The Gambler (6 page)

Her cheeks flamed hotter when she realized
she wanted him to take her but would die before saying so. She
averted her gaze, pulled her hand away from him and tried to scoot
away, her back hitting the wall and sending another chill through
her body. “Just forget it.” She drew the blankets back up to her
chin. “I’m not used to people doing things for me without wanting
something in return. I just assumed…” She peeked a glance up at
him. The intense look on his face caused her to feel a bit
loathsome. Why would a man like Tristan Avery want her?

His hand was still in her hair, his fingers
combing the strands over her shoulder. He was staring at her, the
look in his eyes unmistakable. He did want her. She could see it in
his eyes and the knowledge nearly knocked the breath out of her.
She licked her lips, her heart slamming against her rib cage and
she inhaled a deep breath when he leaned toward her.

His mouth was soft, his lips brushing against
her own so gently she wasn't even sure it could be considered a
kiss. He did it again, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth and
Emmaline closed her eyes as jolts of pleasure rippled through her
body.

"Are you not offering anymore?"

She looked up at him, his warm breath washing
across her lips. "I thought you didn't want me?"

"Never said I didn't want you, darling. I'm
just making sure you want this for the right reason."

"And what's the right reason?"

He smiled, the whiteness of his teeth shining
in the darkness. "Because it feels good."

She wasn't sure about that but something in
the way he was looking at her made her think with him, it might
just be pleasurable. He kissed her again, long, wet brushes of his
mouth against her own before his tongue teased her lips apart. The
first taste of him and her body jolted.

He pulled her to him, angled his head and
kissed her the way she'd always wanted to be kissed. His mouth was
hot, hungry and his tongue dipped into her mouth again and again,
her pulse racing with every stroke until she fought for breath.

His hand slid over her hip before he grabbed
her shift, dragging it up her leg, the material bunching at her
waist. He spread her legs until his hand fitted against her womanly
folds and the first flick of his finger forced a gasp from her
throat. He spread the moisture he found there and dipped his
fingers inside of her, his tongue mimicking the motion of his
fingers and her limbs were trembling by the time she remembered she
was supposed to reciprocate and touch him in return.

She reached for the front of his pants, slid
her hand inside the material and wrapped her hand around him,
catching his groan with her mouth a second before she slipped her
own tongue into his mouth.

As sex acts went, this one played out much
like all the others she'd experienced. Their clothes were tossed
away in a rush and once Tristan crawled on top of her, fitting
himself between her parted thighs, she braced herself for the
painful intrusion she knew was coming.

His hesitation caused her to look up at him.
He was staring down at her, his breath labored. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head and reached between them,
taking himself in hand and guiding his cock to where he wanted it.
He looked up again and focused his gaze on her face. "You're not a
virgin, are you?"

She nearly laughed. "No."

He nodded once and slid inside her so slowly,
the wait was excruciating. Her breath hitched in her throat, every
inch of him felt until he was seated as far as he could go. He
lowered himself, his chest flush against her own and the soft moan
he made seconds before closing his eyes made her think something
was wrong. He laid his forehead against her own, his warm breath
tickling her face. He took several deep breaths, pushing his hips
into her to fit more snuggly against her. "You might not be a
virgin but you haven't done this often, have you?"

As experience went, she didn't have much, but
she wondered how he could tell. He'd yet to move and she wondered
if she should be doing something more than what she was. "A few
times," she said.

He nodded again, inhaled a deep breath and
pulled out before sliding back inside. He groaned again, cursed
under his breath and mumbled something about her being tight.

Emmaline couldn't do anything after that but
hold on. He started slow, his body moving against her in a rhythmic
dance that was so erotic her pulse raced just a little bit faster
with every move he made.

He lifted his chest, his hand finding her
breast and he fondled her nipple until it ached, her body wanting
something she couldn't even put a name on.

When he lowered his head and kissed her
again, his tongue forced into her mouth, every nerve in her body
went haywire. Jolts of pleasure zapped through her limbs, she
lifted her hips, meeting each of his strokes with one of her own
and within minutes, she was giving him as good as she got.

The air warmed around them, the scent of
their lovemaking filling the air and Emmaline held on and kissed
him back while she clung to him, her nails scoring his back until
she wondered if she was drawing blood.

He sucked in a breath, a grimace crossing his
face seconds before he reached between them, his fingers toying
with her as he lowered his head, sucking her nipple into his mouth.
His thrusts increased, his moans becoming louder and Emmaline
gasped when she felt her stomach tighten. Her limbs tingled, then
went numb, her body drawing tight seconds before everything
exploded into shards of light, every nerve ending dancing with life
and she screamed from the intensity of it. Tristan's movements
increased, his hips slamming into her repeatedly before he grunted
and stiffened against her, his face buried against the crook of her
neck.

Neither moved for long minutes afterwards.
Emmaline stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath while
a litany of questions raced through her mind, the most prevalent,
what the hell had just happened? Her body still tingled, and the
warm, solid weight of Tristan against her felt so damned good, she
was reluctant to have him move. Her arms were still around his
waist, her face buried against his neck and she inhaled his scent,
taking it in and memorizing the way he felt.

For the first time since she'd given herself
to a man, she was content. The loathing she usually felt didn't
come and she was almost tempted to ask Tristan if they could do it
again. He moved before she got the nerve to ask, rolling to his
side and sighing. She looked over at him. He looked satisfied and
she knew without asking she'd pleased him. That tiny smile on his
face told her that much.

She reached for the blankets and pulled them
up, covering them both and was jut about to turn over when he
reached for her, rolling her to face him. His eyes were open now
and the way he looked at her caused her pulse to race again. He
looked as if he wanted to say something but he never did, just
leaned over, kissed her until she was breathless and tucked her
head under his chin.

Emmaline lay in the stillness a long time,
her mind replaying the night's events in slow motion until her body
burned for more. She noticed some time later that she wasn't cold.
She was surrounded by heat and felt safe, protected. The worries
she usually took to bed with her were gone now. She didn't fear
someone would come inside as she slept. She had Tristan, his manly
scent tickling her senses until she nuzzled her face against his
neck, breathing him in.

Her last thought before drifting off to sleep
was how nice it felt to not be alone. To be able to find peace and
know that nothing would harm her. Too bad it wouldn't last. She
wasn't fool enough to let herself believe anything would come of
this. She only needed one thing from Tristan. Her land deed.

She dozed off with thoughts of keeping
Tristan, too.

* * * *

She had to get rid of him. He'd annoyed her
so bad since waking she was ready to just let him have the
land.

Waking to find him sitting at the table
staring at her caused something inside her to be very aware of him.
He was dressed, thankfully, but just seeing him sitting there
caused embarrassment to heat her face. The previous night replayed
in her mind's eye and she was glad she hadn't voiced her want of
more.

She'd dragged herself out of bed, ignoring
the fact she was naked and grabbed the old clothing of Harold's she
had stashed. She dressed without looking at him. When he led the
way outside, the frigid air cut straight to the bone. She ran back
in, grabbed the heaviest blanket from the bed and wrapped it around
her shoulders before walking out onto the porch.

The snow had coated the world in what looked
like sparkling diamonds. Emmaline squinted as she looked across the
valley, the sun glinting off the frozen earth blinding her enough
that opening her eyes was almost painful.

She followed Tristan to the horse and nearly
snapped at him when he lifted her onto the horses' back. He climbed
on behind her and headed away from the cabin. The desire to lean
back against him was strong but she kept her spine straight, the
blanket pulled tightly against her and tried to ignore how nice it
felt to have his arms around her.

Hiding a yawn inside the blankets, she
regretted spending so much time the previous night thinking about
what they'd done. She woke several times, fear clawing at her like
it usually did until she realized he was still there. She'd doze
again only to wake a few minutes later and start the whole process
over again. She realized in the stillness as she listened to him
breathe that she enjoyed him being there and reminded herself
repeatedly how idiotic the thought of keeping him was.

She’d known plenty of gamblers. It was hard
not to when your stepfather spent most of his time in saloons, and
from what she knew of them, most were cunning, self-righteous and
did nothing that didn’t benefit them. So the reason Tristan was
taking her away from the only home she could remember to instill
her into a new life was a complete mystery to her. She wasn't fool
enough to think he liked her. She didn't even know him but she
wondered if he didn't have ulterior motives.

They traveled most of the morning and reached
the next town over by noon. Tristan guided the horse to the hotel
before dismounting and reaching up to help her down. When her feet
were on the ground, he looked at her and frowned. She probably
looked a sight. Harold's discarded trousers and shirt seemed like
the most logical choice since she’d be on horseback and the blanket
would keep her from freezing when the temperatures dropped at
night.

But looking down at herself now, she frowned.
The pants legs were bunched at her feet, they were baggy and being
held up by nothing but a thin piece of twine she’d found. The old
hat she put on her head was floppy and smelled like horseshit but
it kept the sun out of her eyes. A bedraggled street urchin
probably looked better but she raised her head high and glared back
at him. “What are you staring at?”

He smiled, that dimple in his cheek catching
her attention before he looked away from her, his gaze traveling
the main street, his eyes lighting up when he spotted whatever it
was he’d been searching for. “Let’s go.” He grabbed her arm, guided
her through the throng of people lining the street and ushered her
into a dress shop.

Once inside the warm building, he spoke in
quiet tones to the woman who greeted them then turned back to face
her. “I’ll be back for you after I gather the rest of the supplies
we need. Mrs. Kilpatrick will help you pick out a few things so you
don’t freeze to death.” He left without another word and Emmaline
watched his retreating back until he disappeared from sight.

Turning to face Mrs. Kilpatrick, the woman
smiled and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Well, lets
get a good look at you, then.” She hesitantly reached for the
blanket around Emmaline’s shoulders and tugged it away from her
before her eyes roamed Emmaline's figure from head to toe. “Oh,
you’re a tiny thing.” She pursed her lips, her brows scrunching as
if thinking before she nodded her head and walked to the back of
the room.

Emmaline watched her rummage through a shelf
of calico dresses, selecting a few before doing the same with a
rack of gowns that looked fit for a queen.

The woman turned back to face her and smiled.
“I think these will all fit. I’ve a nice selection of under-things
as well.” She walked to a table near the wall, picked up a few lacy
things and turned, her arms full. “Would you like to try them
on?”

“Why”

Mrs. Kilpatrick laughed. “To see if you like
the way they look, of course.” The woman crossed the distance, took
Emmaline by the arm and ushered her into a small room with a
curtain. She hung the dresses from a peg on the wall and handed her
the lacy under things. “I know these are a bit extravagant but I
know men, especially rich men, and I have a hunch Mr. Avery would
only want the best for his lady.”

The woman turned and left, pulling the
curtain closed, and Emmaline stared at the blue fabric curtain for
long moments, the words…his lady, ringing inside her head. She
wasn’t Tristan’s lady in any sense of the word but Mrs. Kilpatrick
seemed to think so. Had Tristan told her that?