Love Entwined (2 page)

Expensive junk jewelry.

She slumped on the loveseat opposite the glass panel. The late February snowstorm obstructed the view of the Manhattan skyline. The weather mimicked her mood as the wind howled and rattled the floor-to-ceiling windowpanes.

She didn’t know how to proceed on this tasteless journey. She knew flowing lines and rich colors, icicle necklaces that dripped on bare shoulders with the perfect gown. Earrings that made her clients want to walk around in a Grecian bun with trailing curls down their backs every day of the week. Jewelry that evoked desire.

Sighing, she pulled the barrette from her hair. Massaging her temples, she tried her best to rub away three months’ worth of angst.

Three months of
him
.

Last night, she dreamed they were in a ship’s cabin. Her dream lover rocked her as gently as the ship swayed. His eyes were the color of a storm-tossed ocean when he slid his hand between her thighs. The warm glow of the lantern on his chest illuminated black curls that created a delicious sensation against her breasts. Her lips caressed his shoulder when he covered her. She’d smelled the ocean on his hot skin…“
Âme Soeur.”

Something inside her knew this man.

Amelie wiped a thin sheen of sweat from her upper lip. Leaning over the coffee table, she pulled a blood red rose from the vase. She managed to find the most extraordinary roses in winter, a consolation prize for living in her office with sketches and the marketing guys for weeks.

The yellow taxis below on Park Avenue plowed their way through the snow. Inhaling the rose’s heady perfume, she shook off a disturbing insight.

She could almost believe there wasn’t anything going on here a little sleep wouldn’t cure. She was under tremendous pressure right now and
he
was a fantasy, a message from her subconscious.

All work and no play makes for a dull Amelie…

But she couldn’t help feeling as if she were perched on the edge of a deep chasm and it would swallow her whole if she made the wrong move.

Oui
, she was a workaholic, but it was because she loved the designs. She could not fall in love with Sweet Life.

I can’t do this.

It would not sit well with Harold, but he’d have to get one of the other designers to take the account. They were welcome to her preliminary drawings.

If Harold pressed her on the matter, she might consider a move to one of the other houses that barely concealed their attempts to steal her away from Penrods. It would put her back to square one, being the new kid on the block, but it was better than tarnishing her reputation with junk jewelry.

Amelie turned on her heel and started toward Harold’s corner suite.

* * * *

“Amelie, I was just calling you. Harold wants to see you in his office.”

Amelie came to an abrupt stop in front of the closed door and swiveled toward Suzie, who sat back in her chair and blinked.

“Good, I want to see him, too.” She pushed the door open, and walked right up to Harold’s desk.

“I am sorry Harold, but I can’t do the Sweet Life…”

“Amelie Laurent, may I introduce you to Roman Cardiff.” Harold gestured toward the Burberry divan in the corner.

She closed her mouth and turned, hand extended. The apology died on her lips.

Dieu.
He was a Greek god in a dark tailored suit. Very tall. Different in reality. Cooler than she expected. There was arrogance in his square jaw. His aquiline nose and thick, black brows made him look like a predator.

His expression would have seemed harsh except for the warmth of the sky blue gaze traveling slowly up her body. The eyes gave his features a seraphim quality. They leisurely toured the peachy-pink lacquered toenails peeking through the front of her navy pumps, and then moved up the curve of her hips. She felt those eyes like a puff of warm breath when they grazed the swell of her breasts above the white silk blouse.

She was an innocent doe being circled by a panther that was higher up on the food chain and more resourceful.

Clearly, he wanted to take a bite out of her. His imperial stance said it was his due. His nostrils flared as he inhaled her scent.

Amelie looked down at the large hand holding hers. Warm, like a glove.

Finally, his gaze met hers.

She did not move, but something sinful shivered inside her. It was the part of her who knew this man. But these feelings weren’t hers—they belonged to that other woman. The one who waited for him at night in her bedroom.

He is real.
But he could not be her dream lover.

With an unholy smile, Mr. Cardiff lifted her hand. Full lips moved over her skin in a warm caress, and she was filled with craving.

She jolted out of her reverie, tried to pull away, but he held her there. Her hand relaxed in his.

Stop this, you don’t know him!

The god nodded ever so slightly, as if he’d come to a decision.

She exhaled. He would stop now.

Gently, he let go of her hand and it fell to her side.

“Ms. Laurent, it is my pleasure to meet you.” The low timbre of his accented English curled her peachy-pink colored toes.

She couldn’t speak. He did not know her.

Of course, he could not know what happened at night in her bedroom. It was the bold lust in his eyes that made it seem as if he did.

She averted her gaze so he would not see the truth of those nights in her eyes.

“Mr. Cardiff,” she whispered. Her heart was beating so fast, she was afraid she would embarrass herself and break out in a cold sweat.

Calm down.

“Please, call me Roman.”

She could think of a million reasons why she should not. There was that predatory smile again.

“Roman has commissioned Penrods to collaborate on the new Cardiff collection.”

She turned toward the voice and her tunnel vision broadened. Harold was still in the room.

Ah, yes, Cardiff Jewels in England…

Giles Cardiff had a stroke last year. Roman Cardiff was the owner of the company now that his father had passed away. Talk about old money. Cardiff Jewels remained one of the most successful corporations in the business. It had a stronghold on the market, and showed no signs of weakening its grip.

Until now, she had never encountered any of the Cardiffs. She knew their specific production requirements, which were relayed through Harold to the design department.

I have been carrying on with this hunk in my dreams.

Now that the man had infiltrated the real world, left her apartment and come out in the light of day, it was clear she had been dreaming. This man had a name, a very well known name, and a life. He had been born to a jewel dynasty. He was not a phantom.

Mr. Cardiff’s eyes burned into hers. There wasn’t anything angelic about them now. She felt naked.
Focus.
He was saying something.

“…and I would like you to work on the designs.”

“Me?” She asked.
Breathe.
She fought to regain her equilibrium. It wasn’t working.

“Yes and the timing is perfect, now that you’re no longer working on that other project.” With a smug smile, Harold came out from behind his desk to stand between them.

She needed some breathing room and stepped away from Mr. Cardiff. She was still close enough to hear him chuckle under his breath.

She frowned at him. Was he making fun of her? No, what she read in his eyes was a challenge.

He gave her a repentant grin.

Maybe it was three months of pent up anger at being—for lack of a better word—manipulated in her home. Or, maybe it was three months of the best sex—real or imagined—she’d ever had in her life with a phantom who chose to introduce himself at this very inconvenient time when she was trying to quit her exhausting job. It was also just as likely the fact that her warm and generous dream lover was actually a pampered and conceited heir who probably had more woman than the time required to service them. Whatever the reason, she had reached her limit.

She faced Mr. Cardiff. Folding her arms, she acknowledged what had passed between them and accepted his dare. “It would be my pleasure.”

Harold gave her an odd look and guided her to the divan as if she needed some guidance, which only served to irk her more. “You will be in good hands with Amelie. Did you know that she was lead designer behind Bijou’s Artisan Collection?”

“I had no idea.” There was a slight edge to Mr. Cardiff’s tone, but it was nothing compared to the arrogance that frosted his eyes. “And how is our old friend Garamonde?”

Was it possible to hate someone at first sight?

“Still old, I suppose.”

Harold coughed, and she refused to look at him. She would stare Mr. Cardiff down until closing time, if need be.

As quickly as his eyes had frosted, they warmed up again with amusement.

She could not quell the sinking feeling she had lost control of the situation. She suspected it had never been in her possession in the first place. But now that the fateful words of acceptance were out of her mouth, the wind went out of her sails.

Mr. Cardiff smiled as smoothly as he had just engineered this desired outcome. He sat down on the other end of the sofa and stretched long, muscular legs out. They nearly reached the desk Harold leaned against. A swimmer’s physique, she thought and then shut that errant thought down as quickly as it had surfaced. “Excellent,” he said. “When will you be ready to leave for St. Clair Manor?”

“Mr. Cardiff, this is highly irregular. I cannot be contracted out…” She looked at Harold.

He shrugged.

She schooled her voice back to a modicum of professionalism.

“Mr. Cardiff, we have everything we need here at Penrods to do the job. I can forward the sketches to you in just a few weeks’ time.”

Harold cleared his throat and belatedly, she realized what he was going to say.

“Actually, Amelie, we are also contracted for a refurbishment project.”

Merde
, it would take months.

She had gone from the verge of resigning her position to yet another commitment, to
him
, no less.

Still, she had been cornered by powerful men before. Men who were born with advantage in the corporate sector. Men who obtained everything they wanted and many things they didn’t, without even trying.

Some men, she snorted inwardly, don’t deserve the women they have. Or had. But she’d promised herself she would not think about Emil Garamonde anymore. As much as it hurt to know she’d lost control with Emil, she had finally convinced herself that what happened between them was a normal, human mistake. It was okay to make mistakes as long as you learn from them. And, oh, how she’d learned. She would never let her guard down again.

Mr. Cardiff’s good looks hardened her resolve. She tried again to dissuade him from this kidnapping Harold was consenting to because this time she wanted to win. She put cold steel in her voice.

“Another few weeks, and the jewels will be safe here in our vault while I work on them.”

His chiding chuckle said they were both aware he had her. It made her feel chastened, but it also made her legs weak with an unwelcome tremor of desire.

The handsome devil had dimples to boot.

“Ms. Laurent, I am afraid that is impossible. The Cardiff collection never leaves St. Clair Manor. I’m sure you will find our facilities more than adequate. As for the sketches, I will need to work closely with you on concepts.” His eyes raked her form again. “I am very hands-on.”

Her legs did give way then. She sat down on the divan.
How could I have ever thought his smile was angelic?

She kept silent while Harold discussed details with Mr. Cardiff.

Not only was she still employed with Penrods, but she would be for months more. She toyed with the notion of recommending someone else for the assignment, and then gave it up. It was one thing to leave Penrods. She had offers from other fine houses, which ensured she would be back at work creating designs after a few weeks of vacation. However, turning down the Cardiff assignment would close some of those doors to her. It was the equivalent of taking a step down on her careful ladder of success.

When Mr. Cardiff stood to shake hands with Harold, his eyes were on her.

Amelie could not smile at him, but managed a nod in farewell.

It was done—she was going to England.

New York City – February 1988

Roman sat in the back of the limo as it snaked its way through traffic on Fifth Avenue.

There was undeniable attraction between them. She must have felt it, too. He saw when the realization came to her. Her expressive features had closed into a mask of professionalism. She wanted to pretend this would be a business relationship. But when he wanted something as much as he wanted Amelie Laurent, it was only a matter of time. He would play her game until she was more comfortable with her conscience.

He had never seen her at Penrods before. If he had, she would not be there, but waiting for him at home, naked in his bed. She wouldn’t think him such a stranger then.

Terrence, his limo driver, opened the passenger door.

Roman stepped out into the billowing snow and walked up the steps to the St. Regis Hotel.

Ms. Laurent had been angry about something—her perky little nose arched up and her accent was thicker in her fury. Her pouty lips had turned down and her high cheekbones flushed in sweet defiance. Eyes the color of emeralds glinted in what he could only describe as alarm.

He had wanted to comfort her in that moment, to kiss away her distress. Instead, remembering where they were, he let her hand go, thinking,
Yes, Beauty, you are right; too soon.

Now he knew why those beautiful eyes had widened in alarm. Ms. Laurent was in league with his enemies, the Garamondes. She thought he had come to expose the uncanny similarities between her jewelry designs and those of eighteenth century Cardiff Jewelers.

He would have exposed her, he’d been so angry, but something had stopped him. She was younger than he expected. He thought to find a seasoned veteran of the art, someone familiar with period pieces. Her skill level was amazing for one who must have been out of university just a couple of years.