by Shirl Henke
Delilah felt his hardness teasing her, awakening a fierce hunger, one she had never imagined she would experience. She could also sense he was holding back, waiting for her to prepare for the final onslaught. Better to have done. She released a warm hiss of breath and kissed him fiercely, lifting her hips and wrapping her legs around his waist. With a gasp of pleasure he sank deeper, stretching flesh so long untried. She expected it to hurt, but in spite of the pressure, it did not. She wriggled her lower body, giving him leave to move deeper, deeper yet, until he was buried totally inside her.
“Aaahh, Deelie,” he murmured into her mouth, not even aware of how his body trembled. She was so virginally tight, it took his breath away. He held still for a moment and forced himself to let her body adjust. Then, very slowly, he started to move.
She could feel him begin to withdraw and wanted to cry out, “Stop!” but before she could utter a sound, he filled her slowly once more…and she was lost to the slow, languid movement, in and out, stretching her, making her feel cherished, fulfilled. And it all seemed so effortless. Delilah closed her eyes and held him fast, unaware of how her knees clamped on his hips, how her own hips rose and fell with each thrust, urging him on. She floated for several moments, although she was never aware of time, only the joining.
But gradually sensations never before experienced made her reach for more. Her fingers dug into his back, feeling his muscles ripple with each thrust. She felt her hips rising and falling faster, demanding an ascending pace that would take her…where? She did not know but craved the learning of it. Knew deep within the core of her woman’s body that it would be beautiful and necessary, oh yes, very necessary.
Clint could sense her response and gladly obliged, following the subtle, unconscious cues she gave. He buried his face in her sweet, silky hair, kissing her throat, leading her higher and higher. When he heard her sudden gasp of wonder and felt her flesh convulse around his, he slowed again, holding off his own fulfillment to make this first experience for her as long and wonderful as he could.
But her determination to seize this new pleasure was wild and uncontrolled. His Deelie was a woman who knew what she wanted—and right now she wanted this, wanted him. How like her, always determined to have her way…and in this case, he wanted to give it to her! With a great release of breath, he let go, spilling himself deep inside her in a finalburst of white-hot climax, unlike any other he had ever felt. Spent and sweating, he collapsed on top of her, then rolled them over so she lay on his chest with her hair curtaining them in the warm sun.
Delilah loved the weight of his body on hers, the shuddering power of his release, so long held back. She was faintly disappointed when he reversed their positions. She was no fragile doll, yet it felt wonderful to lie molded over his long frame. She nestled her head in the crook of his arm and closed her eyes, feeling his hands lightly stroke her back, fingers playing with her hair.
Delilah felt suddenly awkward. What did one say after making love in broad daylight, without a stitch of clothing, outdoors in a wild place? How did one disentangle? Her husband had simply rolled away and gone to sleep in the dark. She had pulled down her night rail and done the same. This was utterly beyond her experience, and she did not know what to do. Delilah Mathers Raymond greatly disliked not knowing what to do. Now that the intense pleasure was fading, she began to wonder if she had just made a monumental mistake.
“Maybe I won’t drown Sky after all,” he said at length.
She could feel the slight rumble of a chuckle deep in his chest. “She arranged this very cleverly,” she replied carefully, not moving.
He stroked her cheek. “Ah, Deelie, regrets so soon?”
“I don’t know,” she surprised herself by confessing. “That is…I’ve never…”
He tipped up her chin and gazed into her eyes. “I know,” he said simply. “Your uncle and my sister seem determined to get us together—”
“Uncle Horace would never countenance making love without marriage,” she interrupted indignantly, trying to extricate herself.
He let her go, helping her to kneel as he did the same, but when she reached frantically for her clothing, he placed his arm around her shoulders and turned her back to face him, brushing bits of grass and twigs from her tangled hair. “Why, Deelie, are you proposing marriage?” he asked, trying for a teasing tone. The feelings he had for this woman were enough to make the Thebans at Thermopylae turn tail and run. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do if some misguided sense of propriety made her say yes.
“Certainly not!” she snapped. “I’m only concerned with how I can preserve my reputation, such as it is, not to mention keeping my uncle from shooting you. Perhaps I’ll drown Sky,” she added grimly.
“I’ll admit my sister’s people have less subtle ways ofmatch-making than whites,” he replied with relief, “but I’m touched that you’re concerned with saving my miserable hide.”
When he plucked another twig from her hair, she pulled back and scrambled toward the pool. “I have to bathe before I can dress,” she said as she quickly sank into the water and began scrubbing and finger-combing her hair.
He followed her into the water and took her hands gently in his. “We need to talk, not turn tail, Deelie.” Although he was damned if he knew what to say, and he surely wanted to see more of the tail she was preparing to turn. “I really did intend to slip away without letting you know I was here until you let out that shriek over the coon. You are a city girl, no doubt there.”
“Are you sorry my outcry caused you so much amusement that you…we…well, we did what we did? I’ll lay claim to my share of blame. You certainly didn’t force me,” she admitted, as much to herself as to him. “You’re the epitome of everything I despise, yet I’ve found you…distracting, disturbing…”
“Attractive?” he suggested hopefully. Without giving her a chance to reply, he made an admission of his own. “We’ve been strikin’ enough sparks to burn down half of St. Louis ever since we first met. You made it pretty clear how you felt about Southern men. I know your husband was a Yankee—”
Her brief hiccup of laughter stopped him. “Actually, although he fought with the Federals, Lawrence’s family wasSouthern. Very old, landed money. They just happened to be Unionists.”
“The Matherses were wealthy but not aristocracy,” he guessed.
“Hardly. My grandfather emigrated from Scotland and became a cobbler in Gettysburg. Within a decade he owned a shoe factory. By the time my father took it over and enlarged his business holdings, we were quite comfortable. But not good enough for my husband’s father.”
“Why did that make you dislike me on sight?” he asked, wanting to understand her antipathy toward him. He continued picking bits of grass and twigs from her hair, waiting patiently for her to explain.
“I’ve sat across from men like you at gaming tables for the past seven years, wealthy, condescending, judging me a fallen woman. The Southerners were always the worst because they’d mask it with charm.”
“Just like I did?” A lot of pieces of the puzzle of Delilah Raymond were falling into place now. “Or you thought I did. I wasn’t condemnin’ you, although I do confess to a little distraction because you’re so damned beautiful I couldn’t concentrate. I reckon you’ve used that to your advantage in more than a few games.”
“I used whatever was necessary to survive—I’ll never be dependent on a man again. Except for my uncle. I owe him my life, and I’ll take care of him when he can’t use his guns to protect me.”
“A big responsibility,” Clint said. “I know how it is to struggle, wonderin’ how you’re gonna survive from day to day. I told you I don’t come from money. Everything I ever owned I worked for, including my book learning.”
“By playing cards?”
“Among other things,” he admitted, then shifted the conversation back to her. “You really hated being a gambler, didn’t you?”
Her eyes took on a hard, cold gleam. “Can you imagine what it’s like f
or a woman surrounded by men who only play against her to prove they’re superior—or to lure her into their beds? And don’t insult my intelligence by saying that thought never entered your mind.”
Clint raised his hands. “I’d have to be a gelding if that thought never entered my mind, but you beat me fair and square, Deelie. You’re that good.”
“Not exactly a skill women of quality are supposed to possess.”
“Neither is running an upriver freightin’ business, but you want to compete in a cutthroat man’s game.”
“It’s a respectable business, even if it is dangerous. I’ll take my chances.”
He looked at her, seeing the steely determination in her eyes. “Always the gambler, even if you have quit the cards.” He grinned at her. “Let’s make a whole pile of money this summer, Deelie.”
She turned away from his admiring gaze, knowing she’d revealed far more than was wise to this enigmatic man. “Don’t call me Deelie.” She wanted him to leave her alone so she could think, but then found herself saying aloud, “What will everyone say when I return to the boat looking like a drowned rat? We’re due to take off any time.”
“I’ll stall the captain while you fix yourself up.” He splashed to the shore where his clothing lay and fished through the pockets of his shirt, holding up a small comb. “Not much for all that hair, but it should work. You untangle that lovely mane and I’ll slip aboard while no one’s lookin’ and send Sky back to help you dress. She got you into this—she can help get you out of it.” He tossed her the comb.
She caught it deftly, then started to work furiously, detan-gling her hair. All the while she tried not to watch as he slipped into his clothing. He was bronzed as a savage everywhere except—no, she vowed never to think of that part of his anatomy again. He was the one who ought to worry about snapping turtles! Delilah was unable to keep her eyes from straying toward him as he slid into those indecent buckskins and slipped on his moccasins. He started toward theriver, then stopped suddenly and turned around to face her with a serious expression on his face.
“We’ll talk some more, Deelie. After we’ve both had time to think about it.”
Was that a threat…or a promise? Delilah was not certain at all. But she would have the last word.
“Don’t call me Deelie!”
Chapter Thirteen
Sky and Delilah returned to the boat before the captain blew the deafening whistle signaling their departure. All the wood had been gathered and stored for the voracious boilers. Within a quarter hour of their arrival, the boat was once again fighting the upriver current. No one appeared to notice that Clint had returned not long before the two women. Sky and Delilah had obviously been bathing, but no one else knew about the private pool. A dip in a secluded brushy area of the river on a hot day was perfectly reasonable for the two friends. Delilah’s reputation was intact.
But her peace of mind was not. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” Sky asked Delilah as the two women stood on the upper deck watching the muddy water churned up by the big paddlewheel.
Delilah’s eyes remained on the wildflower-strewn hill receding in the distance, remembering the taste and feel of Clint’s body. “More with myself, I guess,” she equivocated.
“Did you not enjoy it—oh, I know ladies aren’t supposed to admit such things, not even talk about them, but the Ehanktonwon view has always made more sense to me when it comes to making love.”
Delilah could feel the heat in her face but kept it turned steadfastly toward the cooling river breeze. “Yes, I enjoyed it, just as you were certain I would,” she admitted grudgingly. “Altogether too much.”
Sky’s face lit with a big smile. “I knew you were destined to be together. Anyone with eyes, including your uncle, agrees with me. One has only to watch the way you look ateach other to know.” Then she sobered. “Don’t feel as if you’ve betrayed your husband. Surely he would wish you happiness after all these years.”
“I have no idea what Lawrence would’ve wished. We were two children, fumbling in the dark. Oh, that sounds terrible… but it’s the truth.”
“And there has been no other man since,” Sky said with certainty. “You have a right to be happy, my friend…and so does my brother. He, too, has suffered much.”
“Does he still mourn his dead wife?”
Sky’s expression grew troubled. “He mourns…other things, I fear. His spirit has been wounded. But you can heal it,” she quickly added.
“I’m not certain of that. I don’t understand him…and I’m not sure I want to.”
To that, Sky made no reply. Horace hailed them from across the deck. If Delilah noticed her friend’s sudden hesitation defending Clint, she said nothing.
Delilah dreaded the evening meal, having to face Clint across the table and act as if nothing had happened that afternoon. She felt certain every intimate detail would be etched clearly on her face for the entire assembly to read. And his parting words promising further talk did nothing to reassure her. What was there to say? Did he regret it? Did she? In the midst of passion, she had loved it, but now, as she sat before her mirror, untangling the makeshift hairdo Sky had created, she grew increasingly wary. What was he going to say to her? Would he smirk or tease…or even blackmail her over the management of the boat? She knew from experience that he had not been above such things before.
When she and her uncle had been forced to support themselves by gambling, she’d been cast outside the social pale. No offers of marriage would ever be forthcoming from respectable men. Yet those same respectable men felt no qualms at all offering her very disrespectable propositions at every opportunity. I might as well be a member of the demi monde.
As the years passed, it had been she and Horace against the world. All she wanted was financial freedom and to be quit of smoke-filled card rooms and leering gamblers. But when she finally felt the first stirrings of attraction for a man since Lawrence, who did that man turn out to be? Another gambler, a rogue who represented everything she had come to detest. As if that were not bad enough, he brought a violent and troubled past with him. Clint was a man she knew little about—and every bit she did know should have warned her off instead of stirring her desire.
There, she had finally admitted it. Delilah put down her hairbrush and stared disconsolately into the mirror. She did desire him, but she would never give up her hard-won freedom by marrying him. She didn’t even trust him as a business partner! But the idea of marriage was ridiculous anyway. She was certain a man who owned a brothel would never be interested—or if he were, he would not be faithful to his vows.
No, he only wanted to talk about continuing their liaison for the duration of the voyage. That would be convenient. He could enjoy her—and indeed he had seemed to enjoy her very much—yet have no strings attached to lure him into matrimony. After all, the beauteous Eva St. Clair awaited him back in St. Louis…and that was if he did not decide to remain with Sky’s people.
How should she respond to such an offer? Passion for a few months, then a mutually agreed upon parting. Delilah stared into the mirror as if looking for an answer. But there was none. Somehow she had to get through dinner, and then they would have their talk. Best to get the matter settled one way or the other, even if she had not the slightest idea what that would be.
She finished her toilette and stood just as Horace knocked on her cabin door from the adjoining sitting room. “Are you ready for dinner, my dear?”
She stepped outside. “Yes, although I ate so much this afternoon, I doubt I’ll have much appetite.”
“Odd you should say that. Clint, too, was eager to forgo the evening repast. It seems our first mate Mr. Iversen has come down with an infected tooth. Clint volunteered to take his place supervising the roustabouts and passengers on the lower deck. Mrs. Colter is fussing because he wanted no evening meal sent down.”
Delilah breathed a sigh of relief. At least she’d be spared a confrontation across the dinner table before matters were s
ettled between them…however that would go.
Below them on the main deck, Clint checked the list of men who had boarded along the way, en route to the gold fields. The cost of passage depended on how long the Nymph carried their weight and fed them. They slept with the roustabouts around the cargo, wherever they could find space. It was the equivalent of steerage passage from the Old World to the New, a difficult voyage, but lucrative for the boat owners.
Taking over the first mate’s assignment was a welcome respite from thinking about what had happened this afternoon and what it would mean for his business arrangement with the delicious Delilah. His first impulse had been to blame Sky for the whole fiasco, but upon reflection he knew that was wrong. Sooner or later the inevitable would have happened, whether or not his meddlesome little sister arranged it. She and Horace had both sensed the attraction between himself and Delilah. Hell, a deaf and blind man could probably have done that!
The only problem was that his little sister and Deelie’s uncle expected their mutual attraction to end in marriage. Clint had vowed on Teal’s bier that he would never again give hostages to fate. He would bury no more wives or children. The cost was simply too high. He had yet to come to terms with his actions after tragedy had first touched his life. There was a darkness buried deep inside him that he wanted no one in civilization to see. Nor did he wish to examine it himself. Sky knew part of it, but she had been raised in both worlds and could understand. A woman from the East, raised in privilege such as Delilah Raymond had been, would never understand…and he would never tell her.
But they had months before this voyage was complete. Working together in such close quarters created a situation as combustible as dry pine branches stoking a boiler fire. He’d never be able to leave her alone now that he’d tasted the delights of her body. And, having taught her the pleasures of making love, he doubted that she would be able to resist temptation any better than he. But if Horace caught them together, it would mean a marriage—or a murder. Continuing as lovers was playing with dynamite.