Love By Design

By Fiona McGier

“Can you do all of that for me, Rosa?”

His voice was lower and more persuasive now.

“Can you make my house into a home for me, Rosa? Make all of my dreams come true?”

She felt her pulse race, and licked her lips unconsciously.

“That’s why I’m here, Greg. To bring your dreams to life.”

Suddenly aware that he was leaning forward without intending to, as if his body was going to make him kiss her whether he planned to or not, Gregor froze, then cleared his throat as he sat back in his chair.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781597050999

Fiona McGier

I write contemporary erotic romance novels. Contemporary because having sex without birth control is a scary thought. Erotic, because I love to read books with sex scenes in them, so I write them too. And romance because the drive to pair up is a most basic human need, but the ways it can happen are endlessly fascinating.I write contemporary erotic romance novels about strong, independent women who are busy living their lives. When they meet equally strong, independent men, the sparks fly! Sooner or later one or both of them realize they are meant to be together for the long-term, and the "dance of love" moves to a whole new level of seriousness. I write happily-ever-after endings, because I really believe they are possible...not easy, but achievable. And I write hot scenes between the heroine and hero because that's the way they tell me their stories in my head!

Book preview

Love by Design

He inhaled deeply, and found himself even more aroused at her scent, a mixture of a light perfume, and her skin, so it took him a minute or so to be able to speak again.

"Then how about if we stroll over to the bar, and I’ll get you another glass of wine? But only if you agree to tell me your name. We can check out the appetizers, so you won’t starve before your uncle shows up."

She regarded him seriously, Okay. I’m Rosa. But that’s the last glass of wine for me, at least until I have some dinner in front of me. I can’t afford to embarrass my uncle here, in front of all of his peers and his bosses.

He leaned forward again, to speak even more quietly, Then how am I going to be able to get you drunk enough to take advantage of you, beautiful señorita?

She now gave him an arch smile and licked her lips, moving her head, so that her pony tail brushed along the hand that he had placed on the wall next to her, so that they could converse intimately in a crowded room full of people. A shiver ran along his spine, as his skin reacted to the slight movement.

"Why would you want to do that? We would both enjoy it a whole lot more, if I was sober enough to know what I was doing."

Gregor felt sweat start to trickle down his back, as his pants became uncomfortably tight, and he shifted his position, to try to disguise his condition.

She leaned closer to him again, Do you want me to walk in front of you, over to the bar? She turned away from him and it seemed almost accidental that her hip brushed against the front of his pants. But then she smiled over her shoulder at him and he suddenly realized that he was also the prey in this game, not just the predator. And he also realized that this woman was a force to be reckoned with, and the game instantly became a whole lot more fun.

Other Works From The Pen Of

Fiona McGier

Never Too Old For The Game Of Love, April 2009.

Almost 40, Tegan is a divorced mother of 2, convinced that she has no time for romance. Alexander is 42, divorced, and enjoys playing the field. They have nothing in common…except love.

Recipe For Love, August 2009

She advertised for an assistant cook. He said he knew how to cook hot foods. How hot is the kitchen going to get when they are both in it?

Wings

LOVE BY DESIGN

By

Fiona McGier

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Contemporary Romance Novel

Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Gina Cadorette

Copy Edited by: Elizabeth Struble

Senior Editor:Anita York

Executive Editor: Marilyn Kapp

Cover Artist: William Grimes

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

http://www.wings-press.com

Copyright © 2009 by Fiona Gierzynski

ISBN 978-1-59705-099-9:

Published by Wings ePress, Inc. at Smashwords

Published In the United States Of America

October 2009

Wings ePress Inc.

403 Wallace Court

Richmond, KY 40475

Dedication

To my good friend, Ciro S., thanks for helping me with my español in these books, and for sharing your knowledge of the customs unique to Hispanic cultures. And to Paul, my real-life happily-ever-after.

One

Gregor Lubovich ignored the half-drunk bottle of wine that he had been planning on finishing tonight. He felt the need for something stronger. Instead, he reached for the bottle of single-malt scotch that he kept for special occasions. Tonight, he needed more than a glass or two of even the expensive cabernet that he had on hand. He felt up-ended, off-balance, and he hoped the stronger spirits would soothe his soul, and allow him to think more clearly, and eventually, to sleep.

After pouring himself a glass, and getting a bottle of water out of the fridge to sip along with the scotch, he slumped down onto his most comfortable easy chair and stared moodily out of the window, seeing nothing. In his mind, he replayed the events that had occurred earlier this evening and he cursed everyone in general, and the man who had said her name in particular. He had not been prepared, or forewarned, though probably he should have realized this was possible. He finished the first glass of scotch, drank a few sips of water, and poured himself another dram of the potent alcohol as he remembered the events of the day.

He had been called by the owner of the city’s most prestigious interior design firm while he was having lunch with a client. They had been playing phone-tag for a couple of days, so he asked for, and got permission from his client, to take a few minutes to set up an appointment with the famous Monsieur Dormande. They had agreed to meet at 5:30 in his office.

To apologize for being so hard to get on the phone, the elusive artiste had offered to meet him on his turf. He had agreed, since Fridays were his busiest days, what with meetings with salespeople, and last-minute calls full of desperation, when his customers realized the weekend had arrived, and they were not prepared to wait until Monday for his attention. He had been glad to schedule an appointment for 5:30 since it meant that he had a legitimate reason to put all of his phone equipment into message-taking mode at a relatively early time for a Friday.

Everyone in his office was aware that he was buying a new home. Since the divorce last year, he had been renting a furnished condo near his office, but he needed to put some of his considerable fortune into some real estate, and soon, to shelter it from the taxman. He had been advised by everyone from his boss, to his secretary, and even the realtor, who had flirted shamelessly with him during the final walk-through on the house, that the very best interior design company in the city was the one owned by the eccentric Frenchman who insisted on taking all of his own calls, and setting up appointments himself.

After his first few phone messages were not returned, Gregor, who was not used to being ignored, left a terse message giving the address of the house he was in the process of buying, and a warning that he would be forced to contact another firm, if the Monsieur was too busy to take care of his needs.

As he had suspected, the address had gotten the attention of the Monsieur, since the mansion was well-known for having been featured in interior design magazines back in the sixties, when it was built as a summer home for a Florida millionaire who had made his fortune bottling and marketing fresh orange juice from his orchards. The chance to update such a well-known showplace was too inviting of a plum for even a busy man like Monsieur Dormande, to resist.

So at 5:25, Gregor detached his phone equipment, put his machine on to take messages for him, and he waited, sipping his umpteenth cup of coffee for the day. He didn’t have long to wait. Busy and temperamental though he might be, Monsieur Dormande was also punctual. This, in Gregor’s book, was enough to make him decide not to cop an attitude with the designer.

After they shook hands, and sat down, Monsieur Dormande had asked him questions about what he might have in mind, and what kind of budget he was offering for use in renovating his new mansion.

So, zere is no wife, no Madame Lubovich, to ‘ave to include ze opinions of, when we present ze design plans to you? The Frenchman appeared pleased.

Gregor shook his head. No. I’m divorced, so there’s only me, he looked directly into the eyes of the shorter man, whose nervous demeanor reminded him of a large bird. But I expect to have the final word over every aspect of what I have every intention of making my permanent home.

The designer nodded, Of course, of course. We would expect no-zing else from a man of your means. He shot a sly smile at his new client, And I expect zat you will want our very best designer to personally over-see every aspect of ze implementation of ze plans you approve of?

He nodded impatiently, Of course. With what I will be paying you, I expect nothing less.

Monsieur Dormande nodded. Zen we ‘ave an agreement. I will ‘ave ze contract faxed to you in ze morning. Once every-zing is agreed to and signed, I will ‘ave my top designer call you to set up a time for ‘er to meet you in your new ‘ome, and walk room-to-room wiz you, so zat you two can discuss ideas, to allow for ‘er to begin to bring your vision to fruition.

Gregor nodded again. And I hope that will be soon. Now that all of the legalities have been taken care of, I am anxious to move into my new home, but not until it meets my specifications. He gave the smaller man a guarded look. And I warn you, I am meticulous in everything that I do...I expect no less from your designer.

Monsieur Dormande nodded again, this time with a trace of irritation that he quickly masked. Of course, Monsieur Lubovich. I ‘ave every confidence in ze designers who work for me. Fortunately for us all, Mademoiselle Reyes ‘as just finished an important project, and she will be available as soon as is convenient for you.

Gregor looked up sharply. Did you say ‘Reyes’?

Monsieur Dormande nodded once again, as he rose to leave. Oui. Mademoiselle Rosie Reyes is our top designer, and ‘er services are very much in demand. Normalemente I would let ‘er make the decision as to whe-zer or not she wishes to take on such a large and important challenge. But considering ze prestigious nature of ze ‘ome you wish us to work on, I’m sure she will agree zat zere is no doubt zat she is ze only choice for you.

His mind raced, as his heartbeat sped up, and Gregor’s sole thought was, "I used to think that she was the only choice for me."

He shook his head as he fought to regain control over his face, and he realized that his hesitation had drawn the interest of the designer.

Is zere a problem?

He shook his head again. No. But I have heard that name before...somewhere.

Monsieur Dormande nodded as he moved toward the door. Oui. Our Mademoiselle Reyes ‘as quite a reputation, which I can personally assure you zat she ‘as earned. She ‘as an eye for beauty, and a way of understanding ze vision you discuss, and making it real. I am quite sure you will not be disappointed in ‘er.

With that, since he had reached the door, Monsieur Dormande nodded once more at Gregor, saying, It was a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Lubovich. I look forward to providing you wiz every-zing you desire from us. Look for ze contract in ze morning, and I will ask Mademoiselle Reyes to call you at ‘er earliest convenience. Au revoir, Monsieur.

Gregor sighed as he watched his door close after the departure of the designer. He shook his head, as he spoke out loud, I was never disappointed in her... at least not until the very end. He sighed again; then he gathered his things together and left the office with his only goal in mind being the bottle of single malt scotch that he kept for special occasions.

He sighed once more as he poured himself another shot. He had worked diligently for years trying not to spend all of his time thinking about her, about what they had had for three years... about the future he had envisioned for them. It had all disappeared, when she broke up with him. Pain had wrapped itself around his memories then, and made them too unpleasant for him to remember, so he had locked them up tight, and vowed to not ever think about them again. Now, blind-sided with her name and the certainty that their paths were about to cross again seven years after their relationship had ended, he felt the pain wash over him, threatening to drown him in its intensity. It felt as bad as when she had first left him. He heard her voice again, telling him they were through.

"I’m sorry Greg, but you put me in this position. You are the one who made it a choice for me, between my family and you. You have always known how much my family means to me. We are a close-knit Hispanic family, and we protect our own. What you tried to do to my uncle is unforgivable."

He tried to reason with her. But you yourself have said that he and I are very much alike. He’d have done the same thing, if he could have. All I tried to do is take over some of his clients...

She shook her head. No, it was much more than that! It was a power-play, and you tried to force him out. You lost. But I know what you did. You didn’t think about what it might do to him, at his age, to lose to you. He’s got a daughter in college, and three more behind her. And worst of all, you didn’t think about what it would mean to me, to know that you had tried to destroy my closest uncle’s career... he’s my padrino! My godfather! That might not mean much to you, but it does to me!

He looked her in the eye. So he means more to you than I do? Is that what you are telling me?

Her eyes filled with tears. He’s family. We protect each other. We love each other.

His face was wild. And what about our love? What about how you feel about me? Doesn’t that count? Or am I further down the line in importance to you, after your parents, your siblings, and your extended family? Where do I fit in? Last?

She turned her face away. I’m sorry, Greg. I love you, but I feel like you betrayed me. You attacked one of my family, and you expect me to forgive you... when in fact, you refuse to even admit that you did anything wrong. You just don’t understand.

He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look at him. You’re right! I don’t understand! What I feel for you has nothing to do with any of your family. I want to create a new family with you! Damn it, Rosa, I love you!

He pulled her close then, crushing her lips with his, trying to make her see how their feelings for each other were more important than anything else that had happened.

He had expected compliance... the softening of her lips, her body; the spark between them should have made her respond to him, as she had always done, since the first time he touched her. Instead, she remained still, unmoving, as if she were carved from stone. He drew back from her in alarm, realizing for the very first time, how serious she was.

She shook her head sadly, the tears glistening in her eyes. I’m sorry, Greg. It’s over between us. I can’t make love to someone who has no regard for the other people that I love. You made your choice, when you decided to act without talking to me about it first. You said you wanted us to be a partnership, but I don’t get any votes when you act alone. I thought you knew me better. I was wrong. I’m moving out tomorrow. Tonight I’m going to my parents’ house.

He looked at her dully. Is there anything I can say or do, to change your mind?

She shook her head again. Not anymore. I’ll be by in the morning with my brothers, to get my stuff. I don’t want an ugly scene between you and them, please. The whole family is pretty pissed at you right now.

Anger began to over-ride the pain, as it sank into his consciousness that she really was leaving him. I don’t want to see any of them. I don’t want to see you again either. I won’t be here in the morning.

She nodded. Good. Good-bye Greg. I’m sorry it had to end like this.

He turned away from her, to dismiss her. He could feel her looking at his back for a long moment; then with a sigh she turned and walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. Only then did he allow himself to cry, the tears of frustration and pain overwhelming his usually iron-clad self-control. He had not cried since he left Russia, so many years ago, with his parents.

Two

Gregor shook his head, as he poured himself yet another shot. He was not one to practice much introspection. He was a man of action, not deep-thinking. But remembering the pain of losing the only woman he had ever allowed himself to really love was causing him to remember other pain as well. He sighed heavily, as unbidden memories flooded his consciousness, as if they were all sneaking in through the chink in his armor, caused by simply hearing her name.

He had not wanted to leave Russia and his grandparents, because they had been his caretakers, watching him, loving him, and making him feel loved, when both of his parents had to be at work, making the money to put food on the table. He had never doubted how much they cared for him... he was their only grandchild, and they doted on him. He had been ten when his parents seized an unexpected opportunity