Her Gypsy Prince by Crystal Green

Author:Crystal Green
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Carlo’s soul folded into itself as he watched the emotions play across Elizabeth’s face: shock, confusion, wariness.

Still, her hand remained where it was, over his scar, as if she could blank out the past with the shelter of her touch.

“Killed a man?” she asked, voice shaking.

“They tried to call it manslaughter, but it was an accident. And after I explain everything, maybe you’ll understand why I don’t cotton to people like the CMB. Or why coming into Blossom was so hard for me.”

“But you did it.” She cupped his face in both hands, her eyes welling over.

He nodded, overwhelmed by the affection in her gesture. But would she understand everything else?

“Tell me, Carlo. Please.”

Exhaling, he drew up a chair, and hunkered down by resting his forearms on his lower thighs. His hair hung over his face, making it easier to reach into his memories, to pull out every excruciating one.

“It seems like a lifetime ago. I was twenty-two, still drinking too much beer and hell-bent on having a good time. I’d joined the carnival more than a few years earlier, the same one I’m with now. Left home before I graduated and then found my feet.” He laughed without much humor. “To this day, I don’t even think my dad knows I’m gone.”

In fact, Carlo hadn’t been back to New York since, though he’d make the occasional unanswered phone call just to tell himself he was trying to communicate with his old man.

Elizabeth was waiting patiently, yet Carlo knew she had to be churning inside, so he continued, no matter how much he wanted to keep quiet.

“We’d set up shop in this speck on the map, Cartersbarrow, a couple hours out of El Paso. One night, some of the carnies and I went to a roadside bar. We were more arrogant back then, not paying much attention to the way folks glared at us because we were strangers. Small towns aren’t the most tolerant.”

“I know,” she said softly.

Carlo finally glanced up at her, finding strength in the way she watched him, still cautious, yet open to his explanations.

“One of the regulars started getting familiar with Jan. You met her—a belly dancer.”

Elizabeth nodded. “When you say ‘familiar’…?”

“He was taking liberties he hadn’t been invited to take.” Carlo remembered the dancer pushing against the chest of a drunk young man wearing a designer shirt and hat. Remembered hearing Jan’s wail for help.

“I went over to defuse things, buy the guy a beer and make some peace, I thought. It worked often enough, but this grabby jerk was having none of it. Found out afterward that Brent Carter was the great-grandson of the town founder. His dad pretty much owned every inch of the street, and most definitely the bar stool he was wobbling on.”

Elizabeth’s posture wilted, and Carlo could guess why. She had some things in common with Brent—being rich, socially prominent.

Automatically, Carlo rested a hand on her knee. “Brent Carter was a spoiled drunk, the town would admit to that much.

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