“I’ll take those,” he offered, holding out his hand, and she stared dumbly at his open palm, then shook her head.
“No, just tell me where I can change,” she told him, and realized as she spoke those words that there was not even the benefit of a screen for her privacy.
Morgan smiled, his gleaming eyes sweeping her length. “Right here will do,” he said, lifting one hand to touch the bodice of her dress. His fingers were long, elegant and tanned, and she was reminded of their dexterity as they’d handled the cards earlier. Now she knew a moment of panic as they lingered just above the line of cleavage where her breasts strained the fabric of the red gown…then brushed against her skin, as if he must test the texture.
His murmur was soft, inviting. “Would you like me to give you a hand?”
“No.” She shook her head in an abrupt movement, stepping back, her flesh tingling where his fingertips had rested. “I’ll do it,” she added hastily, aware that a five-dollar gold piece was a high price to pay for an evening with a woman whose value was yet to be determined.
“All right.” Agreeably, he turned and propped a shoulder against the door jamb, his gaze focused on her in a lazy manner. His eyes seemed darker, she thought, glistening in the lamp’s glow, and with indolent ease they passed over her, lingering on the curve of her breasts, and then settling on the line of her hips. Heat rose to color her cheeks, and its warmth radiated from her skin.
“Lily?” Her name had never sounded so soft, had never whispered against her ears with such a seductive murmur as he repeated his offer. “Shall I help you?” His lids barely masked the glitter of passion as he watched her, and she thought for a moment that he surely possessed some eerie power, perhaps the ability to see beneath her clothing. Her breasts were taut and tingling, her legs trembled, and she prayed silently for the strength to perform this denial of all she’d been raised to believe in.
With a sound of dismay, uttered in a barely audible whisper, she turned from him, reaching behind her back. The task of undoing the fastenings that held her dress together was hampered by the trembling of her fingers. He touched her shoulder gently, halting her efforts.
“Begin with your hair, Lily,” he said softly. “Let it loose. Please.”
“My hair?” Obediently, she lifted her hands to touch the dark curls, her fingers curving to pull the silver combs from place. The heavy fall of waves caressed her shoulders and she turned back to face him. His eyes narrowed, as if drawn to the unruly tresses and he gently grasped a curl, allowing it to wrap the length of his index finger. His gaze settled there for a long moment, as though the texture and weight of that lone bit of waving hair held some sort of appeal.
Gray eyes silvered as his hand abandoned that single curl and instead rose to fit his palm to the curve of her neck. Long fingers moved upward, tunneling through her hair, and the heat of his hand was like a branding iron on her scalp. Without warning, his head lowered and his mouth touched hers, opening to suckle the plump line of her lower lip. A warning growl made her aware of danger just as his other arm circled her waist and snagged her against his length.
The kiss took on a more seductive angle, his head tilting as he sought to invade the soft tissues behind her lips. A harsh sound in his throat gave her warning that Gage Morgan was not to be denied, and she shrank from him and the force of his desire.
Tears spilled from her eyes to flow unchecked down her cheeks, and he hesitated. Lips that had demanded her submission softened, opening a bit, damp and warm against her mouth. “I won’t hurt you, Lily,” he murmured. His touch on her nape became a caress, yet she trembled in his embrace, her breath a soft gasp.
Her scent rose to tempt him, an aroma of flowers blended with that of woman, and he inhaled it, recognizing the moment as one that would dictate the whole of their relationship. She was warm against him, yet she shivered, and he became aware that his attraction to her was not mutual. The woman he held in his arms was compliant to his touch, but her murmured cry denied the passion he’d hoped to arouse within her body.
“Well, hell.” Morgan uttered the curse even as he heard her almost silent sob, knew a moment’s remorse as she cringed from his touch, and then opened his eyes to see twin trails of dampness on her cheeks. A frown marred his brow as he took her measure.
“Lily…” He hesitated, and then shook his head. “I’m sorry.” The words seemed not enough of an apology he decided as he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “I really planned to be a gentleman. I’m not generally so heavy-handed when I spend time with a woman.” It had been too damn long, he thought. Too many months without a woman’s touch.
His palm spread wide across her back, and his fingers caressed her through the satin dress she wore. Bending to her again, his mouth touched her forehead, then brushed a path to her cheek. “Can I start over?” he asked. And then, without waiting for her answer, he turned her within his embrace and worked slowly at the fastenings of her dress.
“How did you get into this thing?” he mused, his fingers clumsy at the task.
“One of the girls helped,” she said, and shivered anew as his hands found bare skin just below her waistline. “Please, can you blow out the lamp?”
His words held a tinge of amusement. “Has no one ever told you that some things are better accomplished in the light?” Turning her to face him, he smiled and looked down to where her hands gripped the red satin over the contours of her breasts. “Am I not going to be allowed to look?”
Lily bit her lip, tasting the blood, aware that he was more patient than she had a right to expect. “I told you I’m not very good at this,” she whispered. “I’m not worth five dollars, I fear.”
His head tilted to one side and his smile vanished, as though he saw something within her that held him immobile, his eyes darkening. His words were dry and a bit cynical, but spoken carefully. “How many men have bought your favors, Lily? A hundred? Fifty, maybe?” He paused and she swallowed, the lump in her throat almost smothering the laugh that denied his suggestion.
“Am I the first?” he asked, the words so quiet she strained to hear them.
“No.” And he wasn’t, not if she were to be honest. The Yankee colonel had paid the price for her compliance five years ago, and made a whore of her in the process. When he took her from her home.
“But you haven’t done this often, have you?” he persisted, his hands holding her firmly in his grasp.
She shook her head. “No.” Then she tilted her head back to offer him a look of resolve. “But I expect it’s something I’ll learn, Mr. Morgan.”
He sighed and shook his head, a strangely sad emotion washing over him. Her scent rose again to tempt him, that of a woman whose skin was clean, almost a rarity in her profession. He denied the stirring in his groin, turning his back on the thought of taking this female to his bed, and shook his head.
“But not tonight, Lily,” he said. “I won’t take a woman who weeps at my touch.”
“If Ham Scott finds out—” She broke off and her teeth touched the spot where blood had begun to dry.
“He won’t,” Morgan said, his finger nudging her lip. “Don’t do that, Lily. You’ve already made it bleed.” He looked closer and his eyes darkened. “Or did I do that to you?”
And if he had, would it matter? she wondered silently. But her head moved, offering a denial of his concern.
His hands were warm, resting on her back, and his words offered a reprieve. “I’ll turn my back and you can get into your nightgown,” he told her. And true to his word, he turned in a half circle and faced the door.
With swift movements, Lily allowed the satin dress to slide to the floor, then snatched at her nightgown and pulled it over her head. Beneath the dress, she wore sleek satin drawers that matched the dress and in a moment they were folded and placed on the bed.
“Now what, Morgan?” she asked. “I have six bits if you want part of your money back. In fact I have a dollar in my bag, back in my room.”
“Turn around and look at me,” he said roughly. “And don’t mention money again.” He looked down at her hand where she held the tips she’d received in the saloon, taken now from the bodice of the dress. “Do you think I’d take it from you?” he asked, his jaw taut.
She shook her head. “I suppose not. But then, I don’t really know you, do I?”
“Not as well as you will by morning,” he said, and buffered the words with a grin. “I’ve never bought a woman’s favors before, Lily. I think I’m grateful to you for not allowing me to spoil my record.”
“Then what do you expect for your five dollars?”
“I think I want to know who Lily Devereaux is,” he answered. “Where she comes from—and maybe even more, where she’s going.”
Lily dropped her gaze and laughed, a mirthless sound. “Lily Devereaux only exists on this boat,” she said. “She’s a brand-new person, Morgan.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” His words were soft, as if he realized she would respond to his coaxing quicker than to a harsh demand.
Lily wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, and then dropped them quickly as Morgan’s eyes took note of the curves of her breasts as they were supported by her forearms. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, warming as a flush of embarrassment rose to tinge her face with color.
“For five dollars, I should be able to look, Lily,” he told her patiently. “I’ve already promised not to take more from you than you’ll give me freely.”
“If I told you—” She broke off abruptly and turned her head aside.
“Told me what?” he asked.
A desperate longing to gain some small bit of respect from the man drove her to offer a small bit of knowledge into his hands. “I’m not what you think I am, not a woman who works on her back for a living.”
“I already figured that out,” Morgan said. And with those words spoken, an inkling of a bold move, a rash decision, filled his mind. “I don’t know what you are, Lily, but I’d lay odds that you don’t belong on a riverboat, serving trash like the man who touched you earlier.” He motioned toward the bunk. “Go on. Crawl between the sheets.” He walked behind her, watching as she bent to pull back the top sheet and then retrieved the pillows. Her glance at him merited a small smile.
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay right here for now.”
Her curves were nicely traced by the taut lines of her nightgown as she leaned forward on one knee, drawing his gaze. Morgan caught his breath, almost ruing his vow.
Turning to face him, she settled on the edge of the mattress and he nodded, the demand implicit. Her feet slid beneath the top sheet and she drew it up to her waist, and then eased her way to the pillows. Morgan stepped closer and lowered himself to sit beside her.
“Now, unless you want me to change my mind, lady, I want you to tell me about Lily Devereaux.” He waited, his gaze unmoving as he met her dark eyes. She swallowed, a visible movement of throat and lower jaw, and then lifted her hands in a helpless gesture.
“I don’t know what you’d like to know, Morgan. I’m from the South….” She hesitated and he smiled, a lazy arrangement of lips that expressed amusement.
“I figured that out right off, honey,” he told her. “Now tell me something I didn’t know. Like who’s out there looking for you.”
She paled beneath his gaze and he felt a sense of triumph. He was, it seemed, on target with his suspicions. The lady was on the run. “Lily?” As she hesitated, his hands smoothed the sheet and toyed with the hemmed edge.
“No one’s looking for me,” she told him harshly. “I went north after the war was over and worked for a while. And then I found I wasn’t suited for the cold weather and decided to head back toward home.”
“And where is that?” he asked idly, noting her subtle movement as she edged away from him. One hand shot out and grasped her wrist, holding her firmly, but with a gentle strength.
“South of here,” she quibbled. “I’m not saying more than that, Morgan.”
“How did you get north?” he asked. “Must have been a long walk, honey.”
“I rode on a horse, then in a buggy. Finally on a train.” Her jaw set grimly as if she had been pushed far enough for one night, and Morgan relented.
“One more question,” he said. “But I want the truth, Lily. Were you with a man?”
She hesitated, and that small pause told him what he wanted to know. And then her chin lifted and a spark of defiance lit her eyes. “And if I was?” she asked.
Morgan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I just wanted to know if you’d be honest with me.” But it did matter, he thought. More than he’d realized it would. Lily Devereaux had secrets, but his curiosity was aroused—beyond the point of wanting to peer into her past, to the brink of an uneasy desire to discover her hidden reasons. Surely, the woman had known the risks she took by working on the riverboat. Something, or someone, had driven her to this desperate situation.
It was a puzzle. And Gage Morgan was a man who thrived on solving just such a conundrum. With a sigh he motioned to her to move to the back of the bunk. She did, watching him with eyes that shone with a trace of moisture.
“I’m only going to sleep beside you,” he told her. And then he shed his boots and shirt and lay down beside her, atop the sheet. It was to his credit that he waited until she slid into slumber before he gathered her in his arms and held her close.
Lily awoke with a start, aware of a weight across her waist, and the warm, solid bulk of a man beside her. She held her breath, frantic as she sidled from beneath the heavy arm that held her prisoner.
It tightened its grip and the man who owned it murmured her name. “Lily. Just lie still. You’re all right.”
Morgan. She breathed his name aloud then and felt disappointment creep into her heart. “You promised—”
“I promised not to hurt you, Lily,” his sleep-roughened voice said, reminding her of his words. “Are you wearing any bruises?” The arm holding her shifted, and she felt his fingertips trailing warmth across her skin as they traveled to her hand and then warmed her through the fine cotton of her gown, moving up toward her shoulder.
The fact that a thin layer of fabric hid her from his gaze seemed immaterial, she decided. Morgan knew his way around a woman’s body, knew the effect his touch was having on her flesh. She’d known the feel of a man’s hands, but that memory was far removed from the reality of Gage Morgan’s whispering caress.
“It’s morning,” she whispered.
“So it is.” He yawned, and she turned her head to watch as his mouth released the sigh. His gaze cut to meet hers and a crimson streak edged his cheekbones. Beneath the languid glance he offered, she sensed the taut control he held over his body. “I told you I was going to sleep in the same bed, Lily,” he reminded her. “In case Ham Scott asks me, I can tell him truthfully that I held you in my arms all night long.” His grin was quick. “After you went to sleep,” he added slyly.
“Please let me up,” she said, aware that she was at his mercy. And then he cupped her chin and turned her head fully toward him.
“You’ll spend your nights here, Lily. Until we get to the Gulf, you’ll be in my bed.”
She shook her head in bewilderment. “Why? Why on earth would you want me in your stateroom, Morgan? I doubt I’ll be any good to you.”
His shrug was diffident, and she felt the movement of his shoulder beside her. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe I don’t want anyone else to have you. Sort of a dog in the manger thing, I suspect.” Yet, it seemed there was more to it than that, and the fine hair on the back of her neck lifted as a chill passed over her.
And then he laughed softly. “Although I’m not sure that old saw applies in this case. Maybe I’m just not willing to share, even if you’re not ready to give me what I’ve paid for.”
She flexed her hands into fists and clenched her jaw. “I pay my debts, Morgan. If you want—”
He rose ov
er her, shifting so quickly she was taken by surprise. His arms pinned her to the mattress, his big body poised above her threateningly, and she felt like a hunter’s prey as she looked into his face. His mouth was twisted, his eyes harsh with a look she could not define.
“You don’t owe me a debt,” he said, grinding out the words quietly. “I told you I wouldn’t ask for anything from you, and that still goes.” His mouth softened as he scanned her features, and she thought for a moment he might have set aside his anger, if indeed that was the emotion that had gripped him.
Then, against her body, she felt the unmistakable ridge of his desire and she shrank from it, wishing with all her heart she had not prodded him into challenging her.
“This is all I’ll ask of you,” he said, bending to her, touching her lips with his, brushing across the width of her mouth, gently taking that which she could not deny him. “Just a kiss,” he murmured. “Probably the most expensive kiss I’ve ever enjoyed.”
“And tonight?” she asked, fearful of his answer. If he tired of her reluctance and turned her loose, freed her from his protection, she was fearful of what the night hours might hold. On the other hand, if he paid again for her time, if he expected her to sleep in his bed, she might find herself exposed to an even greater danger.
Morgan was a man she could imagine as a lover. She who had vowed never again to allow a man’s hands on her body, felt a softening toward the male creature who loomed over her.
“I already made it clear, I thought. You’ll sleep here tonight,” he said, lifting his weight from her, then bending his head to steal another kiss, one she gave with but a moment’s hesitation. And then she rolled from the bunk, snatching at her dressing gown quickly, pulling it on and tying it firmly at her waist.
Her hands busied themselves with her brush, taming the dark hair that formed a riot of untamed curls around her face, spilling over her shoulders. He watched, sprawled in the bunk, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, his gaze unswerving. And then as she gathered her things together, he rose, taking the red satin dress from her hands and folding it.
The Marriage Agreement Page 3
