Love Entwined (3 page)

Roman stepped into the penthouse elevator. Help from the Garamondes would have that effect on her designs.

He jabbed at the elevator button, wondering if she had been involved in last year’s patent ownership mess with the Garamondes. That cost him a pretty penny.

Well, she would have no help but him at St. Clair Manor, and then he’d see just how skilled an artist she was.

He planned only to meet with Ms. Laurent to discuss concepts for the new line, but Harold’s boast about her work with the Garamondes made that impossible. Though her trip to England could have waited until preliminary sketches were completed, he had no qualms about taking her away where he could watch her closely. He wanted no interruptions as he found out just how far the Garamondes had taken this sham.

Ms. Laurent would not turn down this assignment. This was exactly the type of work she wanted. Why he knew this about her was just as intriguing as Amelie Laurent herself.

For the most part, they would be alone at St. Clair Manor with only a handful of others for company. He had plenty of time to work on that conscience of hers.

In the penthouse suite, he threw his wool overcoat onto the settee in the hall. He dropped his tie atop the coffee table in the living room and looked out the patio sliding doors to the snow-laden trees below in Central Park.

His instincts had been right about this trip. Despite her connection to the Garamondes, Ms. Laurent inspired him. He was already getting ideas for the new collection. Inspiration was driving him to a second purpose in this design endeavor, a selfish one—the seduction of Amelie Laurent.

Roman turned on his laptop to check his emails.

New York City – February 1988

Amelie sighed in frustration. Propped up on pillows, she stared out the window into the darkness at three o’clock in the morning. It was not a dream that kept her awake this time. Her body betrayed her with a familiar yearning. She imagined him lying next to her.

Roman Cardiff. Now that she had a name to put to the face in her fantasies, she could not stop thinking about him. Why had
he
been in her dreams?

Her bed was a taunting cocoon of warmth she needed to be free of.

She padded barefoot into the kitchen for a glass of water. Leaning against the granite counter with the glass in hand, she fingered the velvety petals of the orange roses, which had arrived yesterday. Imported at a ridiculous price from Réunion, the roses were a must have after having been ordered to England. The roses were a comfort until she remembered the color signaled desire, which led her to think of
him
again.

They would be leaving for England next week. She had to quell this fear of Mr. Cardiff because she wanted this assignment. It was a chance to work on one of the most revered jewelry collections in the business. She already had some ideas for it.

She must go to England, and not just for the project. There was something about Mr. Cardiff. The time spent working with him would bring to light whatever was behind this overpowering desire.

The shadows of her apartment only served to feed her imagination. She was standing in quicksand, sinking into the dreams and soon to be lost forever in them with him…

…in the old limestone mansion across the green with its beautifully preserved façade, dotted with large bay windows…

Amelie shifted her feet on the black ceramic tile, shaking the thought out of her head. She was really losing it now, fantasizing about him and her dream house.

She turned back to the bedroom. She was a professional and would treat Roman Cardiff as she would any other client. After all, she had been known as the ice princess in college.

Snuggling under the satin comforter, her last thought before drifting into the downy ether of sleep was that she may have been the ice princess then, but she certainly could not claim the title now. Roman Cardiff, a man she knew very well in her dreams, had awakened dormant desire.

* * * *

Amelie’s office was as busy as Grand Central Station. Co-workers came in with last minute design dilemmas and project deadlines. Through the melee, she managed to finish packing the various drawing tools, paints and brushes away in their crates with care.

“The partners are very interested in seeing the fruits of your labor.” Harold Jarvis stood in the doorway. He pushed horn-rimmed spectacles further up his nose with a self-satisfied smile and sat down on the divan.

“Yes, I know…” she began. He landed an even bigger fish than Sweet Life this time. “Thank you for turning the Sweet Life project over to Dora.”

“Ah, about that. I know nouveau riche jewelry isn’t your style, but you have gathered a following. You were specifically requested by Sweet Life.”

Envisioning the Cardiff assignment slipping away from her and a return to Trashy Hell, Amelie straightened from the box she was packing. “I know Dora will run with the idea.”

“Yes, yes,” Harold waved a dismissing hand through the air and walked to the glass panel. “Dora is a walking advertisement for what the Sweet Life executives want. But your designs are what sealed the deal.”

“You mean my preliminary sketches? But I couldn’t get them right, they were…”

“Exactly what Sweet Life wants.”

She sat down at her desk. “Harold…”

“Do you know your portfolios are the primary marketing tool for Penrods?” Harold flicked a non-existent bit of lint from the cuff of his monogrammed shirt. “When I make Penrods the source for the young market revenue will increase ten-fold. The partners will be astounded.” He turned to face her. “Another opportunity to shine is upon us, Amelie.”

She could not speak and stared at him, waiting to be banished to Trashy Hell.

“Now, Dora has your sketches and will complete the assignment. May I count on your full cooperation should her enthusiastic designs need a bit of reigning in?”

“Of course,” she exhaled. She had nothing to worry about, after all. Dora would do everything in her power to manage without her.

“I think taking this trip to England will do you good. Have you and Roman Cardiff met before?”

“No, never.”
Only in my dreams.

Harold focused on her from behind the spectacles as one scrutinizing a specimen through a magnifying glass.

She braced herself for a long lecture on client relations.

“There is a bit of an undercurrent between you. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“I can assure you I will be the ultimate professional and give Roman Cardiff exactly what he is looking for.”
I just pray I’m not it.

When Harold left, she returned to packing boxes. To the naked eye, Mr. Cardiff’s deportment in Harold’s office had been all business. But she remembered his indigo gaze, dark with desire, making it known just what he wanted.

She took a deep, calming breath. She was doing it again, getting all worked up over nothing. Lately it seemed her emotions jumped from one extreme to another, fury and desire.

The man was the owner of an enormous operation and probably worked eighty hours on a good week to maintain it. Contrary to what his parting salvo would have her believe, he had to be too busy to pay her any mind in England. There would be no “hands-on” anything.

Mr. Cardiff had invited her to dinner tonight to discuss the assignment and she would bring along some sketches to show him what she envisioned for his collection.

She focused on that to banish her worries. The series of drawings practically flowed from her hand of their own volition. Her artistic inspiration finally returned to her, and she knew the designs would please Mr. Cardiff. She taped up a box of easels and pads.

“Well, it seems I have a new partner in crime.” Nigel Graham leaned against the doorframe of her office with his arms folded. He was impeccably dressed as always in a blue pinstripe suit. His obsidian gaze chided her as a deserter. Those eyes brought defining substance to a light complexion, enhancing his fair good looks.

“Nigel, thank you for your help with the Sweet Life project,” she said. “I really like what you’ve done with the campaign. Dora is very lucky to have your input.”

Nigel strode into the room and took a box of paints from her, placing it on top of a crate by the door. “I hope she feels that way. But I don’t want her, I want you.”

She laughed. “Don’t let her get to you with those manipulative antics. If anyone can class up her act, it’s you.”

“So you’re off to England, then.” He helped her place a white board against the wall for the shippers to send to her later. “My dear, there is so much we can do here, together. Don’t leave me alone with Dora.”

“Oh, you can handle her.”

“How much do you know about Roman Cardiff?”

Nigel’s candidness was familiar to her after working with him these past few months, but the concern in his voice surprised her.

“His family’s design firm is one of the most sought after contracts in the business,” she said. “He can’t be all bad.” She shook a lamp-lit vision of tangled arms and legs out of her mind.

“No, as a matter of fact, I hear he’s not at all bad as a ladies’ man.”

She caught herself before asking what he knew about Roman Cardiff. She refused to discuss her concerns about the jeweler’s reputation with Nigel. A nagging thought that maybe she should have checked into it before she accepted the assignment came to mind.

What am I worried about? I will never get involved with another playboy again.

“I’ve been hired to work on the collection, Nigel. I’m sure girlfriends in North Yorkshire come much cheaper than the amount of money Mr. Cardiff is spending on this assignment.” She managed a laugh, but she didn’t feel it in her heart. She felt like an offering to the Jewel God.

Nigel was right, after all, she was going to be sequestered with Mr. Cardiff on his estate with nothing but rolling hills and dales around for miles.

Nigel’s patronizing smile said there was never a cozier setting contrived. “Well, he’s certainly getting his money’s worth. You’re one of the best.” He waved and left her office.

Amelie’s smiled faltered as she wondered if that was a compliment or a sugarcoated warning.

New York City – February 1988

“Ms. Laurent, do you know what the word of the day is?” The security guard stood next to the granite counter in the lobby.

“No, Johnny.” The smile Amelie Laurent gave the guard transformed her nervousness into a sexy quirk of full red lips.

“Happiness.” The guard pointed toward the center of the lobby where Roman stood by the water fountain.

Ms. Laurent took a deep breath and started toward him.

Roman smiled at the conscientious designer ready to do business. Let her think that if it would help her get through the evening.

Tonight was the first step in the seduction of Amelie Laurent. He was planning on loosening those milky white shoulders she squared.

He brought her hand to his lips. “Ms. Laurent, you look beautiful tonight.” Her perfume reminded him of the sultry blooms in his mother’s garden. Her body was wrapped in a black silk halter-top dress. An emerald pendant nestled between breasts his fingers itched to touch, and emeralds dangled from her ears. The gold filigreed scrollwork was unmistakable, the Cardiff collection, circa early 1800s. “Your design?” he asked.

“Yes.” Ms. Laurent’s eyes followed his to her cleavage and she smiled. “Do you like them?”

“Lovely.” He murmured, watching the flush that crept over the succulent fruit before him.

He guided her out the revolving glass door.

She was good, this one. The jewels were a blatant reproduction, but that wasn’t the reason he needed some air. If she knew what he wanted to do to her right now, she would make a run for the elevator. The way he was feeling, he would definitely enjoy the chase.

He cleared his throat. He had to pace himself; this was a dinner meeting. He was just priming her tonight. The seduction would not start until they reached England.

He helped her into the rented silver Jaguar at the curb and pulled out into the Friday evening traffic.

“You know your way around the city very well, Mr. Cardiff. Do you come to New York often?”

“I have an office not far from Penrods. I had a few meetings in town this week; tying up loose ends for the new campaign,” he said. “You know I’m staying just across the Park from you at the St. Regis.”

“How wonderful for you, Mr. Cardiff.”

“Oh, come now, we’re practically neighbors Amelie. Can’t you find it in your heart to call me by my given name?”

She laughed at his woeful tone, but didn’t call him by his given name.

An attendant took the car and they entered the Russian Tea Room. They were seated in a quiet alcove where strains of Brahms floated through from the main dining area.

Amelie ignored the romantic setting and sat down with her back ramrod straight. She could have been attending a monthly staff meeting, waiting patiently to present her ideas. Until she began to talk about her plans for the collection. During dinner, her cheeks flushed a warm rosé when she spoke of the older jewelry settings.

She dipped her spoon into the chocolate mousse and he watched enthralled as those luscious lips covered the silverware. When a dot of chocolate clung to her upper lip, she licked the bit of sweetness away.

He caught a glimpse of her tongue and her words receded into the background.

Damned if his tongue wasn’t lagging out of his mouth like Khan’s on a summer day in North Yorkshire. If he didn’t get himself under control, he was liable to take her right here on the table with the chandelier glinting dappled light and reflecting rainbow patterns on her creamy bare breasts…He choked on his ice cream.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes. Tell me, what do you think of mixing older period settings with modern cuts?” He already knew the answer but he liked the way her eyes gleamed when she spoke of the jewels.

* * * *

They were parked at the curb on Madison Avenue when Amelie remembered the sketches in the back seat of the car.