Love Entwined

by Danita Minnis

  “Not since I have met you.” He spoke as if talking to a dunce, but she ignored his tone, holding onto the words with a joy that made her giddy. Then she started to breathe again. “Could it be one of them?”

  “No. There have been attempts, and none of those women would have cause to kill Garamonde.” He told her about the car crash at the London headquarters.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Sweetheart, I didn’t want to frighten you. The security team is investigating it.” He put the note on the coffee table. “How did you get this?”

  “It came to me in the mail from London the day I left St. Clair Manor.” She retrieved the envelope, which was still lying on the floor where she’d thrown it.

  He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket. “I also received mail from London.”

  She stared the cryptic words. “My betrothed. What are we going to do?”

  “Do you have any idea who may have sent this?”

  “Lord Alsborough. It’s him. He’s come back for me.” Tears sprang anew to her eyes. “Roman, you have to leave me here. Please go.”

  “Don’t say that.” He put an arm around her. “I love you.” She would not look at him and he took her chin in his hand. “Do you love me?”

  “I love you so much, mon amour.”

  “Don’t ever say no to us.” He placed her on his lap.

  “You don’t understand. I am responsible for all of this. There is something I didn’t tell you about the past. Something has followed me into this life, something terrible and it won’t let me be happy…”

  “Shh, that’s nonsense.” He rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles, but she rose and paced the room.

  “No, you must listen to me. I am an Artisan. I didn’t know what that meant until I went back to the past. But I think Emil knew. He knew I was the High Priestess and he sought me out…” She told him what she and her consort had done to so many innocent people. “If you stay with me, they will come after you again.”

  “You knew Lord Alsborough before…” He sat forward, with his elbows on his knees. When he looked at her, his eyes were hooded and he spoke quietly. “This is not just about taking over Cardiff Jewels. This…whatever it is, has been waiting for us for a very long time. I think it has been stalking us through time. That canvas in Michel Garamonde’s office came alive.”

  She sat down next to him. “What did you see?”

  “Myself. On a battlefield. With him, Lord Alsborough. But it was an earlier time. We were soldiers of Rome.”

  She hugged him, pushing him back against the couch. “It will never end. We will never be safe!”

  “No! Listen to me. We have each other, Amelie. And, you remember. We will beat it this time.”

  “I am a part of it. He won’t let me go.”

  “I won’t let him have you. You are safer with me at St. Clair Manor. Promise me you won’t run from me again.”

  She leaned her cheek against his and hiccupped. “I won’t.”

  He brushed his lips against hers. “We love each other, that’s all that really matters. I won’t give you up now that I’ve found you.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t imagine my life without you.” Her hand traveled down his chest and between his legs to rub the prominent bulge under his pants. “Roman?”

  “You take the first available flight to hide away in New York and now you want me to make love to you?” He nibbled her ear.

  “Oui, monsieur, I can wait no longer.”

  He carried her into the bedroom.

  Taking her hands in his, he kissed her open palms. He sat her down on the bed and kneeled before her. “I can’t wait any longer to do this.” He placed the sapphire and diamond ring on her finger. “Been carrying it around for days now.”

  Her ring. Once she had saved it, and after all this time, Roman had kept it safe in the collection.

  “Amelie Celeste Laurent, I love you. I always have and I always will. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  “Yes, Roman, I love you so much,” she pulled him close for a kiss.

  He leaned her back on the bed, trailing kisses down the smooth column of her neck. He removed the pins from her hair and it shimmered like a silken pillow.

  Slowly, he began to undress her, caressing her breasts through the silk. He reached the crest of one globe and kissed it. When he took the pearled tip into his mouth, she gasped.

  She came to life in his arms, arching her back, pushing herself against him. “I want you right now, this minute.”

  “Do you remember when you were dripping wet under the shower at the pool that first night?” He unclasped her skirt and pulled it from under her. Her stockings were next as he rubbed the pads of his fingers down her legs, and kneading the soles of her feet in a sensual massage.

  “Uh-hum.”

  “I wanted to do this to you, but you were so far away from me.”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders and steadied herself against the sensual slide of his rough tongue between her breasts.

  “Mon cher, I wish had known then what I know now…” Her regret came out in a sigh of longing. She squirmed when that tongue plied the soft underside of her breast. Slowly, it dipped into her belly, exploring her navel and finally traveling down to her white silk panties.

  She held her breath when he made a detour and began to lick her inner thigh.

  He cupped her bottom with his hands and licked her mound. That sweet instrument of torture parted her curls and darted in and out, swirling around her.

  The coarse slide of that deliberate tongue made moisture pool between her legs, and they went limp.

  He guided her back onto the bed, spreading her wide.

  She could not lie still while he shed his clothes, and stretched to relieve the pressure building up. Her hips came off the bed at the sight of his erection.

  She opened her legs wider when he knelt over her. Instead of impaling her, he feasted on her as if she were manna from heaven.

  She moaned, unable to utter a word while his tongue foraged. Oh, but he had words enough, and coaxed the very essence from her body.

  “You are a delicacy.” He rooted deeper and her legs fell wide.

  “Roman…” she grabbed him, lifting her knees trying to pull him into her.

  When he finally rammed into her she gasped, “God, yes…” She wrapped her legs around him and let him take her away from her fears and the stalking terror that surrounded them.

  They strained against each other, her hips gyrating to his driving rhythm.

  He rode her hard and fast.

  She gripped his buttocks, writhing against him in release.

  With a savage grunt, he followed her. She clung to him, her face buried in the slick curve of his neck as he ground her into the bed.

  * * * *

  Amelie sighed and leaned her head against Roman’s chest as he washed her hair. Her eyes closed as she listened to the soothing cascade of water that came down all around them from magical little spigots in the shower ceiling.

  “I have a confession to make. I came to New York to bring you to England.”

  “Are you just realizing that now?” she asked.

  He stopped massaging her scalp. “I mean when we first met.”

  “Oui, monsieur, you brought me to Yorkshire so you could have your way with me. Are you ashamed of yourself?” She turned in his arms to face him.

  “I can’t say that I am. That would be a bare-faced lie.” He wiped an apple-scented foaming glob of shampoo off her cheek.

  She kissed his dimples. “Naughty boy.”

  “When I saw your designs in a catalog I thought you were copying the Cardiff collection. I was coming to expose you. I am sorry, my love.”

  “I am not sorry, mon cœur, for it brought you to me.” She kissed him. “Roman, I was different as the High Priestess. I was a witch, with powers. I was able to move things, and he and I…we read each other’s minds.”

 
He grinned, but she shook her head. “I’ve tried but I can’t read your mind. If I could, I would have known you love me and I would never have left. Thank God, my soul chose to deny what I was in that life, but what if he still has his powers? I am weaker than he is. He knows this.”

  “You are not the blood-thirsty sorceress anymore, but you are still the Artisan. Emil needed you to create the designs. Do you remember what you did to create the designs?”

  “That’s what I don’t understand…I didn’t do anything special. Jacqueline told me to remember, but I really don’t. My powers are gone and I think they have been for centuries.”

  “And yet Emil needed you.” He took her hands and clasped them in his. “He needed a true artisan’s hands. Don’t worry, we’ll get this person.”

  She nodded. He was just trying to put her at ease, but she was done with such grim talk. She needed his soothing touch. She took up a bar of soap and lathered his chest in slow, beguiling motions. But that did not last very long.

  When he picked her up and speared her, she wrapped her legs around him and held on. He moved her up and down and she felt every hard, ridged inch of him as her muscles pulled him in. The warm water made them slippery smooth, chest-to-chest, hip to thigh, bringing them both to a searing release, locked against each other in ecstasy.

  * * * *

  That evening after Terrence’s jazz band performed, they went to il Ducato. The waiter seated them in a private balcony with soft lighting and Mozart playing over the speakers.

  After the waiter took their order, Amelie pulled her chair closer to Roman’s. “I treat myself to dinner here every time I complete an especially harrowing project. You must taste the tiramisu. It melts in your mouth.”

  “Amelie, I thought that was you.” The blonde man dressed in a tux stood near their table. His black eyes flickered to Amelie’s hand, which rested on Roman’s.

  “Nigel! I missed you at the office today. Do you know Roman Cardiff?”

  Nigel extended his hand for the greeting. “We haven’t met, but it is a pleasure.”

  “Nigel is the head of the marketing department at Penrods,” she said.

  “Would you like to join us for dinner, Nigel?” he asked.

  “That is kind of you, but I am waiting for my party to arrive. I just wanted to say hello.”

  “Well, then, you have a few minutes,” Amelie said hopefully. “I want to tell Roman what a lifesaver you were on the campaign we completed before I left for England.”

  Nigel sat down opposite him. “I do not want to disturb your dinner.” A waiter came by and Nigel ordered a drink. “That campaign was all your idea. I just added a catchy phrase or two.”

  She chuckled. “Those catchy phrases led to a spot on national television featuring my designs for Pandora’s Box.”

  Roman leaned over to kiss her. “Ah, Beauty, I should have known that was you.”

  Nigel picked up his Scotch in a silent toast. “But it was the jewels that got her no less than two covers on Pandora’s Box. That was our little darling’s work, not mine.”

  It wasn’t the pet name Nigel called Amelie that got to him. It was the note of regret in the man’s tone. He wondered what place regret had in this past successful venture.

  Nigel’s glance met his. “Well, this must be the celebratory dinner. Is your work completed, then?”

  “No, we have many things to cover yet. I am afraid our little darling will be busy for some time to come. With me. In England.” Roman picked up her hand and kissed it.

  Amelie’s cheeks had turned a dusky hue. She cleared her throat and still Roman waited as Nigel’s expression tightened at the sapphire and diamond engagement ring on her finger. The man’s black eyes darkened as he stared at Roman.

  Until now, they had kept their relationship a secret from her co-workers; that is what she wanted. Roman had gone along with it, but the time had come to end the farce. He loved Amelie and a traitorous part of him wanted to broadcast that fact on network television. To Nigel.

  He was also rankled by the fact that this man, who had spent so much time working with Amelie, knew of her personal indulgence to treat herself to dinner at il Ducato. Did she and Nigel have dinner together?

  Nigel finally broke eye contact.

  Amelie’s glance swung back and forth between the two of them. “Tell me about the Sweet Life campaign. Have you and Dora come to blows yet?”

  Roman leaned back in his chair and lifted one corner of his mouth in semblance of the reassuring smile she seemed to be looking for.

  “Oh, I just follow the golden rule; whatever Dora wants, Dora gets,” Nigel said.

  That made Amelie laugh, a carefree breeze, which fanned his ire in Nigel’s direction.

  “Dora took over a project I was working on.” Her warm breath brushed his ear, making him a feel a bit more civilized.

  “We finished early, as a matter of fact. With her browbeating me, we managed it all before she went to London,” Nigel said.

  “Dora was in London? When?” Amelie asked.

  “Some weeks ago, I think. Took off to see her granddad. Sick. He won’t last much longer, I hear.”

  “That is terrible,” she murmured. “I thought Dora was from New York.”

  “Dora was raised here. It is where she fell in love with fashion.” Nigel’s saccharine grin disgusted him. It was as contrived as the highbrow accent he could not manage under stress.

  In that moment, Roman knew all he needed to know about the man. The Black Country dialect had shone through in Nigel’s last mocking word: fashion. English Midlanders garbled the sh so the word became “fa-yan.”

  Nigel had done very well for himself in life. However he had escaped the inner city of his coal-mining ancestors, Nigel had maneuvered his way into society’s higher circles, had probably even studied at a very fine university.

  “Well, your dinner is on the way and I must go.” Nigel stood. “Will you be in tomorrow?”

  “Yes. See you tomorrow.” Her smile was overdone as he and Nigel ignored one another. Nigel moved through the crowd.

  “Well, he’s certainly gagging for it.”

  “Nigel? I am not his type,” she chuckled, shaking her head.

  “Tell him that.”

  “It is just that he’s taken me under his wing, like a big brother. He is a strange combination of gentleman and cynic. His tongue has a wicked edge that grows on you. I see him with someone more sophisticated than me.”

  He barked out a laugh, and she glanced at the couple at the nearest table who watched them. “Ah, that is what he loves about you, Beauty, your naivety. It inspires him.” When she did not respond to the jab, he caught her hand. “What’s the matter?”

  “Dora was in England when I had the accident. She hates me.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out about her,” he said, even though he thought it unlikely that Dora was responsible for what had happened to Amelie.

  No, whoever it was had to be a very skilled intruder to get on his property unannounced. Planning a trap like that would have taken some time.

  Besides, he never brought women home. His employees knew that and would be wary of one showing up on the doorstep without him. Unless that woman was Amelie.

  Amelie was the first and the last.

  “Didn’t he say he was waiting on someone?” he asked. She looked up at him. “Your marketing beau, he just left the restaurant.”

  Chapter 10

  New York City – May 15, 1988

  “Leaving?” Harold Jarvis was staring at the check Roman had just handed him.

  “My resignation is effective immediately.” Amelie sat next to Roman on the Burberry divan.

  She tried in vain to curb the excitement in her voice. It just occurred to her that Harold would not consider this pleasurable news. The head of design looked as if he had been duped.

  Roman was paying off the Penrods contract so that she would be free.

  Free.

  Just a few months
ago, that word had not been a part of her vocabulary. Now that word meant love, collaboration, and a whimsical manor in Yorkshire with its own matriarchal ghost. It was Jacqueline’s manor after all, built in her name.

  “Please accept our invitation to the wedding,” she added in a small voice this side of guilt.

  “Wedding?” Harold peered at her over his spectacles. “Well, I must say this is quite a surprise. Amelie, I thought you…” Harold pointed at Roman, but stopped just short of accusing her of hating one of Penrods best clients.

  She smiled to herself as he closed his mouth and adjusted his bowtie. She felt more than saw that Roman was ready to respond. He was like a warm tide swelling against her at the provocation in Harold’s tone. He truly was a damned CEO, but she wanted to handle this and put a hand on his knee to silence him.

  “We know this must be a shock to you, Harold. Our actions were a bit misleading,” she said. “We will be getting married in England.”

  “Yes, well, I had no idea.” Harold said. “You have quite a following here, you know. We hate to lose you, Amelie.”

  “That is kind of you to say, Harold.” She glanced at Roman, feeling the excitement bubbling up again. “But we have a few ideas for a collection of our own.”

  Roman stood and helped Amelie up from the divan. “Someone will come by for Amelie’s things later.” He was walking out the door when she grabbed his hand. He came to a halt, but just barely.

  She turned back to the head of design. “Harold, thank you.”

  “For what?” Harold asked.

  “For insisting I take the Cardiff project.” She waved goodbye as Roman led her out of the office.

  * * * *

  Central Park’s trees swirled like waves on an emerald ocean. Birds called to one another and flitted from branch to branch in a mating ritual on the isle of Manhattan’s orderly tree-lined avenues.

  Amelie and Roman were just as busy inside Madison Avenue Towers, packing up her apartment. The task would have to be done at some point, and since they were in New York, now was as good a time as any.

  She suspected Roman did not want her having any second thoughts about returning to England. He need not have worried. Of all the things she had loved about living in the city, it was her work at Penrods that kept her there.