Nan Ryan (10 page)

“I told you, last night I was drunk. That was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“But, Johnny—”

“Go to bed, Nevada. Get some rest. We leave Memphis tomorrow.”

She sighed but nodded. “Will you please help me with the hooks, I can’t …” She reached behind her.

“Sure,” said Johnny and stepped around her. Nevada was struck by the deftness with which his gambler’s nimble fingers made quick work of the tiny hooks holding her dress in place. As for Johnny, he was struck—once again—by the beauty of her slender curving back, totally bare beneath the evening gown.

“Don’t you wear underthings?” he said, a hard edge to his voice.

“Just underpants,” she told him, turning her head to look back over her shoulder. “I couldn’t wear anything else with this dress—it’s too damned low.”

“Yes, well, go on to bed. We’ll buy new clothes for you. Decent clothes.”

Nevada turned to face him, holding the opened gown up. “I thought you liked this dress. It’s the same one I wore last night when you said—”

“Forget the things I said last night, will you!” He sounded angry but his dark, dark eyes lowered to the bare swell of her bosom as the loosened gown’s bodice slipped dangerously low. For a split second a heated expression came into his eyes. It was gone at once and he said irritably, “And now good night, Nevada.”

“Good night, Johnny,” she said, and backed away from him.

In the big ivory bedroom that was hers, Nevada wriggled out of the borrowed blue satin gown, took off her shoes and stockings, and climbed onto the double bed. She turned out the gaslight lamp on the night table and stretched out on her back, raising her arms above her head.

The tall windows were thrown open to the Tennessee summer night. A steamer’s whistle sounded in the distance. A cooling breeze off the river ruffled the gauzy curtains and lifted wisps of her dark hair around her face.

Nevada lay there in the moonlight, wishing, hoping, praying that Johnny Roulette would quietly open the door, silently cross the room, strip away her satin drawers, and make sweet, hot love to her while the river breezes tickled and teased their bare bodies.

Nevada never knew how close she came to getting her wish.

In his own bedroom across the sitting room from hers, Johnny Roulette, his lean brown body totally naked, lay stretched out in the moonlight, smoking a cigar. And considering going back on his word.

Despite the pleasant, cooling breezes from the river, the blood in his veins was hot. His body, responding to the remembered sight and smell and feel of the naked Nevada when he’d made love to her last night, grew rigid with desire.

He ached to experience again the sweet satisfaction she had given him and would willingly give him again.

Johnny Roulette stubbed out his smoked-down cigar, then swung his long legs over the edge of the bed.

Why the hell not? What was he trying for? Sainthood, for chrissakes? After all, he was going to be paying for her keep, so he might as well get something for his money. What difference would it make if he slept with her now and then? He’d enjoy it and so would she.

Johnny left his bedroom. Tense and naked he crossed the darkened sitting room, anticipation growing with his arousal. He stood before her closed door, lifted a hand, and knocked softly. “Nevada, honey?”

“Yes, Johnny?” came that sweet girlish voice and he knew he couldn’t do it.

Johnny ground his teeth. “’Night, sweetheart,” he said through the closed door. “Sleep well.”

“You too, Johnny.”

“I will,” he said, and turned away muttering oaths under his breath.

10

So tall, so dark, so handsome, his beautiful white teeth flashing beneath his rakish mustache, Johnny Roulette stood at the railing of the river steamer
Memphis Maiden
. Bright noonday sunlight glinted in his midnight-black hair, warmed his smiling olive face, and reflected in his dark flashing eyes.

Nevada, having just stepped from her cabin and onto the
Memphis Maiden’s
polished decks, caught her breath and stared at him. Merely looking at Johnny caused a sweet longing to stir inside her, and Nevada fleetingly wondered at the wisdom of an Almighty who had seen fit to bring such a compelling man into her life but had not made him love her.

Well, she would simply have to manage where God had failed. No one, not even Johnny, could convince her that a man could make love to her the way he had aboard the
Gambler
and not care a little. Not want her again. All she had to do was make him realize it.

Her gaze still fastened on the big broad-shouldered man attired in a crisp summer suit of dove-gray, Nevada felt a shiver of excitement race up her spine. Here she was, Nevada Marie Hamilton, wearing a beautiful new yellow organdy dress that Johnny had bought for her. She was traveling downriver with him. And soon she would be crossing the ocean with him. Seeing the sights of London with him.

Nevada drew a deep, slow breath and smiled, recalling the way her day had begun. When the warm summer sun had streamed into her Plantation House windows and shone right through her closed eyelids to waken her, she had heard a firm knock on the door. Unsure where she was, she had turned her head slowly and then Johnny’s deep voice had called to her.

“Nevada, I’ve ordered our breakfast. I’m handing one of my shirts in for you to wear. Come get it.”

The door opened a crack and a brown hand holding a snowy white shirt was thrust inside.

“Coming, Johnny,” Nevada said, and bounded from the bed. Wearing only her satin drawers, she hurriedly crossed the room, took the offered shirt, and slid her arms into the long sleeves. She lifted her hands to button the shirt. And realized there were no buttons. Shrugging narrow shoulders, she pushed her sleep-tumbled hair back off her face, clutched the shirt together over her breasts, and went into the sitting room to join Johnny.

His back to her, he was shirtless. He stood at a linen-draped table pouring coffee from a silver pot into two china cups. Sleek muscles pulled and bunched beneath the smooth dark skin as he lifted his muscular right arm, and Nevada had the almost overpowering urge to walk up behind him, open the borrowed white shirt she wore, and press her bare breasts against that long, beautiful, deeply clefted olive back.

“Johnny,” she said softly.

“Good morning,” he said, and smiling easily, turned to face her, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Your shirt has no buttons,” she said.

Johnny’s smile slipped slightly when he saw her standing there in the morning sunshine holding his shirt together. She looked like a helpless child, with her mane of dark hair all tangled and falling into her face and his white shirt reaching almost to her knees and her tiny feet bare. And those big blue eyes looking at him, awaiting direction.

He had the uneasy feeling that she was going to be more trouble to him than if she were a child. It wasn’t too late. Maybe he should split the money they had won at the Silver Slipper and send her on her way. He didn’t need the aggravation.

Johnny blinked when, as though she had read his mind, Nevada said, “Where shall we gamble tonight, Johnny? I know we can win more money.”

A dark eyebrow lifted and Johnny grinned. Setting the cup back on the table, he said, “On board the
Memphis Maiden
. We’ll leave this afternoon for Baton Rouge.” He crossed to the tall mahogany chest of drawers and picked up a couple of his gold studs. “Come here, Nevada.”

She came to him at once and when he told her to release her hold on the shirt, she automatically obeyed. And was certain she noted a brief flare of fire in his dark eyes when the shirt fell partially open over her bare breasts. Her own eyes flared when Johnny’s brown hands pulled the shirt back together and he went about pushing his gold studs through the buttonholes. His fingers barely grazed her flesh, but she felt their warmth all the way to her bare, curling toes.

Too soon the pair of gold studs were in place and Johnny was turning back toward the table.

“Let’s eat before our breakfast gets cold. Then we’ll go down to Monaco’s and see about some clothes for you.” He held out a tall-backed chair of rich green brocade.

“You’re taking me to Monaco’s?” Nevada asked, sliding into the chair he held for her. “That’s the most elegant ladies’ shop in Memphis.”

“So they tell me,” Johnny said, as he circled the table and took his own chair. Taking a drink of black coffee, he added, “I want you to look your best when we get to Baton Rouge.”

“Why are we going down there?”

“Never mind that now. We have to hurry.” He picked up a heavy sterling fork and knife.

Nevada followed suit. She ladled two spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee, then poured in enough thick rich cream to turn the brew a light blond color. Jerking up her fork, she lifted a heaping forkful of scrambled eggs to her mouth, chewed eagerly, and took another bite. With her fingers she lifted a piece of crisp bacon and bit it in half. She reached for a hot biscuit, tore it in two, dunked it in her coffee and lifted it, dripping, up to her open mouth.

Sighing with satisfaction, she thoughtlessly drew her bare legs up and repositioned herself so that she was seated cross-legged on the armless green chair. So engrossed was she with the meal, she didn’t realize that Johnny was not eating. He was watching her. Staring at her. Frowning.

Finally, her mouth full, Nevada lifted her eyes to his and saw that he was scowling at her. She chewed hurriedly and swallowed.

“What’s wrong, Johnny?”

He didn’t mince words. “Nevada, I’ve known field hands with better table manners than you.”

Taken aback, Nevada, staring at him, said, “You have?”

He shook his head. “Put your feet on the floor where they belong. Take bites half the size you’ve been taking. Keep your biscuit out of your coffee. And stop picking up your bacon with your fingers.” He paused, then added, “That is, if you ever have any hopes of resembling a lady.”

At first Nevada was stunned. She sat there for a long minute, silent, badly stung by his insensitive reprimand. Her feelings hurt, she felt as if she might cry. Nobody had ever talked to her like that in her entire life. Nobody. Worst of all, Johnny didn’t even care that he had hurt her feelings. He was continuing to eat his breakfast, unconcerned. Nevada felt her temper rising.

As Johnny poured his second cup of coffee from the silver pot, Nevada abruptly threw her fork down. She stood up, hands going to her hips, and said, “Just who do you think you are that you can talk to me like that?” Her blue eyes flashed fire at him.

Calmly, Johnny said, “I’m your guardian, your friend.” He gestured, pointing to her chair. “Now, sit back down and finish your breakfast.”

“Oh, I’ll finish my breakfast all right,” she said, and before he could stop her Nevada reached out, grabbed the white table cloth, and snatched it right off the table. The food, china, and cutlery went flying. Johnny Roulette shot to his feet, a look of astonishment on his face, bits of scrambled egg clinging to his chest hair.

Nevada hiked up the shirt and sat down cross-legged on the floor amid the scattered mess. From a broken china plate she grabbed a large bite of ham and looked about until she spotted half a blueberry muffin. She reached for it, then shoved both the ham and the muffin into her mouth at the same time. Her cheeks puffing out, she chewed, swallowed, and glared at Johnny, unfazed by the mean expression in his black eyes.

“This is the way field hands eat!” she informed him. “Only usually it’s right off the ground and out in the hot sun. But then you wouldn’t know about things like that, because you’ve never done an honest day’s work in your life!”

Johnny started toward her and Nevada had to steel herself to keep from flinching. She dropped the ham and muffin and rose to meet him. Violently kicking the scattered dishes aside, Johnny reached her. Nevada blinked but fearlessly met his narrowed gaze.

Johnny’s hand shot out like a striking serpent. He took hold of her wrist and jerked her to him with such sudden brute force, her head rocked on her shoulders.

He said coldly, “If you ever do a thing like that again, I’ll blister your butt until you can’t sit down.”

She laughed in his angry face. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“No, you haven’t enough sense to be afraid.”

Her jaw jutting, she clawed at the punishing fingers encircling her wrist. “Let me go!” she ordered.

“Not quite yet. You’ve not finished your breakfast.”

Nevada eyed him warily. “If you think you’re going to make me eat that mess on the floor, you’re mighty wrong.”

“Why, no,” Johnny said, his full lips beneath his mustache beginning to stretch into a hint of a smile. “That’s not what I had in mind at all.”

“What then?”

His black eyes softened, then gleamed mischievously. “You’ve had-your ham and your muffin.” He jerked her closer to him. “Time now for your scrambled eggs.”

Her face on the level with his broad, bare chest, she saw the bits of cold egg matted in his crisp chest hair and made a sour face. Her eyes lifted back to his. “You don’t actually expect me to …”

“I should. But I won’t.”