by Deborah Camp
The poetry in that sent a ribbon of sentiment through her. “Your heart is safe with me, Griffon,” she assured him, still stroking the rod of flesh. Why had she been so afraid of looking at it? she wondered. It was beautiful. Nothing to fear. Every part of him was boldly masculine, but this erect extension was the essence of maleness, and her femininity longed for it.
Some of the mysteries about men and women fell away, replaced by cleansing knowledge. As if born to lovemaking, she manipulated his erection, rubbing the pad of her thumb across the dewy tip. He moaned again and angled his body over hers. His mouth roamed over her breasts, leaving fiery kisses and reshaping her nipples into tight, throbbing buttons of flesh. His fingers tangled in her long hair, holding her head in place as he made love to her mouth with tongue thrusts and tender nibbles. Eagerly, she parted her thighs to accommodate him. He shifted and she felt the hot tip touch her, press for a moment’s resistance, and then slip inside.
Buried in her, he released a pent-up sigh while she sucked in a gasping breath. For a full minute, neither one of them moved. Their gazes locked and their eyes worshiped what they beheld. The liquid movement of their bodies began slowly, picking up speed as their flesh grew slicker, hotter. Lily clutched his shoulders and locked her heels behind his thighs. Her release from desire’s clutches came quickly, like a lightning stroke. It burned through her, making her cry out in mindless pleasure. A part of her noted that Griffon paused to experience her climax before he set the pace again. His thrusts slowed, but went deeper and deeper until she was sure she felt the tip of him in her belly, in her empty womb. He filled her up, giving her supreme satisfaction, and then he gave a final surge and spilled his seed into her.
A cautionary voice whispered to her that even Griffon had been completely overtaken by passion.
Pregnant, she thought. I might be pregnant after tonight.
Amazed that such a possibility didn’t send her into a mind-numbing panic, she realized this man had become more important to her than even she had acknowledged until this moment. Having his baby would pose problems, but it would also present an undeniable joy.
Their child would not only be physically beautiful; their child would inherit an acute sensitivity to those things elusive to others. And their child, no doubt, would not be accepted in polite society.
“Lily, what I feel with you is beyond my experience,” he murmured against her throat. His breath was warm. “I want to stay inside you forever.”
He was still within her, and made no move to break the connection.
“I admit my experience is little or nothing, but I do believe you did nothing to prevent a pregnancy, Griffon Goforth.”
His head bobbed up and his gaze held pure startlement. “You’re right!” He closed his eyes and his shoulders sagged. “I can’t believe I forgot. I’m always careful … so careful not to … See what you do to me?” He opened his eyes, and they were the color of heaven again. “You go to my head like spirits, and all my good intentions go up in smoke.”
“Good intentions?” she repeated, touching her fingers to his lean cheeks. “Did you intend to leave me alone in my bed tonight, Griffon?”
He dropped his gaze. “I did.”
“But you heard me calling you?”
“Yes, in your dreams and outside my door. I couldn’t stand it another moment. I had to have you.”
“I’m so glad.” She crossed her wrists at the back of his neck and kissed him. He moved, bowing his back, and she felt him slip out. “Good-bye, sweet prince,” she said, sadly, and he chuckled. “Promise you’ll come again?”
“That’s a promise.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Sure you’ll want me again?”
“Why even ask such a question?”
He trailed a fingertip down the side of her face to her collarbone. “I sensed confusion in you tonight, Lily. Whatever happened at the Fishbine house sowed seeds of doubt in your mind, in your heart.” His fingertip traced the skin above that beating organ. “Did their contempt for me make you question our alliance?”
“Oh, Griffon.” She raised her head to rest her forehead against his for a few moments, then let her head drop back to the pillow. “I admire your bravery, but I don’t think I’m made of such strong stuff. You’re asking a woman who has spent years hiding her light under a bushel to suddenly expose herself to every sort of scorn.”
“I am asking only that you accept yourself and take pleasure from it. Lily, you’ll never be free until you free every part of yourself.”
She gathered her robe around her and tied the sash. “You see, that’s what troubles me.” Scooting off the bed, she went to the window and gazed at the cold stars as her body began to cool. “I think it’s dangerous to allow yourself every whim.”
“This is not a whim,” he corrected, his voice taking on an edge. “This is a personal trait. Once you see it as such, you’ll understand that to deny it is the same as trying to deny that your eyes are the most beautiful shade of brown known to mortal man.”
Giving him a sideways glance and heartfelt smile, she laughed. “Smooth talker,” she chided. “It’s not the same thing, though. Brown eyes are accepted. Dropping into trances is not.”
“Both are acceptable to me.”
“Ah, but you are a gold nugget among drab stones, and twice as rare.”
“Now who’s the smooth talker?” He draped the sheet haphazardly across the lower part of his body and shifted to his side, propping his head in one hand. “Talk to me, Lily. Tell me your deepest fear.”
Releasing a shaky breath, she let the truth fly. “I’m afraid I’ll go mad if I let this … wild thing loose inside me. I’ve always thought of it as an animal—like a tiger pacing back and forth and looking for a way to escape. Once it does, Griffon, what would keep it from swallowing me whole? I’d end up in an insane asylum.”
“My, my,” he whispered. “Your fears are ferocious. Come here, lamb.” He held out his hand to her. “Snuggle against me and let me assuage those fears.”
She crossed to him. Propping himself against the headboard, he wrapped his arms around her as she curled on her side against him.
“Lily, the pacing beast is you,” he said, his voice rumbling against her ear, which was pressed against his chest. “You’ve got to stop being afraid of it—afraid of yourself. When you love that beast, explore that beast, you tame it. Once you’ve tamed it, you train it. Just as I have trained my beast to work for me instead of against me.”
“But what good would it do me, other than disrupting my life and confusing the people who love me? My knowing things didn’t help my mother, did it? All my knowing did was alienate me from my father.” She rubbed her cheek against his chest, enjoying the touch of the springy hair growing there.
“What happened to your mother isn’t your fault,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “She was warned and she ignored the warning. You did what you could. As for your father’s inability to accept all of who you are, it points to his weakness. He refuses to face that which he doesn’t understand, and there isn’t much you can do for him, Lily. He must find courage within himself.”
“Me, too.”
“Yes, but where he is weak, you’re strong.”
“I don’t feel strong.”
“I feel it. Would you reject a God-given musical talent?”
“No, but that’s hardly the same as what I’ve been given. People like musicians.”
“But what if, as a four-year-old, you sat down on your first piano bench and began playing Bach? People would be amazed, shocked, skittish. They’d look for a logical answer. They’d investigate to see if you were a fraud. If they found nothing, then they would explain your talent as a miracle God has brought to your life and theirs. Once you reveal your talent, Lily, the people who love you will embark on this same process and will come to the same conclusion. Trust me.”
She was silent, taking it all in, assembling and sorting through his explanation. He curled a finger beneath her c
hin and brought her head up until her gaze found his.
“Lily, do you trust me?”
“Yes.” The answer came from her heart.
“Then let me help you over the rough spots ahead. If you decide to be yourself, let me help you train that tiger in you just as Thurman Unger and Balthazar helped me bring mine to hand.”
She nodded and pressed her mouth to the center of his chest. His heart pumped, making the skin flutter.
“The Fishbines are like your father. They scoff at anything they don’t understand.”
Running her hand across his coppery skin, she recalled the blatant hatred the Fishbines had for Gypsies. Griffon caught her hand and held it still against his heart. She knew then that he’d picked that pocket of her thoughts. She peeked at him through her lashes. His gold earring glinted in the muted light and she touched it.
“When did you get that? Is it symbolic?”
“In a way. I don’t remember having my ear pierced. Must have been done when I was a babe. But I wear the ring because it links me to the Rom. Although they rejected me, they can’t expel me altogether. Their blood runs in my veins. I was raised on their standards, their legends, their customs.” He shot her a glance down the straight bridge of his nose. “On what did the Fishbines base their hatred of Gypsies?”
“Mrs. Fishbine said she remembered when a band of Gypsies came into town and kidnapped a baby boy.”
He barked a laugh. “God save the queen! What rot!”
She smiled at his British euphemisms. “I take it you think this highly unlikely?”
“Gypsies think any family of eight or less is a small one, so why would they be stealing babies? And a gadjo baby at that! The child would never be accepted by the Rom.” He held up one finger. “And there’s another telling clue here. She said a baby boy was stolen?”
“Yes.”
“If a demented Rom decided to snatch a babe, it wouldn’t be a boy baby. A girl would be selected. Girls are far more valuable, far more cherished by the Rom. We pray for girls. The greatest wish one can bestow on a newly married couple is that they have a family full of girl children.” He curled his upper lip. “Baby stealing. That’s something the gadjo made up to cover his own crimes against his children. More likely that poor baby died by the hands of its own kin.”
“I rather like the way the Gypsies treasure females.” She sat up on her knees beside him. Supine and lazy-eyed, he reminded her of a big cat sprawled in the bed, a bed the same size as the one she shared with Orrie in her room, but there was precious little room left with Griffon in it.
“Women are treasures,” he said, trailing a fingertip along the side of her face.
“But in my world—the gadjo world”—she smiled when he smiled at her careful pronunciation—“the female is considered less than the male. We are shunted to one side, not allowed to think or vote or offer an opinion on anything outside cooking and child rearing.” Slamming a fist into the mattress, she let out a sigh. “How I hate it! Orrie says I should be resigned to my position in life, but I loathe being treated as some imbecile.”
“If only you were as passionate in defending your psychic gifts.” His tone was sad. “But I agree, Lily. You women must change things if you want a say in what goes on in society. I can assure you that men will never give you any power out of a sense of fair play.” He laughed at such an idea. “You’ll have to beat it out of them. You must harp and harp and harp until they get sick of hearing your collective voices and hand over some equality just to shut you up. That’s the only way you’ll get anything from your menfolk.”
“How did Gypsy women get the upper hand?”
“They’ve always had it.” He shrugged. “Gypsies are more wise than the gadjo.”
Gathering her hair over one shoulder, she drew her fingers through it, combing out tangles. “You sound proud of your people.”
“That surprises you?”
“Well, they weren’t proud of you,” she pointed out.
“And your family isn’t proud of you.”
She frowned, hating the truth in that. “Yes, we’re two of a kind.”
“Are we? Are you a Gypsy now?”
Laughing, she snuggled into his arms again. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Liar.”
“Why do you call me that? I was raised on Gypsy stories! Remember, I’m the one who thinks they’re romantic.”
“Hmmm, and look where that kind of thinking led your cousin.”
They fell into a few minutes of silence, each thinking of Cecille and wondering where this journey to Van Buren would ultimately take them. Would they find happiness or sorrow at trail’s end?
“Let me go with you tomorrow to Devil’s Den,” she whispered, looking at him with pleading eyes.
“No.” He shook his head decisively. “No, absolutely not. You will stay here.”
“Maybe I’ll be gone when you get back. I might head for Fort Smith.”
“If so, hire a buggy driver. Don’t you and Orrie try to go back by yourselves.” He kissed the top of her head. “However, I hope you’ll be here when I return.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be thinking of you while I’m gone, and by the time I get back I’ll be starving for your touch, your kiss, your body.”
She rolled onto her stomach, half on and half off him. “What’s become of me? My reputation is shot to pieces because of you. How will I be able to hold my head up in the streets of Fort Smith?”
“From my vantage point, your reputation is unchanged, Lily. You’re still, and will always be, a lady in my eyes.”
Dragging a finger across his lower lip where a tiny cut marred the left corner, she puckered her brow in a frown. “You’ll be careful, won’t you? That skinned place on your head and this cut on your lip—”
“Won’t hinder me in the least. I’ll be fine, and I will be careful. Balthazar and I will look out for each other as we always do.” He kissed her brow. “Don’t fret.”
“I should be getting to my room. If Orrie comes in and finds me gone, she’ll have a hundred questions I won’t want to answer.”
“I’ll return you to your bed in due time.” He wrapped his arms tightly at her waist. “No need to be in any hurry. Orrie won’t be back in the room before dawn.”
“How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “I’m psychic.”
She narrowed her eyes, doubting his explanation. “Yes, but I repeat, how do you know so much about Orrie’s comings and goings?”
“A hunch.” He smoothed his hands over her hair. “While I’m away, I want you to stick close to the hotel and remember not to go out alone. Take Orrie with you if you must venture out.”
“Yes, Griffon,” she said, nodding in a bored way.
“I’m serious, Lily.”
She glanced down at his telltale organ, bobbing under the sheet. “So you are!”
Laughing, he rolled with her so that he ended up on top of her. “You vixen! One look from you sets my blood afire. I can’t get enough of you, Lily. Can’t … get … enough.” He punctuated the statement with drugging kisses.
Lily closed her eyes and opened her lips. Maybe the precocious Emily Fishbine’s right, she thought before passion fogged her mind.
Chapter 18
Orrie took great pains at opening the door soundlessly. Poking her head around the edge of it, she peeked in. The lantern was lit and turned down low, but the light was sufficient for her to see Lily sitting in bed, staring straight at her.
“Glory be!” Orrie stepped inside, one hand flying to cover her heart. “I didn’t expect you to be up at this hour! Is something wrong, honeypot?”
Lily managed to keep from grinning. “I was on the verge of asking the same of you, Orrie Dickens. Are you aware of the hour? It’s five, I’ll have you know.”
“Five, is it?” Orrie closed the door, caught the hem of her skirt in it, and turned her back to Lily to jerk the material free. “I’ve been out. Thought I’
d …” The rest was a jumbled collection of mutters.
Lily leaned forward, cocking an ear. “Pardon? Didn’t catch that.”
Orrie pivoted slowly. Crimson colored her cheeks an even rosier hue. “I said I couldn’t sleep, so I took a walk.”
“For eight hours? You’ve been walking aimlessly around the hotel all this time?”
Orrie flung off her shawl. “I fell asleep on the couch downstairs.”
“I didn’t see you when I came in. Griffon hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Balthazar this evening either. I don’t suppose you ran into Zar during your all-night stroll.”
Orrie propped her hands on her hips. “What’s with all these questions? I’m the older one here. I’m the chaperone. I should be askin’ you what you’re doing sittin’ up at this hour. You should be asleep, girl! Why, you won’t be fit for nothin’ today. You’ll have dark smudges under your eyes and be as cross as an old bear.”
Lily pursed her lips to keep from laughing. She was enjoying this turning of the tables. “I wouldn’t have lost sleep if my older chaperone had been here with me in the first place! I returned from the Fishbines’ to find you gone without a trace. How could I possibly sleep?”
“You shouldn’t have worried about me.”
“That’s what Griffon said.”
“Zar said Mr. Griffon didn’t go with you to the Fishbines’. Said Mr. Griffon got in a skirmish of some sort.”
“Ah, so you did see Zar this evening,” Lily said, feeling like a half-pint detective.
Orrie plopped into the nearest chair to unlace her shoes. “Yes, yes. I saw him. What happened to Mr. Griffon this evening?”
Lily traced the band of lace stitched onto the edge of the white sheet. “We ran into Jasper, which wasn’t too bad. But then Ham butted in and things got ugly fast. Poor Jasper might be simple-headed, but Ham is downright crazy!”
“He didn’t try to hurt you or nothin’, did he?”
“No. He’s just … vile.” She shoved aside all thoughts of Ham Jeffers, returning to her good-natured joshing with Orrie. “So, what did you and Zar do all night?”
Orrie, bending over to remove her shoes, swung up to glare at Lily. She must have seen mischief in Lily’s eyes, because her burst of anger died and she shook a finger at her. “None of your business, missy. How was your evening at the Fishbines’?”