by Crooks, Pam
The agony of being torn between two worlds wrought a moan of dismay from her throat. She had not felt it for a very long time, this anguish. The intense love she had for Reese had made everything seem right. But how could she give up the Gypsy world? The world in which her family lived? How could she give herself to Reese when there was not enough of herself to give?
The door opened with a raspy squeak of its hinges. Knowing he came to her at last, she drew a deep breath, dredged up the courage to face him and slowly turned from the window.
His smoldering gaze touched on her but for a moment before swinging toward the bed, not yet turned down in readiness for their coupling, then back again, gliding over the green henrietta draping her from shoulder to ankle. She lifted her chin.
“Second thoughts, Mrs. Carrison?” he asked coolly.
“Yes.”
A dark brow raised; he moved farther into the room. He had rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms and a dusting of crisp hairs over his tanned skin. His masculinity reached out to her, and she swallowed down the stirrings of desire. So much a man, her husband. How could she not want him to make love to her?
“I won't hurt you if I can help it,” he said, his voice low. “You know that, Liza.”
She sensed his puzzlement in her reluctance to go to him when their kisses of late had been frenzied with passion, their touches tightly restrained, saving themselves for now, this moment.
“I am not afraid.” Her glance fell from his, and she swept past him. She could not think straight when he looked at her like this, his longing a hot flame in his eyes.
He grasped her arm, a gentle but unyielding grip. “Then what is it?”
Their gazes clashed.
“Tell me,” he said, strands of urgency in the words.
She pulled from his hold and pivoted, finding herself in front of his dresser and staring at their reflections in the mirror. He stood behind her, the top of her head at his chin. The breadth of his shoulders absorbed her slender form, and she could not help but know their bodies were a perfect match.
But in the soft glow of the kerosene lamp, she saw the wreath of wildflowers nestled in her hair, upswept in a coiffure with coppery-gold tendrils curling down her nape and over her forehead. No beads hung from her neck, no hoop earrings from her lobes. Preparing for her wedding, she had foolishly thought herself elegant and beautiful and very much a part of the Gaje world. Now, she could only feel shame.
“God's saints. Look at me.” Her fingers plucked at the hairpins in disgust and dropped them to the dresser top. “I do not look Gypsy. Your people have changed me. You have changed me.”
One half of her hair drooped. Reese caught the flower wreath before it tumbled to the floor. “You changed yourself, Liza. No one did it for you.”
“I am Gypsy!”
“And you are Gaje. You're both.”
Little bursts of panic swelled within her at the truth. How could she fit in with two very different worlds?
She yanked out the last pin. Her hair spilled over her back and shoulders. She frantically searched her mind for her striped kerchief, but for the life of her, she could not remember where she had put it.
She turned her face from the glass and coiled her arms about her. Suddenly, she felt terribly alone and a need to cling to the old ways.
“It is tradition for a bride's family to weep when they unbraid her hair after she is wed,” she said hoarsely. “Then her new mother-in-law helps her tie her kerchief in the special knot used only by the married women.”
Reese dipped his hand into the silken tresses, fingering the strands, stroking their texture.
“There's no one here to weep for you,” he said. “And there's no braid. No mother-in-law. No kerchief.”
She shook her head. “No. None of those things.”
“Only me for the rest of your life, Liza. Your husband. Isn't that enough?”
She bit her lip and resisted the lure of his closeness, the warmth emanating from his body. “I do not know.”
He stilled and let the strands of hair drop. “Your family won't be happy to learn we've married.” In terse movements, he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, hurling it to a far comer of the room. “What will they do?”
Miserable, she shrugged. “The Gypsies do not recognize a Gaje wedding. To them, it is only a ceremony that has no significance.”
She flinched at his vehement curse. He snatched her left hand, lifting it for her to see, showing her the heavy gold band circling her finger.
“This is proof that you're mine.” His voice was low and intense. Until death do us part.'“
“The Gypsies have no need of these symbols.”
“The Gaje do. We take them seriously. I take them seriously. And God forbid if anyone tries to take you away. I'll kill them first.”
Her lower lip quivered.
He swore again.
Roughly, he took her against him, holding her stiff body tight to his chest, and pressed his jaw to her temple.
“What do I have to do to make us right by your people?” he demanded, a pleading desperation to his low voice. ''I'll do anything. Anything.”
She closed her eyes and sniffled. “You must ask permission of Mama and Nanosh.”
“What else?”
Humiliation seared her. “There is a bride-price.”
''I'll pay it. Whatever it costs to have you.”
Swallowing, she drew a hopeless breath. “There must be complete agreement on both sides. Only then--but it can never be--I do not think--.”
“It will be, my sweet.” His lips touched her eyelids; his scent filled her. “I'll do everything in my power. I swear to God.”
His chin swept the length of her cheek as he searched for her mouth. There was more to tell him, something so terrible that she could not now speak of it, not when she needed him like this, to hold her so possessively that all her worst fears and worries disappeared.
She melted into him, then, surrendering herself to his protection. Her head lifted, eager to meet his seeking lips.
Their mouths locked in joint mating, tongues thrusting, twining, their breaths building to heavy pants of passion.
A tremor went through Reese. His hand came between them, to the buttons at her throat, her breasts, her waist, and the green henrietta fell open. With an impatient tug, he pulled the blouse from her shoulders; another, and her skirt drifted to her feet.
He cupped her face tenderly and broke their kiss, his eyes a physical caress over her features. “You're mine, Liza. Mine, forever.”
“Yes,” she whispered, for she wanted to be his with her whole being, no matter the consequences, no matter the future.
He bent and slipped an iron-thewed arm behind her knees, carrying her the short distance to the bed. He set her down gently, removed her stockings and shoes, and pulled her chemise over her head. She wore no corset--she could not abide them, though the women in his world thought them necessary--and stood naked before him.
Cool air touched her skin, puckering her nipples, and she released a shaky breath. His fierce gaze, hot with longing, evoked a rush of new and exciting sensations. She trembled beneath the weight of them.
“I knew you'd look like this,” he said huskily. “A million nights I've dreamed of it.”
He drew her snugly against him, crushing her breasts against his heated chest, skin to bare skin, and Liza's breath caught at the pleasure. His hungry mouth stifled her sighs. Her arms wound to his back, her palms flattening against the rock-hard muscles, holding him tight. He rained fevered kisses down the column of her throat and across her shoulder, lowering to the swell of her breast. His tongue stroked and flirted with the dark crest, laving it into a pebbled hardness. He suckled like a babe with a man's need to be sated by a woman, and her knees nearly gave way.
“Oh, Reese.” Her fingers speared into the thickness of his hair, and she held his head to her even as she wished him to stop. “Saints in heaven.”<
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A ragged laugh rumbled from him, as if he knew he pleased her and delighted in it. He straightened and nuzzled her neck. “Ah, precious wife. There's more, and you'll like it even better.”
Bold in her quest to find the truth in his promise, her fingers worked the buttons on his pants. “Do not dally, then. This is more than either of us can stand, I think.”
The black fabric parted, revealing his heated shaft throbbing in readiness for their joining. Reese guided her hand to him, closing his fingers over hers. She lowered her lashes and savored his velvety heat. A ripple of reaction rocked his body, and he sucked in a jagged breath.
He stepped away and removed the rest of his clothes, dropping them on top of her chemise. Muscle and sinew corded his taut, lean body, its manly symmetry boldly proclaimed in his nakedness. Liza's pulse quickened at her first glimpse of his raw maleness, the blood heating in her veins as she drank in the sight. Splendid and perfect, her husband. Had she not known he would be?
He reached around her to sweep the coverlet aside, then moved, bringing her down with him to the mattress, the sheets cool on her back, his body deliciously warm on her front.
He claimed her mouth in unquestioned demand, the fire of his desire igniting an answering blaze within her. Never would she tire of him kissing her like this, his lips hard and soft, his passion rough and gentle, his want deep. So very deep.
His lips slid sensuously to her jaw. He murmured her name again and again, his whispers ragged and fervent. The tip of his tongue stroked the inner curve of her ear, and she shivered from the tingles he wrought. His teeth nipped at her lobe, and her head turned upon the pillow, seeking him, wanting him to kiss her again.
Their mouths clung, and her caresses grew frantic over his body. His palms cupped her breasts, each thumb tantalizing a sensitive peak with feathery-soft strokes, inciting panting moans of pleasure from her. His hand slid over her belly, over the curve of her hip. Her breathing quickened with anticipation of his intent, exciting and wicked and wonderful. His hand slid lower, then lower still, and she ached from the mastery of his touch, from the exquisite sensations building inside her.
“Reese. Please.”
She could stand no more of this scintillating torture. She writhed from the need of him, this fiery-hot want consuming her. Her thighs loosened, ready to take him. He rose above her, all male muscle and hardness and aching want, and probed her glistening feminine softness with his manhood.
Her flesh resisted, and she gasped with the first sting of pain.
''I'll go easy, Liza,” Reese breathed, his chest heaving, arms shaking as he held himself back for her. “It won't hurt long. Only seconds.”
She trusted him, as she had long since learned to do, and accepted his tentative thrusts. His hips moved over hers, gentle but insistent. Then, a sharp burn shot through her, and she sucked inward. He plunged deep, erasing the hurt, filling her until she feared she could not hold all of him.
His mouth found hers, hungry and consoling, his tongue sweeping aside the memory of his entry and stoking, instead, a strange, budding sensation. He moved again, deep, so deep, her tightness taking him, stroking him, inviting her hips to lift and sway with his. Belly to belly. Thigh to thigh. Man to woman. Liza cleaved with him and rode the peaks, until wave after wave of physical ecstasy washed over her.
Groaning, shuddering, Reese poured his seed into her, staking his claim on her as his wife, solely his for any who dared to deny it. Liza reveled in his possession, for in return he would be hers now and forever, and when his body drifted onto hers, spent and fulfilled, contentment swathed her soul. She held him in her embrace, his body pleasingly heavy on hers, for long after their breathing had eased, their bodies cooled, their passions complete.
“We have all night, Liza. And the rest of our lives.” Warmly amused, Reese ran a knuckle across her chin.
“It is not my fault I have learned to like one more thing you taught me,” she murmured, tracing a lazy line down the middle of his chest to his navel with her fingertip.
Deliciously cozy snuggled next to him among the pillows and sheets, Liza propped her head up on one hand and tucked a foot between his hair-roughened shins. For the life of her, she could not sleep, even after the excitement of their fevered coupling.
“You don't know the half of it, what we can do to pleasure each other,” he said softly. “I'll be happy to teach you those ways, too.”
“When?”
“Soon.” His low chuckle tumbled between them. “A man needs a little time when a woman wears him out like you did me. To catch his breath, so to speak.”
“Oh.” She frowned.
“You're insatiable, y'know that?”
“I do not know what ‘insatiable’ means,” she said and snuggled closer, laying her head on his shoulder.
Reese grunted, settling her against him. “Every husband should be so lucky.”
“Then it does not matter if I understand the meaning or not.” She sighed contentedly and drew her open palm against his lean, flat belly. She could not touch him enough.
Not in her lifetime.
Against her will, traces of her past melded with the present, and her mouth pursed. As her husband, she wanted Reese to know of her people, their ways and customs, always so different from his.
“It is very important to the Gypsy to have a virgin for his bride,” she mused. “Is it so with the Gaje?”
“A man takes a lot of pride in knowing he's the first to bed his wife, that she's saved herself for him.” His arm tightened about her. “But I guess in a few cases a man has to take what he can get. In some parts of the country, women are mighty scarce.”
“Oh.” Her lashes lowered; a light blush touched her cheeks. “A Gypsy bride must display proof to the entire kumpania that she was pure for her husband on their wedding night. A blood-stained sheet perhaps. Or else she brings much shame to him and his family.” She hesitated. “Will you expect that of me as well, to show your people I was pure for you?”
“Hell, no.” Though he voiced no criticism of the practice, it was not difficult to see he thought little of it. “That's a private matter between you and me. No one else.”
“Thank the saints.” Liza had always been embarrassed with the custom. She could not visualize such a thing with Maudeen or Mayor Al Dunning or Hank in attendance. Her cheeks blazed anew just thinking of it.
Reese shifted, and he lifted her chin with a crooked finger. His tiger-like eyes darkened with concern. “If your people place this much importance on a virgin among their own, what will they do when they learn a Gypsy virgin has wed a Gajo?”
Her blood faltered in her veins. She could not bear to tell him. She pushed at him, wanting to leave the bed, to avoid answering, but he held her fast.
“Liza, I need to know. For your sake.”
She swallowed; still, she hesitated.
With a sweep of his mighty arm, he lifted her atop him, their bodies oblivious to the other's nakedness. His hands gripped her waist.
“I’m not kin to secrets between us,” he said, a hint of warning in his tone. “I'll not ask overmuch of you as my wife except honesty and truth. Always. I'll give the same to you.”
He was her husband. Strong and powerful and shrewd, and how she loved him. If she could not share with him all that was in her heart, especially her worst worries, what kind of wife would she be?
Even so, she could hardly say the words aloud. With a worried sigh, she lowered her head and nestled beneath his chin, her hair splayed outward in a silken mass over his shoulder. She took comfort from the steady beat of his heart and slid her arms around him, holding him close.
“I did a very serious thing in marrying you,” she said finally. “It will be a matter for the kris to decide.”
Under the sheets, his hands stroked her spine, slow and soothing. “Why would they deny you the man you choose to marry?”
“You are Gajo. No other reason.”
“And these are the same me
n who ordered your mother's head shaved?”
“Yes. They are very respected and wise. Their word is to be honored and obeyed.”
He fell silent, his hands continuing their stroking magic.
“I understand the power they wield,” he said. “Similar to judges and juries. But our marriage is legal and binding, Liza. The kris is forced by the law of this land to recognize it. What's the worst they could do to you?”
She shuddered in revulsion. She found her courage and faced the truth. “I could be banished from the kumpania . An outcast. I would never be able to see my family again.”
His arms flexed, pulling her up to look at him. He appeared stunned. “You're serious?”
“I could never jest about something so terrible.”
“No wonder you had second thoughts afterward,” he muttered.
She nodded soberly. “The shame to my family will be very great. I fear I will pay dearly for my decision. For a Gypsy, there is no greater punishment than to be declared marhime.”
“Oh, Liza.” Cupping the back of her head, he brought her back down against him, wrapping his strong arms around her. For long minutes, he said nothing, and she imagined his logical mind working, sifting through all she had told him.
As she lay on him, her cheek pressed to his warm skin, a strange relief veiled a portion of her worries. She did not feel so alone now, nor so fearful and apprehensive.
She had opened her heart and emptied it into his own, giving him everything of her world, holding nothing back. Perhaps some of the mystery would be eliminated, making reality less daunting and more easily confronted.
“Listen to me.” Reese pulled her up again. He tucked her hair behind her ears, the movement tender and pensive. “You read my palm once. Remember?”
“I will never forget.”
“You told me I'd have a great love someday, that the woman I married would make me happy, and our love would last forever.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“We both assumed you spoke of Rebecca Ann. We were both wrong.” He took her hand, twining their fingers, and dropped a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. “You were speaking of yourself. I know that now because I love you so much it scares me.”
