorchester ballroom decoration.”

“You should consider yourself honored,” said Ashley to Scott, “it’s very hard to impress Sophia.”

Ethan almost laughed out loud when Scott puffed his chest. “Scott is very competent. He manages to achieve everything I ask of him. Even the most difficult tasks. I’m sure the ball will be a huge success.”

“All the invitations are sold,” Scott said. “I’ve already managed to secure sponsorship for the decoration, The Dorchester will not charge for the ballroom rental and they are also giving us a very special price for the catering, Mrs. MacCraig.”

Sophia saw Ethan flinch at hearing her married name. Oh, Ethan, you have to get over it. “Please, Scott, call me Sophia. We’ll be working together on this. I didn’t want to prolong the meeting, but I have a few ideas that I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Scott, her ideas are extremely creative.” Ashley smiled fondly at Sophia. “But get ready, she is a general and commands us as if we were soldiers.”

That made Scott grin. “It’ll be my pleasure to soldier under your orders, Mrs—”

“Sophia,” she corrected him with a sweet smile.

If possible, Scott’s grin widened. “Sophia.”

The chef approached their table and they started an animated discussion about food flavors and wine combinations.

Sophia may have married MacCraig but she still likes me very much. It’s just a question of time. Then a thought intruded into his mind, making him review his feelings. But a question of time to do what? Oh, damn. I don’t even know what I want anymore.

Sophia, Barbara. Barbara, Sophia.

I’m going crazy. This whole mess is going to lead me to hell.

* * *

Alistair opened his office door quietly, “MacKeenan.”

His assistant looked up, surprised. Alistair normally made his requests by intercom. “Yes?”

It took Alistair a while to speak. He opened his mouth but what he was going to say was replaced by, “Do you know where Tavish Uilleam is? I’ve tried to reach him on his cell phone, but he’s not answering.”

MacKeenan consulted his computer. “He’s at The Blue Dot. He had a meeting there with a new artist.”

“What time was it supposed to begin?”

“Two o’clock, sir,” informed MacKeenan, noticing the strained lines around Alistair’s eyes. “Mr. MacCraig, would you like me to call your brother?”

Shall I call him? Leo? Baptist? Alistair just shook his head, in spite of his need to roar his anger and fear. Without a word, Alistair went back to his office and shut the door quietly. Picking up the headset of his private line he called the PI.

* * *

“I came as soon as I could. My battery died—”

Alistair swirled in his chair to face his brother. There was a bottle of The Famous Grouse Scotch whisky on the table and a glass half-full.

The dramatic sounds of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, the Symphony of Destiny, filled the room.

Tavish turned and closed the door, locking it, frightened by the dark hollowed look on Alistair’s face. “Jesus, Alistair Connor. What happened?”

But Alistair couldn’t reply. He was numb. Fate is knocking on my door again. He thought how appropriate was the symphony he had chosen.

“Sit. Please.” He stood and motioned for Tavish to sit in one of the armchairs, waving his glass. “Do you want one?”

Tavish shook his head. “How much have ye had?”

“Just a sip.” Barely nothing. I’m…feeling sick. “No one is dead. And no one is hurt.” Well, not physically. At least not yet. He sat heavily on the sofa by the armchair and handed his brother the file Baptist had given him in February.

“I’m getting worried—” Tavish leafed through the file and scowled at his brother, handing it back. “Why are you spying on Sophia?”

Alistair didn’t elaborate for a while, not exactly knowing how to explain his paranoia. He opened it to the last page and, as he did those many months ago, he traced the contour of Sophia’s delicate face. He knew his limitations and he knew he was on the edge of something dangerous. “This is old. I was going to throw it away. I don’t know why I kept it. Maybe it was because of the photos.”

Tavish shook his head, not really understanding why Alistair was brooding with such sadness and darkness. He leaned over and put a hand on his brother’s knee. “Come on, tell me.”

“And if I said Sophia is betraying me?” His voice was so low he didn’t know if Tavish had heard him. He was controlling his urge to shout and hurl his glass against the wall. But when he looked up from the photo, Tavish’s mouth was hanging agape. “Well?”

Tavish closed his mouth and swallowed. “Are ye serious?” When Alistair nodded, he stated, “Dude, I’d say ye are fucking nuts.”

Aye, I’d say that too. He drained the rest of his whisky, thumped the glass on the table beside him and showed Tavish the messages. “So, what am I supposed to make of those?”

Tavish scanned the messages quickly and tapped the screen to zoom at the photo. “She is hosting a ball with Ashford, isn’t she? Maybe they were going out to lunch. Did Sophia tell you she was meeting him?”

“Nae. We rarely talk about our schedules, except when there is something different or interesting. And I don’t control her.”

Tavish rubbed a hand on his nape, looking at the photo and seeing nothing wrong with it. “Who could possibly want to make you doubt her?”

When did you become so wise, Tavish Uilleam? Alistair looked at his brother. “Do you think it is so?”

Tavish shrugged and looked at the screen. “Do you know the number?”

“What?” He didn’t understand what Tavish meant.

Tavish shook the phone. “The number that sent you the messages. I’m certain you have requested Baptist to track it by now. Do you know it?”

“Aye, I have the number already, but nae, I went through all my contacts and MacKeenan’s, and found no one listed with this number. Why would anyone send me this?”

“I doona know. You doona know. And I bet Sophia doesn’t know either. What are you waiting for?”

Alistair looked at him and parroted, “What am I waiting for? For what?”

Tavish rolled his eyes, thinking the messages must have addled Alistair’s brain. “Call Baptist again. Ask him to track the number to an address. And forget about labeling your wife a whore before you talk to her.”

“I’ve already set Baptist on a possible trail.” Then he scowled at Tavish. “And nae, I don’t think my wife is a whore.”

“So, go home. I’ll bet she is home playing with Gabriela or getting ready to seduce you. There’s no better place for you now, Alistair Connor. By the way, donna be an asshole. My promise still stands.”

“What promise?” asked Alistair befuddled.

Slowly, Tavish drew his fingertip over his slightly crooked nose. “Hurt Sophia and I will break your nose.”

* * *

Quietly, Maria opened the door to Gabriela’s room.

Without interrupting the story she was telling her daughter, Sophia lifted her eyelids. Everyone in the house knew story time was a special moment, reserved for the family to be alone. Surely something very serious had happened, since both Maria and Aisha were outside.

Maria motioned with her head and mouthed, “Mr. MacCraig.”

No. Sophia felt a sharp throb of fear inside her and wrapped up the story with a few words. She planted a kiss on Gabriela’s cheek and said, “Alistair has arrived and needs me downstairs. I have to go, all right?”

“Can Maria tell me another story?” asked the little girl.

“Yes, but just one, okay?” Sophia smiled at Gabriela. “Good night, my angel.”

Gabriela smiled back. “Nite, Mama. Kiss Daddy good-night too.”

As soon as Sophia stepped outside the bedroom, Maria said, “Mr. MacCraig arrived, changed clothes, and went to the pool.”

Sophia’s forehead creased. “And?” Why didn’t he come up to see Gabriela?

Maria eyed Aisha, who answered, “I was waiting to see if he wanted a snack before dinner. He…he looked at me for a moment as if I wasn’t there, thanked me, and went downstairs, saying he was going for a swim and didn’t want to be interrupted. Mrs. MacCraig, he didn’t look well.”

* * *

Alistair’s laps were quick, yet regular. Swimming always felt right to him. He had learned to swim before he learned to walk. His father took him to the freezing lochs and he loved splashing his mother, who screamed and feigned dying of cold. As he grew older, the immersed silence along with the timely strong laps and kicks usually unknotted his muscles and emptied his mind of the small details and problems, making him focus on the bigger picture.

But tonight, his muscles had yet to unknot. The fury, the fear, and the angst he had experienced when he saw that photo hadn’t faded. It was like a disease eating at him, demanding he get Sophia far away from any chance of being hurt.

Deep down, at a cellular level, he knew he could not control everything and was just capable of doing so much.

And deeper still, his primeval instincts were jerking at his need to dominate. Irrationally, all he wanted to do was grab her, hold her, and never let go. Make love to her until they were both tired and sated; until their scents mingled together, branding her as she was already imprinted all over him. It was consuming him with such an intensity that even though he knew he should resist it, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

She was too beautiful.

She was too sweet.

She was a force field that inexorably pulled him in.

As he executed his turn with perfection, pushing against the pool wall, a word superseded all other thoughts. Mine. She is mine.

* * *

Sophia paused at the top of the stairs admiring her husband’s body. When he swam at home, Alistair used smaller trunks that fit snuggly around his lean hips. She always enjoyed the sight while she worked out in the mornings.

His muscles surged and bulged, as water sluiced around his skin. His wet black hair gleamed bluish and the jagged ends caressed his neck. Strong arms and long legs matched his broad back well. He was not overly-muscled, but well-defined and there was an underlying strength and power that could not be overlooked.

She closed the door and climbed down the steps, her bare feet making no sound. She didn’t want to disturb him. Nonetheless, she wanted to be there if he needed her.

As soon as she sat crossed legged on the pool’s edge, perfectly tuned to her, he stopped and surfaced.

He was so tall that, in the middle of the pool, his shoulders and his pectorals were out of the water.

Sophia’s mouth went dry. The look in his gaze made her freeze; his eyes were gleaming in a mix of anger, desire, fear, and wildness.

For Alistair, anger was easier to deal with than the hurt of another loss. But he didn’t know exactly whom his anger was directed to: the message sender for jumbling his thoughts; Sophia for having lunch with Ethan; or himself for even a split second of doubting her.

A few locks fell over Alistair’s forehead and eyes as he shook his head forcefully to straighten his thoughts.

It took him just one look to make her body tingle all over; to make her desire him with all her might. He robbed the air from her lungs. Sophia’s hands itched to open her dress, to dive in to meet him, and make love to him right then and there.

He was looking too hot.

He was looking too sexy.

Alistair walked the distance between them, studying her face and her posture, legs crossed, hands on her knees, and a welcoming smile on her face. He watched as she parted her lips, her breathing speeding.

“Hi,” she whispered huskily when he reached her.

He was too shattered to think straight, much less talk. He picked her up by the waist and pulled her into the pool.

“My dress,” Sophia gasped, surprised.

Fuck the dress. Fuck everything.

She grasped his biceps and looked up at his face, trying to understand what was going on.

He backed her onto the pool wall, while she wrapped her legs around his waist. Their eyes were locked on each other.

He towered over her, as intense and savage as only he could be, making her feel small and delicate in comparison, surrounded by his utter maleness. She felt trapped and she wanted to stay in his cage forever.

Alistair watched her, enraptured. There was so much love sparkling on her face that he closed his eyes and lowered his head to take her mouth with the urgency of a starving man and the softness of an experienced lover, biting her bottom lip and then licking it with the tip of his tongue as he untied her dress and untangled it from her legs.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, fisting his hair in her hands, as she paired his kiss with one of hers.

He tried to slow things down, but she began to writhe against his arousal, lost to the sensations.

She nipped at his bottom lip and he growled, “Harder.”

He gently kneaded her breast with one hand, his grip on her buttocks strong, too strong, but just like before she didn’t seem to mind the incongruence of his touches.

For her, he had this powerful quiet command. As if when he was around, the whole universe, her included, answered to him.

Her back arched, pressing her lower body more firmly against his.

He found a measure of release when his erection pressed against her. But in seconds, it became a deeper need. His hands seized her lacy panties. “Rip?”

“Please,” she rasped.

“I like that word on your mouth.” His blood was set aflame by her eagerness and he ripped the delicate strips of her panties, pushing them back.

He buried his face in her neck, kissing her throat and moving up to bite her earlobe. Her intoxicating taste invaded his veins. He groaned and she slanted her head, giving him room to explore.

Ear shell, lobe, neck, shoulder, collar bone. When he tried to sit her on the edge to feast on her, Sophia’s arms and legs tightened around him.

“Now,” she murmured in his ear, as she tugged hard at his hair, moving his head down to the other side of her neck. “Rough and fast.”

“Hold,” he ordered. In a split second, he lowered his trunks and moved his hips up, putting just the head of his penis in. He shuddered with the intensity of the pleasure.

She moaned breathlessly as she bit his shoulder and raked her nails on his back to dig them into his waist. “Don’t hold back.”

He licked the cord of her neck and pushed shallowly. He slid backward, and she squeezed at him, trying to hold him inside.

Sophia pulled his head back by his hair and hissed, “Don’t. Hold. Back.”

It was a good pain that he was getting addicted to. Taking her mouth, he slammed forward, giving her more, harder. His need for her now was too great to be leashed and Sophia liked it just as it was.

“Ah, Sophia! You feel so good,” he grunted as his mouth followed the line of her chin to lick at her neck.

“Ah, yes. Meu amor, eu te amo,” she declared, moaning her need out loud, shuddering with release and still begging for more. “Love me. Take me.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” He utterly ravaged her, taking and giving back. When he knew she couldn’t resist anymore, he raised his head to watch her.

He saw Sophia throw her head back with a broken cry of delight, a rapturous look on her face.

He saw his freedom, his love, his everything.

He saw his paradise.

The pleasure utterly consumed him and he thrust once more and her name left his mouth as his sublime satisfaction reached its peak.

Leaving him drained.

Sated.

Awed.

* * *

She kissed the hammering pulse at the base of his neck and combed his silky hair, enjoying the feel of it. Alistair was a powerful and insatiable man. Just right for her: dominant, sensual, extremely vocal, and slightly kinky.

“Husband?”

I never tire of hearing that. “Yes, Wife?”

“What happened?”

Fuck! He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if in pain, asking hoarsely, “How do you do this to me?”

“Do what?” she asked in a whisper, almost afraid of what he was going to say.

“Make me want you, despite everything.” He had forgotten about the messages, about the photo. He had forgotten his fear, doubt, and anger.

Despite everything? Sophia heard only those two words. What is everything?

“I’m a disaster,” he said hollowly.

“Well.” She smiled making things light. “Now that you’ve said it, I can confess. Yep, you’re a disaster. You ruined my dress. And what should I say about my sanity?”

He had to tell her the truth about what happened and explain everything. He’d already withheld information once and she ran away. Will she think less of me for doubting her even for a heartbeat? How could she no’?

What the hell happened? She peered at him and decided for another course of action. “Aren’t you hungry, Alistair Connor? I am. Famished.”

He had made too many mistakes to make another. He wanted her protected and their marriage cemented with trust.

He gave her a smile. “So, let’s go up, shower, and feed you.”

* * *

* * *

* * *