Journey in Time (Knights in Time) (3 page)

Three pair of eyes watched her like a bug under a microscope. No doubt they found perverse delight in the situation and Alex wasn't going to let her off the hook.

Shakira contemplated an evasive answer and dismissed the idea. "Yes, I thought you a bounder”
A wickedly sexy one.
“And yes, I avoided you because of it."
 
 

On the edge of the seat, a too gleeful Miranda leaned her elbows on the table. "I want to hear more about the kissing. If you figured he was a bounder, why did you kiss him?" Her lips twitched with amusement, ignoring the murderous look Shakira aimed at her.
 

A grin of self-satisfaction crept across Alex's face at the nosy question. "Yes, why let me kiss you?"

“I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me. I was caught by surprise." On stage, Jack noodled around with some chords, which offered her an avenue of escape from the uncomfortable questions. "I have to get ready. I'll see you at the break."

"Am I exonerated then?" Alex called after her.

"For now," she said without breaking stride.

Shakira smiled to herself. A woman knows when she looks good. Tonight she looked hot. The soft red leather outfit hugged her in all the right places, the pants like a second skin. Underneath a lacy, sexy white bustier squeezed and pushed her into a pseudo well-endowed bust that made her eyes widen in appreciation.

Monday through Friday, she conformed to the law firm’s ideal persona, business suits, a conservative hairdo, and modest heels. The weekends belonged to her and she glowed. She wore her hair down, teased, so it framed her face in wild disarray. Her high heels were red patent leather. She’d meticulously blended black shadow and kohl liner around her eyes to give them a smoky appearance and intensify their color.

She sensed Alex watching. She felt his gaze the way she felt it the night of the charity ball. The heat, the irresistible pull from across the room that made her seek the source. There'd been a jolt, an internal shock, when their eyes locked on each other.

When they'd danced she knew he'd experienced the same jolt. A charged current ran between them, atmospheric electricity, sexual St. Elmo's fire. It radiated off him and rolled over her in waves. She dismissed the reaction as weird science, the right combination of pheromones. It happens. It was the first time for her though.

Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t have said no to dancing with him. In spite of seeing the blonde at his side earlier, she wanted him to kiss her. Her instinctual reaction to him was a double-edged sword, exciting in an elemental, primitive way that ate at her control. She deplored losing control. Whatever happens, I've got to keep my wits about this man, she told herself and slid the guitar strap over her head.

Although the band was adept at covering a variety of different popular songs, Alex's attention remained on Shakira.

"Do you see the way she holds the body of the guitar against her inner thigh? Look at her hands slide along the frets, stroking the neck like a giant phallus,” Alex said.

Miranda whispered, "I told you he’d like her," and stuck her tongue out at her husband.

"I'll admit her performance reflects a deep emotional, rather sexual connection to the music," Ian observed in an offhand tone. "But, it's not making me salivate either. I prefer to drool over my wife."

"Good answer, darling." Miranda laid a scorching kiss on him.
 

Absorbed with Shakira, Alex paid little notice. "The melody rises from her center and pours out. She lets the music make love to her and she returns the passion. I'm thinking that passion is misplaced." He turned to Ian and Miranda and smiled so wolfishly, even Miranda took a deep breath.

When Beltane broke, Shakira stepped through the haze of smoke and joined her friends. Alex, Ian, and Miranda decided when the show ended they’d go to a favorite piano bar with a panoramic view of the Thames. After confirming her leather outfit was acceptable attire, Shakira agreed to go.

His interest sincere, Alex inquired about a slow, Eastern arrangement of
White Rabbit
she'd sung. Instead of the powerful rendition popularized by Grace Slick, Shakira sang a unique interpretation, slower, hypnotic and repetitious. She seduced the audience with an exotic performance. She transported them to places that conjured images of finger cymbals, temples filled with incense and painted elephants. Tonight, the song belonged to her and not Jefferson Airplane.

“The arrangement you used for
White Rabbit
, is it an original by your band or taken from another source?” Alex asked her.

“I put it together,” Shakira said.

“Really.”

“I experiment at home with different songs I like just to see where I can take them. This was the latest.”

“Well done,” he told her, impressed and sincere.

A young woman carrying something soft and white in her hand interrupted their conversation. "Will you give these to Jack Stone for me?" she asked and reached across Alex to hand the object to Shakira. "I’m not able to get near him."

Shakira glanced toward the stage. Women crowded around Jack, who was trying to extricate himself from the pack.

"What is it?"
  

"Panties." The groupie opened her hand revealing the item more fully.

Shakira recoiled with a grimace. "Eww, no. I'll let him know you're interested, but I'm not touching your underwear."

"They're clean."

"I don’t care if they’re the Queen’s own."

Everyone at the table, except Shakira fell out laughing. Alex laughed the hardest.

"Bitch." The groupie said and stormed off.

"I'm glad all of you find this so hysterical." Shakira glared at Alex but couldn’t hold the huffy expression of mock annoyance. "It's disgusting. This happens all the time. These women have no shame."

Alex wiped his watery eyes as he looked out across the room. The other guitarist, the one she called Jack stared at Shakira. He stood at the bar with the drummer, talking and drinking a beer, but his hungry focus was fixed on Shakira. Jack’s gaze shifted to Alex. Neither man blinked until Dermot tapped Jack on the shoulder and pointed to his watch.

***

Paul stopped Shakira as she hurried to pack her two guitars. "Jack twisted his knee and needs a ride home. Can you take him?"

Alex heard part of the conversation and approached them straining to hear what else was said.

"How bad?" she asked. "I wasn't going straight home. I made plans with my friends."
  

"He can’t put pressure on it. His car’s a stick and he can't use the clutch. I'd drive him, but it’s out of the way for me and on the way to your house." Paul turned pleading eyes first to her, then to Jack, and back to Shakira.

"I’ll do it," she sighed.
 

"You’ll do what? Is there a problem? You’re still going with us, aren't you?" Alex asked, suspicious.
 

"I'm sorry. I'll have to take a rain check. Jack hurt his knee and can't drive. I'm the only one who lives in the same direction."

Jack limped up and angled himself so Shakira didn’t see the lopsided smirk he aimed at Alex, before turning to her.
 
"I don't want to spoil your plans. Go with your friends. I’ll call a cab." He hobbled to a nearby chair and pulled his cell phone out.

Alex read Shakira’s guilty expression when Jack suggested she "go with her friends,” but he couldn’t say anything without sounding unsympathetic.
 

"No, I'll drive you." Shakira looked apologetic at Alex and shrugged. "Sorry."

"Not a problem, take your friend home. It’s obvious the pain is too much for him to endure," Alex said, straight faced. "Miranda tells me you're an attorney. If you have time on your schedule, I’ll come by your office late Monday afternoon. I have a legal matter to discuss with you. We’ll go to dinner afterward." He slid his fingers up and down the length of hers in slow, soft strokes.

Shakira leaned closer. "Monday afternoon is fine."
 

"Till then." Alex brushed his lips along the back of her knuckles and smiled against her warm skin. "Allow me to assist your friend to the car. Fortunately, I am blessed with both good health and strength." He extended his hand to Jack and said in a solicitous voice, "You can lean on me."

"I can make it to the car on my own," Jack snapped, and stood. He took three steps before remembering to limp.

Chapter Five

Four o'clock and Alex hadn't arrived. Shakira scrutinized the male pedestrians on the street below. She was
not
watching for Alex but people watching.

The three outfit changes that morning didn’t have anything to do with him either. She’d discarded the combination of tailored navy blue suit and standard oxford shirt
. “
Too masculine and too conservative,” she said, consulting with her reflection. Next came the black double-breasted suit with the high necked, white silk blouse. “I look like a penguin.” The fact she’d worn the suit a dozen times and never been compared to a penguin made little difference.

Finally, she went with an elegant khaki green suit with a Mandarin collar. The edge of her pale gold blouse peeked out over the collar's stiff top. The color dulled the peaches and cream complexion of most English women. The difficult shade enhanced Shakira’s olive skin. Why not exploit the advantage?

She wore her hair in her usual French braid. Except today, she'd nestled two ornate faux tortoise combs on the sides. She was rearranging them again when her secretary, Kristin, flew into the room.

Kristin shut the door and hurried over to Shakira’s desk. “Guess who’s here to see you?”

“Al--”

"Alex Lancaster, the same Alex Lancaster who’s in
Hello Magazine
all the time. I hope he signs on with the firm.” Kristin patted her hair, touched her stomach, and licked her lips in quick succession. "I wouldn't mind seeing more of him and in more ways than one." Her brows lifted high as she shared a meaningful woman-to-woman look.

The firm specialized in entertainment law. Over the years, Kristen saw dozens of famous people. It wasn’t like her to be overly impressed with anyone.

"Show him in..." Shakira made a flipping motion with her hand in Kristen’s direction. "And for heaven's sake compose yourself. He's a music producer, not some movie star," Shakira said, smoothing her hair.

"Oh, he could star in a movie with me anytime." Kristen muttered as she opened the door. "Please come in, Mr. Lancaster."

He took three strides, stopped, and looked Shakira up and down. "You're quite the chameleon. Every time I see you, you have a different appearance."

"Which do you prefer?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen you naked yet."
 

Flattered and thrilled by the bold remark, she opened her mouth. No words came. There’s an entry for Mr. Guinness’s book, an attorney rendered speechless.

"Please sit," she said, when she found her voice and gestured to a small sofa. "What would you like? Except for the naked part, I believe I have anything you desire." She took two china cups and saucers from inside a burled wood credenza and set them by a small coffee maker.
 

"I won’t dwell on the world of innuendo that last comment generates," he said. "I’ll take a coffee, black, please.”