by Shirl Henke
It was time to celebrate her project’s completion. But would Clint accept her invitation? And her dare…? “Well, I can always drink the whole blasted bottle if he doesn’t,” she whispered, walking nervously over to the freestanding oval mirror in the corner and inspecting herself once again.
Then she heard footsteps coming down the deck…andrecognized the soft, graceful way Clint walked. “This is it. Let the game begin,” she whispered to herself as she walked to the door and opened it.
Clint stood dumbfounded, not only by Deelie, but by the space behind her. She wore a silk cloak that swathed her from her neck to the floor, revealing nothing of her lush body. But the room was unrecognizable, no longer a cramped little sitting area. Now the back three cabins had been converted into one generous room, complete with upholstered chairs, a settee and a dining table groaning with a lavish spread of food. At the opposite end, two cane-backed chairs were placed across from a smaller table. It was covered in green baize. A deck of cards served as centerpiece.
“You fixin’ on having a card game, Deelie?” he asked, breathing in her rose fragrance. Lordy, she smelled good enough to eat; forget the aromas of Luellen’s fine cooking!
She reached out and pulled him inside by the lapel of his jacket, closing the door behind them. “We’re going to play poker. And this time you won’t palm any cards.”
“I didn’t bring much cash,” he said with a smirk. “You intend to win my share of the boat?”
“I’m not interested in that. What I had in mind was playing for…articles of clothing.”
“Like that cut of cards when you stripped me buck-arse naked?” he asked.
“Not quite. We’ll both gamble using our garments as currency,” she replied, allowing the rusty red silk cloak to fall open just enough so he could catch a glimpse of the delights beneath it. Then she closed it again. If she hadn’t seen the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and his eyes widened, she might not have had the courage to proceed. “Showdown poker. Seven cards dealt up for each of us,” she added in the coolest voice she could muster.
“Last man—or woman—still wearin’ anything wins?” he asked, his mouth gone dry. Suddenly he was dead sober in spite of what he’d drunk earlier in the evening. Damn, Horace had warned him she’d stop at nothing! When she nodded, fingering the drawstrings to her cloak, he nearly choked. “Once one of us wins, then what?”
“I haven’t finished laying out the house rules.” She moistened her lips before continuing. “If I win, you stay in partnership with me on the Nymph. If you win…it’s your choice. You can bow out and I’ll buy your share. Or…you can stay and live like this.” She took his hand in hers and walked over to the table, gesturing to the food and iced bucket of champagne. “First we feast.”
“First?” he croaked.
“Then…” she murmured, opening the door at the back of the room to reveal a bedroom almost as large as the living quarters—with a huge bed front and center. A few candles flickered enticingly from side tables and a second bottle of champagne, also chilling in an ice bucket, sat within easy reach. “My offer’s pretty obvious. Do you have any more questions?”
“Do we have to eat Luellen’s food first?” he asked, knowing what her offer really entailed.
A teasing grin moved from her eyes to her lips. “We’ll do things in any order you wish…if you win.”
He knew her game—and it wasn’t cards or a sybaritic delight just for tonight. It was spending the rest of their lives on this boat as husband and wife. Clint felt a sudden urge to give in to the inevitable. “You’re just plannin’ to get me naked again,” he said with an arrogant grin of his own.
“I’ve always liked what I saw when you were.” She could not believe how brazen she’d become. How brazen he’d made her, as her eyes swept from his thick straw-colored hair slowly down to his polished black boots, pausing to admire every inch of his long, tall body on the way.
“Hell, Deelie, let’s play poker.”
They took their seats and she picked up the deck. “Cut the cards to see who deals first,” she said, all business now.
She shuffled, then shoved the deck to him for a cut. He drew a king of hearts. “Kinda appropriate,” he said, watchingas she took her turn. She drew a queen of diamonds. “Must be your lucky card.”
“Your deal.” She leaned back so the heavy silk draped the soft curves beneath, pleased when the cards nearly exploded in his hands as he shuffled. But he quickly recovered and they got down to the business at hand. By the end of the deal, he had won with two pair, kings and deuces. Delilah had only a single pair of sevens. “Where should I begin?” she asked herself.
She raised a slippered foot, turning the slender ankle enticingly while her fingers toyed with the tie to her cloak. He considered, rubbing his jaw as he eyed the ankle, then moved higher to her throat. “The cloak?”
“Why not?” She pulled the bow and it slithered loose, allowing the heavy silk to pool around her chair. Beneath it, a rusty red peignoir made of some kind of translucent lacy material revealed several layers yet to be stripped away while enticing his eyes to look through the outer robe to the low-cut chemise and slim skirt beneath it. The color caught the reddish highlights in her rich chestnut hair, burnishing it to living flames dancing in the soft lantern light.
Delilah was delighted to have lost the first deal. This would really upset his concentration. She could see him move uncomfortably, his lower body in obvious distress. Perhaps it would help if he lost his breeches…She won the second hand on the last of her seven face-up cards, a four to complete an eight-high straight. Since there was no way to get to his ever-tightening pants without first removing his boots, she suggested, “A boot?”
“So I can limp up the cobblestones barefoot?” he asked in a mocking drawl, but he raised his leg.
“We’ll see. Let me be your valet?” she asked in a husky voice, and swished provocatively over to his side of the table. She straddled his outstretched leg and tugged off the boot, tossing it in a corner. She knew she was giving him an irresistible view of her derrière and couldn’t resist wriggling it just the tiniest little bit.
The cards fell good and ill, back and forth between them as the candles burned lower. But one thing was growing increasingly clear: In spite of her outer calm, Delilah was losing at a slightly swifter rate than Clint. “Are you dealing yourself face cards?” she asked breathlessly as he peeled down her second stocking and tossed it over his shoulder. It floated to the pile where its mate and both rust silk slippers lay.
He raised his hands. “No jacket sleeves left. Shirt’s too tight. Where in hell would I be hidin’ cards? In my armpits?” He’d lost his jacket and other boot earlier.
She had worn a ruby necklace, earrings and a bracelet, all bargaining chips to prolong the game…and the torture. But the gems winked from the discarded clothing in the corner. So did Clint’s gold cigar case.
The next round of cards gave him a pair of jacks, her an ace high with nothing else. She appeared to consider, then slid off the robe, revealing the ripe curves of her breasts and the way the lace skirt hugged her hips. “Thirsty?” she asked when he swallowed hard.
“Double-dealin’ witch,” he murmured as she rose and poured two crystal flutes with icy champagne, then handed one to him. “A very good year,” she said consideringly.
As he took a swallow, a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Horace know about this?”
Delilah gave a low, throaty chuckle and shook her head. “You needn’t fear he’ll burst into the room with his rifle and a preacher,” she said. “Now, deal.”
This time he lost and removed one stocking. He lost again and removed the other. Delilah pouted. “When are you going to take off that shirt?”
“I was only bein’ considerate. That would ruin your concentration.”
“Vain man,” she huffed, and dealt.
He grinned when his full house beat out her fl ush, but his heart pounded as she slowly unf
astened the long row of buttons on her slinky lace skirt and wriggled out of it. Shegrinned when his face registered disappointment that she still wore silk pantelettes beneath. An entire damned dress shop!
His shirt came next.
But he’d been right. Her concentration was in tatters as she watched him unbutton it and slide it off his broad shoulders. She was glad he hadn’t worn shirt studs and cufflinks, else they would’ve been playing until daybreak. Delilah had more pressing plans. It was pure pleasure to see the bronzed muscles of his chest ripple sinuously when he threw the shirt onto the growing pile.
“Time to get serious, Deelie,” he said in a husky dare, staring at the cleavage of her lace chemise. Now they each had two articles of clothing left to remove.
Who would win…or would they both? With a cunning smile, she began laying out the cards in two rows once again. His winning streak picked up again. He won the hand and waited to see whether she would remove the chemise or the pantelettes. Clint had never been so intent on the outcome of a hand of cards in his life. The tension in the room made the candles flicker even though there was no breeze stirring on the river.
When she began to untie the drawstring holding the neckline secure, his breath caught. The seductress allowed the lace to drop from one breast, cling to the other. The warm air caressed her nipple, and it hardened to match the ache in his pants. He wanted to sweep the cards from the table and carry her off to bed, but somehow that seemed wrong. No, this was her game and he needed to allow her to play it out.
The second breast peeked over the chemise as the lace dropped to her waist. “Take it off,” he said hoarsely, then watched as she stood and pulled it up over her head, thrusting forward those glorious breasts so that he was dying to cup them in his hands. “A perfect pair,” he whispered, taking the cards in clumsy hands and somehow managing to shuffle them before he dealt again…and lost.
“Unlike me, you appear to have no choice about what toremove next,” she said with glee in her voice. He had early on relinquished his belt. Pants and underwear were all he had left.
He muttered an expletive as he stood up, revealing his all-too-obvious condition to her while he struggled to unbutton his fly, no easy feat considering how rock hard his erection was. She stood up and moved over to him, reaching down to deftly slip the buttons from their fastenings.
Her fingers brushed against the probing length of his shaft, and she could tell he was exerting extreme willpower not to stop the game and take her right there on the carpet. That both pleased her and made her wary. “Now, doesn’t that feel better?” she cooed.
Clint shucked the breeches without comment as she returned to her seat.
Delilah picked up the cards while he sat down, clad only in black silk underdrawers. When he growled at her, she began to lay out the last set of cards, taking her time, her breasts jiggling as she dealt.
All he could look at were those magnificent breasts with their hard pink nipples, palm-sized breasts that stood up without the assistance of corset stays. He found it incredibly difficult to pay attention to the cards as she began laying out the final hand.
After six cards, he had four clubs, seven high, while she had four spades, ace high. If she got another spade, she would have an ace-high flush. There was no way he could beat that even if he filled his flush, but he had an ace of hearts and a king of clubs. His two high cards would take the game if she didn’t get her flush.
Delilah moistened her lip and shifted in the chair, pausing before laying out the final two cards. She could feel his eyes burning her sensitive breasts, feel the perspiration trickle between them as she studied his scarred yet sensuously handsome face. He did not get another club. Then she dealt herself a three of hearts.
Clint leaned back in his chair. “I win, Deelie.” His eyes devoured her slim body, admiring the pale, milky breasts and thegolden, sun-kissed skin above them. He did not have to ask her to remove the lacy drawers. She slipped the tie and very slowly began to roll them over the curves of her hips, pausing when she reached the burnished curls at the juncture of her thighs.
He could see the thin sheen of perspiration glistening on her body and knew he was hotter yet. “By heaven, I’ll lick every damp, lovely inch of you,” he said in a low growl.
“Well, then…” She lowered the pantelettes and kicked them away, then stood before him completely naked. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry with fear. He could accept her invitation to make love, then leave her afterward, more alone than she had ever been in her life. Although she knew he understood the commitment she wanted, she had not made it a part of this night’s wager, insisting only that he continue their business partnership if she won. And she had lost…he could do exactly as he chose.
“You win me, Clint…if you want me,” she said simply.
“I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, woman,” he said, sweeping her into his arms and striding to the bedroom. He tossed her slender body onto the large, soft mattress, then stood back and slid his underdrawers off, watching in hungry pleasure as she reached for his erection and took it in her hand. Fists clenched at his sides, he let her slide her warm, soft fingers around, up and down until he could stand it no more.
“Enough!” he growled, pressing his knee on the bed while he pried her eager hands away from their toy. He gently pushed her back against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed and lay beside her, caressing her breasts, cupping one, suckling the other until she moaned and dug her nails into his shoulders.
Her hands moved up, seizing fistfuls of his coarse, straight hair and pulling him up for a searing kiss that deepened as he slanted his mouth over hers at various angles, letting his tongue rim her lips, demand entry, then plunder. She returned the thrust with her tongue, twining it with his, clamping her thighs around his narrow hips. The stars and all theplanets seemed to whirl around her as she held him fast and felt their hearts beat as one.
He desired her with a blinding passion…but was that passion enough to hold him? Delilah did not know, but for right now it was enough. More than enough. She felt the crisp abrasion of his chest hair when he slid down her body, licking and kissing her throat, tracing dancing patterns along her collarbone and in the vale between her breasts, then swirling the tip of his tongue inside her naval. She arched as he laved her concave belly and moved inexorably lower toward the dark curls below.
He tasted the creamy moisture, sweet and rich as an elegant dessert, and knew her fierce desire, knew how to slake it…and to reawaken it again and again.
When his mouth brushed her, she cried out, begging him for more. He obliged, using his lips and tongue to bring her to a shattering climax that left her limp and spent for a moment, while he kissed the sensitive insides of her thighs and moved down to the backs of her knees. He knelt on the bed, lifting one leg at a time to apply the magical restorative, bringing her hunger back to a keening peak when he nuzzled the arches of her feet, first one, then the other.
Her toes curled with pleasure.
But when he moved back to her center, she pressed her hands against his shoulders, stopping him, murmuring, “Now it’s my turn.” She pushed him flat on his back and knelt beside him, taking in the sight of his big, hard body. She began by kissing every scar, the angry slash that sheared his left eyebrow, the narrow white line below his right eye. Ever so slowly, she paused to lick and tease the ridges of healed flesh on his chest, nuzzling both small brown nipples until he growled.
“You’re not the only one who wants to taste,” she whispered, breathing on his chest hair, moving lower to the long, deadly scar curving around his side. It could have ended his life. In time, perhaps, he might tell her where he had received it…but not now. His legs were corded with sinewy musclesand she kissed each scar on them, allowing the tips of her breasts to brush one thigh while she touched the other with her mouth. When she moved up his right leg, her hair brushed his groin and he bucked, emitting an oath as his hands seized it, pulling pins free so th
at it spilled over him.
But when she held his pulsing shaft in her hand and pressed her tongue to the head, he grew very still. “Deelie, you’re killin’ me,” he whispered.
“A good way to go, is it not?” Her voice was low, rich, confident as she licked a pearly drop from him.
He let her tongue dance up and down the steely length of his staff, pressing his palms against the mattress to keep from grabbing her. Let her have her way for a moment longer…only a moment. He could withstand the intensity of the pleasure no more than that! When she took him in her mouth, the heat sent a lightning bolt searing through him and he reached down, pulling her up and under his body, spreading her legs with his knee.
“Now, my love, now,” she whispered, raising her head to kiss him while he plunged deep inside scalding, wet satin, and seated himself to the hilt. They exchanged kisses, tasting of each other, adding to the building excitement. She wriggled her hips but still he did not move.
“Slowly, love, slowly,” he crooned, beginning to stroke as she wrapped her legs around his hips and followed his pace.
It was leisurely and it was glorious, drenching them both in sensuous feelings of oneness. Where did he end and she begin …or she end and he begin? She looked up at his sweat-sheened face and her eyes locked with his. Brushing back the thick lock of hair hanging across his forehead, she pressed her mouth against his throat and whispered very low, “I love you, Clint,” not expecting any words in return, yet still hoping.
He said nothing. His mind, all his senses, were reeling with emotions he had never felt before in his life. This was so utterly different from what he had known with any other woman, even his wife…. That life was over and he could letgo of it now. This one was only beginning. The certainty filled him as surely as her sweet heat surrounded him.
While the tempo of their lovemaking intensified, he knew that Deelie had won. He allowed her to rush to the crest, then followed her over the tumbling abyss into ecstasy. Delilah felt him swell and spill himself deep inside her as her own body shuddered with passion. The weight of his body pressed her into the mattress as they struggled for breath. His face was hidden by her tangled hair.