The River Nymph

by Shirl Henke

  “Can’t rightly say I did, but since’t I been beatin’ him, I reckon he better find a new line ’o work.”

  “He’s just letting you win at first to learn your tells,” she said to the older man, whose seamed red face bore witness to how he earned his livelihood.

  Clint tossed down his cards and glared at Sky. “We weren’t playing for money, just matchsticks. A man’s gotta stay in practice, after all. When I get back to St. Louis, I’ll have to go to work again.”

  “Speakin’ of work, capt’n’ll be wantin’ me ta check the boilers. Have to fire ’em up in a couple ’a hours.” He grinned at Clint. “I could tell you was a gamblin’ man, but like you say, a feller’s gotta practice.”

  After tipping his battered cap at Sky, he walked over to the giant maw of a boiler and yelled to the unfortunate crewman assigned to shovel out the accumulation of river mud left behind when the water was turned into steam. After a brief consultation, he shrugged and told Clint, “Be a while. Got a lot of muck to go yet.”

  “Captain Dubois won’t like the delay,” Clint said almost to himself, then noticed that Sky had returned to the boat alone. “Say, where’s Deelie?”

  “Oh, she must’ve sneaked by you and returned to her cabin. You know she’s avoiding you, Clint.”

  “As if I had typhoid fever,” he replied glumly. “What were you doing all this time?”

  “I stayed behind and went for a swim,” she said, running a hand over her sleek, still-damp hair.

  He looked at her slightly rumpled clothing and noticed that her hair was now down in a plait instead of up in the elaborate chignon she’d worn earlier. “You look cool and content.”

  “That’s because I am. Remember the spring-fed pool we found on our way to St. Louis? I recognized the landmarks when we pulled over for the picnic. It was a perfect day for a swim.” She eyed the trickles of sweat running down his face and neck. Let this work!

  “Yeah, I do remember it.” He looked over to where the two engineers were conferring about cleaning out the boilers and knew there was plenty of time. “Maybe I’ll go for a dip myself.” He paused and gave her a stern look. “And next time, keep your pretty little nose out of my card games. I’d never take advantage of an employee.”

  “I’m sorry, Clint. I should’ve known that,” she said with false contrition. As soon as he walked toward the gangplank, whistling to himself, a big smile spread across her face.

  Clint’s long legs ate up the climb through the meadow. He quickly reached the woods and made his way on moccasined feet through the spring greenery. That was when he heard the sound of a woman humming and froze. Instantly, he recognized Delilah’s low, whiskey voice. Sky, I’m gonna yank every last strand of lovely black hair off your scalp! She’d set a trap and he’d almost fallen into it. She and Deelie must have beenswimming together and she’d come back to the boat to lure him here. He’d bet the Blasted Bud itself that Mrs. Raymond had no idea how close she’d come to having him see her in the all-together.

  He started to turn around and backtrack before she spotted him through the leafy cover of trees and brush. That was when he caught sight of her backside. Lordy, she was perched like a mermaid on a rock, finger combing her long hair, spreading it like a fan in an attempt to dry it. Her hair was still damp, but his mouth had suddenly gone very dry indeed. Vivid reddish highlights danced in the silky chestnut strands as dappled sunlight shone through the trees.

  Her lavender gown and undergarments were carefully spread on the ground by the side of the pool, the dress and petticoats dry but the translucent silky unmentionables still wet. He grinned. He’d bet Sky had swum mother naked, but the proper Mrs. Raymond’s modesty wouldn’t allow that. Clint stroked his jaw, wondering if any man—including her bridegroom—had seen her bare skin.

  I bet they spent their honeymoon under the covers, both of them in nightclothes. Not the way he would ever do it. How could any man resist the creamy smooth skin he saw through the curtain of her hair? The curve of her spine was supple, her waist tiny and buttocks lush. If only she’d turn so he could see those glorious breasts he’d lain awake fantasizing about for weeks. His eyes strayed again to the clothes set out so neatly on the grass. Nope, no corset. But he could envision the sheer silk of that chemise clinging translucently to her skin.

  Just then, she swept her hair over one shoulder and twisted her body around to let it hang free. One pert, high breast came into profile, the pink nipple standing at attention as her still-damp hair brushed over it. He stifled a groan and felt himself hardening to the point of bursting. A good thing he’d worn buckskin breeches, cloth would never have withstood the pressure. Sweat beaded his forehead, this time having little to do with the outside temperature. He felt as hot as one of the Nymph’s boilers at full steam!

  Clint knew this was wrong. He was watching her like some peeping Tom. It was depraved and despicable and most ungentlemanly to spy on a lady. Then he remembered how often she’d reminded him that he was no gentleman and she was no lady. Maybe depraved and despicable aren’t all that bad. Still, if she caught him, she’d be furious—and who knew? She just might have that little gun hidden somewhere in her clothing. Glancing down, he could see that he was certainly providing her with a large enough target to shoot at.

  Time to turn around and backtrack out of here. Clint actually took a couple of steps away before the sound of her screech froze him. When he turned around, he could see her jump up and leap into the water. What the hell was wrong? He drew his Colt and scanned the surrounding woods to be certain no intruder—animal or human—was threatening her. Nothing. Then he saw it. A very startled raccoon crouched in terror beside her clothing.

  Before he could stop it, the laughter burst out of him. He doubled over as tension-purging guffaws overcame him. “It’s…a coon…Deelie. They’re…just naturally curious,” he finally managed to get out.

  Even though she couldn’t see the bounder, Delilah recognized his voice as soon as he uttered the first word. She slipped into the water, up to her neck, hair floating around her like a halo. So much for drying it before returning to the boat! “How dare you spy on me like a common voyeur, you wretched pervert, you evil emissary of Satan! You…you chamberpot with ears!” she finally sputtered as he emerged from the brush holding his lethal-looking sidearm.

  “Do you intend to shoot me or that—that wild creature?” she asked through gritted teeth.

  He slid the Colt back into its holster and crossed his arms. “The coon’s harmless. You scared him more than he scared you,” he replied as the masked bandit made off with her lavender hair ribbon in his teeth.

  “That ribbon matches my dress and I looked all over Boston to find it.” She took a step toward the shallows beforerealizing she was naked and Clint Daniels was standing alarmingly close to the water. Delilah could feel his eyes burning her skin—her bare, naked skin. Immediately she sank back into the deeper water. “Go away. Shoo just like that…that coon creature you frightened off.”

  Instead, his gaze locked with hers, pale blue and jade green. Without another word, he unfastened the buckle of his gun belt and dropped it on the grass, then tugged his shirt over his head in one swipe. The muscles in his arms and chest rippled as he tossed it on top of the weapon.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in the calmest voice she could muster, proud that it did not wobble…too much.

  “Protectin’ you, darlin’…from snapping turtles. Once one of those big suckers clamps onto something, they never let go.”

  Delilah looked frantically around the pool. “Turtles? Snapping?”

  Clint laughed again. “It was only a joke, Deelie. I just came to take a swim on a hot day, same as you.”

  “B-but you can’t,” she protested. The wobble was back, worse than ever, as he began to unfasten the fly of his leather breeches. He’d already kicked off the moccasins. “You sneaked up to spy on me—deliberately! Not to swim.”

  “Nope. My dear little s
ister reminded me about this pool and suggested a swim would be a good idea. Said you were in your cabin,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  “I don’t believe she’d do something so…so…” Her voice faded away as she recalled the way Sky had arranged everything. It was true.

  “You don’t know her like I do. She may be all grown-up now, but some day her husband’s gonna have to give her a good paddlin’.” As he spoke, he struggled to remove his breeches, which had become extremely uncomfortable. “Only thing that’ll cool me off now is being drenched in ice water. We both better hope it’s cold enough to do the job,” he said as the pants finally slid free.

  Delilah could not tear her eyes from him. Or the size of the erect male member that sprang free when the pants dropped. His body was bronze; the hair on his chest and forearms, bleached pale gold by the sun, contrasted with the darker gold nest surrounding that magnificent specimen of masculinity. Had Lawrence been that big? They’d only consummated their marriage twice, both times in darkness, with him in a long nightshirt. Delilah doubted it, even though it had been damnably uncomfortable and awkward.

  She gave herself a mental shake and started to backpedal away from Clint as he walked unconcernedly to the diving rock. How dreadfully disloyal of her to make such comparisons between her lawful husband and this rapscallion! Life in gambling salons had made her as crude as Eva St. Clair, even if she had never slept with any man she met there.

  “I’ll get out if you get in,” she said, immediately realizing how that sounded.

  His grin indicated he understood the double entendre. “Oh, I’ll plunge in, but I doubt you’ll want me to get out after I do.”

  With that arrogant remark, he dived into the water and began swimming around the large pool, seemingly ignoring her. Standing still, she began to shiver, but it was not from the cold water. Deep in her belly she could feel tingling warmth. And something else, that elusive, magnetic attraction to this man, unsuitable, indeed detestable as she found him on every possible level …except one.

  But that was utterly unexplainable, because she’d never enjoyed making love with Lawrence, had not honestly even participated in the act. Or been tempted to repeat it with any other man—until now. Still, the insidious heat built inside her body and brain. Maybe she was coming down with a summer ague.

  Clint felt the icy water close over his head, broke the surface and started to swim furiously, as if a whole horde of snapping turtles were chasing him through the water. But he could not rid himself of the ache in his groin. All he could think ofwas the woman standing in the water, arms wrapped around her lush body, hair floating like russet silk on the water, wide green eyes following his every move. Damn her! Damn Sky! Damn Red Riley for starting this whole mess in the first place by importing a female card shark to steal his boat!

  “Last chance to get away, Cat Eyes,” he found himself saying as he cut through the water. It was either let her go or take her, and soon. His body was near to bursting with desire.

  “How can I leave with you watching me?” she asked, trying to sound reasonable. That was difficult because she couldn’t take her eyes away from his powerful shoulders as his arms cut cleanly through the water and his thick hair fell in an unruly shock over his forehead. On their second encounter she had sunk her hands into that hair and bitten him. Now she wanted to seize fistfuls of it and kiss him. Kiss him and never stop.

  “I won’t watch. Word of honor,” he called out, but he had rounded the opposite side of the pool and was heading in her direction now.

  “As if I place any credence in the honor of a gambler.”

  “Takes another one to know, doesn’t it?”

  Suddenly he was directly in front of her, standing up in what was barely chest-deep water a few feet away from her. Droplets trickled over his pectoral muscles and became trapped in the golden hair. Delilah could think of nothing more to say. Perhaps this had been inevitable ever since the first night she’d met him aboard the Nymph. She had detested his drawling charm so much that she’d allowed emotion to cloud her judgment at the table, something that had never occurred before.

  Clint watched various emotions fleetingly pass through those cat’s eyes and wished to hell he knew what they meant. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, Deelie,” he said hoarsely, not certain if he could keep his word with her standing so close, so naked and enticing it was driving him insane with want.

  Each of them was surprised when the other took a stepforward. But neither retreated. “Come ahead, Clint,” she said with what sounded almost as if it were resignation. She raised her hands and reached out to him.

  “This wouldn’t be a replay of what happened at the Bud, would it?”

  “No tricks…except for the one Sky played on both of us,” she whispered as he extended one large, warm hand and grasped her slender wrist, gently pulling her to him.

  She went into his arms, raising her own around his broad shoulders. He pressed her body against his and cupped her soft buttocks in his hands, lifting her in the water while he bent his head down to kiss her. Delilah dug her fingers into the hardness of his muscles, tiptoeing to reach his mouth. The warmth built in her when she felt that hard staff press against the vee of her legs. It seemed the most natural thing on earth to roll her pelvis…and feel his big, powerful body tremble. That was only fair since she was trembling, too.

  Delilah anticipated the kiss, remembering the other ones they had shared. The one in the warehouse had been fierce but life-affirming. Outside her cabin she had been too appalled by her own passion to allow his seduction. After he’d saved her from Riley’s killer, he had taken her lips roughly, frightening her with savage anger. How would this time be? Oddly, she was beyond caring, ready for anything, yet relieved when he brushed her mouth softly. Then he traced the seam between her lips with the tip of his tongue, as if asking permission to enter. She opened for him and he tasted her. She returned the delicious invasion, and their tongues dueled in a delightful dance that only increased their hunger for more.

  Clint slanted his mouth across hers, changing the angle, cupping the back of her head in one hand as the other roamed up and down her spine, tracing the delicate vertebrae, lingering at the deep indentation before her derrière flared. He played her like a Stradivarius. Music sang through her body while she writhed against him, drawing him closer, feeling the delicious abrasion of crisp chest hair against her pebbled nipples. There was something more…more, and Delilah knewshe must have it—have Clinton Daniels—in a way she could never have imagined before he strode into her life.

  Her small, low moans and little gasps of surprised pleasure nearly drove him mad. Again, some subliminal part of his mind wondered just how much experience—or how little—she had had during her brief marriage. Instinct told him to go slow. His mouth moved from hers, trailing soft, wet kisses down the arch of her throat while he lifted her higher so he could reach those tantalizing breasts that teased and enticed him. The breasts of his imagining. He had never forgotten them since she had first taken a seat across the poker table from him.

  No wonder I lost almost every hand. All I could think about was this!

  When Clint took one hardened pink nipple in his mouth and suckled it, Delilah felt the jolt shoot all the way to her toes. She buried her fingers in his long, thick hair and arched closer, wrapping her legs around his narrow hips. His erection jutted beneath her, rubbing a newly sensitized area of her body, a place she could never have imagined would welcome a man.

  Feeling her squirm against him, Clint could barely restrain himself, but this was not the time to rush. He moved his attention from one breast to the other, murmuring, “I knew they’d be beautiful.”

  Clint walked slowly toward the edge of the water, carrying her to the soft grass beneath the trees. Very slowly, he let her slide down his body, still pressing her close to him. He looked down into her eyes and read confusion—and hunger. Unasked, she answered his question. “Yes, Clint,” was all she said
.

  That was all he needed to hear. He knelt and laid her on warm spring grass, then followed her down, taking her into his arms. She came eagerly, rubbing her face against his chest, clutching his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He took her chin in one hand and tipped it up for another long, slow kiss that had them both moaning, then moved his atten-tion to her breasts again, loving the way her body unconsciously arched each time he lowered his head to lave and suck a nipple. She was learning an ancient rhythm, one she had not known before.

  He moved over her, holding his weight on his elbows, whispering, “Open your legs, Deelie,” as he gently probed with his aching staff. But he would be its master and would not simply plunder her warmth and beauty. It would take extreme care and concentration. But he had done that once before…with Teal. No! He would not think of her now. The memory was too painful, and Delilah deserved better than a comparison to his dead wife.

  Delilah complied with his command. In truth, her legs seemed to open of their own volition, welcoming his invasion. If the price of all the pleasure she had just experienced was pain at the end, it would still be worth it. She wanted him inside her body, no matter the cost. She wanted this joining, unsanctioned by wedlock though it was. Perhaps she had been destined for it since the loss of her comfortable existence in the wealthy Mathers family. Mrs. Raymond was a gambler…and this was the greatest risk of her career.

  Clint teased the wet opening to her feminine core, waiting for her response before he moved further. Her body tensed, but when he did not immediately plunge in, he could feel her lift her hips in unconscious supplication. He kissed her again, softly, tenderly, while the tip of his rigid staff circled and teased the sensitive opening it craved. When he could stand not another instant of waiting and knew she was ready, he began a slow, careful penetration. She was slick and hot, incredibly tight. Yet he could not rush this.