The Bride of the Delta Queen (The Americana Series Book 18)

by Janet Dailey

  "You could at least turn around," she snapped, blaming his intent gaze for her fumbling efforts.

  Chance ignored her request. "The clothes will be dry before you ever get them off." He pushed her hands away and began unbuttoning the blouse.

  "I can do it myself," Selena protested almost tearfully, angered and miserable to the point where she wanted to cry.

  "There is a time for modesty, Red—" he stripped the blouse from her shoulders and gave it a toss into the bathroom "—and this isn't it."

  He shoved her, down to sit on the bed while he knelt to remove the saturated leather shoes from her feet. They followed her blouse into the bathroom, along with her socks. Impersonally, Chance reached up and unsnapped her pants. Grabbing the sodden material of the pants legs, he pulled those off, too. Then he rose and pivoted to pull down the covers of the other single bed.

  "Wrap the towel around your head and get into bed, little miss prim and proper," he ordered. "While you're hiding under the covers, you can take your underclothes off."

  He waited until Selena had done as she was told. When the underclothes were lying in a wet heap beside the floor, he turned and left the cabin. Continuing to shiver, Selena closed her eyes and snuggled deeper under the covers, certain she would never be warm again. But at least Chance was gone.

  After fifteen minutes, she began to warm through and feel like a human being again. There was a warning rattle of metal, then the door opened and Chance walked through, carrying a tray.

  "The door was locked!" she protested angrily.

  "I took the key with me," he explained offhandedly, and slipped it into his pocket.

  "Why don't you go away and leave me alone? You've had your laugh at my expense. Now go away!" Selena cried in frustration, in no position to enforce her demand. "I—"

  "I've brought you some soup from the kitchen," Chance interrupted as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said.

  "Leave it on the chest of drawers."

  He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, balancing the tray on his knees. As he removed the cover from the bowl, the mouth-watering smell of chicken soup filled the room. Picking up the soup spoon, he dipped out some broth and carried the spoon to her lips. Selena couldn't believe it. He was actually going to feed her.

  "Come on, eat up," Chance ordered calmly, forcing the metal spoon between her lips.

  She swallowed it, the liquid warming her throat as it went down. When he put the spoon in the bowl again, Selena couldn't help smiling.

  "You look ridiculous," she said. He flicked an impassive glance in her direction and started to bring the spoon to her mouth. "Any minute I expect to hear you say, open the hangar, here comes the airplane, just as if you were feeding a child."

  "Are you going to eat or talk?" he questioned.

  "I'm going to eat." Selena pushed herself into more of a sitting position, taking her arms from beneath the covers while keeping the blankets tucked securely across her front. "But I'm going to feed myself."

  With a shrug of acceptance, Chance shifted the tray so that it was on her lap and slid another pillow behind her head to prop her up.

  "Have you seen Julia to tell her I couldn't find Leslie registered at any of the hotels?" Selena asked between spoonfuls.

  "Not yet," he answered with a grim look.

  "I feel so sorry for her," she sighed.

  "My aunt doesn't need your pity."

  "Well, she certainly doesn't get any from you!" she retorted, stung by his roughness. "You couldn't care less if Leslie ever shows up and you know it."

  Chance eyed her narrowly. "There's a great deal that you don't know about my aunt and me and my family. I suggest that you aren't in any position to condemn my behavior since you aren't in possession of all the facts."

  "Then tell me the facts," she challenged.

  "I don't discuss personal family matters with strangers. And you, Red…despite all the intimate moments we've shared or almost shared—" there was a mocking glint in his steady look "—you're a stranger."

  Selena's hunger for the soup ended with his words. She set the spoon on the tray and handed it to him. "I don't want any more," she said stiffly. Grudgingly she added, "Thank you for bringing it."

  "It was the least I could do," he said, accepting thanks indifferently, "since it was at my aunt's instigation that you ended up half-drowned."

  After Chance had left with the tray, Selena pulled the covers around her neck and slid down into a horizontal position. All his concern had been prompted by a sense of duty and responsibility. Nothing more.

  She felt let down somehow, cheated out of a feeling that could have been exceedingly pleasant. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the sensation. It wasn't long before she was asleep.

  A hand touched her shoulder and she rolled over in alarm. She had difficulty focusing her vision, which was fuzzy from sleep. Chance was sitting on the bed, watching her with those intent black eyes.

  "How do you feel?" He pressed his palm across her forehead, then turned it to let the back of his hand rest against her cheek.

  "I'm fine." Her insistent voice was thick and husky from the sleep. He took his hand away in apparent satisfaction, assured that she wasn't running a fever.

  "What are you doing here again?"

  "I wanted to see how you were and whether you were going down to dinner tonight," he explained with a faintly amused twist of his mouth. "It's six o'clock."

  "It can't be!" she frowned in protest.

  "I'm sorry. Maybe it can't be, but it is," Chance shrugged. "So what's the decision? Are you coming down or do you want something sent up?"

  "I'm coming down," Selena answered.

  "Good. I'll wait for you outside." He straightened from the bed.

  As he walked to the door, she said, "And leave my key on the chest of drawers."

  There was a jangle of metal as the key was deposited on the wooden top before Chance walked out of the door. She heard the click of the lock and slipped out of bed to dress hurriedly.

  Most of the passengers were already in the dining room when Selena and Chance arrived at the staircase leading to the Orleans Room. Another couple approached the stairs at the same time. Both men gave way to permit the women to go first.

  "How are you feeling?" the woman inquired of Selena.

  "Fine," she blinked in surprise.

  "That was quite a drenching you got today. It's a miracle you didn't catch your death of cold."

  "I never get sick," Selena replied.

  "A person can never be too careful at this time of year. I've had more colds in spring than any other time of year," the woman remarked. "It was probably a good thing that you stayed in your cabin and rested and kept warm this afternoon."

  "Yes." Good heavens, Selena thought, how much more does this woman know about me?

  At the bottom of the stairs, the woman paused and smiled. "It must have made you feel good the way Chance looked after you, bringing you hot soup and all. I couldn't think of anyone nicer to take care of me than him—unless of course it was my husband," she laughed.

  Selena echoed it weakly before the couple separated from them to go to their own table. If every person in the dining room had turned to look at her with Chance, she couldn't have felt more self-conscious.

  As Chance escorted her to their table where Julia waited, Selena asked in a low, accusing tone, "Does everyone on board know about my rain-soaked morning?"

  "Probably," he conceded, amusement glinting in his downward glance at her rigidly set expression of composure.

  "Did you have to tell them?" she muttered in an aside before greeting the woman at the table. "Hello, Julia."

  "How are you feeling, Selena?" came the question of concern.

  "Fine," she said, and wondered how many times she was going to have to repeat the answer before the evening was over.

  She sat down in the chair Chance held out for her. As he helped her slide it closer to the table, he bent low to murmur a taunt near
her ear. "Would you have preferred that I didn't explain what I was doing in your cabin in the middle of the day?" Her color rose briefly, giving him the answer that didn't need to be put into words.

  Straightening, he took the chair opposite Selena while she attempted to concentrate her attention on Julia. "I'm sorry I—" She was about to apologize and offer her sympathy for not being able to find any trace of Leslie.

  Julia broke in with a radiant smile, "Did Chance tell you the news? I've heard from Leslie!"

  "No, he didn't." She flashed him a reproving glance, not understanding why he had omitted that when he knew how concerned she was for Julia. "That's wonderful!"

  "Yes, it is." The older woman was brimming with happiness.

  "Did he explain why he wasn't in Memphis to meet you?" Selena asked.

  "Yes. There was some mix-up and he didn't receive my message in time to get to Memphis before the boat left. He's driving to Louisville now," Julia told her.

  Again Selena couldn't help noticing the profound silence surrounding Chance, just as it had other times when the subject of discussion was Leslie. She also noticed the way he deftly changed the subject at the first opportunity, drawing Selena's attention to the menu choices so that the waiter might take their order.

  When the main course was served, Julia asked, "Are you wearing a costume to the Mardi Gras party tomorrow night, Selena?"

  "Is it tomorrow night? I hadn't realized," she replied. "I had thought about dressing up in costume when I heard about it, but…" She let the sentence trail off. Tomorrow night didn't give her much time to come up with anything. She cast a curious look at Chance. "Are you going to wear a costume?"

  "I might. I hadn't thought about it."

  "You could always come as a riverboat gambler," Selena suggested, half seriously, "with a string tie and brocade vest."

  "That's an idea," Chance agreed smoothly. "And you could be a saloon girl."

  "Except that I don't have the costume for that," she corrected, not liking his needling innuendo.

  "Of course, you don't have to be in the costume to attend the party," Julia inserted. "The majority of the passengers probably won't, but it does make it so much more fun when you participate in the spirit of the event."

  Selena started to make a comment, but Chance's low voice came first. "Your orange dress would work well as a costume."

  She was about to remind him that she didn't have it anymore when she realized that he undoubtedly did. "Perhaps," she agreed curtly, expecting any second for Julia to ask how Chance knew about a dress that Selena hadn't worn while on the boat. "But there are other parts to the costume than just the dress."

  "You'd need to wear your hair up, glue a black beauty spot on your cheek and wear a black ribbon around your neck," Chance listed. "I'm sure one of the boys in the band would lend you his garter."

  "And I have a black boa you could borrow," Julia offered. "One of those silly feathery things. There's crêpe paper you could use to make an ornament for your hair. I think it's a terrific idea."

  Selena had little room left for argument. "Okay, I'll go as a saloon girl—as long as you go as a riverboat gambler, Chance," she qualified.

  "You have a deal, Red." His mouth twitched in amusement, his expression otherwise bland.

  She had once said she wouldn't wear that dress again if she did get it back. And here she was, blackmailing herself into wearing it to a party—with Chance. She didn't understand how she had talked herself into it. But it had been easy. The words had come out before she had the sense to say she wasn't going to wear a costume,

  Suppressing a sigh, she sliced a bite of stuffed pork chop. With her mouth full of food, surely she wouldn't have room for her foot.

  Chapter Eight

  SELENA KNEW she wouldn't have missed the party the following night for anything. An extraordinary number of passengers came in costumes, parading down the stairwell to the Orleans Room. There was a highly imaginative assortment from sheeted ghosts to a Roman warrior, courtesy of the pots and pans from the kitchen. The range went from the ridiculous to the sublime.

  After the parade of costumes and entertainment by the crew and passengers alike came the late-night snacks followed by dance music from the band. Selena was too caught up in the party spirit to leave when the music began, nor did Chance suggest they should.

  Instead he turned to her and asked, rather mockingly, "Is it permitted for a minister's daughter to dance?"

  Selena was simply in too good a mood to take offense. "It is for this minister's daughter," she smiled, and let him lead her onto the floor.

  As he turned her into his arms, she felt again his manly strength, the power contained, the firm arm around her waist. She remembered the other times Chance had held her in his arms to kiss her, make love to her, and immediately shied away from those memories.

  Chance bent his head slightly to better see her face. "I never thought I'd see you again in that red dress," he smiled wryly.

  "I never thought I'd wear it again," Selena returned in a matching tone.

  He was dangerously charming tonight, flirting with her in his mocking way. The admiring light in those lazy black eyes made her feel very special. She would have been neither human nor female if she had tried to deny that she liked it.

  With each dance, it became easier to match his steps, to let her body sway with his in tempo with the music. Her senses came alive in his embrace. Whatever resistance she might have had melted under the warmth of his body heat and the intimate pressure of his thighs brushing against hers. With each breath, she caught the scent of the lotion on his smooth cheeks, a heady mixture of spice and musk. And the steady rhythm of his heartbeat was hypnotic.

  It was with regret that Selena left his arms when the last song ended. She shifted the feathery boa higher up around her shoulders as the hand at the small of her back guided her from the floor to the stairs.

  "Shall we take the long way to our cabins?" Chance suggested.

  Selena nodded an affirmative answer, trying to steady the leap of her heart at his suggestion.

  At an unhurried pace, they wandered onto the outer cabin deck to slowly make their way around the bow to the texas stairs. A half moon was beaming a silvery light from the midnight sky. The air was briskly cool, invigorating to senses already sharply aware of everything around them.

  Climbing the stairs, they made a circuitous route around the texas deck. Neither spoke, not wanting to break the spell that was somehow making the evening seem so special.

  As they rounded the stern where the paddle wheel splashed rhythmically in its circle, a sudden breeze whipped the trailing end of the black boa, sending it across Selena's face before the gust of wind faded. The fluff tickled her nose and she sneezed.

  "Are you catching cold?" Chance stopped, studying her intently.

  Selena shook her head. "No. It was just these feathers."

  "It is chilly, though, and you should have something on your arms." He took his hand away from her to slip off his jacket, mocking himself as he said, "Therefore I will do the gentlemanly thing and offer you my coat."

  "I'm all right, really," Selena protested.

  But he was already swinging his jacket behind her to drape it over her shoulders. As he drew the lapels together in front of her, his enigmatic dark eyes focused on her lips. She held her breath, her heart beating a mile a minute. His fingers tightened on the material, pulling her toward him. And she realized it was what she had been waiting for all evening.

  His head blacked out the half moon as he moved toward hers. His mouth was hungry in its possession, its appetite insatiable, taking, devouring and always demanding more. His hard length pushed her into the shadows of the overhang, pinning her against the wooden frame of the boat.

  There was no pressure, no force to make her submit. No, the insidious seduction was taking place within her, making her hands weak and trembling as they spread across the solid muscles of his shoulders.

  When he lifted his
head, it was to bury his cheek in the flaming silk of her hair. "Selena." His demanding voice was rough, his breathing equally so. "If I ever find out you aren't a minister's daughter, I'll wring your neck!"

  She laughed softly, but it hurt, as did the unsatisfied ache she felt inside. "I never felt less like a minister's daughter in my life," she answered.

  Chance nipped at her earlobe. "I never felt more like saying to hell with propriety."

  She shuddered against him, knowing how much she echoed his sentiments, and he gathered her close, pressing her face into his chest, his hands running caressingly over her spine.

  "Cold?"

  "I wish I were," Selena murmured, and felt him smile against her hair.

  "Now you know at least a little of the way I feel," he said, and sighed heavily. "I'm not used to playing these games, of being satisfied with kisses. In the past, I've always taken what I wanted with few exceptions. Then you come along with your damned red hair and green eyes—and the menacing specter of your father, the reverend. And I get the awful feeling I'm being reformed."

  Selena drew her head away from his chest to look up at him. "Chance, I—"

  He kissed her hard to silence the response, leaving her breathless when he was through. "Let's get to your cabin before my better judgment gets pushed aside," he said roughly.

  But it was a gentle arm that encircled her shoulders and guided Selena to her cabin. Chance took the key from her hand and unlocked the door, but she didn't immediately enter. Flirting with danger, she looked up at him, her eyes still luminous with the emotions he had aroused.

  "Chance, I—" she tried again to speak.

  His mouth tightened as he pressed his hand across her lips. "Just say good night, Red," he ordered.

  "Good night," Selena complied, and returned his jacket before slipping quietly inside the door.

  In the room, she listened to him walk to the railing. She partly understood his reluctance to talk about what was happening between them. She was confused, too. At times, she disliked him intensely, distrusted him. She didn't know what her true feelings were. Possibly he didn't, either.