by Lisa Cooke
It took all the energy she had to drag herself across the room to the bed as she replayed every decision she’d made in the last hand. It was a good hand, three kings and two eights, a full house. How could she have known Joseph Cullen held four aces? What were the chances? She dropped onto the edge of the bed and trembled.
A sob choked in her throat, startling her as it sounded in her darkened room, but no tears would come. It was as though her mind had separated from her body, shutting down to spare her the shock of her failure.
Numbness.
All she felt was numbness.
“Miss Mace?” Dyer’s voice called to her from the hallway.
She blinked, forcing her mind to return. She didn’t need or want company right now. But it wasn’t Dyer’s fault she’d lost. She had no one to blame but herself for that. “I’ll be right there.”
With a fumbling hand, she lit the lamp by her bed, allowing its warm yellow light to ease some of the gloom. Taking a deep breath, she stood and waited for her aching legs to accept the fact she needed to answer the door. Of all the things she had to accept this evening, that should be one of the easiest.
Dyer stood in the hall, the light from the lanterns giving him an almost ethereal glow as she pulled open the door. Another sob threatened when she realized this would be the last time she’d see him. He didn’t even know her real name.
“May I come in?” he asked.
She nodded and stepped aside to allow him to enter. He carried a valise over and set it on a table in her room. “I won.”
The statement wasn’t made in a bragging way or in an attempt to prove anything to her. It was just a matter of fact, and one that didn’t surprise her in the least.
“I thought you would.”
“There’s twenty-five thousand dollars in there.”
Why did he feel the need to tell her something she already knew?
“One hand, winner takes all,” he said.
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you do, Miss Mace.” He set the valise on the floor and took a seat at the table. “One hand of Five Card Draw. Winner takes all.” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a deck of cards. “Are you game?”
She rubbed her temples in an attempt to wake up her brain. This didn’t make any sense. “But I have nothing to ante.”
“I’m not requiring an ante.”
She took a seat in the chair opposite him, still confused by his motives. “But if I win, you lose everything and if I lose, you win nothing.”
The cards flew through his hands in a lightning shuffle before he stopped and laid them on the table. “I’m not saying you’ll not have to pay up. I’m just not requiring money.”
Her heart fluttered. She had promised him a night in his bed for her lessons. Of course, she had lost the tournament, but maybe this was Dyer’s way of getting his payment after all. She should be mad. It wasn’t very gentlemanly of him to take advantage of her like that, but for some reason the thought of giving herself to him caused her mind to finally reconnect with her body.
She raised her brow. “And what would you require?”
He leaned across the table and dropped his gaze to her mouth. “A kiss.”
“A kiss?”
He nodded.
“You would bet twenty-five thousand dollars against a kiss?”
He grinned. “Of course, I would expect one hell of a kiss.”
A small laugh blurted from her in a very unladylike fashion. Laughing, given the circumstances, seemed almost sacrilegious, but people on the verge of hysteria often behave in ludicrous ways, she supposed. But why question him? She had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
“Well, Mr. Straights, in that case, I guess you should deal.”
He dealt them each five cards and then set the rest of the stack in the center of the table. She looked at her cards and raised her brows. A pair of eights, a pair of sixes and a five stared back at her, triggering another urge to giggle. Fighting to control her threatening hysteria, she slid the five to the center of the table.
“I’d like one, please. And if you could make it an eight, I’d be ever so grateful.”
The corner of Dyer’s mouth curled up as he slid the top card off the stack and across the table in Lottie’s direction. It wasn’t an eight, but a six that joined her other cards.
A full house.
She had another full house. As if losing with one of those in an evening wasn’t enough.
Dyer took two cards for his hand, then leaned back in his chair. “So tell me, Miss Mace. What have the gods given you?”
She laid her cards on the table. “A full house . . . again. And let me guess. You’ve got four of a kind, right?”
Raising his brows, he shook his head. “I’ll be damned.” He laid down his hand to reveal the queen of spades, the jack of diamonds and three nines. “You win.”
“Are—are you sure?”
“I believe a full house beats a trip.” He lifted the valise from the floor and set it on the table. “It’s all yours.”
The legs of his chair scooted across the floor as he shoved back from the table to stand. “Congratulations.”
She stared at the money, unable to speak. Twenty-five thousand dollars in cash was enough to save her father and provide a living for them for some time to come. It was too good to be true. The sound of Dyer opening her door pulled her attention back to the here and now.
“Wait,” she said to his all too familiar back. “This can’t be right.” She crossed the room to him.
“What can’t be right?”
“Why did you do this?”
“You mean, lose?”
She shook her head. “It’s not possible. Something isn’t right here.”
“Miss Mace, it’s not like you haven’t beaten me before, and didn’t you just lose all you had on just one hand a little while ago?”
“Yes, but—”
“I suspected Cullen cheated you, and it seemed only sporting to give you an opportunity in a fair game.”
“But—”
“You needed the money for reasons of your own. Fate decided to grant you that wish.” He shrugged. “What’s done is done. Don’t question it. Just do what ever it was you needed to do. That’s the way poker is. You win some, you lose some.” He turned to leave, then stopped to add, “Oh, and don’t fail to purchase at least one gown with your winnings.”
Heart pounding, she stood stunned as Dyer left her room. In a matter of just a few moments, her world had shifted from total despair to euphoria. She rushed to carry the valise to her bed and dump the contents out to count. She’d never seen twenty-five thousand dollars before, and just the thought of it made her giddy. A quick flip of the bag poured the money onto the quilt. She began counting the bills, feeling more and more excited with each stack.
A flicker of gold caught her eye among the green mounds. She reached for the sparkle, gently lifting a golden locket from the bills.
Her locket.
“Oh, Momma,” she whispered, clutching the locket to her breasts. Momma’d listened after all.
Lottie quickly fastened the chain around her neck and scooped the money back into the satchel. She wanted to thank Dyer for retrieving her locket but didn’t know what to do with the money while she went to find him. She supposed she could carry it with her, but what if someone attacked her in the hall? Searching around her room for a good hiding place, she spied something on the floor beside the table.
Cautiously she crossed the room, fighting the dread that increased with each step. It was a card, and it was on the floor beside Dyer’s chair. She knew before she even looked at it what she would find, but decency forced her to look just the same.
It was the nine of clubs.
The only nine he hadn’t held in his hand at the end of the game, and the only reason he hadn’t was because he had dropped it sometime when she was preoccupied.
She’d no more won that game than he
r jackass had, but if she didn’t take the money, her father would die in prison. She clutched her locket to ask Momma for advice, then released it. Momma couldn’t make this decision for her, nor did she need to. Lottie knew right from wrong as well as anybody.
“Well, Mr. Straights,” she mumbled, picking up the valise on her way to the door. “It appears as though we’re not finished just yet.”
She marched to his room, determined not to let him weasel out of this one. If he were going to insist on being kind and decent, he would simply have to take the consequences. Decency forbade her to accept this money as anything other than a loan. But she would pay it back, every dime . . . somehow. And now it was time to figure out the somehows.
She knocked on his door. “Mr. Straights?”
A grumbled curse sounded from the other side. She looked around for an axe to thump into the door, but seeing none, she decided she could strike a little harder with her fist.
“Dyer?”
He pulled open the door. His shirt was nowhere to be seen, and his pants rode low on his hips in the way he seemed to prefer. The shadow of a beard on his jaw gave her the urge to touch instead of run. Some things had definitely changed in the last few weeks.
She walked past him, into his room.
“Miss Mace—”
“Lottie.” She set the satchel on his bed and turned to face him.
He closed the door and leaned back against it with a suspicious look in his eyes. “Is there something I can help you with, Lottie?”
She held out her hand to show him the card. “I believe this is yours.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and shrugged. “Never seen that before in my life.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m a damn good liar. I’m just a terrible cheat.”
The cadence of her heartbeat picked up with each step she took toward him. “You did that all along, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“You eliminated the other players and then when it was just you and me, you let me win.”
He looked at her but said nothing.
“Why?” she asked.
“I’m not saying I did—”
She stopped him by placing her hands against his face. Her touch seemed to startle him almost as much as it did her. “Why did you do it?” she insisted.
He closed his eyes as though he was trying to regain control before he answered, “Hell if I know,” in a throaty whisper and jerked her against him to take her mouth. The jolt of passion that rushed through her body weakened her knees and sent a humming through her mind that made everything else in the world disappear.
He worked his mouth across hers, tasting her, caressing her with his teeth and tongue. Her body vibrated with sensation, and when his thumb brushed her breast through the fabric of her gown, the tingles she felt pooled in places she hadn’t even known she had.
She wrapped her hands around his neck and stroked her fingers through his hair, allowing her body to press fully against his hard muscles, wishing her gown weren’t between them.
Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed away from her. He took a deep breath and crossed to the farthest side of the room.
“Run, Miss Mace.” He ran his hand back through his hair and took another breath. “Run while you can.”
She lightly touched her kiss-swollen lips and stepped over to the door. “I told you to call me Lottie,” she said, locking the door and tossing the key on the table.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” The hint of warning in his voice sent another shiver of excitement through her.
Soft yellow lamplight glowed off the hard muscles of his chest and arms. His quickened breathing was visible even from where she stood, and the deep intensity of his gaze eliminated any misgivings she may have had about her decision. She stepped toward him, removing the pins from her hair as she walked.
“I haven’t a clue,” she said, allowing her voice to drop to a low purr, “but I have a feeling you do.” She stopped in front of him. Close enough to feel his heat, but far enough to force him to make the next move.
Gently, he threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling the mass of blonde curls down past her shoulders to her waist. She watched the emotions play across his face as he fought some unknown demon.
“You don’t know me,” he finally whispered.
She laid her finger against his lips to silence him. “I think I know you better than you know yourself.”
He pulled her hands to his chest and splayed them flat against his muscles. He was hard and hot, and she wished she were brave enough to kiss where her hands caressed.
“I want you, Lottie,” he murmured. “I have since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
She moved her hands across his skin, marveling at the combination of smooth flesh and crisp hairs under her fingers. “I want you too,” she whispered.
He took her hand and slid it down his body to the front of his pants, where he pressed it against his hard manhood.
“You don’t understand,” he ground out. “I want you with this.” He squeezed her fingers against him. “I want to bury this inside of you, and when I do, you won’t be a virgin anymore.”
She leaned forward and kissed the teasing hot flesh of his chest before she tipped her head back to look up at him. “I’m not a fool, Dyer. I’m just a woman, and I would appreciate it if you’d quit talking and make me glad of that fact.”
A low growl rumbled from his chest. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her across the room to his bed, where he lay down beside her on the quilt. He lightly stroked his hand down the column of her throat until it rested on her breast. He pressed his palm against her soft mound.
“It’s not too late,” he said, running his thumb across the tip.
“Yes it is.” She pulled his head down for a kiss.
He sealed her lips with his own. “You’re right,” he muttered between caresses. “It’s too late.”
He swept his tongue into her mouth, teaching hers to dance with his as he stroked first her belly and then her breasts.
Each brush of his hands intensified the aching in her body and an impatience for something she didn’t understand. He pulled his mouth away from hers to kiss a path to her shoulder and down to the top of her breasts.
One by one, he flicked open the buttons of her gown, kissing each inch of newly exposed flesh until he traveled to her navel, where he darted his tongue into its recess. Her sighs quickly changed to a gasp when he suddenly shoved open her gown, exposing her body to his gaze. Her hands darted to cover her breasts in an automatic gesture of modesty.
He shook his head. “No, my sweet,” he whispered, lifting one hand and then the other to pin them gently over her head. “You must never hide from me.”
She wasn’t frightened. His hand barely held hers, and when he lowered his head to kiss her breast, he released her wrists entirely, but the sensation of his tongue pinned her to the spot stronger than any binds ever could.
A tiny sound slipped with a wispy sigh from her mouth, and it fueled Dyer’s passion even more. In a sudden move, he sat her up and dragged her gown off her shoulders to her hips. Another quick shift had her lying on the bed, totally nude except for her stockings. He knelt on the floor beside her.
“You are so beautiful,” he muttered, burying his face into her belly to kiss her soft flesh.
His hand slid up her thigh, stopping only a moment to run along her lace garter before stroking the silky skin at the top edge. He raked his lips up her body to her breasts, where he kissed her before returning to claim her mouth.
She was only vaguely aware of him sliding onto the bed as she wrapped her arms eagerly across his shoulders to deepen the kiss. She wanted to feel his body pressed against hers. She craved the strength and power of his bulging muscles as they flexed beneath her hands.
He pulled away from her mouth and returned his att
ention to her breast just as he slid his hand to cup the juncture of her thighs. She gasped and started to squirm away, but he grabbed her thigh to stop her.
“Shhh,” he cooed against her breast. “Let me love you, Lottie.”
He ended his plea by stroking her, and her body answered with shuddered spasms against his hand. She groaned and quivered while he brought her to ecstasy with the skilled touch of tongue and fingers, and when her senses finally returned, she looked up at the ceiling, satiated.
Unfortunately, she then made the mistake of looking down at her nude body. Dyer’s hand rested between her sprawled legs. His head lay against her naked breasts, and she couldn’t have looked more wanton if she’d tried.
“Oh, my!” She scurried away from him, clutching the sheet up against her breasts.
He rolled onto his back and released an audible sigh. “You don’t need to run from me. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to, but you sure picked a hell of a time to change your mind.”
He sat up on the side of the bed and switched off the lamp. She could hear the rustle of fabric as he dropped his pants to the floor, and the lifting of the sheet told her he was now under the covers with her. She held her breath, not sure what to do next. She wanted to make love to him, but she was frightened, more by her body’s loss of control than by the act itself. She waited for him to move closer, then realized he was leaving it up to her.
“I—I haven’t changed my mind,” she murmured.
“Prove it,” he said, still not moving.
She swallowed and scooted closer to him in the bed. Again, she waited, and again he didn’t move.
“Touch me, Lottie.” His throaty voice rolled over her. Slowly she laid her hand on his chest, allowing her fingers to enjoy the warmth and hardness under their caresses.
And still he did not move.
She scooted even closer and stroked his chest and the flat muscles of his belly. He sucked in a breath when she brushed her fingers across his nipple, causing it to pucker as hers had done.