Gypsy Moon by Becky Lee Weyrich Page B

are strong for one who looks so frail and vulnerable. I saw that in you right away.” His lips brushed her hair and she could feel his words whispered against her forehead. His breath was like a hot brand.
    Charlotte clung to him, feeling some of her panic subside. If only he would marry her! The thought shocked and thrilled her at the same time. What had come over her? She had traveled hundreds of miles to escape a forced marriage planned by her own mother. Now these strangers seemed to take it for granted that she would marry the crazy man who had kidnapped her. And she was no better than they were—wishing she could marry Mateo, a wild Gypsy horse trainer she knew nothing about, except that he might have fathered a sizable army of dark-eyed children already. Still, it felt too wonderful to be in his arms and feel his heart beating against her own to worry about that right now.
    Suddenly she was wrenched out of Mateo’s embrace. Sharp nails flew at her face and neck, scratching painfully. A scream that could have come from a wild animal filled the dawn. Charlotte looked up into Phaedra’s hateful black eyes.
    “So, you pale-haired witch, you are not satisfied with taking little Tamara’s man! You want my Mateo, too! Well, you will not have him! He is mine— all mine !”
    Charlotte cringed away from the spitting, clawing woman. Had Mateo not grasped Phaedra’s arms, she might have ripped Charlotte’s throat out with her long nails.
    A bitter smile curved Mateo’s lips. Still holding tight to Phaedra, he said in a loveless tone, “Why, my dearest, how you surprise me! I thought your eyes and body were for Petronovich alone. But here you are acting and sounding like a jealous lover. How sweet!”
    Phaedra’s eyes narrowed. Her head swayed on her graceful neck as if she meant to strike like a snake. She turned to look at Mateo and hissed, “My body is my own. What I do with it is only my concern. But you belong to me. It was written at my birth. I do not share my possessions!”
    Mateo released her abruptly. Phaedra turned for a moment to glare at Charlotte. Then, throwing her arms around Mateo’s neck, she sought his lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Charlotte wanted to turn away, but fascination won out over propriety. She stared fixedly as Phaedra’s long-nailed fingers dug into the flesh of Mateo’s bare back.
    Mateo’s arms remained stiffly at his sides, his fists clenched. He refused to respond, even when Phaedra pressed her breasts tightly to his chest and rotated her hips against him suggestively. Charlotte felt her pulse pounding and blood rushing up to color her cheeks. At the same time, unfamiliar stirrings warmed her deepest parts.
    As suddenly as Phaedra had captured her prey, she released him. Mateo’s eyes blazed his anger. The Gypsy woman laughed and turned to Charlotte.
    “There, my fine gajo lady! Now you know what a real Rom expects of his woman. Of course, no one would expect it of you. Poor, pale little creature!” She turned back to Mateo, taunting, “Why, darling, this one would faint dead away at the mere thought of such passion! But then perhaps you aren’t up to it either, my wretched, moon-mad dear!”
    Charlotte Buckland had inherited a hot temper. Her mother swore it came from her father’s side of the family. She worked hard at controlling it and tried to remain ladylike at all times. But Phaedra had pushed her past her limits. Something—no everything —about Phaedra boiled her blood.
    Without even thinking about what she was going to do, Charlotte threw off the blanket covering her torn gown. She walked past Phaedra to where Mateo waited, sensing her intention. When they were facing each other, Charlotte looked up into Mateo’s warm eyes. For several seconds, their gazes locked.
    “What is it, golden-haired one?” he questioned. He lifted his fingers to her face, brushing a damp strand of hair from her lips.
    In answer, Charlotte let her hands touch his waist