Love Entwined (4 page)

“What have you got there?” Mr. Cardiff asked.

“I wanted to show you some preliminary sketches at dinner but I left them here. I think you’ll find they are similar to what we discussed.”

Mr. Cardiff reached for them. “Let’s have a look.”

“It is too dark in here to appreciate what they can be.”

“We can go up to your apartment. You do have lights in your apartment, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

In her present state of mind, she could almost believe if Mr. Cardiff came into her apartment he might leave some imprint of himself behind, and the dreams would start anew. She might never be able to sleep in her apartment again.

Don’t be a fool; he’s a man, not a ghost.

“All right.” She nodded. “It won’t take more than a few minutes. I’ll show you the sketches and then you can leave.”

Roman Cardiff’s dark brow lifted. “You can be very sweet when the mood takes you.” He came around to the passenger side door and opened it for her.

Inside the apartment, he followed her down the wood-paneled hallway to the living room.

She would not offer him anything to drink. She had to remember this was business and didn’t want him getting any ideas.

Amelie sat down on the red leather couch and he sat next to her, close, with his rock hard thigh touching hers. She went still when he stretched, leaning his arms on the back of the couch in the way of a man who made his surroundings adapt to his needs. He was comfortable here. For a moment, she thought those arms were going to surround her in a sheltering embrace and wondered briefly if he was having the same dreams she enjoyed at night. She ignored the thrill that shot up her leg.

Opening the sketchpad to the first page, she focused on the sketches she’d drawn and was already so proud of. He would love them. “I think the canary diamond with sapphire accents is very dramatic set in yellow gold.” She flipped through several pages, pausing to give him time to imagine what she saw so clearly in her mind. The man who stumped her with an answer to everything had become very still. Mr. Cardiff was staring at the sketches. “You don’t like them?”

“Where did you get these?” he asked.

“I drew them.”

Mr. Cardiff picked up the sketchpad. “You mean you created them?”

“But of course I created them. They are mine.”

“Do you remember ever seeing anything that may have given you the idea?” Now he was staring at her.

She stood up. “
Mon Dieu!
I do not copy designs.”

Mr. Cardiff stood and took her by the shoulders. “It’s just that these designs look so much like the family heirlooms.”

“How dare you accuse me of this?”

“Amelie.” Mr. Cardiff rubbed warmth up and down her arms with large, but gentle hands. Goose bumps rose where he touched her.

“No.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” His hands stroked her bare back, and she shivered. “Amelie.”

She closed her eyes at his deep, soothing tone and there was a moment of vertigo when his hands moved around her waist, drawing her closer. She could feel him lean toward her, knew his lips hovered over hers, beckoning. She was on the edge of a cliff, where her fantasies waited so far below. One move and she would be in her dream, in that lamp-lit cabin. If she lifted her chin, their lips would meet, and she would fall.

She tilted her chin up. Mr. Cardiff did the rest.

Warm, full lips moved over hers in that confident ownership that was in his every move. She leaned in to the languorous slide of his tongue against hers. This was her dream.

She looked into his eyes and Mr. Cardiff picked her up against his chest. Her legs dangled in the air as his mouth traveled over her, suckling her neck, licking the cleft in her collarbone, searching, and finally finding the sensitive spot between her breasts.

It seemed he was trying to reach her soul. He did.

She fell over the cliff’s edge.

Running her fingers through his hair, she pulled his face up to kiss his dimples, his cleft chin and finally his mouth. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, he groaned.

Opening the fourth shirt button, her lips were finally able to brush the black curls on his chest. “
Mon cher
.”

He cupped her bottom in his hands and ground into her. The rough wool fabric of his pants slammed against her wetness like a battering ram again and again, her black silk panties were no barrier to his attentions. He was large and hard and if felt so good that her moans became urgent whimpers against his cheek as he drove her higher and higher.

“Yes, that’s it,” her phantom lover urged.

She was riding the crest of a wave, it was overtaking her and suddenly the wave broke over her in a wash of light.

“
Capitaine
.” She gripped his arms as the exquisite release took her. When the wave receded, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder to catch her breath. Her phantom lover smelled of early morning on the sea. She leaned back and his eyes came into focus.

Mr. Cardiff’s eyes.

She slapped him across the face. “Release me!”

His eyes were two blue flames now, but it wasn’t anger flaring in them—it was passion.

This man and her phantom lover could not be the same. Yet, she could not deny that she and Roman Cardiff were somehow connected.

They stared at each other, two opponents taking each other’s measure with her legs still locked around his waist.

Just as she was about to release him, he gathered her to his chest and walked out of the living room and down the hall.

Shaken by the raw desire between them, she could not protest.

Roman laid her on the bed and then sat on the edge.

She looked everywhere but at his face while her breathing calmed. He smoothed her hair out on the pillow and then kissed her. A hungry nip defied her slap and spoke volumes for his unsatisfied appetite. He really was a predator.

‘He will never be controlled,’ an appreciative voice inside her said. It was the voice of the woman she became in her dreams.

“This was inevitable, Beauty, you know that, don’t you?” His expression was unreadable. It rattled her as much as his easy tone that said this act they’d committed was a given. He had known what he was here for. He didn’t even seem frustrated. He
knew
she was a given, that it was just a matter of time.

“This isn’t me. I don’t do this.” There was deep satisfaction underneath her embarrassment. It said that what she and Roman had done together was not just incredibly satisfying but it felt right.

“You called me
Capitaine
.” His eyes smiled down at her, but she had no explanation for the name she’d called him. His lips brushed hers. “I will see you in the morning, Beauty.” He stood and moved toward the bedroom door.

Amelie placed both hands flat on either side of the bedspread. The room was not spinning but it may as well have been. The woman inside of her wanted to give Roman pleasure now. She balled the comforter in her fists until the apartment door opened and closed.

That molten quicksand lapped at her feet, pulling her closer to Roman Cardiff, a man she hardly knew.

New York City – February 1988

Roman came in the limo for her.

She had been chastising herself all morning for her wanton behavior the night before. It was so unlike her, both the unbridled passion and ensuing violence brought on by her own guilt. After all, it took two—she was just as much at fault for her actions as he was for his.

“Roman.” She nodded in greeting.

He took her hand and pulled her into an embrace.

She gave him a prim kiss on the cheek.

He laughed. “Are you going to call me Mr. Cardiff now?” He led her away from the building.

They rode in silence to LaGuardia Airport for two reasons. Not only did she want to reinforce her stance in this business proposition, but also she had no idea what to say to him after what happened last night.

When the Lear jet taxied onto LaGuardia Airport’s runway, he winked at her and she covered her quandary with a polite smile.

They sat side by side in tan-colored leather seats in the jet’s plush interior.

She had never been on a private jet before. The unsettling vertigo she experienced last night in Roman’s arms returned. How could she carry on a professional relationship with the heir of Cardiff Jewels now that they’d leaped over propriety’s bounds?

The jet lifted off and she watched the runway fall away beneath them.

This morning, he was unassuming with a dry wit that made her think she might get through the plane ride none the worse for wear. Why hadn’t she met this Roman Cardiff first? He was easy to be around. He had worked hard at dinner last night to make her feel comfortable. The other Roman Cardiff, the one who had never heard the word no and who had commandeered her services in that meeting at Penrods, frightened her.

But not as much as the Roman Cardiff who’d come up to her apartment and proven in the only way he could that he was her dream lover.

When the seatbelt sign went off he went over to the cedar wet bar.

She admired his form in the brown cable knit sweater that hugged his broad shoulders. Remembering how she had dug her nails into those shoulders when she’d cried his name in release last night made her skin warm under her turtleneck collar.

That’s not going to happen again. Remember, this is business.

“I think a celebration is in order.” He turned toward her, holding two fluted glasses and a bottle of champagne.

Amelie took off her seatbelt and joined him near the coffee table between two chairs. She held the glasses as he poured.

“To design and discovery.” He toasted. Their glasses clinked as his eyes roamed her knit pantsuit. “Would you like to see the sleeping compartment?”

“No.”

He took another sip of champagne. “So, we’re going to act like saints on this flight?”

She turned toward the window.

“All right. Saints, it is,” he said quietly, behind her.

He took her hand and pulled her away from the window. “Want to hear the story of Cardiff Jewels?”

“Yes, I’d like that.” She exhaled and pulled her hand out of his grasp.

She walked between two butter soft sofas and sat on one, and breathed easier when he sat down on the other. He poured more champagne and spoke of growing up in the family business as they flew toward Europe.

* * * *

North Yorkshire, England – February 1988

The champagne had left Amelie napping on the sofa. Roman had to nudge her into the seatbelt for landing.

By the time they arrived in Yorkshire, it was dark. After the nap on the jet, she was wide-awake. She was still on Eastern Standard Time and it was only three o’clock in the afternoon in New York.

Roman’s butler James was waiting for them at the airport. They left the major roadways behind and light receded, as the street lamps were further and further apart.

The white Bentley zoomed through the rural landscape past villages and fields. Her first time in England and she couldn’t see through the fog and gloom. They drove through the town of Scarborough, which would have seemed eerie if not for its late Victorian charm. She could just make out the quaint shop fronts and cottages on the quiet streets.

Roman pointed in the distance toward the North Sea. “I’ll have to take you sightseeing.”

James’s balding pate nodded and he turned and smiled at her often. She returned his smile and prayed he didn’t accidentally drive off the road into the dense woods closing in around them.

They swerved off the main road with no detectable decrease in speed. She glanced at Roman, but he was looking out the window.

“We’re on Cardiff land now,” he said quietly.

In silence, they drove into the abyss of an unmarked roadway that wound through a dark forest. Huge limbs interwove as if giants fought endless battles all around them. Twenty minutes later, the Bentley emerged from the trees. The car slowed when they passed wide parklands.

They were passing a large stone house bordering the forest when she broke the silence. “Who lives there now?”

He smiled for the first time since they’d landed in North Yorkshire. “Did you know the people who lived there before?”

She blinked, realizing what she’d just said. Instead of answering, she sat forward.

“The groundskeeper lives there…now. This was once the main residence on the property before the manor was erected.”

Three wide-paned windows just under the crenellated roof were dark. There was nothing to see at this distance in the night, but she could not turn away. An inexplicable feeling of deep sadness came over her. She stared until the house was out of sight.

The Bentley crossed a cobblestone bridge with two wrought iron electric lamps on either side lighting their way.

There was an old world charm about the place. She could imagine a stately horse-drawn carriage rattling along, as if they had driven into an old-style greeting card and the car transporting them was out of place, out of time.

Across the green was the mansion. The floodlights lit up the old limestone, making the imposing high, stone walls seem even older than they were. Large bay windows dotted the beautifully preserved façade.

My dream house.

She turned to Roman, who stared at her.

“What is it?”

“This is…” She could not speak, should not speak the words in her mind, and returned her gaze to the window. “It is like an ancient monument.”

He looked over her shoulder. “This drafty old place is over two hundred years old.”

He stopped when she wanted to hear more, anything that would explain why her dream house was here in England, why she was here, why they were both here together, she and her dream lover.

He was watching her again.

She sat back and tried for a lighter tone. “So many windows must bring warmth to the interior in the summer.” She had only just arrived and was already being seduced by the thought of summer in the English countryside.

The car drove up a road as wide as a two-lane highway in New York City. There was a hush over the place that drew her and with it came a deferential awareness.