Free The House of Dreams by Kate Lord Brown Page A

small room was dark and busy, figures pressed up against the bar, a hum of conversation, the chink of glasses and bottles punctuating the jazz.
    â€œDon’t let’s ever get old, Raymond,” Mary Jayne said, watching a gray-haired couple sitting in silence at the edge of the dance floor, their slumped backs twin c’s of defeat.
    Raymond followed her gaze. “We won’t ever be like that, bébé .” He glared at a young man with black hair and pale blue eyes watching them from the bar, staring at him until the man downed his drink and left. Raymond eased her closer to him, his lips grazing her jaw, her neck. “We’ll still laugh, and fight, and make love. There will always be passion. I’ll love you forever with all my black heart.”
    â€œForever is a terribly long time,” Mary Jayne murmured. “What if we don’t have forever, Raymond?”
    â€œThen we have now, we have tonight.”
    â€œSometimes I think that’s all I am to you. A good time, a meal ticket—”
    â€œYou’re my girl, it’s as simple as that.”
    â€œAnd you’re my bad, bad boy?” Her laugh was rich, throaty.
    â€œI think you like that, Mary Jayne. I think you like it that your friends say I’m no good for you. You like a little danger, no? Something your money can’t buy.” She felt the lean muscles of his shoulder, his back, flex beneath her hand. “Tell me you love me.”
    â€œYou underestimate me, Raymond. I see what you are capable of, I see the strength and the bravery hiding in that black heart of yours. You’re my ‘diamond in the rough,’ and I know plenty about diamonds, trust me.” Mary Jayne laid her head against his collarbone. “I adore you, darling boy.”
    â€œTell me you love me.”
    â€œNot here.…”
    â€œWhy won’t you ever say it?”
    She lifted her head, gazing into his eyes. “Darling, it’s impossible for us to be together, you know that. Now you’ve left the Foreign Legion, you shall go off to Britain with de Gaulle and fight with the Free French, and I shall…” She paused, wondering what the future held for her, for them. It was such a short time since she had met Miriam in Toulouse, since they had traveled to Marseille together and met some young Americans, and Raymond. There was a dangerous, masculine energy to him that had drawn her the moment they met, a self-assurance verging on arrogance. She felt the intensity of his gaze now, as he waited for her answer, and a heat rose in her, responding, helpless to resist him.
    â€œYou will go back to America, and forget me.” Raymond pulled away from her, the dim light gleaming on his dark hair, glinting on his round glasses.
    â€œYou can write to me,” she said, stepping close in the crush of the dancers. Her lips brushed his ear. “You can tell me about all the battles you have won, and all the hearts you have broken.”
    â€œYou will marry some rich idiot—” He wouldn’t look at her, his hands clenching into fists.
    â€œWhy would I marry?” Mary Jayne laughed, a breath against his neck. “I don’t need a husband. I have money of my own.”
    â€œThen marry me, for love.” The raw passion in his gaze caught her off guard, and Mary Jayne felt her stomach free-fall.
    â€œI told you, I don’t plan ever to marry,” she said lightly, hiding the effect he had on her. “I shall travel the world with Dagobert for company.”
    â€œYou love that dog more than you love me.”
    â€œYou dear, sweet boy.” She pouted, imitating him. “Don’t sulk.” He kissed her then, claiming her, his hands in her hair. Mary Jayne broke away, placed her fingertips on his lips as she glanced around, self-conscious. “Darling, stop. Not here.”
    â€œI want you,” he said, holding her close. “And you want me, I know you