The Gypsy and the Widow Read Online Free PDF Page A

opened with one hand and brought her inside.
     
     
     
    Chapter Three
     

     
    The door closed behind them, and Joanna reached up and brought his head down so his lips met her own.
    Tem felt his blood heat as their lips touched. He had dreamed of this, but always believed it could be nothing but a dream. Could it be that she wanted him as he wanted her—or was she a wanton as his fellows had suggested?
    He pulled his head back and studied her face. His very heart and soul cried out for her as much as his body, but he would not be a plaything, a casual amusement for a Gadji. He placed her gently on a sofa and knelt beside her as she reclined against the pillows. Her amber eyes and black lashes stood out against her milky pallor and some of her deep golden hair had escaped its tie and curled against her neck.
    She reached out and took his hand. A flush crept into her cheeks. “Do you not want to kiss me?” He thought her voice shook slightly.
    He could not keep himself from bringing her hand to his cheek for an instant, although he knew he should not. “I do not make love with every woman who wishes it, not even when I myself wish it.”
    “Do you wish to make love to me?”
    “With all my heart I do, but there is no future for us and I care far more for you already than I should.”
    She ran her fingers softly, tantalizingly, through his hair. “And I feel the same for you. I—I think of you so often. I so often have dreamed that you would touch me or kiss me. I long for it.” She lowered her eyes as the flush on her cheeks turned darker and spread across her face, her neck. “We would harm no one.”
    He frowned and released her hand. “No one except ourselves, if indeed you feel as I do. I am already pained that I shall have to leave in a few days when our work is done here, perhaps sooner if Sir Edward does not pay as agreed. If you and I do what we wish to do, the pain of parting will be worse.”
    “I don’t care,” she cried. “I would willingly suffer later if that is the price I must pay.”
    Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it as though to still it. He could resist no longer, and he brought his lips hard against hers, his arms tight around her. He felt as though the floodgates controlling his pent-up desire for Joanna opened, and he drowned in his passion for her. He wanted nothing but to kiss her, to caress her, to love her in every way a man can love a woman.
    He felt her arch toward him, her arms about his neck, her fingers raking through his hair. He ran his hands along her sides, across her back. He stroked her neck, her cheeks. He murmured “Joanna” against her lips and then ran his tongue along the seam between them and she opened to him. He entered her mouth almost brutally, so strong was his desire for her and she met him, her tongue tangling with his, welcoming him with her own.
    They pulled back and their gazes locked. Her golden eyes seemed bottomless. He could see her desire for him there. She took his head between her hands and kissed him again, first on the lips then on his cheeks, his forehead, and his chin.
    “I do believe I love you,” she said, her voice unsteady.
    “Love is not a word to be used between a Gypsy and an Englishwoman,” he said, his voice gruff as it pained him to say these words.
    “Why not, if it is the truth?”
    “Gypsies have died for less than that. And my children…”
    “I will not let any harm come to them or to you because of this,” she said fiercely. She sat up. “Gypsy, will you help me up the stairs to my boudoir?”
    “Yes, Englishwoman, I will do so.” He picked her up and carried her up the stairs as she ran her hands over his shoulders and arms.
    “This room.” She pointed to the door that stood half-open. He entered and laid her gently on the bed and she pulled him down with her so he lay beside her.
    He let his hand wander over her body, over her fine breasts, her belly. He brought his arms about her and caressed her back, her