Gambler's Tempting Kisses
Page 35
Although she’d anticipated this moment since they had struck their unholy deal, Charity bit her lip. The triumph she felt after they’d defeated Erroll Powers was gone now, the material winnings unimportant. Dillon Devereau had been a proud, wealthy man before she’d led him on this goose chase, and perhaps he’d resent a wife who just took over his affairs. “You first,” she murmured.
Devereau shut his eyes against an acute attack of speechlessness. When he opened them again, Charity was still gazing steadily at him. She’d come so far from being the preacher’s girl in threadbare calico; she was indeed the queen he’d envisioned when he first caressed the beauty beneath her muslin nightgown. She deserved his honesty and respect. And she would accept nothing less.
With his gloveless hand, Dillon reached for the tempting juncture where Charity’s neck met her shoulder. Bless her, she didn’t flinch. The heat of her skin seared his raw palm, but he’d be damned if he’d spend whatever time they had left together without touching her! Ironic, how they had started this wild journey with her depending on him for everything, and now the tables had turned. When he realized this, he understood the uncertainty that was now etched upon her slender face.
In all the times she’d longed to peek beneath his gambler’s mask, she never imagined Dillon grimacing at such an important moment. Why was he so hesitant to speak his mind, unless . . . “You might as well be honest,” she mumbled. “Circumstances have changed since we agreed to renegotiate. I— I’ve said and done things—”
“You did what you had to,” he whispered, gripping her as firmly as his inflamed fingers would allow. And then they came to him, the words that would free her to make a decision. “You’ve complained—and rightly so—that I’ve left you without asking what you wanted, without any choices. So the choice is yours now. Ask, and it shall be granted. Though God knows I’m a far cry from the man you married, and you might never want me to touch you again.”
How many times had she longed for such an open invitation to freedom? Yet now she felt overwhelmed by the burden of this momentous decision, and by what it cost Dillon to offer it. Charity let out a long sigh. “I can have anything I want? Forever?”
“Those are the terms I’m offering, yes,” he replied in a tight voice. Where was the woman who’d tricked her way into his private car and trapped Erroll Powers with a clever advertisement? Her hesitation was killing him, and as the minutes ticked by, he knew Charity was considering options other than staying married to him.
Then, with childlike simplicity, she looked into his eyes and said, “I want a man who loves me.”
Joy shot through him—and then he choked on it. How many times had he laughed with her and made love to her and complimented her and defended her honor? Yet the only time he’d expressed his love, she’d been too drugged to comprehend. Three simple words. And now that she had to beg the issue, such an endearment lost its power and sincerity. “I—I’ve been an insensitive—”
“Dillon, that was a presumptuous—”
“—cad, and I can certainly understand why you’d assume I don’t—”
“—self-serving remark, because I could just as easily have said that I—”
“—love you—”
“—love you—”
They stared at each other, awestruck, until Charity felt a giggle bubbling up from the bottom of her soul. She laughed so hard she shook, and when Dillon joined her, their voices echoed around the cottage walls in the sweetest duet they’d ever shared.
Devereau embraced her, delighting in Charity’s warmth as he realized he’d just won the greatest gamble of his life. He kissed her fervently, until they both quivered with the need for more. “This marriage got off to a shady start, dealing behind the backs of God and your father,” he reminded her, “and after only a few weeks we’ve already had to renegotiate.”
“You did. I went along with it ... because I had no choice,” she added wryly. “If I lost you, I’d be letting go of everything I ever wanted.”
“I wish I’d said that.” Dillon grinned until his dimple winked at her. “So what I’m really proposing is—well, why don’t we stick with it, at least until we’re back to Kansas City? We’ll have uninterrupted days on the train to discuss what’s important in our lives, and what we expect of marriage, and—”
“And what we want to do to each other in bed,” Charity teased. “Be honest, Dillon. You came upstairs and fondled me that first night at the Queen. And I haven’t been able to sit still since.”
Devereau’s jaw dropped, but then he laughed and clung to the preacher’s daughter who’d forced him to face his own feelings—all of them. “You’re stalling, young lady, and I demand an answer,” he whispered. “It seems our marriage thrives from one crisis to the next, so let’s enjoy the ride back, and renegotiate whenever we need to. Because I do love you, honey.”
Charity smiled, this time looking behind his cool facade to see a man as vulnerable to the ups and downs of life as she was, and loving him for it. His heart had healed beyond worrying over the fate of his hands; his hold on her remained firm despite his bandages. And to Charity, that was the nicest touch of all.
“There is one condition, my love,” he murmured, running his tongue along the shell of her ear.
“What’s that?”
“I won’t swim the Weber River again. And I can’t carry you across the bridge,” he added apologetically, “so you’ll have to make your own way. But I’ll be there to help you.”
She felt laughter and a serene confidence swelling inside her, a confidence born of the trust they’d shared these past frantic weeks. Charity grinned and leaned back against his arms to gaze into amber eyes that melted her with their passionate warmth. “I can always make my own way? No strings?”
Devereau dropped his gaze to the column of ivory buttons that rose and fell with her quickened breathing. “No strings—except the ones I’m about to pull from your underthings. With my teeth.”
Chuckling, Charity reached for him. “It’s a deal.”
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Copyright © 2015 Charlotte Hubbard
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