The Gambler

by Lois Greiman

  "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

  Please don't be sorry, he wanted to plead, for her pity made his chest ache and his resolution crumble.

  "So very sorry."

  The ache in his chest was too low to be associated with his wound. He swallowed once. Hadn't he planned for her to talk about herself? "Get some sleep," he said gruffly.

  "I don't sleep," she reminded him.

  Then come here and let me hold you. Let me wrap you in my arms and cuddle you against my heart. Let me kiss your funny little turned-up mouth and stroke your hair until you relax in my embrace. Let me...

  Good God! What was wrong with him? He was losing his edge. Hell, he was losing his mind! Raven tightened the muscles in his jaws until his teeth ached. He had to get himself under control. This was a job. A very lucrative job. And she was a murderous little...

  "The dreams always find me, sooner or later," she went on.

  She certainly didn't look murderous, and she didn't sound murderous. In fact, her tone was so soft and earnest that he almost reached for her. But he wouldn't. He ground his teeth again. He would play his scheme and play it well. And that scheme did not include frightening her away with his own painful desires.

  "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "You need rest. I shouldn't have—"

  “The bed's big enough for two." He didn't know what possessed him to say it, except that he was a half-witted idiot who thought with his crotch. He refused to let himself believe he also thought with his heart. He couldn't afford feelings.

  Her mouth opened a small bit, and she stared at him, her eyes very wide. "I—"

  "You're safe with me." No! She wasn't! She wasn't safe! Good God, it had been half an eternity since he'd had a woman, any woman, in his bed. He'd be a simpleton to think he could resist this one. "I won't touch you. I promise."

  "All right," she breathed, and Raven ground his teeth.

  Chapter 14

  They lay side by side, like two oaken planks, not looking at each other, not speaking, barely daring to breathe.

  "Aren't you cold?" Raven asked finally.

  "No!" She'd answered too quickly, Charm thought, berating herself. There was nothing to fear. The man was wounded—by her. She winced. It made practical good sense that she share the bed. After all, she was exhausted. She tried to relax, but it was impossible.

  "Are you sure?"

  She jerked at the sound of his voice, almost as if she'd forgotten he was there, though she most definitely had not. "What?"

  "Are you sure you're not cold?"

  "No. I mean... yes!" She nodded stiffly at the ceiling. "I'm sure."

  Though she didn't look at him, she could hear the grin in his voice. "You know, I'm completely dressed."

  "What?" she managed to ask again, but the word sounded ridiculously breathy. What was wrong with her? She was a grown woman, and though it was true that such behavior would ruin a lady's reputation, her unorthodox life had already done that. It was a fact she'd easily learned to live with. Hence, there was no reason for her to be so terrified. After all, he'd promised not to touch her, and for whatever reason, she believed him to be a man who kept his vows.

  "I'm clothed," he repeated. "You could come under the covers."

  "Not cold!"

  He was staring at her. She could feel his gaze but refused to turn to meet it.

  "Have you ever..." He paused as if searching for the correct phrase. "Have you ever been wooed, Miss Fergusson?"

  "Wooed?" Her voice sounded pathetically squeaky. She swallowed and lowered the tone. "I've been busy. Taking care of my father, you know. And traveling about. And..."

  "Little wonder you're afraid of men. They must come crawling out of the woods, clambering for your attention."

  There was a slight groaning of bed ropes as he shifted his weight. Charm took a deep breath and woodenly turned her head toward him. His proximity made her start back in surprise, for he was not two feet away. And he wasn't fully dressed. There were whole inches of his chest exposed above the stark whiteness of his petticoat bandages.

  "Jude is probably wise after all." His voice was very soft.

  For a moment she said nothing, but finally curiosity won her over. "Why?"

  "To keep them all at arm's length. Being near you—it could drive most any man past the point of restraint." He said the words very sincerely, as if he, too, might feel some temptation to do more than just talk, and yet, surprisingly, his admittance didn't increase her fear. In fact, it did the opposite. She drew a deep breath.

  "Perhaps my father's impression of men is colored by his own failings. He never forgave himself for my mother's death. Said if he hadn't... hadn't touched her, she would have been far better off."

  "Maybe he's right."

  "But then I would never have been born," she reasoned softly. It was an argument she had often waged in her own head, wondering if Jude regretted her birth, regretted the responsibility of caring for her for all those years. The thought had stung her in the past and did so now. She turned her body slightly toward Raven, feeling the old pain and worry assault her. "Do you think he wished I'd never been born?"

  Raven lifted a hand from atop the coverlet, reaching toward her before slowly pulling it back. "No man could wish that," he murmured.

  Charm remained very still, feeling his words warm her like hot buttered rum. "If you had a wife," she whispered, "would you want a daughter like me?"

  He stared at her, his gaze steady and unmoving.

  "With or without a wife," he murmured, "I'd give my life for a daughter like you."

  Raven awoke first. She was still atop the coverlet, her emerald eyes hidden by dark-fringed lids. Was she sound asleep or just snatching? He moved the slightest bit, and his question was immediately answered.

  Her eyes were instantly wide. In a fractured second, she was on her feet beside the bed, but in a moment her surprise turned to silent wariness. Raven remained as he was, careful not to move.

  "Good morning." Even his tone didn't waver. It was flat and smooth. He deserved some credit for that, he thought, not to mention his astounding self-control during the night. For though one could argue that it was his weakness and fatigue that allowed her to remain untouched, the hard-edged readiness of his body would vociferously disagree with that argument.

  She blinked at him and tightened her narrow hands into fists. Her long hair was tousled and shone in gleaming hues of chestnuts and browns as it caught the slanted rays of the morning sun through the window. Raven studied her in silence. He was naturally skeptical and conservative in his estimations of others. He decided quite pragmatically that she was, nevertheless, the most exquisite creature ever to grace the earth.

  "Did you sleep well?" he asked softly.

  She swallowed, as if afraid to speak, but finally managed a single word. "Snatches."

  He grinned a little, because seeing her thus, it was impossible to do otherwise. "Did you snatch well?"

  Good God, she smiled back! Raven held his breath, watching as her curved, strawberry lips lifted momentarily into a whimsical, heartrending expression of humor.

  Her fists unclenched to push her long slim fingers through her rumpled curls. "Are you feeling better?"

  For a moment he couldn't speak. It was foolish, he knew. But when she looked at him like that, with her eyes morning bright and her manner soft as a lover's sigh, all words disappeared from his mind. "Much better," he managed finally, his voice a bit too husky. For a man who had spent most of his life carefully regulating how the world perceived him, she certainly had the ability to cut him to base honesty. It was, once again, a disconcerting thought and one that caused him to say more, perhaps in an attempt to fluster her. "I think sleeping with you has healed me."

  To his surprise she didn't back away, but stood her ground, though she blushed to a rosy hue. As if seeing her tousled and soft wasn't enough. Tousled and soft and blushing was almost more than he could bear. Raven clenched his teeth, fighting for self-control.
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  "Are you..." She drew a deep breath. "You must be hungry."

  He could eat her whole, right down to her tight-laced shoes if that was what she meant. "You still have them on," he said, nodding toward her feet. "I think I could have controlled myself, even had you made so bold as to expose your toes."

  Her blush deepened, spreading down the smooth expanse of her throat toward her breasts. "Or... perhaps not," he admitted reluctantly.

  There was a long moment of silence before she made any response. "Are you teasing me?"

  What would happen if he moved very slowly from the bed? If he took her ever so gently into his arms and kissed her? How dangerous could it be? "No." He remained exactly where he was. "I'm flirting with you."

  "Oh." She said the word very seriously. "Why?"

  "Haven't you ever flirted, Miss Fergusson?"

  She bit the inside of her lip, looking philosophical. "My conversations with men have rarely lasted very long in the past." She paused, blinking. "And usually involve weapons."

  Raven laughed, knowing he was foolish to allow himself to be charmed by her. "If I sat up, would you run screaming from the room?"

  "Probably."

  "But how would you explain your actions to Widow Worth?"

  Charm scowled. "She thinks we're wed."

  Raven didn't resist the smile that tugged at his lips. "I realize that. But I have a cramp in my leg. Sooner or later I'm going to have to move."

  The smallest hint of a grin appeared at the corner of her lovely mouth again. "All right. I won't scream."

  "How about the running part?"

  "I'll try not to."

  Raven sighed. "A man can't ask more than that." He turned slowly over. Feeling pain rip through his chest, he winced and levered himself up against the headboard. "I think it would have been less painful if I'd allowed you to keep your gun."

  She scowled a question.

  "Of course, I'd be dead," he explained quietly.

  She stared at her shoes again, looking guilty. "I've never actually shot anyone."

  Raven was surprised to discover that he didn't especially like her to look ashamed.

  For a moment he almost laughed, but she looked too mournful for him to allow a guffaw. "Really?" Even without the laughter his question sounded humorous, he thought, but she took his words at face value.

  "Really." Her expression was absolutely earnest. "But I'm a very good shot," she assured him rapidly. "Jude taught me."

  "I'm certain he did."

  She was watching him point-blank, with her mesmerizing eyes such a deep emerald shade that he felt he would drown in their wide depths.

  "Are you flirting with me again?" she asked, her voice low and husky.

  The way Raven saw it, he had two options. He could drag her into bed and satisfy the raging lust that consumed him. Or he could demand that she leave the room right now. He did neither, but sat in rigid, characteristic self-control. "Yes, Miss Fergusson, I am flirting with you."

  "Oh," she breathed. "And how am I supposed to react?"

  "You might smother me with kisses." God, what a stupid thing to say! "I didn't mean it, Charm," he said quickly before she could back away. "It's just that you're so..."

  She stared at him, waiting.

  "So..." Irresistible. Dangerously alluring. "You're fun to flirt with."

  "I am?" For some reason he thought she'd quit breathing. "Why?"

  It would be wise not to answer, he knew. "Because you're beautiful and charming and innocent."

  She scowled. "I stabbed you with a stick."

  Raven tried to grin, but it didn't quite work. It seemed hot in the room and rather stifling, as if something were consuming all the air. "I didn't mean that kind of innocent. Oh. You mean that I haven't..." She winced, seeming to work very hard to find the proper words. "I haven't..."

  He watched her struggle and would have helped if he could, but there wasn't a single word he could come up with that wouldn't make the ache in his lower body burn even brighter.

  "That I haven't..." she repeated.

  "Charm?" he said, trying to clench his teeth while still maintaining self-control. "I think I need something to eat. Right now."

  She stared at him, as if not understanding his plea for mercy from her suggestive admission, but he could not tolerate even her innocent stare a moment longer.

  "Could you get me something?" he asked.

  "Definitely," she whispered and escaped the room with whatever dignity she could muster.

  It didn't take Charm long to return with his breakfast. It seemed Widow Worth had already served the morning meal to those who were inclined to sit at her table.

  "Can you feed yourself?" Charm asked, staring over the two plates at the man who was presumed to be her husband.

  Raven could imagine her feeding him, sitting close to his side, with her thigh pressed up against his. "Yes. I think that'd be safest... wisest," he corrected quickly. "I can manage with my good hand."

  Charm released a shaky breath, not sure if she was more relieved or disappointed. That uncertainty worried her as she handed him his share of the meal. Rounding the bed, she sat in the room's solitary chair and did her best to concentrate on her breakfast. Finally, when her plate was empty, she could find nothing more to occupy her attention and raised her gaze to Raven.

  He was staring at her.

  "What?" she asked, startled by his dark gaze.

  "Go back to Jude, Charm."

  She watched him watch her, feeling ridiculously warm.

  She should ran out of there and never look back. But he was wounded and it was her fault. "It wouldn't be right. I mean, not until I know you're going to heal."

  His voice was very low when next he spoke. "If I was any better than the men Jude warned you against, I'd insist that you go."

  "But?"

  "But I'm just a man."

  Charm curled one hand into a loose fist but couldn't quite contain her smile. "You look..."—words were not her forte—"better." Shockingly, frighteningly alluring, would have been more honest.

  She watched him swallow and realized that he looked pale as he tightened his fist around the handle of his fork. "Better than what?"

  Better than anything. "Better than... yesterday."

  He opened his mouth to speak but paused for a moment, as if changing his mind about which words to use. "You need a new gown."

  "Oh." He always managed to surprise her. She glanced down at her battered, scarlet dress, trying to hide her bewilderment. "Perhaps I can repair it."

  He actually winced as his eyes strayed to her low neckline. "It's not that. I just..." He drew a careful breath through his mouth. "I think maybe we'd both be better off if you wore something more... concealing."

  "Oh." Her face flamed. She could feel the heat of it and shifted her gaze quickly off to the side. "I don't usually dress like this, except when Jude's gambling."

  "To distract the opposition?" he guessed. She nodded. "Well, I'd say that'd..."—he nodded in turn—"that'd work all right. But maybe... um... if I want to stay alive, and you don't want to kill me, maybe you'd better make this a little easier on me."

  She wasn't sure why his words made her feel giddy, but she was quite certain it was a bad sign. Dangerous. This flirting stuff was very scary. Or was he still flirting? She wished she knew. "I'm afraid I don't have any money to buy a new one."

  "I do." He said the words very quickly, as though unable to spew them out fast enough. When he grinned in self-deprecating humor, she could not help but do the same. "I'll pay," he said, more slowly now.

  "I can't take your money."

  He raised his brows at her. "Afraid of owing me, Lucky Charm?"

  "Maybe," she admitted softly.

  His smile widened. "I can't say I'm not the kind that wouldn't usually take advantage of that. But in your case I won't. Promise. I owe you that much at least."

  "I..." She lowered her eyes. "I can't."

  "Please." His tone was throa
ty and quite desperate, and when she glanced up, he laughed out loud, as if he found his own weaknesses rather comical. "For my peace of mind," he said, "and continued survival."

  She couldn't help but smile back. "All right."

  "And I'd like to pay for..." He touched his petticoat bandages. "Replacing these."

  Now, that was going too far, becoming too personal. She opened her mouth to object, but he raised a hand and interrupted. "Please, go on. Buy what you need. Take your time." He drew a heavy breath, which sounded weary. "Believe me, little Charm, the more layers between us, the safer I'll feel."

  Chapter 15

  Raven paced the rented room, flexing his chest and lifting his arms to test the tightness caused by his wound.

  To his surprise, Widow Worth had sent up the noonday meal without prompting. He'd eaten it with relish, finding his appetite unimpaired by his small, inconvenient injury. In truth, however, it wasn't inconvenient at all. Nothing less than a blessing really, for look what it had accomplished. Charm's acquiescence.

  He paced again. Lying in bed had caused him to stiffen up and become lazy. He could afford to do neither, for though his little Charm had indeed been quite charming of late, she was apt to change at any moment, making it necessary to have all his wits and strength.

  Thunder rumbled, drawing Raven's attention to the window. The sky was dark, swollen with ominous charcoal clouds. Charm had been gone for several hours. He frowned now, stopping beside the window, well out of sight from the street. What was taking her so long? Perhaps he'd been a fool to encourage her to go. Perhaps she would flee.

  Worry suddenly twisted in his gut, but the sudden rap of footfalls on the stairs startled him from his thoughts. In a few quick strides he was in bed. He lay on his back with his mother's small ring resting atop his petticoat bandages and the blankets just so, exposing some of his chest and abdomen as he waited.

  The footsteps reached the landing. Raven closed his eyes, hearing her approach. Charm had returned. Not that he cared on a personal level, of course. He imagined how she would look by his bedside, how her eyes would shine down at him, and her impish mouth would purse in that so serious expression of hers. Not that he cared on a personal level... of course.