Journey in Time (Knights in Time) (6 page)

"I can’t." She made no move to step away.

"You will, one day." Alex straightened and released her.

Wits muddled, she stood anchored, savoring the coffee tinged taste of him that lingered. She still felt the seductive skim of his mouth on her skin after he winked and dashed out.
  

 
Giddy and a little dazed, Shakira hit the play button on the portable CD player. After fast-forwarding, Bobby Hatfield of The Righteous Brothers came on with the opening bar of
Unchained Melody.
She hummed along and watched the driveway of the building’s carpark from her second floor window, uncertain what he drove. A lustrous Lamborghini Murcielago the color of mercury stopped at the apron of the exit. Shakira knew the model. The exotic car dealership on Park Lane displayed a dark blue version in the showroom. She admired the elegant car every time she walked past on her way to the office from the Underground.

The door to the Lamborghini opened and Alex stepped out. He propped one leg on the bottom of the doorframe. He looked up and made a grand show of bowing like she was the Queen. She should be embarrassed he knew she’d be at her window but she wasn’t. She smiled and waved back like a royal, with the funny flipping hand motion they use. He blew her a kiss and then climbed in the car and pulled into traffic.

She kept him in sight and thought about Deauville. Her favorite fictional character was a polo player in a book series she read years earlier. The story went into elaborate detail about the Deauville, the polo matches and the parties. She'd read those stories over and over. She’d visualized the horseman in every detail. Miranda mentioned Alex played polo, and the face of her fictional horseman became his.

Kristen knocked and came in. "Keeping an eye on Himself?"

     
"Guilty."

     
She sat on the corner of Shakira’s desk. "I know you’re worried about conflict of interest. But maybe, just once, you should worry less and do what you want. It’s painfully apparent you’re all googly about him."

     
Shakira shot a glance over her shoulder at Kristen then turned back to the window. "That obvious?" She slid a few feet to the right, trying to keep the Lamborghini in view.

     
“Who can blame you? He’s dishy.”

     
“It’s not that—well, it is that, but he’s more than a handsome face. He’s not full of himself. He’s confident without being obnoxious. He doesn’t talk about how important he is, like some of the men here who walk around like puffed-up pigeons. He’s...” Shakira searched for the right adjective. Pleasant sounded dull. Cheerful sounded too BBC talk showish. “He’s upbeat, in spite of the negative press he’s received over the lawsuit.”

     
“I retract my earlier description. You’re beyond googly,” Kristen said.

     
"He invited me to Deauville."

     
"You turned him down, didn’t you?" Kristen huffed. "I can tell from the tone of your voice."

     
"Yes. I’m afraid I’d spoil the weekend fretting over someone here finding out." Shakira’s forehead bumped the glass with a dull thud as his car turned out of sight.

     
"Every Monday, after a club appearance," Kristin poked the air with her finger, "you sit here on pins and needles afraid old man Wickersham is going to sack you. God forbid you dare to have fun, dare to have a life outside this place. For the sake of argument, let’s say he sacked you. With your credentials other firms would snap you up. I say, live a little. Be free."

     
"Maybe, down the road," Shakira said, on top of a long sigh.

     
"It wouldn’t hurt to see other men until that day, some nice distraction to pass the time."

     
She’d already tried the distraction route. "I have gone out with a couple of different fellows recently."

     
"Really? Who? Anyone we’ve discussed in the past?"

     
"Yes and no. Costas, the owner of that Greek restaurant you like.” Kristin’s eyes widened with interest. She’d been pushing Shakira to go out with him for weeks. "And a clerk from the Exchequer’s Office you don’t know."

     
"Sooo, how was Costas? Or as I like to think of him, tall, dark, and sure to look good lying on the beach in Mykonos."

     
"Lying on the beach or lying on you?"

     
"Whatever."

     
Shakira chuckled and plopped into her desk chair. "Good luck. Swim suits have no place for a cell phone and he’s quite attached to his. He took three calls before our dinner entrée."

     
"How rude."

     
"My feeling exactly," she said, still irked. "At least the Exchequer clerk put his cell away."

     
"What went wrong with the clerk?"

     
"Nothing, just no chemistry.

     
"You must meet men in the clubs where your band plays?"

     
"You’d think. I’m not good at chatting up men at parties, let alone strangers in clubs. I never know what to say.”
           
Kristen leaned palms down on the desk, "Looks like we’re back to my original suggestion. It’s time to put your worries aside and give Himself a chance to rock your world."

     
He already has.

Chapter Eight

     
An excited smile tugged at Alex’s lips. Shakira finally agreed to join him for a relaxed ride in the countryside. She’d see his beautiful land from atop horses bred from his stable. Her acceptance came with the expected admonishment. “This is not a date-date. We’re two friends out for a lovely ride.” Of course, he said he understood, compliance being mandatory.
 

     
She started as a challenge, then, as he grew to know her that changed. He enjoyed talking to her and looked forward to their meetings. He liked making her laugh. He respected her strength of character. She set a goal for herself and worked hard to achieve it. She’d been honest about her lack of experience regarding his case. How refreshing her candor was for someone in his business. The entertainment industry was rife with liars and prevaricators. The one thing he always came back to was honor. She saw the quality in him, believed he possessed it without tangible proof. Honor, what greater compliment can a woman give a man?

She invaded his thoughts at the oddest times. In the company of another woman, he’d catch himself comparing the two. Invariably, he found the woman he was with lacking.

     
He and Shakira were a good match. The idea of a long term affair had never appealed to him. Now he conceded it might be a nice change. It was time to kick the relationship up a gear. He shifted the Murcielago into overdrive. The low-slung car hugged the carriageway as he sped toward her house.

                                                     
#
         

“Bloody hell.” His excellent navigational skills had abandoned him. He made another u-turn and drove back down the country road at a near crawl. The small stone marker would've gone unseen, again, if a rabbit hadn't darted out and stopped next to it.
Bambury Lane
. He eyed the winding road no wider than a carriage.

Shakira’s car sat parked alongside the tiny mock Tudor house. Alex parked next to her Jag and walked up the path. Large round stepping stones dotted the walkway. Roses and geraniums in various shades of pink bordered the tidy lawn. A double set of arched leaded windows graced the front. Under them, flowers spilled from window boxes where a couple of butterflies fluttered, unaffected by Alex’s appearance.
  

Loud rock music blared from the house. After knocking several times, he tried the knob and found it unlocked. He paused in the open doorway and looked around. Shakira was nowhere in sight. Alex called out twice then stopped. He doubted she’d hear him over the music. He stepped inside and went in search of her.

A combination drawing room and dining area with a galley style kitchen made up the lower portion of the ground floor. The sedate earth tones of the drawing room weren’t colors he’d associate with Shakira. He wanted bold and bright.

The music came from the loft above. He walked around and couldn’t find the stairs to the second level. Two steps up from the living area, etched sliding glass doors led to a room he guessed was the bedroom. The loft stairs had to be off the bedroom. He slid the unusual doors open, and a visual feast greeted him.
 

Gold silk with a bronze-colored scrollwork pattern covered the bed. Large matching pillows were at the top. More tasseled pillows of beaded velvet lay scattered. Sunlight streamed through gauzy interior panels behind draperies the exact blue-red of claret wine. The bed’s soft cover flowed into a wall of the shirred silk. The diaphanous cloth was such a close shade it was difficult to tell where one or the other began and ended. No stranger to ladies bedrooms, he’d never seen one that used such fine material on a wall.

This was the room he wanted her to have, this maharani’s private chamber. The opulence could have overpowered the senses but didn’t.
 
Instead, the luxurious fabrics invited touch. He ran his fingers over a length of the bed cover. It was cool and sleek, like her skin might be on a fall day. He held a plump pillow to his nose and inhaled the faint scent of her perfume.

The plush material caressed his hand. He envisioned her lying nude and imagined his palm grazing the downy softness of her abdomen. He fantasized her cold fingers skimming her warm breasts, trailing downward to her thighs, the heat between them a welcome contradiction. Did he want her to beckon to him or lay positioned in simple suggestion, knowing he’d join her? Undecided, he let each fantasy play out.

A change in music and volume brought him back from his musings. He resumed his search and found the stairs tucked away, to the inside right of the bedroom.

The floor vibrated beneath him as the first few bars of Queen’s,
We Will Rock You,
blasted. He stepped into the doorframe of the home gym. Her back to him, Shakira slipped the pin under a short stack of weight plates.

"Shakira."

Without answering, she swung her leg over and straddled the padded bench. He came up behind her. "Shakira," he said and laid a hand on her shoulder.

She jumped and screamed. Her hand flew to her chest as she twisted around and blinked several times then smacked him on the arm. "You scared me to death. Are you crazy, sneaking up like that?"
 

"Sorry.” Alex chuckled and knelt down on one knee in front of her. "I knocked several times and came in when I heard the music. I called out."

She took a deep breath. "Don't apologize. I shouldn't have snapped. Obviously, I didn't hear you come in. I thought you said 11:00, it's only 10:00 now."

"I couldn’t wait."

Shakira’s eyes drifted over him, more than once. He appreciated her flattering attention but not as much as the scanty exercise outfit she wore. The tantalizing midriff tee shirt over spandex shorts hugged and clung in all the right places. Sweat marked the shirt at her cleavage, and her skin was damp and flushed. Stray strands of hair escaped her ponytail and stuck to her cheeks and neck.

He pressed the spot between her breasts with his fingers and dabbed at the area the perspiration had rolled down.

"I know a number of better ways to make you work up a sweat."