Love Entwined

by Danita Minnis

  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.

  Chapter 3

  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.

  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.

  Chapter 4

  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.”