by Lily Harlem
Hesitating, she watched as he opened the passenger door.
He nodded for her to climb in.
She didn’t.
He frowned. “What’s up?”
“I…” She couldn’t form the words, didn’t know how to make sense of the nerves in her belly.
“For fuck’s sake. You carry on with a bastard like Cedric yet you won’t get in a van with me?”
“It’s not like that.” She swallowed and looked at the seat. A tobacco tin sat on it alongside a bottle of Coke.
“So what’s it like?” He flicked his cigarette to the left and blew out a shot of smoke. “Nah, don’t tell me, you’re seeing what everyone sees.”
“No. Not at all. And please don’t presume you know my thoughts.” She paused. “You will bring me back, here, later?”
“Aye, lovely, sure I will. If that’s what you want.”
“And we’re just going to your…”
“Camp.” He shrugged. “But ya don’t have to. I ain’t forcing ya. That’s one string I don’t have on my bow, forcing women to do stuff they don’t wanna do.”
“No. No I know you’re not forcing me.” What were her options? Walk away and never see the man who was the star of all her recent fantasies again, or get in the van and see what the next few hours brought—hopefully a good hard orgasm.
Before she changed her mind, she climbed into the van, pushing the tobacco and bottle out of the way.
He shut the door up, the tinny slam echoing around the cab.
Within minutes he was grinding up the gears as they headed towards Bowton. The roads were quiet, they only passed another couple of cars, the tyres splashing up a gentle hiss of water as they went by.
“Where are you going next, after Herefordshire?” Carmel asked.
“Back over the sea, got horses to take to Ireland.”
“Horses?”
“Yeah, from Appleby. A few good ’uns too.”
“Good for what?” Racing? Polo? Breeding?
“Trotting mainly. We’ll breed the best ones, or I won’t but I’ll leave ’em there for my cousins to take control of.”
“I’ve never been to Appleby.”
“Not the sort of place a girl like you gets horses from.” He glanced at her. “But they’re solid stock for us. Plus it’s a chance to catch up with some more distant relatives.” He chuckled as if remembering something. “It’s quite a party.”
“I’m sure.”
“No champagne though, mainly homebrew.”
“It’s probably delicious.”
“To a gypsy palate maybe, not to yours.”
“I have diverse taste.” She looked at him. His profile was in silhouette. Straight nose, angled chin, his Adam’s apple prominent. “You’re not my usual tipple either.”
He tipped his head back and laughed—a real hearty belly laugh. “No. I guess not. First time for everything, huh.”
“Exactly.” She paused. “You know my favourite Jane Austin novel is Pride and Prejudice.”
“Never heard of it.”
“You’ve never heard…” She bit her bottom lip. Why would he have? “Well it’s about this couple from a few centuries ago. They’re very rich, upper class—”
“Like you.”
“I suppose. Anyway, they meet and have all these preconceived ideas about each other. What the other one is thinking, what the other wants and does in private. Yet when it comes down to it, they’re both good people but it’s not until they stop letting prejudice cloud their vision they can really see the other person…it’s then they realise they’re in love.”
“Love. Ha, now there’s a grand word.”
“Have you never been in love, Harper?”
“Na, a few gals my ma wanted me to give my heart to. But not for me.” He reached out and placed his hand on her knee. “But if you need me to tell you I love you right before I make you come, I can.”
Oh God. The way he said come in his Irish accent, all honeyed and dripping with confidence. It went straight to her sex and she shifted on the seat. Something told her this was going to be a night to remember. Not love, just passion, sex…forbidden, dirty, wild sex.
They soon arrived at the field the gypsies had set up home in. The hedges were high, and it was flanked to the east by woods, to the north, more fields.
The gate was closed but when Harper pulled up in front of it, a teen with a flat cap and vest-top rushed to open it.
Harper revved the engine as the terrain under the tyres became choppy. The exhaust popped and Carmel gripped the seat as she was bounced from left to right. A black dreamcatcher hanging from the rear view mirror swung crazily.
“So this is it, for now.” Harper released the steering wheel briefly to gesture at the camp.
“How long is for now?”
“Until the coppers move us on. Usually manage a few days or a week before some law kicks us up the butt. Not a problem though, we only want to have a break from the road, let the horses graze and the women do their washing.”
“I see.”
The camp consisted of caravans of various sizes and nearly all had their internal lights on. She’d estimate about twenty of them. There were more vans too, like Harper’s and several horse-boxes, the sort which carried two animals and could be easily towed.
A fire, in an oil drum, burned near the hedge. People milled about it, seemingly drinking and talking. And dotted around the caravans were big horses, white with black patches, grazing on tethers.
Harper’s arrival had caused a ripple of excitement, and as he pulled up at a large white caravan with a black stripe down the centre, several men rushed over.
He glanced at Carmel. “Stick near me, okay.”
“Er, yes…why?”
“’Cause you’re mine.”
She was his?
He opened the door and jumped down onto the grass.
“Hey boss, we’re just back ourselves.” A deep Irish voice called out.
“You get the job done?” Harper called.
“Yeah, sweet house. Phew, quite a fucking cracker.”
“I told ya to hit the car, nothing else.”
“Yeah we did.” Another voice. “Exactly as you said.”
“Good.” Harper slammed the van door.
Carmel watched as Harper moved around the front of the van, sliding his hand on the bonnet as he went. He had a look of determination on his face and it sent a shiver of desire though her body.
He opened her door and held out his hand. “Jump out, lovely.”
She allowed him to assist her and the wet blades of long grass tickled her ankles like damp fingers.
“Who the fuck is this?” The same voice as before.
It belonged to a tall, lanky guy with a thin face and a hawkish nose. His hair was unkempt and his t-shirt frayed around the collar. He had a full sleeve tattoo on his right arm.
“Watch ya mouth, Ewan,” Harper said with a frown.
“Nah, I fucking won’t. Who’s this?” He pointed at Carmel.
“I’m warning you.” Harper’s voice was more like a growl.
“Fuck that. Why you bringing local fucking chicks here?”
Suddenly Harper had Ewan up against the side of the van, much the way he had Cedric. One arm slotted beneath his chin, the other apparently gripping Ewan’s balls through his jeans.
Carmel gasped and knotted her fingers together. She hadn’t even considered her presence on the site would be an issue. She’d been so consumed about what it meant to her, she hadn’t thought of Harper.
“I gave you a fucking warning to shut your mouth.” Harper said, his mouth close to Ewan’s cheek.
Ewan shut his eyes.
“He don’t mean anything by it.” The other lad, younger, shorter, said, glancing at Carmel. She recognised him as Bart, Harper’s helped the day before. “He just got a surprise is all.”
“Surprised I’ve got a woman?” Harper said, his voice still low and dangerous.
“Nah, nah, not that.
Wasn’t expecting you to have company,” Ewan said, opening his eyes. “Sorry, boss.”
Harper pushed harder into him.
Ewan grimaced.
“Please, don’t. I’ll go…” Carmel said, resting her hand on Harper’s shoulder. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”
He turned to look at her, a lock of hair had fallen over his cheek and the cross on his earring swung.
“Harper,” she said quietly.
He pulled in a breath, then as suddenly as he’d shoved Ewan against the van, he released him. “You’re in luck,” he said turning to Ewan. “This classy young lady don’t like violence.”
“I don’t fucking like violence,” Ewan said, rubbing at his neck.
“Except when you’re dishing it out,” Bart said with a smirk.
Ewan threw him a glare.
“My business is my business,” Harper said, “And who steps into this camp and over the threshold of my van is my business, too.”
“Sure it is.” A woman, long black hair, jeans and a cut off top, ambled up to them. “But Jeannie ain’t gonna be happy.” She allowed her gaze to slip from the top of Carmel’s head to the tips of her shoes and back up again. “And neither is Darleene for that matter.” She placed her hands on her hips and jutted them to the right. She glared at Carmel.
“Who are Jeannie and Darleene…?” Carmel asked, a shot of nerves tightening her belly. Shit. Was Harper spoken for? He’d told her no one owned his heart but maybe he’d said what she wanted to hear just to get her to the site.
“I’m a free man,” Harper said gruffly. “And what’s more, since my pa went and kicked the bucket, I’m in charge here, so the women will have to get in line…” He stepped up close to Carmel and swept his lips over hers. “Behind this one.” He winked and ran his hand from the base of her spine to her arse.
She should run far away. Carmel knew that. Get the hell off the site, race home, tuck herself in bed and forget about this crazy, cocky, sexy man who managed to throw all her common sense out of the window with a smile and a wink.
A fucking wink.
The woman cackled. “Yeah, well on your head be it.” She chewed noisily on her gum as she again gave Carmel the once over, then turned and stomped away.
“Don’t mind her,” Harper said. “Wants me to marry one of her daughters, is all.”
“Her daughters?”
“Aye, she’s got four, Jeannie and Darleene are the eldest.”
“I see.”
He linked his fingers with hers and tugged her to a caravan sitting in the darkness away from the others. “Make sure we’re not bothered.”
“Right you are, boss,” Bart said, sparking up a cigarette and leaning his butt against the van. He seemed set in as some kind of guard.
“So do you think you will marry one of them?” Carmel asked as Harper opened the door of the caravan.
“Nah, but she’ll nag and nag like a terrier with a bone.”
“Why won’t she take no for an answer?” Carmel frowned.
“Because I’m top dog and a daughter marrying into my family would bring hers up in the pecking order.” He stepped into the darkness and pulled her with him. Once they were both inside he shut the door, cupped her cheeks and moved in close. “I might be a rough old gypsy,” he whispered against her lips. “But around here, I’m the fucking gypsy king.”
He pressed a gentle kiss over her mouth.
When he pulled back he reached to the right and flicked a switch.
The interior of the caravan was illuminated.
“And this, my queen for the night, is my palace.”
Chapter Seven
“Wow!” Carmel exclaimed.
Harper’s caravan was beautiful. Nothing what she’d imagined. No brass ornaments, horse hooves hanging from the walls or decorated watering cans. It appeared to be all mod-cons with a flat screen TV, trendy fireplace, pale soft furnishings and a pristine kitchen.
“You like it?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s…”
“Not what you expected.”
“Well no, but that’s a good thing. It’s so stylish.” She gestured to a mountain landscape picture above the fire. “And this is beautiful.”
“I took it up in the Scottish Highlands.”
“You’re a talented photographer.” She stepped forward for a closer look.
“I dunno.” He chuckled. “But it’s good to get away from the site sometimes, do my own thing, and having a camera and taking shots like this is one of the things I do.”
She turned to him and pressed her hand to his cheek. “You’re quite the enigma, you know that?”
“If I knew what an enigma was.”
She smiled and leaned in closer. “A mystery. A riddle. A man who has many layers.”
“I ain’t that exciting.” He crooked his index finger beneath her chin and held her face up to his. “What you see it what you get.”
“Somehow I don’t believe you.” How could it be true? This man was as beautiful as he was dangerous. As sexy as he was perilous to her heart. And as risky as playing with dynamite in the middle of a wild fire.
He lowered his face and captured her mouth in a delicate kiss that warred with the way he could handle himself when it came to using muscle.
But somehow his soft touch made her melt all the more for him. For this moment in time he was hers and she was his. She felt privileged to be witness to his softer side—the part of him that was simply a man with his woman.
“Let’s take this into the bedroom,” he said, sliding his hand from her face, and down the column of her neck. He let it come to rest just above her right breast as though feeling her racing heart.
She nodded and studied the way his shirt parted below the hollow of his throat. A few dark hairs on his olive skin peeked out.
He smiled and stepped away, reaching back to link his fingers with hers.
The bedroom was as tasteful as the living area of the caravan. The only thing to give it a gypsy-vibe was the bright throw on the bed. It was an intricate, hand-stitched design of flowers, crests, diamonds and crowns. Carmel ran her fingers over it, appreciating the hours of work which must have gone into it.
“This is stunning,” she said. “Don’t tell me you’re a seamstress, too?”
“Ha, nah. That’s my sister’s work.”
“She’s incredible.”
“It’s her trade. Back in Ireland like.”
“She doesn’t travel?”
“Only in the homeland.”
“I see.”
He shrugged and twitched his eyebrows in a way that told her he wasn’t interested in discussing his sister or embroidery. Which was good because neither was she.
He reached for the top button on his shirt and undid it, then the next and the next.
Carmel stood there, as if a trance had stolen her, and watched as his body was revealed. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him shirtless before, she had, but this time she was going to get up close and personal with his perfect flesh. That beautiful lean body, sinewy with tendon and muscle would soon be hers to enjoy for a while at least.
He shrugged the shirt from his shoulders and let it slide down his arms. With a flick it landed on the floor behind him. He inhaled deeply, the crow and skull on his chest expanding, and placed his hands on his hips.
“You’re gonna have to get naked, lovely.
“Maybe I’m used to being undressed.”
“Ahh, like that, is it?”
She bit on her bottom lip and didn’t speak.
“Well don’t mind me if I do that for ya, Your Ladyship.” He slipped his fingers beneath her sweater and peeled it up and over her head.
A tremor attacked her spine as the cool air washed over her shoulders and chest. But she soon forgot it as Harper leaned in and gave her a soft kiss.
“Relax, it’s all grand,” he murmured against her lips.
“I know.”
“I want you and you want me, right?�
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“Yes.” She was sure he’d hear the desperation in her voice. “I do.”
He caught her mouth again, with more intensity this time, his tongue sweeping in.
She absorbed the taste of him. Let herself get lost in the heat of his body pressing into hers. He was exotic, erotic, a total turn on, he was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
He was busy with his hands, releasing the button on her tiny denim shorts. Next thing she knew they and her knickers were around her ankles.
She kicked them away, not pausing in kissing him with the same enthusiasm as he was kissing her, and clutching at his hard shoulders.
He set to work on her top, dragging it over her head, their lips separating for a moment. He then unclipped her bra.
The last item of clothing, as it slackened, made her feel truly naked and totally and utterly his. The caravan, Harper, was all that existed, the rest of the world faded away. So what if them being together would be frowned upon. More than frowned upon, it would create a scandal nothing short of a nuclear explosion detonating in the village. She didn’t care. How could something so right be so wrong? The heat, the passion, the magnetic draw between them was too strong to ignore.
He pulled back and removed her bra, adding it to the pile of her clothes. Taking her hands and holding them wide he surveyed her, head to toe and back again.
“You’re a fine filly.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” He grinned.
She reached for him, setting her palm over the skull and crow inked onto his broad chest. He was hot, his heart thudding, and the feel of his skin against hers made her all the more anxious for them to get to the main event.
God she wanted this man.
Harper moved in close, backing her against the wall beside the window, and buried his face against her neck.
She tipped her head and he cupped both the back of her skull and her right breast as he kissed his way from her ear to her collarbone.
“You taste like money,” he whispered, then traced his tongue between her breasts. “Expensive soft skin, perfume that costs the same as a decent stallion.” He glanced up at her and gave a cheeky smile. “What do I taste like to you?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Like a wild gypsy pirate.”