by Pam Crooks
And he strode out of the hotel.
By the time he braked the buggy to a stop on his front lawn, he'd given the whiskey a good share of business. He stepped from the rig carefully, testing his legs, and once down, dragged in a long breath of air. The cold helped clear his head.
The house loomed dark in front of him, but a shadowy, white-clad figure huddled on the stairs drew his eye.
“I told you not to wait up.” His voice was harsher than he'd intended, his mind already envisioning the picture she made whenever she wore his shirt for a sleeping gown. His step faltered, whether from liquor or from wanting, he couldn't be sure.
“I could not sleep,” she said softly.
He grunted and managed his way toward her. He kept a firm grip on the bottle neck with one hand; with the other, he pulled his tie loose and let the ends dangle down, then fumbled with the top button of his shirt and managed that, too. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tucked the whiskey into the crook of his arm and leaned against the stair rail.
“You've ruined me for other women, y'know that?”
Her faint gasp reached him; she eyed him warily through the darkness.
“You might be interested to know Rebecca Ann won't be my wife. Not now or ever,” he drawled. “It'd never work, anyway. We don't agree on child-rearing, and I’m not a part of her past. She clings to it and won't let go.”
“Oh.” She sat very still, her knees hugged to her chest. “I am sorry.”
“Don't be. I'm not.” He doubted she understood his ramblings, but it didn’t matter. “I do blame you for the mess I'm in, though.”
She stiffened. “Me?”
He scowled darkly, a fine testament to his mood. “Kiss me like you did and expect me to forget it. To act like nothing ever happened between us, then ask another woman to marry me. Hell.” No other man deserved this punishment, this torture. Why should he? “You haunt me wherever I go, y'know that? Whenever I sleep, you're there. I think of you every minute of every day. Not Rebecca Ann, Liza, but you. Always you. From the moment I saw you take my damned horse.”
Her jaw lagged open prettily. She stared at him.
“There'll never be a woman like you in my life again.”
She was the reason his world was falling apart. He'd lost an entire railroad over her. Years of work and dreams gone. His life would never be the same.
But if his world were shattered, he wanted her at his side to pick up the pieces again.
“Will you marry me?” he asked quietly.
Her breath caught, the only sound in the night save for the beating of his heart.
“You have had too much of the whiskey,” she said, her voice a trembling whisper. “It has befuddled your mind.”
“My head has never been more clear.”
“But your people, Reese. Your town.” Her fingers touched her mouth. “Bram.”
“I don't care about them. Only you matters to me.”
She made no reply. After an eternity, she stood and walked to the door. One hand took the knob. She faced him.
“This is what you want?” she asked. “Truly?”
“Yes,” he said huskily. “Truly.”
She didn’t move for a long time. God, so long.
“Then it is what I want, too. Yes, Gajo. I will marry you.”
Chapter 15
They were married on Saturday afternoon. Liza wore the green henrietta, the crisp folds and shimmering luster transforming her from a shabby Gypsy to a beautiful Gajo bride. She treasured her new clothes, worn by no one before her and fitting to perfection, for she had not shamed Reese by wearing them. He had clearly been proud to have her at his side, but God's saints, the looks he gave her seemed to strip every thread from her body.
Afterward, there had been a wedding supper on Reese's lawn. All of Niobrara City came, with only Bram Kaldwell conspicuously absent. Maudeen outdid herself in planning the celebration. Everyone helped, new friends whose names Liza struggled to remember. Gaje who accepted her as Reese's wife out of respect for his prominence and influence in their town.
Now, the celebration was over. The games of roundball, horseshoes, and wrestling matches had ended. Tables dismantled, gifts opened, food put away. Everyone had left, tired but smiling, leaving nothing behind but a trampled lawn and a heart full of memories.
Liza stared out the bedroom window and relived each one. It had been a wonderful day. A day carved from a lifetime of dreams. But a dark cloud shadowed her joy.
She missed Mama. And Paprika. And Nanosh. Her brothers, cousins, the entire kumpania . She wanted them here to rejoice in her new husband and to take part in her wedding day, for it had been an occasion to rival the finest of ceremonies practiced by her people.
Except Mama would be horrified.
Liza had no need of divining or palming to know that. No tea leaves or sticks and stones were necessary. From the deepest recesses of her soul emerged the awful worry that she had made a terrible mistake marrying a Gajo. And Mama would be devastated.
The sun had long since faded into the night. A full moon took its place, a bright globe in the blackness. Its brilliance escaped her, as did a worried sigh of dismay that maybe her mother was right. She should not have married Reese Carrison.
He waited for her downstairs, giving her the time she needed to prepare herself, a wife for her husband on their wedding night, but here she stood, fully dressed and pensive.
He would come to her soon, and she would not be ready.
Her pulse pounded a dull throb inside her head. To be with him in his magnificent bed and consummate their marriage . . .. She would be ostracized from her people, forever marhime, the final shame for marrying a Gajo.
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 n
eck, 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.”
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 he
r. 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.”