Journey in Time (Knights in Time)

Journey in Time

Chris Karlsen

Journey in Time

Copyright 2011-Books to Go Now

For information on the cover illustration and design, contact [email protected]

First eBook Edition –September 2011

Printed in the United States of America

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

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Chapter One

London

“It’s late. I’d like to go,” Alex said.

He avoided large events like this. He attended tonight out of obligation to a couple of his music clients who were part of the entertainment. Their performances over, he wanted to leave.

“Please, let’s stay awhile longer. Please,” Annabelle pleaded.

Next to him, she noted all the celebrities in the room. A former girlfriend, his interest in the voluptuous blonde waned months ago, but she’d badgered him into bringing her to the star-studded event. At first, he said no. She assured him she understood it wasn’t a date. She only needed an escort. He gave in. Now, he wished he hadn’t.

Flame undulated and shimmered in Alex's peripheral vision.
 
He turned. A column of coppery silk came closer, stopping just beyond his reach. In a sea of sequined black dresses and flaunted cleavage, the lustrous dress was a burning match head in a vacuum.

The material clung and swayed with the movements of the wearer. Curiosity aroused, he scanned the lady from the tip of her matching high heels to her raven colored hair. Devoid of embellishment, the elegant gown’s straight-cut neckline revealed only the woman's collarbone and the curve of her shoulders. A slit on one side ended mid-thigh where a slender leg periodically peeked out, then retreated into the shadows of the skirt.

The official photographer for the ball snapped shot after shot of various attendees, but not the lady in the fiery gown. Good, Alex thought, she's not a VIP's wife. He shifted his chair and tried to get a better view of her face. Twice, when she greeted someone, he caught her profile. Then, she continued on her path. She moved farther from sight, leaving him to guess if she was as lovely as he wanted her to be.

While Annabelle nattered away, he continued to track the mysterious lady in copper.

She stopped and spoke with an older man he’d seen before but didn’t know. They exchanged a European style kiss and her lips brushed his cheeks. After a short conversation, she gave the man a quick hug and Alex finally saw her face.

Strong, high cheekbones and a firm jaw line balanced the full mouth and drew attention away from a long, narrow nose. Darker complected than most women in the room with a natural looking tawny color to her skin, Alex wondered if she was Arabian. What words described her? Exotic? Alluring? Both.

Her gaze slid from the man to the rest of the room. Light eyes surrounded by thick black lashes fixed on him as though she’d read his thoughts and sought the author.

Heat. Instantaneous and powerful, almost tangible, Alex smiled, savoring the feeling, the rush. The women in his life, came and went, some quicker than others. All held appeal for a time. None had this meteoric effect.

Annabelle interrupted his enjoyment. She’d seen a popular footballer at another table she wanted to chat up. If things went well, “who knows,” she said with a demure shrug and left.

The orchestra played the first few notes of
Unchained Melody
. This might be his only chance to get the extraordinary woman alone. He made his way to where she stood with her back to him.

“May I have this dance?”

She turned and smiled. “Yes.”

A stranger to her, etiquette dictated a mere touch of his palm to hers. He preferred to set his own standards. He wrapped her hand in his and pressed her palm to his chest. Her brows lifted a fraction but she allowed it. Her icy fingers were a marked contrast to the heat radiating through the silk of her gown.

Stray tendrils of her hair hung in soft waves around her face and tickled his cheek and jaw. Her perfume teased the senses, faint and suggestive. He fantasized where on her body it was strongest. Had she sprayed a fine mist and walked through, or had she dabbed it behind her knees, her ears? Did she dot tiny drops along her navel and lower? He imagined those chilly fingers touching warm breasts as they left a circle of scent.

The song was half over and they still hadn’t spoken. Time was the enemy. In haste, his usually glib tongue failed him and he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Your perfume...what is it?” Alex gave himself a mental kick. He’d wanted her name not the name of some silly perfume.

“Intuition.”

An appropriate name if her intuition suggested something more than dancing with him.

Beneath the crystal chandelier, she arched a little and looked up with silvery-grey eyes. The faux candlelight formed a luminescent bead in the center of her bottom lip. On impulse, he lowered his head and brushed her mouth with a soft kiss. The kiss and the song ended simultaneously. She pulled away, studying him with an unreadable expression. Alex bent to kiss her again.

With gentle but firm pressure of her palm on his chest, she stopped him. She ran the pad of her thumb over his mouth, removing the traces of her lipstick.

“Don’t get yourself in trouble, Mr. Lancaster.”

Her eyes looked to a point beyond his shoulder. He twisted and saw Annabelle coming towards them. Before they were parted he turned to ask the mystery woman her name. She’d gone.
 

She knew him, not surprising since his picture often appeared in social and financial columns. Who was she? Intrigued, Alex determined he'd find out before the night was over.

Two hours passed and Alex had caught only a few glimpses of her as she talked to different people. Numerous times he tried to edge his way through the crush. Whenever he started to get close, she faded into the throng again. On several occasions, he was certain she'd seen him approach. The unsettling suspicion she was avoiding him flared, but he dismissed the possibility.

Earlier, Alex spotted Hassan Al-Ahmed, a Saudi business acquaintance. Hassan attended many charity events. If anyone knew her name, he would.

Alex found Hassan deep in conversation with a group of businessmen. He tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hassan, please excuse the interruption, may I have a moment, in private, please?”

They moved to a corner of the room.

“What can I do for you my friend?” Hassan asked.

“There’s a lady in a copper dress here tonight, tall with black hair, looks a bit Middle Eastern--” Alex glanced around the room. “I don’t see her at the moment.”

“I know the woman you mean.”

“Do you know her name by chance?”

Hassan shook his head. “Sorry. She attends these affairs on occasion but we’ve never been introduced."

"Didn't she tell you her name when you danced?"

"I didn't ask her when I had the chance." Hassan arched
a you must be losing your touch
, brow. Alex had no desire to go into a lengthy explanation. "Stupid. I know."

"I can tell you this. She always comes alone to these functions and always leaves close to midnight, rather like your Cinderella, yes?"

Alex nodded. "Except I'm not going to rely on her losing a shoe. I intend to catch the lady before she leaves."

"She’s an elusive creature. You might find it easier to catch the wind. I wish you luck."
 

It was almost midnight. The crowd had thinned to clusters of small groups near the dais. Alex scouted the best location to watch for his mystery woman. The end of the bar offered a view of the exit doors so he positioned himself in a shadowed area. On cue, the lady made her way towards the doors and into his line of sight.

He made his move. Half way to the exit, Arthur Snoad, a musician's agent, intercepted him. "Alex, we need to talk."

While Arthur rambled on about bad distribution policies, the doors opened briefly to reveal the lady standing at the curb.

Alex dodged more of Arthur’s tedious questions and suggestions. "I'll consider your ideas. Call me Monday," he offered before he broke off and shot out the exit. He caught a whiff of Intuition and a flash of shiny skirt as the door to the limousine closed. Had she seen him? The darkened windows made it impossible to tell.

Who are you?

Chapter Two

“You have to meet Ian’s best friend, Alex,” Miranda said.

“I’d rather not,” Shakira said.

“Why? He’s smart, witty and dishy. You two would get on famously.”

“Alex Lancaster and I already met, sort of. Once was enough.”

“When did you meet?” Miranda couldn’t believe Shakira hadn’t mentioned it sooner. “What do you mean, once was enough?”

“It’s not important.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Forget it. We met. I didn’t like him. I find him offensive. End of story. All that matters is, he’s nice to you and you like him. My opinion is personal and has no bearing on your feelings toward the man.”

“Shake, I know him. If he offended you, I guarantee it wasn’t intentional.”

“Can we talk about something else? Are you and Ian coming to our show this weekend?” Shakira asked.