“She sounds lovely,” Dylan said.
He ignored Dylan’s comment. “Please come in, Amelie. This is just…nothing, really.” Amelie fingered his grandfather’s set of Spanish rapiers on the wall. “We’ll talk later, Dylan.” He hung up.
Amelie turned toward the sound of a thumping tail and walked over to Khan, hand extended. The Great Dane rose from in front of the fireplace and padded over to her. Khan had to lower his head to nuzzle her hand.
“This is Khan.” He came around the desk. “I think he likes you.”
She rubbed the dog’s sleek coat, scratching behind his ears. “Hello Khan. He is gorgeous.” The way her accent rolled the word “gorgeous” started the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
“He is a good boy.” He pointed toward the fireplace. “Sit.”
Khan padded back over to the rug and lay with his head between his paws with his eyes on Amelie.
She walked over to the desk and looked through the bay window. Beyond the garden was his mother’s hothouse, its glass walls misted gray in the cold. “It must be very lovely in the spring.”
“My mother spent most of her time in that hothouse. She loved her roses. It’s Anne’s personal mission now.”
“You lost your mother at an early age didn’t you?”
“Fifteen.” He said no more and leaned against the desk behind her with his arms folded, admiring the way the green knit skirt molded to her sweet little bottom. “I love it when you wear your hair down like this.” He touched a long red-gold lock trailing down her back.
She turned abruptly. “My room faces this garden. It is a room fit for a princess. In the family wing. Why?”
“Considering you are the only house guest, I think you would be rather lonely in the guest wing.”
“Where is that?”
“The South wing.” He nodded slowly at her expression. “Yes, that’s right, the dark abyss on the other side of Haddon Hall with approximately fifty deserted rooms.”
“Roman, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about this. I am sorry, but the other night was a mistake.”
“Amelie…”
“It should never have happened.” She played with the drape’s tassel.
Remembering the feel of her rounded bottom in his hands while she writhed against him, he couldn’t stop the slow smile spreading over his face. “I have to disagree with you there.”
“I’m here to work on the collection, nothing else,” she continued.
“Do you know what I think?”
She folded her arms. “What?”
“I think you think too much.”
She shook her head. “I suppose I should be more like you. Doing anything I want with whomever I want…wherever I want?”
“I knew you’d come around once I got you out of that sterile office of yours.”
She shoved past him, stopping only when she reached Khan’s rug.
“Amelie, I am trying to tell you it is all right to enjoy yourself. And if I’m not mistaken, you did enjoy yourself.”
He came to stand next to her and held out his hand. “Truce?”
She knelt to pet Khan, who lifted his head for her touch.
Roman grinned, waiting, aroused by her stubbornness.
Finally, she put her hand in his, and he helped her up.
“I think it’s time for that tour.”
She walked past him to the door.
They had not finished touring the first floor and Amelie wondered if she would be able to find her way back to her suite. There was a door leading to a sitting room, which had two entrances. The first door would lead to another room and the next door would lead to an alcove, a staircase or a corridor.
“I thought places like this had site maps, the kind that read ‘You Are Here’.”
He showed her several intercom locations.
“Well, no site maps, but at least I can call for help if I get lost.”
They walked through a large stone-walled kitchen with its own hearth. Beyond the kitchen, there was a gym and an Olympic-sized indoor swimming pool. Underwater lights lit the room, reflecting on the tiled walls.
“I added this some years ago,” Roman said. “I competed at university. Would you like to swim later?”
“I’d love to. I haven’t swum since university.”
He held the door open for her. “Well, then, I think you are long overdue.”
Although Roman wore an inscrutable expression, his eyes told her swimming was the farthest thing from his mind.
But he would have no idea how many things she had not done since university, at least not very often.
* * * *
Later that night, Amelie passed through the kitchen on her way to the pool.
James and Anne must have already retired. She hadn’t seen Caroline since the maid had come to her room after dinner with the bathing suit and sarong. The other staff had gone home for the evening hours ago.
She went through the gym, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirrored walls. She was a mermaid in the incandescent green two-piece with a diaphanous sarong. She loved it and would have bought it for herself except that it probably cost as much as one of her business suits. Work attire and jewelry were the only things she could see spending that kind of money on.
Roman had guessed her size. The man was an expert; he knew how to make a woman feel beautiful.
That was dangerous.
Her every want was answered. She now had a variety of bubble baths and lotions in her room. During the house tour, she had admired a Lalique crystal vase. Its twin now sat on the table by the balcony doors in her room, filled with white roses of York.
She was no match for his subtle prowess and he was too well versed in things she had not played at long enough to know her own capabilities.
When she opened the door, he was already in the pool swimming laps. She stood near one of the benches lining the walls. The underwater lights bathed the room in a bluish-green glow and illuminated his retreat. His strokes were long and powerful, breaking the silence and echoing in the cavernous room.
He swam toward her and she took off her flip-flops. She was the wallflower while he was…Godlike, more than a man should be. He climbed out of the water and stood in a puddle, pushing dark, wet curls out of his face. Her eyes followed the rivulets running down his chest over sculpted abs and finally over his feet. Everything about him was oversize.
He walked toward her in black swim trunks and her skin burned crimson as reality confirmed what her dreams had already conveyed; the man was superbly endowed.
“I see you found your way down.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist, and managed to stop just short of turning back the way she’d come. “I was watching you swim,” she said unnecessarily.
He grabbed a towel hanging on a hook. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you for the swimsuit.”
“I should be thanking you.”
She stood mute, but unfolded her arms.
He gestured to the shower in the corner. “Why don’t you get wet? It will help you get accustomed to the water.”
Aware he was watching her while he dried off; she twisted the end of the wrap in her fingers.
He picked up a bottle of water and sat down, leaning against the tiled wall. He took a long drink before saying, “Of course you could always swim in it.”
“Of course not.” She took off the wrap and crossed over to the steady stream of water.
Closing her eyes, she blocked his eyes out of her mind, but still felt them as she turned in a slow circle under the stream sluicing her breasts. She felt his eyes as the water traveled down her waist, glancing off her hips in droplets that danced in puddles over her feet.
When she turned off the water, she felt much calmer.
He held out a bottle. “Water?”
“No, thank you. Do you want to get back in?”
“Your wish is my command, Beauty.”
He kept pace wit
h her underwater. In a steady rhythm, he glided next to her. He needn’t have worried; she was a good swimmer.
They reached the other side and she started back the other way with the butterfly stroke.
They swam together and met at the deep end, holding on to the side and facing each other.
She waved her legs in the water, feeling so much better after exercising away her nervous energy. “This is nice.”
“Where did that come from?”
“What?”
“That genuine smile on your face. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that before.”
She made a face.
He grinned. “There is nothing like a few laps in the pool before bed. It helps clear my head.” He followed her line of vision to a beach ball floating nearby.
Grinning, she swam off in that direction. She held the ball up over her head and took aim.
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Shaking one waterlogged lock of hair out of her face, she asked innocently, “And why is that?” She treaded further away, still brandishing her weapon.
“I might have to come after you.” He hadn’t finished his sentence before she threw the missile. It was close, but she missed. She looked around for something else to throw.
“Nothing but pool water left, Beauty.”
She treaded away. “It didn’t hit you.”
“Ah, but that was your intention, and now you will pay the price.” He dove underwater.
She squeaked and started swimming in earnest to the other side of the pool. By the time she saw him swimming underneath her it was too late. He rose up out of the water and grabbed her around the waist. She tried to get away, but weakened by laughter she stopped struggling and leaned against him.
He took her to the side of the pool and they caught their breath as their legs wove together. The gentle lapping of the water against their bodies broke the silence.
“Give me a few days’ practice and I’ll be chasing you.” She laughed up into his face, looking forward to it.
Roman wasn’t laughing. He moved closer and his lips brushed hers.
Feeling relaxed and exhilarated, she didn’t stop him, but parted her lips. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, rolling it over hers in long, lazy strokes. She slid gently into bliss as he deepened the kiss.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her nipples hardened against the hair on his chest.
When he cupped her buttocks and moved against her, a languid moan escaped her lips. Her eyes flew open.
“It’s all right, Amelie. We both want this. Don’t be afraid of me.”
She shook her head. “I’m not…”
He leaned his forehead against hers, and sighed.
She closed her eyes. “It is foolish to deny it. I am afraid of you.”
He nipped her lips and she looked into his eyes. “You will just have to buck up.”
“I don’t believe in getting involved with people I work with.”
He shook his head. “That is ridiculous. We are both adults. You can get involved with anyone you want.”
“No. I can’t. I’m sorry.” She tried to pull away but he held her.
“No, love, no regrets,” he lifted her chin. “I am just feeling a little more adventurous than you are right now. Come, it’s getting late.”
Roman got out of the pool and helped her out. His hands rested on her hips and they stood inches apart, dripping wet.
He did not bother to mask the hunger in his eyes and in that moment, several things were clear to her. He was a starving man waiting for her to yield her flesh. It was only a matter of time; he would have his way. And finally, raw desire would get the better of her; she would succumb, and with pleasure.
She looked away.
He lifted one hand to caress her face, which seemed a small gesture of comfort to soften the reality of the inevitable, and then led her away.
* * * *
In the drafting room the next day, Amelie shook her head at the memory of yet another close encounter with Roman. It would not happen again.
Up to this point, her life had been one of self-control. Her discipline was legendary, but lately, she could not muster it up. She was the girl who always made plans, knew exactly what she wanted to do, and just how she was going to do it.
But Roman was another animal altogether.
She could not control this thing between them. She was floundering, anchorless on a turbulent sea of passion. What would she do alone with him for the next few months in the wilds of Yorkshire? Right now, she would do anything with him.
It had been a close call. Though he harbored an ulterior motive, her ultimate surrender, she was aware of some endearing qualities in him. He could have had her at the pool last night, for she would not have stopped him, and he had not taken advantage of her weakness. Though he had the look of a ravening beast, he did not go any further than she wanted him to.
She sighed, looking around the drafting room.
He was in the London office today and she was relieved to have the time alone. This sexual tension between them was not only frightening, but it was wearing her down. Her nerves frayed and she’d had no time to process his appearance in her life.
The fact that the dreams had stopped did not make her feel any better. She had not had one dream since she met Roman.
It was clear he had replaced the dreams.
Stop this.
She moved to the crates of supplies. She would use the time alone to get organized. When she looked over Roman’s equipment, she saw that most of hers was duplication. He had been right; everything she needed was already here. He was quite the designer himself. Real work was done in this drafting room. However, it gave her a sense of security to know she had her own things with her, equipment she was used to working with.
She twisted her hair up in a topknot and spread out several glossy portfolios of the current Cardiff collection on the drafting table. Rubbing the mechanical pencil between thumb and forefinger, she thought of what jewelry she would die to wear with a strapless evening gown.
Doodling in a corner of the drawing pad, she was soon engrossed in curlicues and flourishes reminiscent of a golden age.
Several hours later, she put the drafting pencil down and took a snack from the tea tray in the corner. When she returned to the drafting table, she put the scone down.
The name Jacqueline was written in a beautifully rounded cursive hand high up in the corner of the page. She must have written it, but it was not her handwriting. Jacqueline was the name her capitaine had called her in the dreams.
She shook her head at the pad. He was not her capitaine and she was not his Jacqueline.
She had been under a lot of stress at work; this must be a by-product. She would be fine in a few days here in the country, away from the constant pressure of Penrods.
Amelie pushed the name written on the drawing pad from her mind and flipped the page over. Soon, she was deep in concentration on another sketch.
Chapter 8
North Yorkshire, England – March 1988
The first week of March whittled away at winter’s stronghold. Roman insisted they take the weekends off and would not allow her near the drafting room. Her first full weekend in Yorkshire, they walked among the ruins of Scarborough Castle on the headlands.
Amelie looked past the limestone cliffs toward the North Sea. “I wish I’d brought my drawing pad.”
He produced a digital camera from his jacket pocket. “Will this do?”
She grinned at him and then worried her bottom lip with her teeth while pushing sensors on the high-tech model.
He followed her through the courtyard while she snapped pictures. “For centuries, this castle was the site of the Scarborough Fair. Cardiff sea captains were among the merchants.”
“You come from a very old family here in town, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “There are families here who can trace their lineage back to William the Con
queror.”
“Modesty; a nice surprise,” she said with a straight face as she snapped photos. She could not wait on his unhurried steps and walked ahead on the uneven cobblestones. She lifted her face to the sky and spreading her arms wide, took in a deep breath of salt-scented sea air. “I can imagine the marketplace alive with the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon and cooked hams for sale.”
“And brilliant bolts of silk from India lined up on tables, the merchants calling out their wares and tales of miracle cures,” he said.
She turned, staring at him. “Oui, you see it, too,” she whispered, giving him a slow nod of approval.
Taking a step forward, he glanced over her head and she turned around to see what had caught his interest. Long, auburn locks waved in the wind, moving quickly through a stone archway.
Without a word, they hurried after the woman through the archway, and stopped short.
They were standing in a small courtyard, alone. The woman was gone.
Roman strode over to the only door on this side of the stone wall. Even though there was a sign posted NO ADMITTANCE, he tried the door.
Amelie exhaled when the door would not open. “I thought I saw…her.”
Roman turned toward her. “…someone,” he corrected, and then chuckled. “You should see your face right now, standing here in this deserted courtyard looking for…”
She folded her arms. “What were we looking for Roman?”
“Absolutely nothing. No one,” he said emphatically and took her hand. “Come on then, back to the present.” He led her out the way they had come and away from the castle and Scarborough fairs of the past.
On the way home, they drove through the town of Scarborough, which soon gave way to a scenic drive through the moors. The sun broke through the clouds, dappling the heather and bracken.
He stopped the Porsche once as a herd of sheep passed by on the roadway. He laughed when she craned her neck out of the car window with the digital camera. The herder raised his bell and clanged the signal for the sheep to cross the road. It was one of those moments, the city girl in her taken back to a time when people respected the land, and there was no such thing as a New York City skyscraper. The feeling intensified when the Porsche crested a hill and she saw a beautiful old church.
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