tentatively. As if the test had proven safe, her fingers moved up to his bare chest, stopping for a moment to entwine themselves through the black hair that glinted golden red in the dawn. Slowly, inch by inch, her hands crept up until her fingers laced behind his neck. Then, with only slight pressure, she drew his mouth down on hers.
His lips were soft, full, and enveloped hers with a caressing tenderness. She felt his tongue testing, teasing, until she responded, parting a way for his intimate exploration. Her head felt light. Warmth from their mingled lips suffused her body. She could feel her own heart pounding in her breast like some Gypsy rhapsody.
Still their bodies had not met, though they stood so close that Charlotte could feel a delicious heat radiating from Mateo’s nearness. Then, as the kiss possessed them both, she felt his strong hands grasp her hips, pulling her to him. It seemed to Charlotte that their very souls touched and clung to each other at that moment. Their hearts throbbed together to a frantic Gypsy rhythm. She became aware of another throb against her thigh—pulsing heat that made her ache for something she didn’t understand.
Mateo drew away slowly. They stood staring at each other. Charlotte thought she would always remember that moment—the rising sun, a halo behind his raven mane, tingeing it with Gypsy gold. The misty light obscured his face—all except those wonderful eyes. She could see her own reflection in those deep black pools, as if he had locked her within himself and sealed her enchanted prison forever with his kiss.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Phaedra cried. “The little gajo did not swoon!” Then her voice dropped to a low, suggestive whisper as she spoke directly to Charlotte. “You may kiss him here to taunt me, but I dare you to go to Mateo’s bed! What would you do—all pale and tender—when he crushed those pristine breasts against his hard chest, making them throb and ache? Would you cry out when he stroked your quivering thighs with his powerful graiengen ’s hands, forcing from you the same obedience he demands of his horses? And what if you did have the courage to open your delicate petals to the great Rom Mateo? Would he ride you gently or with wild abandon as he gallops his stallions in the ring?”
Seeing Charlotte start to pale, Mateo warned, “Enough, Phaedra!”
“Enough? For your little white Anglo, perhaps, Mateo, but not enough for Princess Phaedra! I am all woman. And I demand all from my man!”
As the Gypsy woman flipped her bright skirts and stalked away, Charlotte stood trembling at the pictures Phaedra had evoked in her mind.
What had she done? What must Mateo think of her now? And what would he expect from her next? Was she no better than Phaedra—throwing herself at him? She could feel his gaze still on her, but she dared not look at him.
“What is your true name, sunaki bal?” he asked gently.
She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Charlotte Buckland,” she answered in a whisper.
“Very well, Charlotte. I will see you to the brides’ tent now. You will remain there for the time being.”
She turned to him, suddenly overwhelmed with joy. This must be the way Gypsy men asked women to become their wives. She hadn’t displeased him after all. He wanted her for his own! She was more than willing. She had heard of love at first sight, but never had she believed it could happen to her. Now she knew it was possible. Anything was possible as long as she had Mateo!
Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him again, deeply. But this time his lips were motionless upon her own. She stepped away and looked at him, bewildered. She couldn’t read his closed expression. His eyes seemed clouded by a mysterious veil.
As if the second kiss had never interrupted what he had been saying, Mateo continued, “You will live in the brides’ tent and Tamara will see to your needs until Petronovich is able to raise the brideprice and claim
His lips were soft, full, and enveloped hers with a caressing tenderness. She felt his tongue testing, teasing, until she responded, parting a way for his intimate exploration. Her head felt light. Warmth from their mingled lips suffused her body. She could feel her own heart pounding in her breast like some Gypsy rhapsody.
Still their bodies had not met, though they stood so close that Charlotte could feel a delicious heat radiating from Mateo’s nearness. Then, as the kiss possessed them both, she felt his strong hands grasp her hips, pulling her to him. It seemed to Charlotte that their very souls touched and clung to each other at that moment. Their hearts throbbed together to a frantic Gypsy rhythm. She became aware of another throb against her thigh—pulsing heat that made her ache for something she didn’t understand.
Mateo drew away slowly. They stood staring at each other. Charlotte thought she would always remember that moment—the rising sun, a halo behind his raven mane, tingeing it with Gypsy gold. The misty light obscured his face—all except those wonderful eyes. She could see her own reflection in those deep black pools, as if he had locked her within himself and sealed her enchanted prison forever with his kiss.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Phaedra cried. “The little gajo did not swoon!” Then her voice dropped to a low, suggestive whisper as she spoke directly to Charlotte. “You may kiss him here to taunt me, but I dare you to go to Mateo’s bed! What would you do—all pale and tender—when he crushed those pristine breasts against his hard chest, making them throb and ache? Would you cry out when he stroked your quivering thighs with his powerful graiengen ’s hands, forcing from you the same obedience he demands of his horses? And what if you did have the courage to open your delicate petals to the great Rom Mateo? Would he ride you gently or with wild abandon as he gallops his stallions in the ring?”
Seeing Charlotte start to pale, Mateo warned, “Enough, Phaedra!”
“Enough? For your little white Anglo, perhaps, Mateo, but not enough for Princess Phaedra! I am all woman. And I demand all from my man!”
As the Gypsy woman flipped her bright skirts and stalked away, Charlotte stood trembling at the pictures Phaedra had evoked in her mind.
What had she done? What must Mateo think of her now? And what would he expect from her next? Was she no better than Phaedra—throwing herself at him? She could feel his gaze still on her, but she dared not look at him.
“What is your true name, sunaki bal?” he asked gently.
She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Charlotte Buckland,” she answered in a whisper.
“Very well, Charlotte. I will see you to the brides’ tent now. You will remain there for the time being.”
She turned to him, suddenly overwhelmed with joy. This must be the way Gypsy men asked women to become their wives. She hadn’t displeased him after all. He wanted her for his own! She was more than willing. She had heard of love at first sight, but never had she believed it could happen to her. Now she knew it was possible. Anything was possible as long as she had Mateo!
Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him again, deeply. But this time his lips were motionless upon her own. She stepped away and looked at him, bewildered. She couldn’t read his closed expression. His eyes seemed clouded by a mysterious veil.
As if the second kiss had never interrupted what he had been saying, Mateo continued, “You will live in the brides’ tent and Tamara will see to your needs until Petronovich is able to raise the brideprice and claim
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