Caro of Coffee Time Romance says,
"Ms. Jamison has penned an absolutely stunning and adventurous tale that drew me in from page one, to the point that I forgot everything but the story unfolding before me. Not only was the plot extremely well developed, the passion between the main protagonists was sizzling hot! This is one of the most titillating pieces of erotica that I have read in some time. Every secret fantasy played out for optimal pleasure."
Trapped within a life where she has always been an outsider, Karina dutifully follows the wishes of her father by day, and secretly pursues her dreams by night. Raised within the strict, patriarchal society of the Rom at a time when discrimination and fear are at their peak, she is forced to hide both her love of music, and her passion for those who encourage her dreams.
She seeks comfort in the arms of her dearest friend and mentor, who shows her that love and lust rarely confine themselves to the ill-conceived notions of normalcy.
When a lie, spoken in a moment of desperation, threatens to shatter everything Karina holds dear, she must chose between those she loves and her own reputation. Will the truth set her free or destroy her? Does she have the courage to follow her own heart?
Svetkavista is a haunting, sensuous tale that explores the blurred lines between love and lust, truth and loyalty, and one woman's journey to understand her own heart.
She made her way down to the banks of the Tisza to quickly bathe in private. Stripping down to her white undergarment she stepped gingerly into the water, moving forward until she was knee-deep in the icy current. She paused to allow herself to adjust to the chill before wading out farther.
Half a dozen more steps, and the water was up to her elbows. Karina dipped her head back, soaking her hair, and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness as she rested in the water’s embrace. When she began to shiver from the cold she straightened and glanced down at her torso – the white slip was plastered against her pale form, the flesh underneath covered with goosebumps.
She gazed at her reflection in the water, murky and imperfect, and sighed. Papusza had said that Brishen liked her. How could that be? She was a half-breed, and an unattractive one at that. Her one redeeming feature was that she could dance; and if her father had his way she’d never dance for anyone, except in secret, midnight rendezvous’ with people she was supposed to look down upon.
She slipped back down into the river with a sigh and relaxed her arms, allowing them to float on the buoyancy of the water. She drifted this way for a time before standing and glancing up to the sky. The first rays of sunlight were peaking out from between the hills. The others would be waking soon.
Karina waded back to the bank, pausing to wring out her hair and undergown. She laid down on the grass, stretching out beneath the creeping warmth of the dawn sun. There were clouds just beyond the horizon, suggesting that the day would soon turn gloomy and damp, and she wanted to enjoy the sun for as long as it lasted. She would go and dance tonight, Karina decided – for herself, for Papusza, and to prove to Brishen that she wasn’t unnerved by him. Maybe, to prove it to herself as well.
When she was dried, she stood and shuffled over to where she’d left her clothes. She pulled the skirts up over her hips, and was about to shrug into her shirt, when she heard a voice behind her.
“Droboy tume Romale.”
Karina whirled around and saw Brishen leaning against a tree, not far away, with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. She narrowed her eyes and looked away, but stayed silent.
“I offended you last night,” he stated, without remorse.
“You did,” she answered curtly, avoiding his gaze.
“It was a compliment, wanting to watch you dance. Truly.”
“Then there are lies more believable than the truth,” she quoted.
He grinned. “I don’t believe I’ve ever known a woman who couldn’t accept a compliment before.”
“And I’ve never known a man with such a perverse notion of compliments,” she countered, gathering the rest of her clothing in her arms. She made a motion to walk past him, to get back to the camp where he wouldn’t dare try to speak with her, moving with a calm that belied her nervousness.
Brishen’s hand shot out as soon as she was close enough, latching onto her elbow and halting her progress. His grip was firm.
“Let go of me!” she exclaimed, twisting away from him. In response, he brought his other arm up to circle her waist, pulling her against his body. Her armful of clothes was the only thing separating them.
“I’ll scream,” Karina whispered. “I’ll scream at the top of my lungs, and they’ll all come.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will.”
He pulled her even closer, crushing her against him, and brought his face within inches of hers. She could feel the lean, hard muscles of his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, could feel the strain of his forearm against her waist. His other hand released its grip on her elbow and came up to stroke her cheek.
“Then go ahead and scream,” he murmured.
She opened her mouth to do just that and he covered her lips with his own, kissing her hard and fast. His tongue pushed into her mouth, tracing the line of her teeth, and thrusting with a rhythm that, to her horror, her body seemed to recognize.When he released her he was smiling.
“I told you you wouldn’t scream,” he said with a smirk.
“You are a pig!” she spat, wrenching free of his grasp.
His chestnut eyes sparkled. “A pig? Perhaps, but a pig that you like.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Brishen. I’d sooner kiss a real swine than kiss you again!” she said, turning away from him before he could respond. “Next time, I will scream,” she called over her shoulder.
Svetkavista © 2006 by Kayleigh Jamison
All works © Aphrodite’s Apples Press, LLC, 2005-2006