by Lisa Kleypas
Oh, hell. He was thinking too much. Just like a gadjo.
He forced himself to face the truth. The fact was, Amelia was his, whether he stayed or left, whether they walked the same path or not. They could live on opposite sides of the world, and she would still be his.
The Roma half of him had seen that from the beginning.
And it was that side of himself he would listen to.
* * *
Amelia’s bed was soft and luxurious, but it might as well have been made of bare wood planks. She rolled, turned, sprawled, but she could find no comfortable position for her aching body, and no peace for her tortured brain.
The room was still and stuffy, the air turning thicker by the minute. Craving a breath of clear, cold air, she slipped from the bed, went to the window, and pushed it open. A gasp of relief escaped her as a light breeze swept over her. She closed her sore eyes, used her knuckles to rub her wet lashes.
It was strange, but with all the problems she faced, the thing that kept her from sleeping was the question of whether or not Christopher Frost had ever really loved her. She had wanted to think so, even after he had abandoned her. She had told herself that love was a luxury for most people, that Christopher’s career was a difficult one, and he had been faced with an impossible choice. He had done what he’d thought best at the time. Perhaps it had been wrong of her to expect him to choose her and damn the consequences.
To be desired above all else, to be wanted, needed, coveted … that would never happen to her.
The door opened in a well-oiled arc. She saw the shadows change, felt a presence in the room. Turning with a start, she saw Cam Rohan standing just inside the door. Her heart began to drum with furious force. He looked like something from a dream, a dark enigmatic ghost.
He approached her slowly. The closer he came, the more it seemed everything around her was unraveling, falling away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.
Cam’s breathing wasn’t quite steady. Neither was hers. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “The Rom believe you should take the road that calls to you, and never turn back. Because you never know what adventures await.” He reached for her slowly, giving her every opportunity to object. Through the cottony gauze of her nightgown, he touched the curve of her hips. He brought her close, into his hard weight.
“So we’re going to take this road,” he murmured, “and see where it leads.”
He waited for a signal, some syllable of objection or encouragement, but she could only stare at him, transfixed and helpless.
He smoothed her hair, whispering for her not to fear him, he would take care of her, please her. His fingers found the sensitive curve of her scalp, cradling her head as he kissed her. He dragged his mouth across hers, again and again, and when her lips were open and damp, he sealed them with his.
Excitement flooded her, and she gave in to the dark pleasure, opening to the penetrating strokes of his tongue, struggling to capture the silkiness. His hands gently urged her backward until her balance collapsed. She lay on the tumbled bed as if on some pagan altar. Bending over her, Cam kissed her throat. There was a series of quick tugs at the front of her gown, and the edges of the garment parted.
She felt his urgency, the heat radiating from his body, but every movement was careful, lingering, as he reached beneath the fragile cotton and caressed her breast. Her knees drew up, her entire body arching to contain the pleasure of his touch. With a wordless sound Cam coaxed her to relax, his hand gliding from her chest to her knees. His parted lips brushed the naked tip of her breast, toying with the hardening bud, his tongue skimming wetly. She brought her hands to his hair, tangling her fingers in the ebony locks, trying to hold him to her. His mouth closed over her nipple, tugging lightly until she quivered and tried to roll away, unnerved by the feeling that she was being driven to the brink of some new sensation altogether.
Cam pulled her back to him and bent over her once more. His mouth covered hers, while his teasing fingers pulled the hem of her gown higher and found the tender backs of her thighs.
Amelia reached for his shirt with trembling hands. It was loose-cut and collarless, the kind that lifted over the head instead of buttoning. Cam moved to help her, pulling the garment off and tossing it aside. Moonlight gilded the supple, muscular lines of his body, his chest taut and smooth.
Flattening her palms against the hard flesh, she drew them gently downward to his sides and around his back. He shivered at her touch and lowered to the place beside her, one leg sliding between hers. The gown fell open to expose her chest completely, the hem bunching high on her thighs.
His lips descended to her breast again, while he cupped and kneaded the firm flesh. Arching up to him, she struggled to press closer, to bring his weight more fully over her. He resisted, his hands traveling over her in caresses meant to calm her. She quivered at his gentleness, her hands gripping his back. She couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t find words. Twisting against him, she felt the desire sharpen to unbearable intensity. “Cam … Cam…” She pressed her face to his shoulder.
Feeling the dampness of her lashes, he eased her head back and touched his tongue to an errant teardrop. “Patience, hummingbird. It’s too soon.”
She looked up into his shadowed features. “For you?”
There was a moment’s pause, as if Cam were struggling to hold back a sudden laugh. “No, for you.”
“I’m twenty-six years old,” she protested. “How could it possibly be too soon for me?”
Cam couldn’t suppress his laughter then, burying the low, rich sounds in her mouth.
The kisses turned harder, longer, and in between, Cam spoke in a mixture of Romany and English, and it was unclear if he even knew what language he used. Grasping her hand in his, he brought it down his body to the urgent thrust of his erection. Shocked and fascinated, Amelia eased her hand along the length of him, her fingers molding hesitantly over the hardness. Cam groaned as if in pain, and she snatched her hand back at once.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, flushing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me.” There was a flick of tender amusement in his voice. He caught her hand and brought it back down.
Amelia explored him shyly, her curiosity stirred by the heat and suggestion of movement beneath the taut fabric of his breeches. He seemed to revel in her touch, nearly purring as he moved over her to nuzzle and lick at her throat.
Both his legs were between hers now, widening the space between them, the nightgown crumpled around her waist. Exposed, mortified, excited, she felt one of his hands roaming low on her stomach. Soon there would be pain and possession, all mysteries solved. She thought perhaps now would be an opportune time to mention something.
“Cam?”
His head lifted. “Yes?”
“I’ve heard there are ways—that is, since this can lead to—oh, I don’t know how to say it—”
“You don’t want me to give you a baby.” His fingertips played gently through her intimate dark curls.
“Yes. That is … no.” Her breath tangled around a moan.
“I won’t. Although there’s always a chance.” He found a place so alive with sensation that she jerked and drew her knees up. His fingers were light and gentle as he parted the soft cleft. “The question, love, is whether you want me enough to take the risk.”
Her senses swam in shame and pleasure at the way he touched her. Her entire existence had dwindled to the sly teasing of one fingertip. And Cam knew. He waited for her answer, stroking, shaping the tenderness with his fingertips, paying careful attention to every shiver and twitch of her body.
“Yes,” she said unsteadily. “I want you.”
The pad of his thumb stroked downward, gliding through a patch of inexplicable wetness. Before she could say a word, he had pressed into the moisture with his thumb, invading her slightly.
His lashes lowered over devil-bright eyes. “Do you want this?” he whispered.
She
nodded and tried to say yes, but all that came out was a low whimper.
Deeper, a gently inquiring stroke, until she felt the hard ridge of his thumb ring press against the entrance of her body. He made slow circles inside her, the smooth ring teasing and rubbing until she felt faint and hot. Oh, dear heaven, yes, no, please … another swirl, another, each one coiling the pleasure tighter until her heart was thundering and her hips nudged rhythmically against the heel of his hand. But then the exquisite invasion was withdrawn, and her body clasped desperately around the emptiness. She reached for him, clawing him in her frantic need, and Cam had the effrontery to laugh softly.
“Easy, sweetheart. We’re still at the beginning. There’s no need to hurry through it.”
“The beginning?” Stunned and throbbing, she could hardly speak. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that she couldn’t bear much more of his refined torture. “I would have thought you’d have already finished by now.”
She felt him smile as he kissed the inside of her elbow, working his way down to her wrist. “The point is to make it last as long as possible.”
“Why?”
“It’s better that way. For both of us.” He pried her clenched fingers apart and kissed the palm of her hand. After pulling her nightgown back into place, he buttoned the front with meticulous care.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you for a ride.” As she sputtered with questions, he touched a gentle forefinger to her lips. “Trust me,” he whispered.
Amelia complied in a daze as he pulled her from the bed, wrapped the velvet robe around her, and tucked her feet into soft slippers.
Clasping her hand firmly in his, Cam led her from the room. The house was still and soundless, the walls hung with portraits of aristocrats with disapproving faces.
They went out the back of the house to the great stone terrace, its wide curving steps leading down to the gardens. The moonlight was crossed with shredded clouds that glowed against a sky the color of black plums. Puzzled but willing, Amelia went with Cam to the bottom of the steps.
He stopped and gave a short whistle.
“What—” Amelia gasped as she heard the pounding of heavy hooves and saw a huge black form rushing toward them like something from a nightmare. Alarm darted through her, and she burrowed against Cam, her face hidden against his chest. His arm went around her, tucking her close.
When the thundering stopped, Amelia risked a glance at the apparition. It was a horse. A huge black horse, with puffing breaths that rose like wraiths in the raw air.
“Is this really happening?” she asked.
Cam reached in his pocket and fed the horse a sugar lump, and ran his hand over the sleek midnight neck. “Have you ever had a dream like this?”
“Never.”
“Then it must be happening.”
“You actually have a horse who comes when you whistle?”
“Yes, I trained him.”
“What is his name?”
His smile gleamed white in the darkness. “Can’t you guess?”
Amelia thought for a moment. “Pooka?” The horse turned his head to look at her as if he understood. “Pooka,” she repeated with a faint smile. “Do you have wings, by any chance?”
At Cam’s subtle gesture, the horse shook his head in an emphatic no, and Amelia laughed shakily.
Walking to Pooka’s side, Cam swung up onto the packsaddle in a graceful movement. He sidled close to the step on which Amelia was standing and reached down to her. She took his hand, managing to gain a foothold on the stirrup. She was lifted easily onto the saddle in front of him. Momentum carried her a little too far, but Cam’s arm locked around her, keeping her in place.
Amelia leaned back into the hard cradle of his chest and arm. Her nostrils were filled with the scents of autumn, damp earth, horse and man and midnight.
“You knew I’d come with you, didn’t you?” she asked.
Cam leaned over her, kissing her temple. “I only hoped.” His thighs tightened, setting the horse to a gallop, and then a smooth canter. And when Amelia closed her eyes, she could have sworn they were flying.
Chapter Fifteen
Cam rode to the abandoned river encampment where the Gypsy tribe had stayed. The remains of the camp were still there; the ruts left by the wheels of the vardos, circles of grass eaten where the cobs had been tethered, the shallow fire pit filled with ash. And everywhere there was the sound of the sloshing, rushing river, pushing at the banks, soaking the yielding earth.
He dismounted and helped Amelia to the ground. At his direction, she sat on a fallen birch log while he set up a makeshift camp. She waited with her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching his every movement as he pulled a bundle of blankets from the packsaddle. In a few minutes he had made a fire in the stone-circled pit and laid out a pallet beside it.
Amelia hurried to the pile of blankets and burrowed beneath the layers of wool and quilted cotton. “Is it safe out here?” she asked, her voice muffled.
“You’re safe from everything but me.” Smiling, Cam lowered himself beside her. After removing his boots, he joined her beneath the blankets and pulled her against him. Reminding himself of the rewards to be gained by patience, he cuddled her close and waited.
As one second melted into the next, Amelia’s body nestled more tightly against his. It felt so extraordinary just to hold her that he did nothing for a long time. He listened to the flow of her breathing, and felt the cold night air move over them, while the warmth of their bodies collected beneath the blankets. They descended into the heart of a still, quiet pleasure Cam had never known before. His pulse began a hard, rolling drum, the heat thickening between every beat. He felt her hips pressing tentatively against his, cradling the rigid shape of his arousal, bundling closer. But still he didn’t move, only let her cuddle and brush against him until he was tense and fiercely aroused.
The fire flicked and snapped its yellow ribbons, lapping at broken birch and oak. Hot … he had never been so hot in his life. As he considered removing his shirt, he felt Amelia’s hands creeping under the loose hem. The small, cool fingers roamed over his steaming skin. Wherever she touched, the muscles rippled and tightened, and it felt so good that Cam let out a faint groan against her hair. She grasped loose handfuls of his shirt and tugged upward. Without hesitation he sat up, stripped the garment off and tossed it aside.
She crawled into his lap, her long hair streaming over his naked chest and shoulders in a silken net. Entranced, Cam held still as she pressed her mouth to his chest, his shoulders, the base of his throat, in a delicate frolic of kisses.
“Amelia…” His hands came to her head, stilling her. The warm ripples of her hair slid over his arms, raising gooseflesh.
“Monisha,” he whispered, “I won’t do anything you don’t want. I only want to give you pleasure.”
Her face was glowing in the firelight, her lips the color of red currants. “What does that word mean?”
“Monisha? An endearment.” He could hardly think straight. “A Roma says it to a woman he’s intimate with.”
Her hands came to his, fingers slipping into the spaces between his fingers. They held each other, their lips forming soundless words, mouths grazing and catching with damp heat.
Cam lowered her to the blankets, in the pool of dancing firelight. And he whispered in the old language, telling her that he wanted to chase her as the sun chased the moon across the sky, he wanted to fill her until they were corthu, one being, joined. He was only half aware of what he was saying, drunk on the scent of her and the heat rising from her body.
He opened her robe and gown, dreamily pulling the soft fabric away from the deep curves of her breasts and waist. She was so beautifully made, lush and firm, the pale skin burnished with light. Voluptuous shadows dipped into places he yearned to touch and taste. He followed her spreading blush with his mouth, pursuing the wash of color. She shivered beneath him, her hands gripping the bulging muscles of his uppe
r arms.
He cupped her breasts and teased the peaks with his breath and tongue until they were hard and silken. Softly he drew one between his teeth, held it there until she whimpered and lifted upward.
Cam tugged at the tangled layer of her gown between them. The cove of her navel rose and fell with her breathing. Easing his mouth over it, he sank the tip of his tongue into the tight circle, filling the hollow.
“Cam … oh, wait…” She was squirming now, pushing at him in earnest. He caught her hands and gripped them close against her body, and breathed hard against her stomach.
Fighting for self-control, Cam laid his cheek against her skin with all the gentleness he was capable of. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “I’m only going to kiss you … taste you…”
Her voice was plaintive. “Not there.”
Cam couldn’t suppress a smile. This was new, this mixture of amusement and arousal. “Especially there.” He let his fingers drift over her hip and thigh, into the soft curls. “I want to know every part of you, monisha … Hold still for me and … yes, love, yes…” He moved downward, shaking with hunger. The scents of intimate salt and female skin had kindled an unbearable craving. His mouth brushed intimately closed lips. He licked them open, delving into the heat, the taste of her pleasure.
Amelia was silent except for her broken gasps, her legs clamping hard against his sides. Helplessly she followed the sinuous pattern of his tongue, her entire body arching and yearning. He soothed her, provoked her, his mouth as playful as a swallow in flight. His breath fell rapidly on her wet flesh, her erotic incense. He slid a finger into the silkiness.
She made a sound of distress as she lost all self-control, and he gloried in it, his mouth punishing in its gentleness. He drew out the torment until the soft female moans broke into sobs. She tightened and twisted, her fingers closing in his hair, hips pulsing in helpless movements as he licked away every twitch and throb.
