Archiwum
- Index
- Harrison Harry Filmowy Wehikul Czasu
- R.K. Lilley 1 In Flight
- Connie Brockway Sezon na panny mlode
- 1854 Hard Times
- Drobiazgi zycia Czechow A.
- H Warner Munn Merlin's Ring
- Brooks, Terry Word 02 A Knight of the Word
- Krentz Jayne Ann Zapomniane marzenia
- Kindred of Arkadia 3 Fated for Forever Alanea Alder
- Dekameron Giovanni Boccaccio
- zanotowane.pl
- doc.pisz.pl
- pdf.pisz.pl
- lafemka.pev.pl
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own kind, rather than a half-bred Roma.Cam would be better off, too. Good God, was he actually
contemplating spending the rest of his life as a gadjo, bound in domesticity?
He should leave Hampshire, he thought. Amelia would make her own decision about Frost, andCam
would follow his destiny. No compromises or sacrifices on either side. He would never be anything more
to Amelia than a brief, vaguely remembered episode in her life.
Lowering his head, he scrubbed his hands through his unruly hair. His chest ached in the way it always
had when he yearned for freedom. But for the first time, he wondered if he was right about what he
wanted. Because it didn't seem as if the pain would be cured when he left. In fact, it threatened to
become a good deal worse.
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The future spread before him in a great lifeless void. Thousands of nights without Amelia. He would hold
and make love to other women, but none of them would ever be the one he truly wanted.
He thought of Amelia living as a spinster. Or worse, reconciling with Frost, perhaps marrying him, but
always living with the knowledge that Frost had betrayed her once and might again. She deserved so
much more than that. She deserved passionate, heart-scalding, overwhelming, consuming love. She
deserved . . .
Oh, hell. He was thinking too much. Just like a gadjo.
He forced himself to face the truth. The fact was, Amelia was his, whether he stayed or left, whether
they walked the same path or not. They could live on opposite sides of the world, and she would still be
his.
The Roma half of him had seen that from the beginning.
And it was that side of himself he would listen to.
Amelia's bed was soft and luxurious, but it might as well have been made of bare wood planks. She
rolled, turned, sprawled, but she could find no comfortable position for her aching body, and no peace
for her tortured brain.
The room was still and stuffy, the air turning thicker by the minute. Craving a breath of clear, cold air,
she slipped from the bed, went to the window, and pushed it open. A gasp of relief escaped her as a light
breeze swept over her. She closed her sore eyes, used her knuckles to rub her wet lashes.
It was strange, but with all the problems she faced, the thing that kept her from sleeping was the question
of whether or not Christopher Frost had ever really loved her. She had wanted to think so, even after he
had abandoned her. She had told herself that love was a luxury for
most people, that Christopher's career was a difficult one, and he had been faced with an impossible
choice. He had done what he'd thought best at the tune. Perhaps it had been wrong of her to expect him
to choose her and damn the consequences.
To be desired above all else, to be wanted, needed, coveted . .. that would never happen to her.
The door opened in a well-oiled arc. She saw the shadows change, felt a presence in the room. Turning
with a start, she saw Cam Rohan standing just inside the door. Her heart began to drum with furious
force. He looked like something from a dream, a dark enigmatic ghost.
He approached her slowly. The closer he came, the more it seemed everything around her was
unraveling, falling away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.
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Cam's breathing wasn't quite steady. Neither was hers. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "The Rom
believe you should take the road that calls to you, and never turn back. Because you never know what
adventures await." He reached for her slowly, giving her every opportunity to object. Through the
cottony gauze of her nightgown, he touched the curve of her hips. He brought her close, into his hard
weight.
"So we're going to take this road," he murmured, "and see where it leads."
He waited for a signal, some syllable of objection or encouragement, but she could only stare at him,
transfixed and helpless.
He smoothed her hair, whispering for her not to fear him, he would take care of her, please her. His
fingers found the sensitive curve of her scalp, cradling her head as
he kissed her. He dragged his mouth across hers, again and again, and when her lips were open and
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