Love Entwined
A Cardiff Novel Book 2
Danita Minnis
Published 2013
ISBN: 978-1-62210-032-3
Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © Published 2013, Danita Minnis. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Liquid Silver Books
http://LSbooks.com
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Blurb
Amelie Laurent is on her way to the top of the jewelry-designing world with no time for men. Her orderly life is about to come undone when playboy and jewelry tycoon Roman Cardiff steals her away on assignment to a remote English estate. Roman wants Amelie all to himself but St. Clair Manor’s resident ghost has been waiting for her much longer than he has.
An unseen gunman takes a shot at Roman and he blames a business rival. But Amelie and Roman are to blame, for falling in love 200 years before in a time neither of them remembers. From the heartbreak of pre-Revolutionary France to modern day corporate wars, Amelie and Roman uncover a history of blood jewels, lust and demons.
When Amelie discovers her inner witch, she learns the real reason she was summoned to St. Clair Manor. Il Dragone will kill to get her back. Amelie will kill if they do.
Dedication
To my family for their unending support and love.
Acknowledgements
Absolute Write Water Cooler is an online resource for writers, published and non-published. I want to thank the AW community for the guidance I received when Love Entwined was just a dream.
Thank you Allie, Jennifer, Michelle, Meghan and the entire Liquid Silver Books team for making that dream come true.
Last but not least, thank you Lynn Perkins, cover artist extraordinaire.
Part 1: Renaissance
Roman and Amelie
Prologue
Amelie tossed and turned, twisting the bed sheets up and around her legs, right there, where she wanted him. But he hadn’t touched her yet, not in this dream. She wanted him to, so badly. A soft moan escaped her parted lips as he moved toward her and as in all the dreams before this one, she ached for him…
“Do not be afraid of love.” He pulled the robe from her shoulders. It swished to the floor in a whisper of silk.
She should protest—she did not know him. Instead, she sighed with the cool night air against her bare breast.
Warm hands drew her close, a comfort as much as a command. When he wrapped his arms around her, the bedroom walls fell away. She smelled the sea and the wind whipped around them.
She dug her fingers into his back and remembered…the way he nipped her neck when he sank into her, his deep, satisfied grunt when she clung to him, how he pinned her down, holding back the release until she thought she would die if he didn’t let her come right now…
She did know him. He was her capitaine. She molded herself against him and his chin dipped to rest on her head.
When he pulled back, a thick, black forelock winged away from his forehead. Full lips turned upward into dimples and moonlight shone in his eyes. “My love.”
She rubbed her nipples into the curls sprinkled across his chest and finally, he lifted her and laid her down on the water’s surface. His body, all hard planes and angles, pushed her down. She wrapped her legs around him atop a swelling wave.
He murmured approval as he cupped her buttocks, lifted her hips and drove into her all in one deft motion.
“We are one.” He said against the column of her throat as he rammed into her.
The night rose and fell on her sighs.
He impaled her, took her breath away as she clung to him in the ocean spray. Their limbs slammed together as he tossed her about on a wild ride. The dark waves crested, carrying them away as the night shattered…
Amelie kept her eyes closed and licked her lips. It felt real; he felt real. Too soon, consciousness chased her fantasy away.
She sat up, staring across the bedroom at the pre-dawn outside her window. She turned on the bedside lamp and a golden halo sprayed the room. “Just a dream.”
Her nipples still tingled in arousal. She pulled off the chemise.
“Jacqueline”
He stood outside her bedroom window, watching her, his square jaw slack with need. His tanned skin glowed in lamplight…
Amelie pulled the chemise to her breast and turned off the lamp. She got out of bed and crept across the room. She stood as close as she dared to the cool glass pane.
He was gone.
Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, he had never been there, couldn’t have been there. The dream had shaken her up.
Abandoned, she watched the purple sky lighten to pink. As the sun climbed above the wintry clouds, the dream, and her capitaine, dimmed inside of her. It faded from her consciousness as quickly as the street lamps winked out over Central Park thirty-six stories below.
She had called him capitaine.
Was he captain of a ship? Why had he called her Jacqueline?
Chapter 1
North Yorkshire, England – February 1988
A deafening clap of thunder rolled off the River Wharfe and over the green.
Roman Cardiff glanced out the bay window toward his mother’s gardens. In a long ago summer, he saw sun-drenched trellises thick with roses in every hue. This afternoon the gardens were awash in umber, heralding a storm’s approach.
Khan opened one chocolate brown eye from where he lay in front of the fire, but couldn’t keep it open.
“You’ll have to roam the halls today, old boy.”
The Great Dane’s massive chest was a sleek, black mountain that rose and fell.
Roman arched a brow at James, who stood grinning in the doorway.
“It’s Dylan, sir, and,” James glanced at his watch, “it’s…”
“…noon.” Roman said curtly. “I was off by a few hours, you old dodger.”
“Three, exactly,” James said.
“And now I owe you a bottle of…”
“I believe we settled on the 1959 Bordeaux, sir.” In all seriousness, James folded his hands behind his back.
“Is that right? Have you no shame?”
“None whatsoever, sir.”
“Very well, then.” Roman picked up the phone on his desk as the butler retreated. “Blast it, Dylan, couldn’t you have rung earlier? You’ve just cost me a rare vintage.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I was on a call. Besides, you shouldn’t be gambling with the private stock anyway. You know James doesn’t dream when he sleeps, he draws up detailed inventories of the cellars.”
Roman started flipping through the jewelry catalogs on his desk. “I should have known, but I haven’t had much sleep myself, something that’s never stopped you from calling me at the crack of dawn before.”
“Nine o’clock is hardly the crack of dawn. The reason I am calling so late today is that I received a call from Emil Garamonde of Bijou. He wants to set up a meeting to discuss our German design plant,” Dylan said.
“Really? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised that the heir of Bijou is getting into the act. I’ve already told his father Michel they can’t afford the German outfit.”
Dylan chuckled. “I’ve told his operations man the same. Emil was undaunted by the price when I me
ntioned what it will cost to run the materials plant. You haven’t said anything to the Garamondes about the refurbishments, have you?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“I have the impression that they know exactly what we’re up to,” Dylan said. “The German plant is just the type of operation to get a faltering jewelry design company like Bijou back on its feet. But if the Garamondes can’t have the plant, it’s too close for comfort. I think they’d rather see it gone. As it is, the plant is taking a huge bite out of Bijou’s interests. I’m already getting calls from the Garamonde camp promising defection. Word is they are desperate.”
“A state I’m certain they are used to by now,” Roman said. “We’re not even operating at full capacity yet. It will only be worse for the Garamondes when the new equipment is up and running. And after that fiasco last year on patent ownership, I wouldn’t go to bed with the Garamondes on this even if the deal meant billions. That old cheat Michel Garamonde tried to skate on the heels of our ad launch. It took Simon the balance of the year to kill Bijou’s campaign. Why, the man did everything but use our logo. Now the Garamondes want a handout.” Roman took a breath, just long enough for Dylan to get a word in.
“He did vow revenge. Now it seems he won’t take no for an answer. I think we should take this seriously, Roman.”
“Simon is on it. If Michel Garamonde tries anything, he can spend the rest of his money in court.”
“Not much of that left, I hear,” Dylan said. “By the way, I’ll admit I was shocked by your wanting to do away with the tried and true jewelry designs, but after seeing your proposals I’ve put my heart attack on hold. I think you’ve got something. I want you to know I back you a hundred percent on this.”
“But I’m still the rogue heir, eh?”
“That you will always be, but ten years with Uncle Giles, and the last two more prosperous than the rest…he was right; the business is in your blood, cousin of mine. He would have been very proud.”
Roman picked up another catalog. “Yes, Dad did love a good show. Looks good on paper, I suppose. Now if I could just get the ball rolling.”
“If that is a cry for help, it’s falling on the wrong ears. I’m just the nuts and bolts man.”
“All that work on cut and color and-damnation-the design group doesn’t even come close.” Roman flipped a page in a catalog of garish jewels. He tossed it into the trash bin next to his desk with a sigh. “And I’m no help, riding blind. I don’t have a name to put to what I envision.”
“Don’t worry; those instincts of yours will let you know when you’ve found the right fit.”
He pushed his feet off the desk and a black leather-bound portfolio dropped to the carpet. “All this traveling doesn’t help much. I’ll soon be off again, for meetings in New York.”
Khan’s ears lifted, though he kept his eyes closed.
The diamond necklace in the cover photo of the catalog was a large teardrop cradled in intricate scrollwork. The teardrop hung from a delicate gold pendant. Matching earrings encased in the same flawless design.
“Roman?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you are going to be on the call tomorrow,” Dylan said.
“Of course. It’s early, right?”
“Yes, the crack of dawn, as a matter of fact. It starts at nine.”
Roman shrugged. “If you can do it, I can do it.” He was reading the cover of the portfolio when he hung up the phone.
Amelie Laurent. A designer for Penrods in New York. Penrods was a small but well-run design house with an impeccable reputation.
He flipped through pages filled with a striking mix of antique and modern, bold-cut jewels. To have wrought such fluidity from the stones was true artistry, and something else…the woman knew her jewels.
It was as if she knew his jewels, but that was impossible. These designs were rather like the romantic pieces in his private collection, jewelry that had been in the family for over two hundred years.
The Cardiff Jewels were rarely out of the vault, and, as far as he remembered, had never left the premises. Yet, Ms. Laurent’s diamonds, rubies and sapphires winked off the glossy portfolio pages in an identical glittering story of love and passion.
Whoever she is, she is an old hand at the craft, to be sure.
What he’d been searching for these past months was not ahead, but in the past, in Ms. Laurent’s bolder, more vibrant cuts.
His chuckle was hearty enough to lift Khan’s head. The dog gave him an accusing stare.
He grinned at Khan because Dylan had been right; those instincts of his told him he had indeed found the right fit.
“James,” he called from the door of his study.
“Sir?”
“Call Penrods in New York and set something up.”
Chapter 2
New York City – February 1988
Amelie swiped up the sketch and threw it across the room.
She followed its descent with a withering glare as the drawing landed next to its balled up predecessors near the wastebasket. She turned her back on the drafting table and the sketches she’d started last week. Quiet rage had finally gotten the better of her.
She had hit a brick wall. Her inspiration had fled to parts unknown, and she could not conjure it up.
Harold Jarvis, the head of the design department, had set her a task that proved impossible.
Sweet Life, a local merchandiser, wanted her to create a line of novelty pieces for the poor little rich girl who spent daddy’s money, begged for more and got it. The kind of big, chunky pieces she abhorred. Armbands that looked like shackles studded with rubies. Platinum chokers, engraved with catch phrases so popular with teenagers, with borders of diamonds in spike settings top and bottom.
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…“me 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 designer
s 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.
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