Mine Till Midnight (38 page)

“What problem?” Cam played lightly with the folds of her skirts, watching her face alertly.

“Your good-luck curse. I know how to get rid of it. You should marry into a family with very,
very
bad luck. A family with expensive problems. And then you won’t have to be embarrassed about having so much money, because it will flow out nearly as fast as it comes in.”

“Very sensible.” Cam took her shaking hand in his, pressed it between his warm palms. And touched his foot to her rapidly tapping one. “Hummingbird,” he whispered, “you don’t have to be nervous with me.”

Gathering her courage, Amelia blurted out, “I want your ring. I want never to take it off again. I want to be your
romni
forever”—she paused with a quick, abashed smile—“whatever that is.”

“My bride. My wife.”

Amelia froze in a moment of throat-clenching delight as she felt him slide the gold ring onto her finger, easing it to the base. “When we were with Leo, tonight,” she said scratchily, “I knew exactly how he felt about losing Laura. He told me once that I couldn’t understand unless I had loved someone that way. He was right. And tonight, as I watched you with him … I knew what I would think at the very last moment of my life.”

His thumb smoothed over the tender surface of her knuckle. “Yes, love?”

“I would think,” she continued, “‘Oh, if I could have just one more day with Cam. I would fit a lifetime into those few hours.’”

“Not necessary,” he assured her gently. “Statistically speaking, we’ll have at least ten, fifteen thousand days to spend together.”

“I don’t want to be apart from you for even one of them.”

Cam cupped her small, serious face in his hands, his thumbs skimming the trace of tears beneath her eyes. His gaze caressed her. “Are we to live in sin, love, or will you finally agree to marry me?”

“Yes. Yes. I’ll marry you. Although … I still can’t promise to obey you.”

Cam laughed quietly. “We’ll manage around that. If you’ll at least promise to love me.”

Amelia gripped his wrists, his pulse steady and strong beneath her fingertips. “Oh, I do love you, you’re—”

“I love you, too.”

“—my fate. You’re everything I—” She would have said more, if he had not pulled her head to his, kissing her with hard, thrilling pressure.

They undressed with haste, tugging at each other’s clothes with a clumsiness wrought of desire and fervor. When at last their skin was laid bare, Cam’s urgency eased. His hands glided over her with deliberate slowness, every caress bringing tremors of pleasure to the surface. His features were austerely beautiful as he rolled her to her back. His mouth lowered to her breasts, his hands cupping the rounded flesh, tongue and teeth gently navigating the tips.

Amelia moaned his name, surrendering helplessly as he rose to kneel between her legs. His hand closed over her hips, lifting and bracing them on his spread thighs. Cam watched her, his eyes flashing demon-fire as he stroked her, toying with the soft cleft, the sensitive flesh within.

She reached for him, needing his weight on her, unable to pull him down. All she could do was whimper and arch as he filled her with his fingers, his thumb making wicked swirls, his thighs solid beneath her straining hips. Her breath hissed between her teeth, while her hands tightened around handfuls of the bed linens.

His fingers slid away from her, leaving her shuddering as her body closed in vain around the emptiness. But then he was pushing into her, filling her completely. She lifted high to take him, and gasped as he eased over her with deliberate slowness.

Her hand crept blindly from his shoulder to his face, where she felt the shape of his smile. “Don’t tease,” she muttered, trembling with need. “I can’t bear it.”

“Sweetheart…” His silky whisper caressed her cheek. “I’m afraid you’ll have to.”

“Wh-why?” She caught her breath as he withdrew, giving her only the tip of his shaft.

“Because there’s nothing I love more than teasing you.” And he took an eternity to push inside her again, his hands caressing her, every movement so incremental and delicious and merciless that by the time he entered her completely, she had already climaxed. Twice.

“Stay inside me,” she begged hoarsely, as he began a steady rhythm, the heat building again. “Stay, stay—” The words flattened into a long moan.

Cam bent over her, driving ruthlessly hard, his breath coming in hot strikes against her face and throat. He stared into her dazed eyes, taking fierce satisfaction in the sight of her pleasure. His hands slipped beneath her skull, cradling her head as he kissed her. He buried a vehement groan into the sweet depths of her mouth, and let his release spin out inside her.

Cuddling her afterward, Cam traced lazy patterns on her back and shoulders. Amelia rested on him, enjoying the steady lift and fall of his breathing.

“After the wedding,” he murmured, “I may take you away with me for a little while.”

“Where?” she asked readily, turning to press her lips against his chest.

“To look for my tribe.”

“You’ve already found your tribe.” She hitched a leg over his hips. “It’s called the Hathaways.”

A chuckle vibrated in his chest. “My Romany tribe, then. It’s been too many years. I’d like to find out if my grandmother is still alive.” He paused. “And I want to ask some questions.”

“About what?”

Drawing her hand to his forearm, Cam pressed it to his tattoo. “This.”

Thinking of Merripen’s identical tattoo, and the strange, impossible coincidence of it, Amelia frowned in curiosity. “What kind of connection might there be between you and Merripen?”

“I have no idea.” Cam smiled ruefully. “God help me, I’m half afraid to find out.”

“Whatever it is,” she said, “we’ll trust in fate.”

Cam’s smile widened. “So you believe in fate now?”

“And luck,” Amelia said, her hand tightening on his arm. “Because of you.”

“That reminds me…” He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her, dark lashes sweeping over glowing amber. “I have something to show you. Don’t move—I’ll bring it here.”

“Can’t it wait?” she protested.

“No. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t fall asleep.”

He left the bed and drew on his clothes, while Amelia took possessive pleasure in the sight of him.

To keep from falling asleep while he was gone, she went to the washstand and used a cold cloth to freshen herself. Hurrying back to the bed, she sat and tucked the covers beneath her arms.

Cam returned, noiseless as a cat, carrying an object that was approximately the shape and size of a slipper box. Amelia regarded it quizzically as he set it beside her. The heavy box was made of wood and heavily tarnished and pitted silver, the whole of it giving off an acid-sweet reek. As Amelia ran her fingers experimentally over the surface, she discovered the surface was slightly tacky.

“Fortunately it was wrapped in oilcloth,” Cam said. “Otherwise it would have been soaked in fermented honey.”

Amelia blinked in astonishment. “Don’t say this is the treasure that Christopher Frost was looking for?”

“I found it when I was getting the crushed bees for Merripen’s poultice. I brought it back for you.” He looked vaguely apologetic. “I meant to tell you about it earlier, but it slipped my mind.”

Amelia stifled a laugh. The average man would hardly forget something like a cache box possibly containing treasure … but to Cam, it probably had little more significance than a box of hazelnuts. “Only you,” she said, “could go looking for bee venom and find hidden treasure.” Lifting the box, she shook it gently, feeling the movement of weighty objects within. “Blast, it’s locked.” She reached in the wild disarray of her coiffure. Finding a hairpin, she handed it to him.

“Why do you assume I can pick a lock?” he asked, a sly flicker in his eyes.

“I have complete faith in your criminal abilities,” she said. “Open it, please.”

Obligingly he bent the pin and inserted it into the ancient lock.

“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Frost that you’d already found the treasure?” Amelia asked as he worked to find the catch. “Then you might have been spared being swarmed by all those bees.”

“I wanted to save this for your family. Frost had no right to it.” Before another minute had passed, the lock had clicked and the box was open.

Amelia’s heart pounded with excitement as she lifted the lid. She found a sheaf of letters, perhaps a half-dozen, tied with a thin braided lock of hair. Gingerly she picked up the bundle, pulled the top letter out, and unfolded the ancient yellowed parchment.

It was indeed a love letter from a king, signed, simply, “James.” Scandalous, ardent, and sweetly written, it seemed far too intimate for her to read. It had never been meant for her eyes. Feeling like an interloper, she closed the brittle folds and set it aside.

Cam, meanwhile, had begun to pull objects from the box and lay them in her lap; a loose ruby at least an inch in diameter, pairs of diamond bracelets, ropes of massive black pearls, a brooch made of an oval-shaped sapphire easily the size of a sovereign, with a teardrop diamond hanging beneath, and an assortment of jeweled rings.

“I don’t believe it,” Amelia said, jostling the glittering heap. “This must be enough to rebuild Ramsay House twice over.”

“Not quite,” Cam said, casting an experienced glance over the lot, “but close.”

She frowned as she sorted through the trove of priceless jewels. “Cam…?” she asked after a long moment.

“Hmmn?” He seemed to have lost interest in the treasure, absorbed in playing with a loose lock of her hair.

“Would you mind if we kept this from Leo until he’s … well, a bit more rational? Otherwise I’m afraid he’ll go out and do something irresponsible.”

“I’d say that’s a valid concern.” He picked up the jewelry in careless handfuls, dumping it into the box and closing it. “Yes, we’ll wait until he’s ready.”

“Do you think,” Amelia asked hesitantly, “that Leo will change from the way he is now? Will he get better?”

Hearing the worry in her tone, Cam reached out and nestled her against him. “As the Rom say, ‘No wagon keeps the same wheels forever.’”

The covers slipped between them. Amelia shivered as the cool air wafted over her naked back and shoulders. “Come back to bed,” she whispered. “I need you to warm me.”

Cam stripped away his shirt, and laughed quietly as he felt her hands plucking at the buttons of his trousers. “What happened to my prudish
gadji?
”

“I’m afraid”—she reached into his open falls and stroked his aroused flesh—“that continued association with you has made me shameless.”

“Good, I was hoping for that.” His lashes lowered, and his voice turned slightly breathless at her touch. “Amelia, if we have children … will you mind that they’re part Roma?”

“Not if you don’t mind that they’re part Hathaway.”

He made a sound of amusement and finished undressing. “And I thought life on the road would be a challenge. You know, it would terrify a lesser man, trying to manage your family.”

“You’re right. I can’t imagine why you’re willing to take us on.”

He gave her naked body a frankly lascivious glance as he joined her beneath the covers. “Believe me, the compensations are well worth it.”

“What about your freedom?” Amelia asked, snuggling close as he lay beside her. “Are you sorry to have lost it?”

“No, love.” Cam reached to turn down the lamp, enfolding them in velvet darkness. “I’ve finally found it. Right here, with you.”

And he lowered himself into the clasp of her waiting arms.

Read on
for an excerpt from

Sugar Daddy

by Lisa Kleypas

AVAILABLE IN HARDCOVER FROM ST. MARTIN’S PRESS

When I was four, my father died in an oil-rig accident. Daddy didn’t even work for the drilling outfit. He was a company man who wore a suit and tie when he went to inspect the production and drilling platforms. But one day he stumbled on an opening in the rig floor before setup was completed. He fell sixty feet to the platform below and died instantly, his neck broken.

It took me a long time to understand Daddy was never coming back. I waited for him for months, sitting at the front window of our house in Katy, just west of Houston. Some days I stood at the end of the driveway to watch every car that passed. No matter how often Mama told me to quit looking for him, I couldn’t give up. I guess I thought the strength of my wanting would be enough to make him appear.

I have only a handful of memories of my father, more like impressions. He must have carried me on his shoulders a time or two—I remember the hard plane of his chest beneath my calves, the sensation of swaying high in the air, anchored by the strong pressure of his fingers around my ankles. And the coarse drifts of his hair in my hands, shiny black hair cut in layers. I can almost hear his voice singing “Arriba del Cielo,” a Mexican lullaby that always gave me sweet dreams.

There is a framed photograph of Daddy on my dresser, the only one I have. He’s wearing a Western dress shirt and jeans with creases pressed down the front, and a tooled leather belt with a silver and turquoise buckle the size of a breakfast plate. A little smile lingers in one corner of his mouth, and a dimple punctuates the smoothness of his swarthy cheek. By all accounts he was a smart man, a romantic, a hard worker with high-carat ambitions. I believe he would have accomplished great things in his life if he’d been given the gift of more years. I know so little about my father, but I’m certain he loved me. I can feel it even in those little wisps of memory.

Mama never found another man to replace Daddy. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say she found a lot of men to replace him. But hardly any of them stayed around for long. She was a beautiful woman, if not a happy one, and attracting a man was never a problem. Keeping one, however, was a different matter. By the time I was thirteen, Mama had gone through more boyfriends than I could keep track of. It was sort of a relief when she found one she decided she could stick with for a while.

They agreed they would move in together, in the east Texas town of Welcome, not far from where he’d grown up. As it turned out, Welcome was where I lost everything, and gained everything. Welcome was the place where my life was guided from one track to another, sending me to places I’d never thought of going.