by Deborah Camp
“Shhh!” Lily shook her head and swept from the room, suddenly eager to have the Fishbines’ company again. What a family!
“Ah, Lily,” Mr. Fishbine said, striding toward the front door. “I believe your … that Goforth fellow is outside. I was just going to call to him that you would be out in a few minutes.”
She started to speak her mind and tell him that she thought it petty that he wouldn’t invite Griffon in to wait for her but would shout to him as if he weren’t allowed in the front entrance and should remain outside. Mrs. Fishbine brought Lily her purse and light shawl, and Lily took them and decided to rise above their behavior by being gracious.
“Thank you, Mrs. Fishbine,” she said, letting the woman slip the shawl around her shoulders, then retrieving her purse. “And thank you, Mr. Fishbine. As I said before, the evening has been a welcome respite.” Sensing Emily’s approach, Lily barely afforded the girl a glance. “Good-bye to you, too, Emily. Your doll collection is … unique.” She smiled as Mr. Fishbine held the front door open for her. “Good evening, and thanks again for—oh, Griffon.”
Griffon removed his hat and nodded at her, then at the Fishbines. “Lily, have a good time? Hello, I’m Griffon Goforth. You must be Mr. and Mrs. Fishbine.”
“Yes.” Mr. Fishbine stared at Griffon’s hand, then turned to his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders. “We’re the Fishbines. Good night, Lily. You are welcome in our home any time.”
“Good night.” Lily slipped out the door, shouldered past Griffon, and stepped lightly along the walk that led to the street. She heard Griffon’s tread behind her, then beside her. Only then did she examine the pinched expression on his face. He’d put his hat back on, but she could see beneath the brim. “The dinner was wonderful, but the company could have been better.” She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “I’m afraid they’ve taken to heart my uncle’s suggestion that they keep an eye on me. They don’t approve of my being alone with you. They think Orrie should have tagged along with me as a chaperone.”
He slanted her a quick glare. “It’s more than that. Mr. Fishbine thinks I’m dirt under his feet because I’m a Gypsy.”
“Now, Griffon, don’t go—”
“You don’t think I felt it?” he asked, chopping off her attempt at placating him. “You don’t think that man’s thoughts didn’t blast me in the face?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, Lily. I’m not shattered by the experience. I’m used to it.”
“How can that be?” she asked. “How can anyone ever get used to that kind of treatment? I don’t think I could bear being the brunt of everyone’s scorn.”
“ ‘Everyone’ is too broad a term. Only those who are too hard-headed or too hard-hearted brand me without giving me a chance.”
“I don’t think I could live with such a heavy burden. To prove yourself over and over again.” She shuddered at the thought. “It would get weary.”
“I don’t have to prove myself to imbeciles.” His tone was brusque. “People accept me or they don’t. If they have preconceived ideas about who I am, that’s their burden, not mine.”
“Griffon, do you have a … a craving for that which is forbidden?” She was thinking of Emily’s strange fantasies and finding them hard to shake. Could Griffon have the same affliction as Emily? Did he crave the forbidden? Did his Gypsy heart yearn for a gadjica?
“The forbidden? What’s forbidden?” Griffon asked.
“You know … things or people you’ve been brought up to consider out of your reach.”
“No. I have no such cravings. If I want something, I reach out for it. I don’t think anything is impossible—forbidden. Other than crimes or out-and-out sin, you understand. Murder, lies, cheating on your betrothed; those kinds of things, if not forbidden, are certainly things I couldn’t live with.” He tipped his head toward her. “Why do you ask?”
“The Fishbines’ daughter is fixed on a colored boy who works at the stables. She’s daffy about him! All because she’s been brought up knowing such a union would get her and him killed.” She glanced at Griffon and was surprised to see his smile. “You find this amusing?”
“The Fishbines have a stick of dynamite on their hands and don’t know that someone has touched a flame to its fuse. Serves them right.”
“Yes,” she agreed, seeing his point. “While they fret about me being with you, they have a bigger problem right under their noses!” She smiled at him and noticed the cut on his lower lip. “Oh, dear! I completely forgot about that fight you had with Ham. You’re hurt. Your lip is—”
“Fine. Not even sore. It was swollen for about an hour, but it’s back to normal now. My clothing took the worst beating. I’ll have to have the jacket mended and the whole outfit cleaned. Do you think Orrie might be able to get those bloodstains out of my tie?”
“Lye soap and Orrie Dickens can remove any stain,” Lily assured him. “Orrie can mend your jacket, too. She’ll be happy to do it.”
“So you won’t be leaving tomorrow?”
Lily slowed, making him check his stride. “I’ll stay until you get back from Devil’s Den. I want to be sure you return in one piece before I head back home.”
“You’re still wanting to leave me, I see.”
“Not you. I swear, I don’t understand you. Shouldn’t you be glad that I’ve grown to trust you?”
“Have you?”
“Of course I have, as you well know, Griffon Goforth.”
“But?” he prodded.
“But our relationship has changed, and it’s not right for me to stay and chance idle talk about us. Don’t laugh at me,” she ordered when she heard his low chuckle. “A girl’s reputation is sacred! Why, if anyone found out that you and I … well, what happened on the barge … I couldn’t hold up my head in the whole state of Arkansas!”
“Is that so?” he said, continuing to take her stand lightly. “It’s a mite too late to worry about that, isn’t it? What’s done is done.”
“But no one except you and me must ever know that, Griffon. Remember, you promised not to talk about it.”
They reached the hotel and Griffon walked with her to her room. Outside her door, he waited for her to go inside and light the lamp.
“Orrie’s not here,” she told him, staring at the untouched bed.
“She might not be back for hours, Lily.” He shrugged. “You should have been around to chaperon her.”
“Where is she?” Lily held up her hand. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“And it’s none of our business, is it?” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “You are a vision in that gown, Lily. I shall never forget how you looked tonight.”
“Oh, Griffon.” Her heart hammered, but her mind carried the taint of the evening’s conversation. The Fishbines’ contempt for Griffon and his special abilities had brought home to her again that Griffon’s expectations of her were too lofty. She knew he wanted her to admit that she, too, had a certain power of the mind, but she didn’t think she could stand up to the ridicule such an admission would bring. He was strong and could take it. More than ever, Lily didn’t want to face a life of being looked at as if she were a sideshow attraction.
“What’s wrong, Lily? What happened at the Fishbines’ tonight that makes you draw away from me?”
She realized he was probing her mind, sifting through her feelings, and she shuttered her thoughts from him. “Griffon, I’m not drawing away from you. It’s just that …”
“Yes, what?” He trapped her hand against his chest.
“You’ve brought so many new experiences into my life, not all of them pleasant, and I don’t know whether to kiss you or slap you for it.” She smiled, letting him see that she was only partly serious.
“I’ll take the kiss, thank you.” He pressed his lips to hers in a warm caress that set her pulses pounding. “Good night, Lily. If you need anything, just call. I’m only across the hall.”
Lily stared at him for a moment, shocked that h
e was going to settle for only one kiss. She had half a mind to grab him and pull him down to her burning lips, but then he turned away and crossed to his own room. Feeling foolish, she moved inside her room and closed the door. Disappointment tugged at the corners of her mouth. Evidently, Emily is dead wrong about Gypsy men, she thought. Griffon wasn’t wanting her every minute of every hour. One kiss was all he’d wanted tonight, and he’d been satisfied when he’d received it.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same for herself.
Chapter 17
The corridor was dark, intimate, but light streamed in from someplace, enough to let her see the naked desire blazing in Griffon’s eyes. Panting, she raked her hands through his hair and forced his eager mouth to where her breasts surged above the tight bodice of her dress. His mouth was warm, moist, erotic.
“Do you burn, Lily?” he asked against her soft flesh. “Do you burn?”
“Yes! Yes!” She flung her head back, giving herself over to the wild passion. He pressed kisses up the column of her throat, over her chin, and then on her trembling lips. She opened her mouth to the bold strokes of his tongue. Hers imitated the action of his. Each surge and retreat increased the throbbing low in her womb.
Somehow he exposed her breasts. Her nipples nestled in his palms while he kneaded her pliant softness. He nudged her with his pelvis and she felt him, hard as steel.
“Not here, Griffon!” she whispered, glancing around frantically. “Anyone could walk into this hallway and discover us.”
“What do we care? I want you now and now is when I’ll have you.” His hands swept down and her clothes ripped, torn from her trembling body. “I can’t help myself. I’m a Gypsy.”
“What has that got to do with it?”
“You know ….” He smiled and violins began to play, heartrending Gypsy violins. She knew the song was about carnal love, forbidden passion, a sweet tragedy. “We Gypsy men can never get enough. We keep our women either tired and happy or pregnant and pampered. And we’re never satisfied. We go night and day, day and night.”
She realized it wasn’t Griffon’s words coming from his mouth but Emily Fishbine’s! She pushed at his shoulders, but his lips had fastened around one of her taut nipples and tugged mightily. She swayed. Her knees buckled. She didn’t protest when his hand swept under her dress to cup her feminine mound.
“Want it right here?” he asked, almost growling.
“Yes!”
“Are you burning, Lily?”
“I’m on fire,” she cried. “Please, Griffon. Now, now, now. Put out the fire before I’m nothing but ashes. Put out the fire….”
Disjointed words and whimpers rattled in her throat, jolting her from the dream. Lily thrashed in the bed, then shot up, eyes open, unfocused.
“Orrie?” she croaked out, but no one was in bed with her. She flung the hair out of her eyes and realized she was dripping with perspiration. Moaning, she threw off the sheet and escaped the damp confines of the bed.
“What a dream,” she murmured, stumbling to the window to look out at the deserted street. Deserted, except for … She craned closer to the pane and squinted to make out the figure near the hitching post across the street. The man ducked into the shadows as if he knew she’d spotted him, and Lily retreated, feeling exposed. She drew shut the draperies and lit the lamp, turning the wick key until the light was an amber glow.
Staring at the bed, she wondered if she should worry that Orrie still wasn’t back. It must be three or four in the morning, she guessed, but reason told her that Orrie probably wouldn’t tiptoe into the room until dawn painted the sky with pastel strokes of pink and lavender. Orrie, no doubt, was doing with Balthazar what Lily had been dreaming of doing with Griffon. For a few moments, envy sent its knife through her. Lucky Orrie. Lucky, lucky Orrie. At least someone was happy tonight.
She felt sticky. Perspiration trailed between her breasts, tickling her and making her gown cling to her skin. The washstand tempted her. She poured water into the shallow bowl, then set the pitcher to one side. Wetting a sponge, she ran it down her arms from wrist to shoulder and sighed with pleasure. The sponge bath cooled her. She removed her gown and washed all over, then slipped into her ivory-colored wrapper. Belting it loosely at her waist, she wandered aimlessly around the bedroom, feeling trapped and restless. The dream—so raw, so real—had left her edgy, bored, wide awake.
“It’s Emily Fishbine’s fault,” she grumbled, falling like a rock into a chair near the window. “All that crazy talk of hers upset me.”
Upset, perhaps, was the wrong word. Manic, aching, frenzied. Emotions foreign to her. She rubbed her arms and sprang from the chair, her bare feet slapping on the wood floor, then muffled on the woven circle rug. Griffon’s face, his eyes hooded with passion, kept floating past her mind’s eye. Her skin recalled the caress of his hands. Her lips throbbed for the touch of his. She groaned. Stopping in the middle of the room, she shut her eyes and let thoughts of him surround her until she trembled with longing.
You’ve tasted the jam, a voice in her mind whispered. Bread and butter aren’t good enough anymore because you’ve tasted the jam.
“I’ve got to get out of here.” She flung open the door and stepped into the corridor. Immediately, she was reminded of the dream she was trying to escape. Leaning against the wall, she let the passion play out in her mind. Her pulses thrummed with the memory. She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and ran her hands lightly down the front of her wrapper. Her breasts felt heavy, full, tender.
Staring at Griffon’s door, she wondered if she could insert another dream into his head. She’d done it once, unwittingly. That dream hadn’t been nearly as powerful as the one she’d just experienced. If Griffon Goforth was so uncannily hitched to her mind, to her dreams, to her every emotion, then why was he still in his room while she stood in the corridor outside, panting as if she’d run a mile, throbbing with a divine longing?
When the door swung open, so swiftly the hinges had only a moment to squeak, Lily thought she was imagining it. But the reality of Griffon standing on the threshold dispelled that notion. His chest rose and fell with his labored breathing. He stood before her, dressed only in a pair of black trousers. Sweat glistened on his chest and arms; it ran in diamond drops down his cheeks and wide neck. His tousled hair lay across his forehead in damp curls. Wild, boundless desire widened his eyes and changed their color to royal blue.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he said, his voice breathy, raspy.
“I …” She swallowed hard and placed her hand to her throat. “I was standing out here because … I can’t sleep. Have you seen Zar or Orrie? I thought I’d—”
“I know what you’ve been thinking, and it has nothing to do with Zar or Orrie, and everything to do with me and you.”
She felt herself blush to the roots of her hair and didn’t bother to deny it. She’d wished he would grab onto her dream, and her wish had come true. When he held out his hand to her, she grasped it and he pulled her across the threshold of his room and into his arms. His skin was slick under her hands, and his tongue was slicker, parting her lips to stroke the sensitive places within. He reached out and closed the door behind her. Lily clasped her hands at the back of his neck and bowed her body into his. She hadn’t known until that moment how ravenous she was for him. The afternoon on the barge had whetted her appetite and the hot kisses in the hallway that morning had been a potent aperitif, but she was hungry for the main course.
His room was semidark. The draperies were open, letting starlight spill in. Hazy light hung over his bed. Lily looked past his shoulder at the rumpled bed, a twin of hers, and smiled. She wove her fingers in his hair and pulled his face away from the side of her neck. Looking into his eyes, she visually feasted on the tantalizing torment swimming in them.
“Poor Gypsy,” she crooned. “Did my dreams punish you? It’s your fault that I crave the sweet jam of you.” She arched a brow, thrilling at the low growl he emitte
d. “You’ve turned this kitten into a tiger. Now you must tame me, Griffon.” She showed her teeth and snapped at him. “Think you can?”
“Will you scratch and claw?”
“Probably,” she purred, then laughed when he swept her into his arms and swung her onto the bed in one dizzy motion. In a blur, he removed his trousers, and in the next blurring second he was astraddle her on the bed. “Griffon! I … I …”
“You asked for it.” He bowed over her, cupping one hand at the back of her head and lifting so that her mouth met his halfway.
His lips flirted with hers, bestowing plucking, juicy kisses. He found the knot in her belt and loosened it. Her wrapper parted and his hands covered her bare breasts. He sucked in a breath and glanced down, his face registering surprise.
“I didn’t think you’d be nak—” He met her gaze, and a feral grin leapt to his mouth. “I’m so-o-o grateful.” He flicked the robe all the way open and stretched out like a big cat beside her. His warm mouth slipped across her breasts. He curled his tongue around one of her sensitive nipples.
Lily hitched in a breath and let it out in a long sigh of contentment. Her heart swelled and beat rapidly. Tension built by degrees in the center of her chest. Her gaze, filtered by her lashes, drifted lazily down his body, over wide shoulders and silky-skinned ribs, along slim hips to thick, muscled legs. And then she saw it. That part of him she’d been too timid to appraise before. Turgid with desire, it strained from his body, seeking hers. Before she could analyze her action, she grasped it lightly in her hands.
“My God!” Griffon ceased all movement for a few seconds. He was a statue, head thrown back, ecstasy written in his face and in every tensed muscle in his body.
She moved her fingers a fraction, and his whole body jerked. Lily marveled at the reaction. She caressed him and he shivered.
“Lily, oh, Lily.” He moaned and rolled his head forward. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow. “That’s right. Touch me. Hold me. I won’t break. The only thing breakable about me is my heart.”