“Oh Amber, look at you,” Jack breathed. Her honey-colored skin was flawless velvet beneath his hands. Her shoulders were wide and proud, balancing her pert, rounded breasts to perfection. Without another word, he nuzzled the warm column of her neck, pausing to see if she was sensitive at the base of her throat—which produced a sultry, maddening giggle— before allowing himself the supreme pleasure of suckling first one dusky nipple and then the other.
She cried out with all the sensations he was creating. Jolts of pleasure passed through her body, all of them seeming to electrify a vibrant, pulsing core she never knew existed. Amber let her head fall back against his hand, unable to refrain from moaning, unable to restrain herself from clutching Rafferty to the breast he was bringing to wild, wanton life. Surely no one else could make her feel this way!
Greatly encouraged, Jack unbuttoned her skirt, letting his lips linger over her flat stomach as he wedged his hands beneath the rustling layers of her underthings. With one slow motion, he bared her hips, her thighs, gradually crouching until all her clothing was ringed around her feet. Then he took his time admiring sleek calves that curved into slender thighs, which flared just enough to blend into firmly-fleshed hips he couldn’t wait to grasp in passion. And of course there was that enticing patch of dark, curling thatch staring him in the face.
Rafferty grinned, glancing up at her. “This is incredible! Every woman has a flaw or two, but you’re absolutely perfect. And this little beauty ....”He parted the wiry coils with a curious finger, chuckling when she sucked in her breath. “Well, it seems to be the loveliest part of all.”
Amber flushed and looked away. “Rafferty, you’re full of—surely every woman looks pretty much the same.”
“Not so. Nor do they smell alike . . .or taste alike.”
She watched in awed fascination as Jack gently opened her and approached with his lips, his eyes closed in sweetest anticipation. Surely he wouldn’t actually—why would he want to—
Amber gasped and stumbled backwards as though he’d bitten her, the sensation was so sharp and extreme. Rafferty caught her by the hips and slowly rose to his full height, his smile boyish. “Not quite ready for that? Maybe when you’re not the only one who’s naked you’ll enjoy it more.”
Amber nipped her lip, hearing the wish in his words and vowing she’d learn to please this man in every way he wanted her to. For now, taking off his clothes seemed a relatively tame request, and he was already helping her by shrugging out of his suitcoat.
She fumbled with his shirt buttons and finally peeled the starched white garment down over shoulders that gave her pause. Jack wasn’t much taller than she, but his compact body was ruggedly muscled . . . utterly elegant when he unbuttoned his cuffs to finish the job for her. His skin, slightly darker than her own, shone with a clean, appealing glow and was set off by crisp, black hair that followed the rounds of his chest down to a peak at his navel.
“Are you always this quiet?” he asked softly.
Amber gave him a shy grin. “Just taking you all in, Rafferty.”
“Exactly what I’ve been dreaming of ever since we met,” he quipped. “Unbutton me, sweetheart. . . feel how excited I am. Lord, it was hard to watch those farm boys making over you tonight. Every last one of them wants what you’re giving me right now, but their imaginations won’t even come close to the real thing.”
She stared, mesmerized, as he guided her hand to the bulging placket of his pin-striped pants. It was a rock-hard ridge, and even without seeing it Amber knew it was huge and eager to fill her. Her fingers moved of their own volition to free him, spurred on by Jack’s accelerated breathing. Within moments his long johns and trousers fell to his ankles and he was scoot-stepping backwards to sit on the bed.
“These boots have to go,” he teased, beckoning her with a look that made his dark lashes flutter over his cheeks.
Amber’s throat went dry. Kneeling before him this way, his arousal was pointing right at her, intimidating her until she hardly had the strength to tug his boots off. Her heart was hammering and her mind was poised between surging forward and shying away. And at that moment she wasn’t sure she had the strength to do either.
Rafferty kicked the last of his clothing aside and framed her lovely, flushed face between his hands. He wanted to go slowly, to savor every fresh pleasure with her this first time, yet he wasn’t sure he could wait. Weeks he’d gone without a woman, and never had he held one as coyly, delightfully, wickedly wonderful as Amber LaBelle.
“Oh, honey,” he murmured, and his mouth was drawn to her parted lips like a bee to a flower’s tender petals. He kissed her deeply, passionately, and drew her against him as he slowly lay back upon the bed.
It all felt so natural ... or were her senses running so rampant she didn’t know what he was doing to her? His hair slipped between her fingers like silk, and he tasted of tea and fine tobacco. Jack’s body moved in a seductive rhythm beneath her, making the coarse coils on his chest rustle against her while his hands followed the roundness of her hips to the curve of her waist and back again. Did all men smell of this provocative male perfume?
She doubted any of them shared Rafferty’s alluring scent, trusting his wisdom about each woman being different. Amber reveled in the way his intimate whisperings made her feel vibrant and unique and very, very warm down there where he’d been studying her. He was rubbing her with something much larger than a finger now, and the eager heat coursing through her both amazed and appalled her. She hadn’t put up the slightest resistance when—
Jack surged into her and they cried out as one. He was half out of his head with wanting her, straining for control, to give this woman the same splendor she was providing for him before he spent himself deep inside her.
Amber grimaced with the exquisite torture, the pleasure so close to pain, which radiated in tight circles from her core out to the rest of her. She was writhing with him and barely knew it, hoping she was giving him what he wanted while she was still rational. All reason slipped away as his thrusts quickened. And when a torrent of love words tumbled into her ear, she succumbed to a spiraling wildfire that made her pant his name in a voice she didn’t recognize as her own.
Rafferty crushed her close. Lord, she was so tight, so erotic, this woman! As they lay together catching their breath, he could only hope they would make this wondrous kind of love over and over before they parted at the border. Amber was everything he’d dreamed she’d be and—
“Is ...is it always this way between a man and a woman?” she whispered.
He chuckled as he nuzzled her hair. “It’s never been this intense for me except with you, sweet lady. Honest to God.”
Amber kissed his shoulder and hugged him. “I’m glad. I—I hated to have to ask, but with this being my first time, I—”
His chest shook with his low laughter. “You can tell a lot of men a lot of stories, honey, but only one fellow’ll believe that one.”
And Rafferty didn’t.
The horrid embarrassment struck her like a fist. Amber’s eyes stung with tears she was determined not to shed.
“Just as well, too,” he went on in that husky, teasing voice, “because I prefer a woman who’s not ashamed to please me with her body. None of that simpering innocence for Jack Rafferty. Never stole a woman’s virtue, and I don’t intend to start, either.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she stifled a sob against his neck. Hadn’t Mama told her there was a way a man could tell? A pain that was sharp and bloody, but only temporary? And if Jack didn’t know this... hadn’t felt any barrier . . . how could she explain it? She herself had felt only a thousand points of pleasure pulsing as one. And although she was positive no man had claimed her before, her own body was making a liar of her, where Rafferty was concerned.
Jack spanned her hips with his hands and paused. She was trembling like a scared pup, and he felt a couple drops of water slithering down his neck. “What’re you crying for, honey?” he asked softly. “Surely yo
u didn’t think I needed such a line to make me feel more like a man.”
He brought his hands up under her arms, lifting her so he could look at her. Amber’s eyes were pools of coffee-colored confusion, and something inside him tightened. She looked like a little girl who’d been spanked for a wrong she hadn’t committed, but he wasn’t falling for this little wanton’s act! “Sweetheart, if you wanted that to be our game for tonight, you should’ve told me before I—”
“It’s no game, dammit!” she sputtered as she struggled away from him. How could lovemaking be so splendid one moment and so humiliating the next? Was the man or the act itself to blame for the sick feeling welling up inside her?
“Amber, I—”
He reached for her but she rolled beyond his grasp, catching herself at the edge of the bed. Instinctively she clutched at her breasts while grabbing her skirt from the floor. “Damn you, Rafferty, I trusted you! I wanted you to be the first because—well, that hardly matters anymore, does it? If you set out to shatter what little pride I had, you did a damn fine job of it!”
He studied her, recalling her come-ons over a deck of cards and the seductive way she laughed and moved around men, and it just didn’t figure. But the Amber he thought he knew wouldn’t keep carrying on this way, unless ....
Rafferty swore at himself and rolled forward to grab his pants. Somehow, he’d just stabbed another woman through the heart and he was on the run again. There was no dealing with her until he could erase some unfortunate phrases—an impossible task, but he damn sure couldn’t do it while her doelike eyes were accusing him of a crime he just swore he’d never commit.
“Don’t wait up,” he muttered, regretting this additional wound, but not knowing any other words to soften the slamming of the door.
Amber crumpled into a heap and sobbed like she hadn’t since Mama passed on. What had she done to deserve this? How could she face Rafferty again? It was only a matter of time before he’d come back for—
A warm, rough tongue washed her cheek and she clutched the border collie against her chest. “What’re we going to do about that bastard, Maudie?” she wailed.
She stroked the dog desperately, finding some small comfort in the softness of her fur. But for all the wisdom in Maude’s wide brown eyes, and her sympathetic kisses, Amber sensed there was no easy answer to that question about Jack. If there was an answer at all.
Chapter 11
Even before she entered the parlor car, Amber knew the morning would be a fiasco. Her eyes were puffy, her stomach was in knots, and she hadn’t gotten a moment’s sleep. Damn that Rafferty for taking her to such a glorious peak and then throwing her into the abyss below! Her hands were too shaky to shuffle well, and in this state of mind she could never handle Conrad Becker’s constant innuendo, much less concentrate on the cards.
And Thomas’s probing look when he held the door for her only confirmed how ill-fated this meeting was to be. His eyes assessed her quickly, registering his sympathies, yet another emotion was lurking on his face, too. “Mornin’, Miss Amber,” he said in a low voice. “If there be anything I can do—can I get you—”
“Enough talk with the lady, boy. If I suspect you’re passing signals to help her cheat, I’ll have your job, you know.”
Becker was seated at a table near the car’s large observation window, devouring a plateful of beefsteak, fried potatoes, and eggs. As he stood up, he tugged the napkin from his shirt collar. “Miss LaBelle, I never start my day without a good breakfast, and I’d be pleased if you’d join me,” he said with a predatory smile. He pulled the chair opposite his own away from the table, suggesting that she really had no choice . . . and that he knew of her falling out with Rafferty and planned to use it to his advantage.
“Thank you,” she mumbled. She could tell by the porter’s tight expression that his livelihood—and probably other things—had already been threatened, which added to her anxiety as Thomas removed the silver dome from a meal she had no stomach for.
But she would eat. It would give her some time to watch Becker and anticipate his tricks. And perhaps it would fill the aching void within her until she could set things straight with the man who’d claimed much more than her maidenhood last night. She would make Rafferty believe he was her first lover, the only man she could ever want, despite his tendency to run off without apology or explanation.
“Something wrong with your food?” Becker’s oily voice interrupted her thoughts. “Perhaps I can have the boy bring you a plate of something more to your liking.”
Amber fought the urge to protest his derogatory attitude toward Thomas. Rising to his bait would only give him ammunition for a nastier fight. “Thank you, this is fine,” she murmured as she cut into the tender meat. “I’m not terribly talkative in the morning, that’s all.”
“Obviously exhausted from your evening with Jackson. Spent talking, no doubt.”
His eyes lingered on her, and it was then that Amber noticed he was wearing different eyeglasses . . . with lenses that shone a pale blue against his skin. She wasn’t surprised, particularly—and she suspected the tycoon would insist upon playing with his own deck, which would be marked with an ink discernible only to those who wore such spectacles.
As though his mind were running on the same track, the portly man patted one of her hands. “What lovely diamond rings,” he remarked breezily. “Did Jackson give you those shiners? Do you turn them to the underside of your hand, so you can read the cards you’re dealing to some unsuspecting soul?”
“Matter of fact, I won these,” she said, modulating her sarcasm. “My opponent was a randy, conceited little braggart who thought my favors would be his reward for letting me win. So beware, Mr. Becker, or that fine gold pocket watch you’re wearing might become my next trophy.”
As she’d hoped, Becker looked momentarily stunned. And the patting of his watch pocket led to a quick caress of his vest, which suggested he was concealing cards inside it.
“Let’s don’t count our chickens before they lay any golden eggs, Miss LaBelle,” he said with a chuckle. “Your previous opponent was no doubt distracted by your charm and exotic loveliness. I, however, can read the signs of your distress and I predict a short morning. Perhaps I should take up fortunetelling!”
“Perhaps we should stop trading insults and get on with our game!” she retorted.
“I’m not finished eating.”
“Well, you should be! I didn’t come here to watch you stuff yourself, Mr. Becker,” Amber jeered, “and frankly, your overindulgence of both food and whiskey is not only disgusting, it’s backfiring on you. If your vest weren’t so tight, I couldn’t see the outlines of that holdout you’re wearing.”
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a—” Conrad’s eyes bored into hers as his jowls quivered with indignation. “The only way to prove the presence of such a device is to remove my clothing, Miss LaBelle,” he challenged in a low growl. “And if my clothes come off, so do yours!”
“Not on your life.” Amber surveyed him coolly, feeling better now that she’d pricked his vanity with her own intimidating remarks. “Perhaps the friendly little game I suggested was a bad idea. Our mutual distrust can only lead to further unpleasantness if we continue.”
Becker snickered, an uncouth sound that echoed in the otherwise unoccupied parlor car. “What kind of fool would forgo a game with a pretty woman like you, Amber?” he asked with a sugar-coated grin. “I say we kiss and make up, put this unpleasantness behind us and get on with entertainment we’ll both enjoy.”
Before she could respond, he was waving away their breakfast with a proprietary flick of his wrist and Thomas hurried over to do his bidding. Then the portly entrepreneur produced a deck of cards from his suitcoat pocket and clapped it onto the table with a flourish. “What’s your preference, Amber? I—”
“Five card stud, and the lady deals first,” she said as she snatched up the deck. She choked on a giggle as Becker’s eyes widened: her confidence restored, s
he was making the cards whisper seductively in a rapid-fire shuffle that never failed to astound her opponents. After a moment she stopped, taking her own deck from her skirt pocket to lay it at the side of the table.
“I, of course, will return the favor by letting you deal from my deck,” she said demurely. “It seems only fair, don’t you think? Especially since neither of us would stoop to using marked cards.”
“Of course not,” he muttered.
He’d noticed that her deck design was a different color and pattern from his—which meant he could only use any extra cards secreted in his holdout during the games she dealt—and that realization seemed to settle him down somewhat. Conrad fixed a sickening leer on his face, his eyes fondling the dip of her neckline from across the table, but this distraction was so commonplace that Amber quickly sent five cards into their respective piles and picked her own up. “Is a twenty dollar ante all right? I’m not a wealthy woman, you know.”
The businessman smirked and tossed his money into the pot, his gaze fixed on the way she fished her contribution out of her blouse.
“How many cards do you need?”
“None,” he boasted.
To test her theory, Amber leaned back from the table to study her hand and sure enough, Becker’s face tightened in a myopic squint. Without his regular glasses he could only see the hand he held in front of him—the markings on her cards were too far away for him to distinguish, so his blue-tinted glasses were useless.
And, when Becker dealt the next hand with her deck, he couldn’t feel the differences in the shaved edges of the face cards, the way her sensitive fingertips could, so he didn’t know what he was dealing to her. To further distract him, Amber leaned against the table’s edge as she studied her hand, which tugged her blouse down enough that her opponent got quite an eyeful when he peered over the top of his cards.
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