by Lisa Cooke
The aunt’s cheeks flushed with immediate indignation. Evidently she wasn’t used to people sticking their feet in her door. “As far away from Mr. Straights as possible. That man is not good for her.”
“Is that your decision or hers?” Sally asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Newt had to admire the aunt for protecting Lottie. Part of him tended to agree with her, but this was between Lottie and Dyer. And as much as he hated to admit it, they loved each other. That much was clear. Damn, he was starting to sound like Sally.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Mason, how has Lottie been lately?”
“She’s feeling just fine.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. How much of her days has she spent crying?”
Now the aunt’s eyes were talking, and the flash of sadness answered his question. She sighed. “She’s been upset, but she’s been through a lot. This move is the best thing she can do.”
“What move?” Sally asked.
Dorothy fanned her hand. “I’ve said too much.” She reached again for the door, but this time Sally’s foot got in the way.
“Have you ever been in love?” Sally asked.
All three stood silently as the question hung in the air. Dorothy’s face turned both sad and distant before she finally whispered, “Once.” Her stare drifted off on a memory.
“Don’t you wish you’d done everything you could’ve to keep it?”
Dorothy’s gaze jerked back to Sally. “I don’t see what this has to do with Charlotte.”
“Yes, you do.” Sally’s statement somehow chipped through Dorothy’s resolve.
She lowered her head with a sigh. “She went to the station to catch a train to California.”
“Thank you.” Sally turned on the stoop, dragging Newt with her toward the carriage.
“But Mr. Straights is a gambler,” Dorothy said to their retreating backs.
Sally yelled over her shoulder without breaking stride, “That’s not the worst of it, he’s also a Yankee!”
“Oh my . . .”
Sally looked up at Newt. “Did she swoon?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yep.”
“Should we help her?”
“Nope. She managed to drop into a chair without any apparent injury. I think she may be a professional.”
Sally chuckled as Newt helped her into the carriage and took the seat beside her.
“You did real good back there,” he said once the carriage rolled forward.
“I guess she didn’t know what I was.” Sally dropped her gaze to her folded hands in her lap.
Newt laid his hand on top of hers. “You mean she didn’t know what a good friend you are to her niece, or that she didn’t know what a fine woman you are in general?”
She blinked back a tear. “It’s been fun pretending to be like other women, but as soon as we’re finished, I have to go back to what I really am.”
“A fine woman?”
“No, I mean a riverboat whore.”
“And I’m a gambler.”
“Society is a little more lenient with a man’s sins than a woman’s.”
“Sally, I—”
She patted his knee. “It’s all right. I know my place.”
“How would you like to change it?”
More silence filled the air.
“I’m too old to believe in fairy tales,” she finally answered.
“Me too. But I own a farm near Memphis, and cows are a better judge of character than genteel society.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
He knew exactly what he was saying. He just couldn’t believe he hadn’t said it before. But he didn’t have a chance to explain it to her before the station came into view, a large locomotive pulling away with much belching of steam.
Newt jumped from the carriage and ran toward the train. “Where’s that train headed?” he asked one of the men who’d just loaded the passengers.
“California,” he answered, stepping away.
Sally caught up with Newt just as he turned to head back to the carriage.
“Damn,” Newt muttered. “We’re too late.”
Sally took his arm. “Maybe it would be better if the two of them figured it out on their own, anyway.”
“Well, hell, I think I’ve been saying that all along.”
Sally’s lips lifted in a soft smile. “You can’t blame me for trying. A woman’s always going to hope for love to conquer all.”
“Sometimes love is overrated,” he said, helping her into the carriage.
“Why, Newt Crawford, you sound like a cynic.”
“Just a realist.” He couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Lottie and Dyer were good together, and they were in for a lot of empty years if they didn’t figure that out.
He paused. Maybe he should pay closer attention to his own advice.
The horse plodded along for a few moments before Sally said, “You don’t think love is real?”
“Not as real as friendship.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back. “How about it, Sally? Surely two old river rats like us could be happy together on my farm. Will you come with me?”
She hesitated for a moment, then looked up at him with hope-filled eyes. “Do you think the cows will approve?”
He chuckled. “Any that don’t, we’ll eat.”
Lottie watched the train pull away from the station, realizing she’d just made an important decision. It was a frightening decision and an I’ll probably regret this later decision, but it was a decision nonetheless.
She loved Dyer. God help her, but she did, and if this entire situation had taught her anything at all, it was that Charlotte Mason was a force to be reckoned with.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up her valise and left the station. Dyer may send her on her way or tell her he didn’t love her or laugh at her, but what ever happened, would happen to her face.
She’d traveled a riverboat, gambled with the best in the country, saved her father from a blackmailing lunatic, and ridden a farting jackass. And she’d done it on her own. Almost. Facing Dyer couldn’t be nearly as difficult as all that.
Gulp.
Chapter Thirty-three
Dyer waited patiently for the dealer to shuffle the deck and distribute the cards to the gamblers at the table. It had been two weeks since he’d killed Dawson, but the emptiness inside him felt deeper than ever. Instead of life getting better, it had taken a turn for the worse. None of the whiskey was smooth enough, none of the women were pretty enough, and even the tables lacked the excitement he longed to feel again.
Of course, that could be due to the fact that every dealer on the river had decided to give him the shittiest cards they could deal. He picked up his newly dealt hand, not surprised to learn that this dealer was in cahoots with the rest of them. There wasn’t a card in the five worth keeping.
“Why, isn’t that the cutest thing? All your cards match.”
Dyer continued to stare at his hand, barely aware of the other men rapidly pitching their cards to the center of the table. He didn’t want to look up.
What if it was Lottie?
Or worse still, what if it wasn’t?
He laid his pathetic hand of cards facedown on the table, slid them to the dealer and took a deep breath before he glanced up at her. It was a good thing he’d taken that breath, because the beautiful vision in front of him practically jerked it right back out of his lungs.
He loved her, and even though he knew he should push her away, he couldn’t. Not anymore.
She’d used some of her winnings on a blue satin gown that skimmed down her beautiful body like he ached to. A low neckline trimmed in lace drew his eyes to the creamy breasts that swelled above her bodice and the golden locket that danced between them. A matching little hat tipped saucily over one eye, an eye that currently had a brow raised in an unspoken, Well?
He stood and started to speak, but she stopped him by s
ilently pointing to the door. He dropped his head and headed toward the deck. He’d let her give him a piece of her mind. She had that right, but then he was going to carry her back to his cabin and make love to her until that mind would be incapable of thought.
He stepped into the Louisiana night and hooked his thumbs into his belt to keep himself from grabbing her and kissing her senseless.
“What can I help you with, Miss Mace?”
“I believe there is a matter of some unfinished business between us, Mr. Straights.”
The tip to her chin and the curl to her sassy little mouth just asked for it. “And what might that be?” he asked, his blood pumping hotter than it had in weeks.
“You had promised the second time didn’t hurt. I think that implies a second time, does it not?”
There was a slight quiver to her voice, and he knew if there was enough light to see her clearly, her face would be six shades of red. But she had said it anyway. And she wouldn’t have unless she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
His heart filled to the point of breaking. He wanted to shout and pull her into his arms. Instead, he rubbed his chin and pretended to contemplate her statement. This was going to be one hell of a night, and he intended to savor every minute.
“I can see how that statement did have implications, but the conditions were not clearly established.”
“Conditions?”
Good. Her shaky voice showed the minx was still unaware she had his balls, not that he minded, of course. There was no place he’d rather they be. He placed his finger under her chin and tipped back her head to look into her eyes.
“I propose a wager, Miss Mace.”
“What type of wager?” Her voice was wispy and breathless, and he fought the urge to sip it into his mouth.
“Poker,” he said. “Five Card Draw, winner takes all.”
“All what?” she whispered.
“All he wants.”
“All he wants, Mr. Straights? What if she wins?”
A slow smile lifted the corner of his mouth, his voice dropping to a low rumble as he said, “That would be even better.”
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her up the steps and across the deck to his cabin. She waited patiently while he unlocked the door and guided her into the darkened interior.
It was tempting to tumble her immediately to the bed. But he had promised her pleasure, and by damn, she was going to get it.
The lamp on his bureau sent a flood of soft light into the room, allowing him to find his cards and return to the table. Lottie had already taken her seat, and the amber glow on her skin threatened to steal his breath once more.
“You wish to deal, or shall I?”
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and his whole body jumped to attention. Well, at least part of it did.
“You deal. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good at it.” She nervously tucked a blonde curl back under her hat as though it would stay there.
He took his seat before she could realize the effect she had on him and shuffled the cards. A few quick flips of his wrists and both had their first five.
Lottie picked up her cards, willing her hands not to shake. It had taken every bit of resolve she had to force herself to come to the Belle and offer herself to this man, and now he toyed with her like a cat would a mouse. To make matters worse, she still didn’t know if he wanted her. He seemed so calm and collected while she sat there with enough butterflies in her belly to fly her clear off the boat.
He leaned across the table toward her. His gaze landed on her breasts before it slid lazily up to her face, his sinfully dark eyes causing her insides to melt.
“Well, Miss Mace?” The question purred in his throat.
She gulped. “Well?” Why did she suddenly seem incapable of anything other than a one-word response?
“What do you want?” His eyes dropped to her mouth.
“Want?” Another brilliant retort squeaked from her as she found herself leaning toward him.
“Cards, Miss Mace. Do you wish to exchange any cards?”
“Oh!” She straightened up and attempted to study her hand.
Somewhere in this mix of clovers and diamonds, she needed to make a decision. Keep the high cards, throw out the low cards, she thought, pitching her two lowest cards to the center before it dawned on her it had been a pair of fours. But it didn’t matter anyway. Winner takes all had been the wager, and if she won the hand, what would she demand? She had already asked him to make love to her once, and she didn’t think she had the nerve to do it again.
Dyer slid her two new cards and took one for his hand.
“What have the gods given you?” he asked, laying down his hand to reveal a full house.
She turned over her cards, relieved to see he had beaten her. At least it would save her the humiliation of begging for his touch.
“Hmmmm.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I believe I won.”
“Yes.”
“And according to our arrangement, I get to name my payment.”
She dropped her eyes and nodded, praying he wouldn’t request that she leave.
“I want your dress.”
“What?” Her jaw dropped. “You want my dress? But—but—”
“Come now, Miss Mace. A bet is a bet. Surely you don’t intend to renege on our agreement?”
“No, of—of course not, but—”
“Please, Miss Mace, it’s getting late.” He gestured impatiently in her direction while he scooted his chair back from the table, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Evidently, he wanted her to remove it now . . . and he planned to watch.
She stood and faced him. “I—” She stopped and swallowed. “I can’t reach the buttons.”
He crooked his finger for her to come to him, and as she crossed the room, her heart pounded in a mixture of excitement and fear. Surely he didn’t plan to take her clothing and then send her from his cabin in humiliation. He had every right to be angry with her for lying, but she had forgiven him for being a Yankee. In her estimation, that was a far worse crime.
She turned her back to him while he stood and began the task of undoing her buttons. There were quite a few, and he took his sweet old time flipping them open as his hands glided down her spine. She felt every touch of his fingers and every brush of his breath against her exposed skin until he finally unfastened the last button and sat in his chair.
“I believe you can take it from here.” His husky voice belied his attempt at cool detachment, and she allowed herself to relax a little. Dyer wanted her as much as she wanted him. Now it was just a matter of who would win this game—the cat or the mouse.
She slid her gown from her shoulders, keeping her back to him until she stepped from the puddle of satin at her feet. She lifted the dress from the floor and turned to face him, aware that her corset shoved her breasts up against the neckline of her thigh-high silk chemise. The air felt cool on the bare skin above her garters despite the hot looks emanating from Dyer’s eyes. She handed him the gown.
“Well, Mr. Straights. Do you intend to send me home in my undergarments?” She gestured to her body and tingled to her toes when Dyer’s lips parted in response.
“I assumed you would attempt to win it back.”
“Another hand?”
“Seems sporting.” He removed his jacket and laid it with the dress across a chair before he picked up the cards with shaky hands.
She took her seat, then leaned forward and fanned her face with her hand. “Is it just me, or is it getting warm in here?”
“A tad.” His hand faltered as he dealt the cards, and she fought to keep her grin in check. He wasn’t masking his tells well at all.
Lottie contemplated her hand. A pair of pairs. She tossed out her unmatched card, suddenly wanting to win. He kept his hand intact and turned it over to reveal a pair of eights.
“I believe a pair of pairs beats your hand.” She tu
rned over her cards and smiled.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting your dress back?”
Not quite what she had in mind. “It’s a trifle hot for all that satin. Don’t you agree?”
He narrowed his gaze. “Then what do you want for your win?”
“Your shirt.”
He raised his brows in surprise. “As you wish.”
He stood and removed the stickpin from his cravat, laying it on his bureau before he untied the neck scarf and placed it there as well. Eyes never leaving hers, he removed his cuff links, then dropped his hands by his side.
“I’m going to need help with these buttons.”
Smiling, she crossed the room to lay her hands on the front of his shirt. “Likely story,” she muttered, drawing her fingers down his chest and remembering the hard hot muscles that lay beneath.
“I . . . helped . . . you.”
He had trouble talking, and it seemed only fair, considering she had trouble breathing, walking and seeing straight.
She ran her hands up the fabric of his shirt to his neck, where she worked the first button through the hole. It was stubborn, and her trembling hands so close to his skin weren’t helping the situation any. The next button wasn’t as obstinate, and by the time she’d made it to the third, she was enjoying this aspect of the game very much.
Each button exposed a little more flesh, and the flesh behind the fourth one was right at eye level. Or more like lip level. She leaned closely and pressed her mouth against his heated skin, and the sudden intake of his breath told her he didn’t regret it much, either.
She continued down his chest, opening and kissing, with each of her kisses lasting longer and each of his breaths sounding more ragged. When she finally reached the top of his trousers, she timidly laid her hand against his hardened manhood. He groaned and pulled her hand back to his belly.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” he muttered. “This one’s for you.”
He turned her around and quickly loosened the ties to her corset, then faced her again while he pulled it down her belly to her hips. She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady her legs as he knelt in front of her and slid the garment to the floor. Then he did something she’d never in a million years thought anyone would ever do.
