Free A Forbidden Love by Alexandra Benedict

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    “Well?” came the rumbled query.
    Well what? Had he asked her something? She quickly thought back. “Nothing’s the matter,” she said hastily, indicating otherwise, which he was quick to pick up on.
    “Are you in pain?”
    “No.”
    A blond brow lifted in obvious disbelief.
    “I feel fine,” she insisted.
    He stepped away from the bedpost and went down on one knee, so close to her, she could smell the musk of his hair and feel his warm breath tingle her flesh as he exhaled.
    Goose pimples broke out all over her skin. But she wasn’t cold. If anything, she was stifled under the blankets, though she didn’t dare kick them off.
    He reached for her. Instinct intervened and she jerked away—too quickly. The spasms erupted in her neck. She hissed at the painful contractions.
    Anthony tisk ed. “I only wanted to remove the compress.”
    And he did just that, taking the moist cloth from her forehead and dropping it into the basin next to the bed.
    Serves her right, she supposed, for allowing her ridiculous jitters to rule her senses like that.
    She reached for her neck, but his hand was there first, diving through the mess of her untamed hair, making its way over to her throbbing muscles. She stiffened at his powerful touch. But her nerves soon gave way to the pleasurable feel of his warm fingers rocking back and forth, his palm rising and falling, his grip tightening.
    Her eyes fluttered closed. The man had a masterful touch, so soothing, so disarming. In slow, circular movements, his fingertips kneaded, the heat building on her skin, her body sinking into peaceful oblivion.
    Her jitters were back, only this time more profound. And she couldn’t help but reflect that there was something odd about the man. It had to be his character. She found it off-putting. A dutiful aristocrat she could fathom, but beyond that, she found undue empathy and consideration far-reaching. Anthony should more closely resemble his prim and guarded sister. But he was nothing like his twin. He was nothing like any gajo she had ever met before—or any gypsy.
    “Do you feel better?”
    The gruffness of his voice jostled her from her languid daze. Her eyes snapped open to connect with his. Those passionate green orbs seemed to dance with energy, and she found herself sighing again for no known reason.
    She nodded.
    Anthony gently withdrew his fingers to avoid the tangles in her hair, and she was conscious, all of a sudden, that her hair was in a frightful state. What a ghastly sight she must be!
    “What was that melody you were humming by the stream?”
    She quickly brought to order her scattered wits. “Why do you ask?”
    “I was only curious. The tune still plays in my mind and I’d like to give it a name.”
    “It has no name. None known to me,” she corrected in a weak voice. “I heard it as a child.”
    “Who sang it to you?”
    Ebony lashes sunk like wilted rose petals. “I can’t say.”
    “And why not?”
    “It is forbidden to speak of the dead.”
    There was a short pause, then, “Why?”
    More questions? More poking and prodding into her life? She should be asking him that very question. Why? Why did he care to know anything about her?
    Her heart was thumping, loud and fierce. “Because a ghost can return from the beyond and cause mischief if summoned by name.”
    “And you are afraid of ghosts?”
    She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and looked away. “I would not be afraid of this one…but it is still forbidden.”
    When another pause settled between them, she thought perhaps Anthony had lost interest in the subject. But he soon offered her a suggestion that had her heart knocking a bit faster.
    “Then whisper the name quietly so the ghost cannot hear.”
    He smiled when he said it. Such a beautiful smile meant to disguise such a devious suggestion. To break away from tradition? Could she really do such a thing? Sabrina longed to say the name. It had been so many years since she’d spoken it