Texas Hold Him (30 page)

She turned over her cards, relieved to see he had beaten her. At least it would save her the humiliation of begging for his
touch.

“Hmmmm.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I believe I won.”

“Yes.”

“And according to our arrangement, I get to name my payment.”

She dropped her eyes and nodded, praying he wouldn’t request that she leave.

“I want your dress.”

“
What?
” Her jaw dropped. “You want my
dress
? But—but—”

“Come now, Miss Mace. A bet is a bet. Surely you don’t intend to renege on our agreement?”

“No, of—of course not, but—”

“Please, Miss Mace, it’s getting late.” He gestured impatiently in her direction while he scooted his chair back from the
table, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Evidently, he wanted her to remove it now . . . and he planned to watch.

She stood and faced him. “I—” She stopped and swallowed. “I can’t reach the buttons.”

He crooked his finger for her to come to him, and as she crossed the room, her heart pounded in a mixture of excitement and
fear. Surely he didn’t plan to take her clothing and then send her from his cabin in humiliation. He had every right to be
angry with her for lying, but she had forgiven him for being a Yankee. In her estimation, that was a far worse crime.

She turned her back to him while he stood and began the task of undoing her buttons. There were quite a few, and he took his
sweet old time flipping them open as his hands glided down her spine. She felt every touch of his fingers and every brush
of his breath against her exposed skin until he finally unfastened the last button and sat in his chair.

“I believe you can take it from here.” His husky voice belied his attempt at cool detachment, and she allowed herself to relax
a little. Dyer wanted her as much as she wanted him. Now it was just a matter of who would win this game—the cat or the mouse.

She slid her gown from her shoulders, keeping her back to him until she stepped from the puddle of satin at her feet. She
lifted the dress from the floor and turned to face him, aware that her corset shoved her breasts up against the neckline of
her thigh-high silk chemise. The air felt cool on the bare skin above her garters despite the hot looks emanating from Dyer’s
eyes. She handed him the gown.

“Well, Mr. Straights. Do you intend to send me home in my undergarments?” She gestured to her body and tingled to her toes
when Dyer’s lips parted in response.

“I assumed you would attempt to win it back.”

“Another hand?”

“Seems sporting.” He removed his jacket and laid it with the dress across a chair before he picked up the cards with shaky
hands.

She took her seat, then leaned forward and fanned her face with her hand. “Is it just me, or is it getting warm in here?”

“A tad.” His hand faltered as he dealt the cards, and she fought to keep her grin in check. He wasn’t masking his tells well
at all.

Lottie contemplated her hand. A pair of pairs. She tossed out her unmatched card, suddenly wanting to win. He kept his hand
intact and turned it over to reveal a pair of eights.

“I believe a pair of pairs beats your hand.” She turned over her cards and smiled.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting your dress back?”

Not quite what she had in mind. “It’s a trifle hot for all that satin. Don’t you agree?”

He narrowed his gaze. “Then what do you want for your win?”

“Your shirt.”

He raised his brows in surprise. “As you wish.”

He stood and removed the stickpin from his cravat, laying it on his bureau before he untied the neck scarf and placed it there
as well. Eyes never leaving hers, he removed his cuff links, then dropped his hands by his side.

“I’m going to need help with these buttons.”

Smiling, she crossed the room to lay her hands on the front of his shirt. “Likely story,” she muttered, drawing her fingers
down his chest and remembering the hard hot muscles that lay beneath.

“I . . . helped . . . you.”

He had trouble talking, and it seemed only fair, considering she had trouble breathing, walking and seeing straight.

She ran her hands up the fabric of his shirt to his neck, where she worked the first button through the hole. It was stubborn,
and her trembling hands so close to his skin weren’t helping the situation any. The next button wasn’t as obstinate, and by
the time she’d made it to the third, she was enjoying this aspect of the game very much.

Each button exposed a little more flesh, and the flesh behind the fourth one was right at eye level. Or more like lip level.
She leaned closely and pressed her mouth against his heated skin, and the sudden intake of his breath told her he didn’t regret
it much, either.

She continued down his chest, opening and kissing, with each of her kisses lasting longer and each of his breaths sounding
more ragged. When she finally reached the top of his trousers, she timidly laid her hand against his hardened manhood. He
groaned and pulled her hand back to his belly.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he muttered. “This one’s for you.”

He turned her around and quickly loosened the ties to her corset, then faced her again while he pulled it down her belly to
her hips. She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady her legs as he knelt in front of her and slid the garment to the
floor. Then he did something she’d never in a million years thought anyone would ever do.

He kissed her.
There
.

He nuzzled his mouth through her chemise way too low to have been a mistake. She gasped and attempted to step back, but his
hands on her hips refused to let her escape.

“No, baby,” he whispered, and she felt the heat of his words clear inside her body. “Don’t run from me.”

He slid his hands around to the front of her thighs and shoved the chemise up her body until he uncovered his treasure. A
voice in her head insisted she shouldn’t let him do this, but when his mouth settled, she grabbed his shoulders instead.

A pulsating madness spread from the warmth of his lips, and a throaty groan ripped from her body in response. The voice in
her head yelled at her now. Something that felt this good shouldn’t be allowed, but when she tried to speak, he lifted her
and carried her to the bed.

The remainder of his clothing was gone in a flash, and before she could say a word, he was buried between her thighs once
more. Only this time, the voice in her head groaned right along with the rest of her. He toyed with her. Stroking her and
rubbing places that caused her to throb as before, but now the need was so intense it frightened her.

“Dyer?” she gasped, begging for release.

She squirmed her hips to move away from him, but his grip tightened, refusing to allow her to retreat. She arched her back
and yelled as he slid up her body and finally drove into her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, holding tight as his rocking
thrusts scooted her across the bed, and the shattering spasms that squeezed the part of him still inside her left her shaking
and stunned.

Somewhere in the midst of her earth-shattering release, he found his own and, despite the quivering of his body, he managed
to roll to his back before he collapsed.

They both stared up at the ceiling and waited for the shudders to stop before he finally muttered, “Holy shit.”

She giggled. She should scold him for his profanity, but for once he had summed it up perfectly, and if she weren’t a lady,
she would’ve echoed his sentiment exactly.

Then suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. It just dawned on her that she was no longer a lady. She had given him her virginity—twice.

Well, maybe not the virginity part, but she had given him her body, and even though she had done it willingly, she now realized
no other man would want her.

Just as well.

She wouldn’t want any others anyway. Turning toward him, she took a deep breath, deciding she had nothing to lose.

“I love you,” she said.

He laid his hand against her face and gazed into her eyes. “And I love you too damn much to be healthy.”

“Then why did you leave me?”

Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the palm before he pressed it against his chest. “My wife and son died because of
me.”

“That’s not—”

Dyer placed his finger against her lips to silence her. “If I hadn’t fought for the North, Dawson would not have sought out
my home.” He paused for a moment before he continued, “and they would be alive.”

She held her tongue. She wanted to convince him he was wrong, but a part of her understood his logic.

“When I saw Dawson holding that gun against your throat, I thought it was going to happen all over again. Another woman I
loved was going to die because she trusted me to protect her and I failed. When it ended and he was dead, I convinced myself
you would be better off to put your faith in someone else. At the time, it seemed easier not to love, then to chance going
through that hell again.”

“And now?”

He pulled her closer into his embrace. “And now I realize there are different kinds of hell. These last two weeks have proven
that.”

“Would you ever have come looking for me?”

He chuckled, and the rumble of his chest beneath her fingers felt comforting. “Eventually, I suppose I would have. But with
my luck, some other man would’ve snatched you up before I’d come to my senses. Then I would’ve had to kill him.”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t have, would you?”

“Hard tellin’. Let’s just say it’s a good thing you found me first—else I could’ve ended up in prison instead of in your bed.”

Snuggling against his body, she drew her finger down his chest to his belly. “I don’t think you would have enjoyed it nearly
as much.” His quick intake of air confirmed her suspicion. “But are you still afraid I’m going to die?”

“Probably always will be, but I think I’m more afraid that without you, I’m going to die.” He tipped her chin up with his
finger and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I
believe the way to solve this dilemma is if you marry me, so I’ll always be close by.”

Love swelled up in her heart. “I think I can manage that.”

“Good, ’cause the way I’ve got it figured, it’s the only way I can stay somewhere in the same vicinity as my balls.”

“I’m not sure I understand—”

He interrupted her with a kiss. “It’s all right, Miss Mace. I’m not sure I understand either.”

Then he kissed her again, and she decided he could explain it later. After all, she still needed to find out if the third
time really was a charm . . .

A special thanks to my editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, for her patience and expertise; my wonderful friends at COFW for their
advice and support; and my husband, Henry, the hero of all my stories.

LEISURE BOOK®

April 2009

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

200 Madison Avenue

New York, NY 10016

Copyright © 2009 by Lisa Cooke

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E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0649-7

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