“But I’m afraid if you consume ‘mush more,’ you’re not going to be able to walk.”
She giggled again. “You said, ‘mush.’”
Lord, that man had a nice smile. All his teeth were white, straight and in his head. It was a good place for teeth. His lips
were nice too. Not that she noticed, of course. It’s just they were right where they should be as
well. And then a little farther up were those dark eyes and . . .
Whew, she needed a drink.
She shoved her glass toward him again. “One more, Mr. Straights. I know I’m getting closer and closer to becoming a man. I’m
not nearly as intelligent as I was a little while ago.”
Dyer poured less in her glass, figuring she wouldn’t notice. He should have remembered from the last time that a little whiskey
went a long way with this one. He’d intended to loosen her up a bit after her devastating night at the tables. It had worked.
If she got any looser, her arms and legs would fall off.
“This is the last one.” He re corked the bottle. “You’re going to hate me in the morning as it is.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m fully aware of what I’m doing.” He guessed that meant she was fully aware that as she tipped her head
back to drink, she went well past vertical. His quick grab around her waist was all that kept her from toppling to the deck.
“Oh!” She dropped her glass and grabbed the front of his jacket to steady herself.
He relaxed his hold.
She didn’t.
Luminous green eyes peered up at him, and the warmth of her body against his chest made his tongue stick to the roof of his
mouth. As long as it stayed there, he should be safe.
“Mr. Straights?” Her voice whispered breathlessly over her lips, and his tongue escaped.
“Yes?” Good. He was still capable of speech.
“I was wondering if you’d do me a favor?”
Anything. “That depends on what you need.”
She moved one hand from his jacket and laid it against his shirt, where she proceeded to make little circles with her finger.
She was thinking of what she wanted to say. He was thinking about exploding.
“I think you may be right.” She dropped her glance and swallowed.
“I usually am, but if you could narrow down the topic a mite . . .”
“When you said I needed lessons on what to do with a man, you were right.” She rolled her gaze back to his and blinked. “You
are the only man who has ever kissed me on the lips, and I think I need lessons.”
“
Lessons?
” He grabbed her hands and stepped back. “Why on Earth do you want lessons?” Other than to torture him to fruition.
“Because every time you’ve done it I’ve been caught by surprise, and then my mind won’t work right, and I know I’m doing it
all wrong.”
“I—I . . .”
“Oh, dear.” She pulled her hands from his and covered her face. “I’ve just made a complete fool of myself, haven’t I?” She
dropped her hands only to wring them in front of her. “I’m sorry. It’s the whiskey. Of course you have better things to do
than—” She darted past him, but the quick movement brought a stumble to her step. He caught her again and when she turned
her face up to him, the moonlight glistened off her moist lips.
He swallowed and opened his mouth to tell her why asking a man to kiss her was a very bad idea. Then she glanced away, and
he didn’t have the heart to add to her embarrassment.
“It’s difficult to give a woman kissing lessons if she’s running off.”
“I—”
“Shhhh, Miss Mace.” He laid his finger against her lips. “Don’t interrupt the teacher.”
She quit speaking, and for a moment he wondered if she’d quit breathing. But the tiny sigh that slipped from her mouth answered
that concern and raised a few others.
“First,” he adjusted his embrace, snuggling her against his body, “wrap your hands around the man’s neck and look up at him
like he’s the most handsome man in the world.”
Just like you’re doing now.
“Then gently pull his head down to you.”
As though I needed any encouragement
.
“And press your lips against his.”
Before I die.
“Then take what you want.”
His last instructions were barely above a whisper, since she stole the breath from him and replaced it with her own.
The soft, sighing woman melted in his arms, and the mouth that tugged on his left his brain numb and his body tingling. Every
inch of her sizzled against every inch of him, and when she finally pulled away, he wasn’t sure who held up whom.
“How did I do?” her breathy voice stroked his flesh.
“Fine.” His voice shook, but hopefully in her current condition, she wouldn’t notice. “I think, however, you may need more
lessons in the future.” When she wasn’t drunk, and he wouldn’t feel like a letch.
She slid her hand up the front of his shirt and turned her mouth toward his. “We could have another lesson now.”
God save him from drunken virgins.
He peeled her from his body, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “I think you’d best be getting on to bed. It’s late,
and I’m sure the whiskey has made you sleepy.”
As if on cue, she yawned a dainty yawn and nodded. “I think I can sleep now. How about you?”
Never again. “I could sleep a few hours.”
He led her to the door of her cabin and kissed the back of her hand as a good-night gesture. It seemed the safest thing to
kiss right now, though feeling the smooth, soft skin against his lips stirred back up things he’d almost calmed down. He sighed
and walked away, thinking he’d be much better off if he’d done that hours ago.
He continued toward his room until the glow of a cheroot caught his eye. Newt leaned against the rail, staring out at the
night.
“She’s not very good, is she?” Newt said, more as a statement than a question.
“At what?” Dyer leaned beside him deciding it was too hot to go to his room right now anyway.
“Poker.”
“She hasn’t been playing very long.”
“No,” Newt agreed, “but the tournament’s coming fast, and she still doesn’t stand a chance at winning it.”
“Hell, she doesn’t stand a chance of winning her entry fee, let alone the tournament.”
Chuckling, Newt took the last draw on his cheroot before flicking it into the river. “Did you ever find out why she needs
the money so bad?”
Dyer shook his head.
“Me neither,” Newt said, “but it must be important for her to do what she’s done.”
“Yeah. I’ve tried more than once to talk her into going home, but she refuses.”
Neither spoke for a few moments as they allowed their thoughts room to roam.
Dyer was the first to break the silence. “You know we have to help her win her damn money, don’t you?”
Winking, Newt stepped away from the rail. “I wondered how long it was going to take you to reach that conclusion.”
Lottie reached for the doorknob to slip in her key, but the door swung open as soon as she touched it. One of the other girls
must have left it unlocked by mistake. Not that it mattered. None of them had anything worth stealing anyway, especially her.
She didn’t even have hope.
Lighting the lantern in the dark was more of a challenge than usual. The silly little knob must have shrunk in the last few
hours. She stretched out on her quilt and stared up at the beadboard ceiling of her cabin. Even with her foggy brain, she
knew things couldn’t get much worse.
No money.
No hope.
A lone tear rolled down her cheek into her ear. A reminder of why crying on her back was not a good idea. She turned to her
side, tucked her fist under her pillow and hit something with her hand.
Sitting up, she lifted the pillow and found a piece of folded paper. A note. She forced her eyes to focus.
Dear Miss Mason
, it read.
If you give up now, Daddy pays with his life
.
She gasped and dropped the paper as though it were on fire. No one on the boat knew her real name, and only one other person
in the world knew why she was there.
The blackmailer was aboard the
Belle
.
Did you do it?” Mimi Anderson fidgeted, looking around as though someone knew or cared they were talking on the deck.
“Of course I did.” Joseph Cullen didn’t appreciate her lack of faith. It wasn’t as though the task were difficult.
“How do you know it was her bunk, and not one of the other whore’s?”
He wouldn’t tell her he’d peeked through the window of their cabin while they’d slept. If he did, she might start closing
her window as well. “You’re just going to have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”
“And no one saw you?”
He sighed and stepped closer to her. She was so beautiful standing in the moonlight. Almost as beautiful as the night he’d
watched her bathe in her cabin. He brushed his hand against her cheek. “If you didn’t trust me to do this, why did you ask
me?”
She winced and pulled away from him. “Really, Mr. Cullen. It was simply a favor, nothing more.”
He forced his teeth to unclench. She was a bigger whore than all the others put together. And now she pretended insult?
“Yes, my dear. A favor that requires compensation.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She attempted to slip past him from the shadowed corner of
the deck, but he’d have none of that. He’d taken quite a risk, and it was time for payback.
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He skimmed his fingers down her throat to the creamy white breasts she
loved to flaunt. “There are certain people on this boat who would be very interested in your little scheme.”
He slipped his fingers into the neckline of her gown, growing instantly hard when his brush against her breast brought a gasp
from her mouth.
“Are you threatening to betray me?” she asked.
She tried to act indignant, but he knew better. “That’s up to you and how long it takes you to get to my cabin.”
Dyer, wake up.” Sally Summerfield’s voice penetrated Dyer’s overused and under rested mind. Each strike against his door sent
a jolt through his body. He had just fallen asleep, and it wasn’t even dawn.
“Hell, Sally. Can’t this wait?” He flipped the sheet off his naked body, knowing he was bound to get up in the long run. Sally
wouldn’t be pounding unless it was important, but his fog-filled mind didn’t want to accept it right now.
“It can’t wait if you want to save Lottie.”
That worked. He sat up and grabbed his pants off the end of his bed, jerking them on as he crossed to open the door.
“What’s happened to Lottie?”
“That witch had her thrown off the boat.”
He blinked twice. “Into the
river
?”
“
No
, Dyer.” She smacked him on the shoulder. “Wake up!”
“I’m trying to, Sally, but you’re not making any sense.”
She put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot impatiently against the deck. “That hussy, Mimi Anderson, accused Lottie
of stealing a brooch from her and insisted Captain Woodruff throw her off the boat.”
“Lottie wouldn’t steal anything.”
“I know that and you know that, but Captain
Woodruff found the pin in Lottie’s bunk, and he has shit for brains.”
Dyer stepped back into his room to grab his shirt while he quizzed her. “When did it happen?”
“I’m not sure. I was out at the time, but when I came back the other girls told me, and I came straight to you.”
Dyer pulled on his boots and grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair, not bothering to button his shirt as he stormed out
of his cabin.
“Are you going to go get her?” Sally asked from behind.
“Yeah, but first I’ve got a hussy to deal with.” He ran down the deck to Mimi’s cabin, but pulled up short before pounding
his fist into her door. If she knew how mad he was, she wouldn’t let him in, and he didn’t have enough time to cool off.
“Mimi, sweetheart?” he purred outside her door. “It’s Dyer.” He would give her a minute to get to the door before he’d kick
it in. But she’d better hurry. The idea of kicking something sounded pretty good.
“What do you want?”
Damn. Her timid reply told him she already suspected he was mad. “Open the door, Mimi. I need a word with you.”
“Can’t it wait ’til morning?”
“Open the damn door,” he said quietly, “or I’m going to rip it from the hinges.”
The door swung open. Mimi peeked around the corner like a puppy does when it hopes no one else knows it’s the one that pissed
on the floor.
“Really, Dyer, I don’t know what you’re so upset about.”
He stepped into the cabin. “Did I say I was upset?”
She pulled the front of her wrapper closer together and patted her hair. She normally wasn’t one to fidget, but then Dyer
suspected she normally didn’t get caught pissing on the floor either.
“You didn’t have to say it. I can tell by the way you’re acting, but it’s not my fault that saloon girl stole from me.” She
sashayed across her cabin to pick up a brush to run through her hair. Leave it to Mimi to act as though
she
were the one wronged.
He had no intentions of arguing with her. Too much whiskey and not enough sleep had his head thick and his patience thin.
“Get dressed.”
“What ever for?”
“You’re going to tell Captain Woodruff the truth.”
“I have no intentions of getting dressed at this hour—”
“Fine.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her from her cabin out to the deck.
“Dyer!” She struggled to free herself as he dragged her to the captain’s cabin. “You can’t expect me to tell Captain Woodruff
anything—”
Dyer stopped just outside the captain’s cabin and grabbed Mimi’s shoulders. He leaned close enough she could hear his lowered
voice. “If you don’t tell him the truth, I’m going to throw you over the rail into the river.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He arched his brow.
“All right,” she ground out. She jerked her arms from his grip and straightened her wrapper. “The least you could’ve done
was let me get dressed,” she murmured before she knocked on the captain’s door.