The River Nymph (15 page)

Delilah anticipated the kiss, remembering the other ones they had shared. The one in the warehouse had been fierce but life-affirming.
Outside her cabin she had been too appalled by her own passion to allow his seduction. After he’d saved her from Riley’s killer,
he had taken her lips roughly, frightening her with savage anger. How would this time be? Oddly, she was beyond caring, ready
for anything, yet relieved when he brushed her mouth softly. Then he traced the seam between her lips with the tip of his
tongue, as if asking permission to enter. She opened for him and he tasted her. She returned the delicious invasion, and their
tongues dueled in a delightful dance that only increased their hunger for more.

Clint slanted his mouth across hers, changing the angle, cupping the back of her head in one hand as the other roamed up and
down her spine, tracing the delicate vertebrae, lingering at the deep indentation before her derrière flared. He played her
like a Stradivarius. Music sang through her body while she writhed against him, drawing him closer, feeling the delicious
abrasion of crisp chest hair against her pebbled nipples. There was something more…more, and Delilah knewshe must have
it—have Clinton Daniels—in a way she could never have imagined before he strode into her life.

Her small, low moans and little gasps of surprised pleasure nearly drove him mad. Again, some subliminal part of his mind
wondered just how much experience—or how little—she had had during her brief marriage. Instinct told him to go slow. His mouth
moved from hers, trailing soft, wet kisses down the arch of her throat while he lifted her higher so he could reach those
tantalizing breasts that teased and enticed him. The breasts of his imagining. He had never forgotten them since she had first
taken a seat across the poker table from him.

No wonder I lost almost every hand. All I could think about was
this!

When Clint took one hardened pink nipple in his mouth and suckled it, Delilah felt the jolt shoot all the way to her toes.
She buried her fingers in his long, thick hair and arched closer, wrapping her legs around his narrow hips. His erection jutted
beneath her, rubbing a newly sensitized area of her body, a place she could never have imagined would welcome a man.

Feeling her squirm against him, Clint could barely restrain himself, but this was not the time to rush. He moved his attention
from one breast to the other, murmuring, “I knew they’d be beautiful.”

Clint walked slowly toward the edge of the water, carrying her to the soft grass beneath the trees. Very slowly, he let her
slide down his body, still pressing her close to him. He looked down into her eyes and read confusion—and hunger. Unasked,
she answered his question. “Yes, Clint,” was all she said.

That was all he needed to hear. He knelt and laid her on warm spring grass, then followed her down, taking her into his arms.
She came eagerly, rubbing her face against his chest, clutching his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He took her
chin in one hand and tipped it up for another long, slow kiss that had them both moaning, then moved his atten-tion to her
breasts again, loving the way her body unconsciously arched each time he lowered his head to lave and suck a nipple. She was
learning an ancient rhythm, one she had not known before.

He moved over her, holding his weight on his elbows, whispering, “Open your legs, Deelie,” as he gently probed with his aching
staff. But he would be its master and would not simply plunder her warmth and beauty. It would take extreme care and concentration.
But he had done that once before…with Teal. No! He would not think of her now. The memory was too painful, and Delilah
deserved better than a comparison to his dead wife.

Delilah complied with his command. In truth, her legs seemed to open of their own volition, welcoming his invasion. If the
price of all the pleasure she had just experienced was pain at the end, it would still be worth it. She wanted him inside
her body, no matter the cost. She wanted this joining, unsanctioned by wedlock though it was. Perhaps she had been destined
for it since the loss of her comfortable existence in the wealthy Mathers family. Mrs. Raymond was a gambler…and this
was the greatest risk of her career.

Clint teased the wet opening to her feminine core, waiting for her response before he moved further. Her body tensed, but
when he did not immediately plunge in, he could feel her lift her hips in unconscious supplication. He kissed her again, softly,
tenderly, while the tip of his rigid staff circled and teased the sensitive opening it craved. When he could stand not another
instant of waiting and knew she was ready, he began a slow, careful penetration. She was slick and hot, incredibly tight.
Yet he could not rush this.

Delilah felt his hardness teasing her, awakening a fierce hunger, one she had never imagined she would experience. She could
also sense he was holding back, waiting for her to prepare for the final onslaught. Better to have done. She released a warm
hiss of breath and kissed him fiercely, lifting her hips and wrapping her legs around his waist. With a gasp of pleasure he
sank deeper, stretching flesh so long untried. She expected it to hurt, but in spite of the pressure, it did not. She wriggled
her lower body, giving him leave to move deeper, deeper yet, until he was buried totally inside her.

“Aaahh, Deelie,” he murmured into her mouth, not even aware of how his body trembled. She was so virginally tight, it took
his breath away. He held still for a moment and forced himself to let her body adjust. Then, very slowly, he started to move.

She could feel him begin to withdraw and wanted to cry out, “Stop!” but before she could utter a sound, he filled her slowly
once more…and she was lost to the slow, languid movement, in and out, stretching her, making her feel cherished, fulfilled.
And it all seemed so effortless. Delilah closed her eyes and held him fast, unaware of how her knees clamped on his hips,
how her own hips rose and fell with each thrust, urging him on. She floated for several moments, although she was never aware
of time, only the joining.

But gradually sensations never before experienced made her reach for more. Her fingers dug into his back, feeling his muscles
ripple with each thrust. She felt her hips rising and falling faster, demanding an ascending pace that would take her…where? She did not know but craved the learning of it. Knew deep within the core of her woman’s body that it would be beautiful
and necessary, oh yes, very necessary.

Clint could sense her response and gladly obliged, following the subtle, unconscious cues she gave. He buried his face in
her sweet, silky hair, kissing her throat, leading her higher and higher. When he heard her sudden gasp of wonder and felt
her flesh convulse around his, he slowed again, holding off his own fulfillment to make this first experience for her as long
and wonderful as he could.

But her determination to seize this new pleasure was wild and uncontrolled. His Deelie was a woman who knew what she wanted—and
right now she wanted this, wanted him. How like her, always determined to have her way…and in this case, he wanted to
give it to her! With a great release of breath, he let go, spilling himself deep inside her in a finalburst of white-hot climax,
unlike any other he had ever felt. Spent and sweating, he collapsed on top of her, then rolled them over so she lay on his
chest with her hair curtaining them in the warm sun.

Delilah loved the weight of his body on hers, the shuddering power of his release, so long held back. She was faintly disappointed
when he reversed their positions. She was no fragile doll, yet it felt wonderful to lie molded over his long frame. She nestled
her head in the crook of his arm and closed her eyes, feeling his hands lightly stroke her back, fingers playing with her
hair.

Delilah felt suddenly awkward. What did one say after making love in broad daylight, without a stitch of clothing, outdoors
in a wild place? How did one disentangle? Her husband had simply rolled away and gone to sleep in the dark. She had pulled
down her night rail and done the same. This was utterly beyond her experience, and she did not know what to do. Delilah Mathers
Raymond greatly disliked not knowing what to do. Now that the intense pleasure was fading, she began to wonder if she had
just made a monumental mistake.

“Maybe I won’t drown Sky after all,” he said at length.

She could feel the slight rumble of a chuckle deep in his chest. “She arranged this very cleverly,” she replied carefully,
not moving.

He stroked her cheek. “Ah, Deelie, regrets so soon?”

“I don’t know,” she surprised herself by confessing. “That is…I’ve never…”

He tipped up her chin and gazed into her eyes. “I know,” he said simply. “Your uncle and my sister seem determined to get
us together—”

“Uncle Horace would never countenance making love without marriage,” she interrupted indignantly, trying to extricate herself.

He let her go, helping her to kneel as he did the same, but when she reached frantically for her clothing, he placed his arm
around her shoulders and turned her back to face him, brushing bits of grass and twigs from her tangled hair. “Why, Deelie,
are you proposing marriage?” he asked, trying for a teasing tone. The feelings he had for this woman were enough to make the
Thebans at Thermopylae turn tail and run. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do if some misguided sense of propriety made her
say yes.

“Certainly not!” she snapped. “I’m only concerned with how I can preserve my reputation, such as it is, not to mention keeping
my uncle from shooting you. Perhaps
I’ll
drown Sky,” she added grimly.

“I’ll admit my sister’s people have less subtle ways ofmatch-making than whites,” he replied with relief, “but I’m touched
that you’re concerned with saving my miserable hide.”

When he plucked another twig from her hair, she pulled back and scrambled toward the pool. “I have to bathe before I can dress,”
she said as she quickly sank into the water and began scrubbing and finger-combing her hair.

He followed her into the water and took her hands gently in his. “We need to talk, not turn tail, Deelie.” Although he was
damned if he knew what to say, and he surely wanted to see more of the tail she was preparing to turn. “I really did intend
to slip away without letting you know I was here until you let out that shriek over the coon. You are a city girl, no doubt
there.”

“Are you sorry my outcry caused you so much amusement that you…we…well, we did what we did? I’ll lay claim to
my share of blame. You certainly didn’t force me,” she admitted, as much to herself as to him. “You’re the epitome of everything
I despise, yet I’ve found you…distracting, disturbing…”

“Attractive?” he suggested hopefully. Without giving her a chance to reply, he made an admission of his own. “We’ve been strikin’
enough sparks to burn down half of St. Louis ever since we first met. You made it pretty clear how you felt about Southern
men. I know your husband was a Yankee—”

Her brief hiccup of laughter stopped him. “Actually, although he fought with the Federals, Lawrence’s family wasSouthern.
Very old, landed money. They just happened to be Unionists.”

“The Matherses were wealthy but not aristocracy,” he guessed.

“Hardly. My grandfather emigrated from Scotland and became a cobbler in Gettysburg. Within a decade he owned a shoe factory.
By the time my father took it over and enlarged his business holdings, we were quite comfortable. But not good enough for
my husband’s father.”

“Why did that make you dislike me on sight?” he asked, wanting to understand her antipathy toward him. He continued picking
bits of grass and twigs from her hair, waiting patiently for her to explain.

“I’ve sat across from men like you at gaming tables for the past seven years, wealthy, condescending, judging me a fallen
woman. The Southerners were always the worst because they’d mask it with charm.”

“Just like I did?” A lot of pieces of the puzzle of Delilah Raymond were falling into place now. “Or you thought I did. I
wasn’t condemnin’ you, although I do confess to a little distraction because you’re so damned beautiful I couldn’t concentrate.
I reckon you’ve used that to your advantage in more than a few games.”

“I used whatever was necessary to survive—I’ll never be dependent on a man again. Except for my uncle. I owe him my life,
and I’ll take care of him when he can’t use his guns to protect me.”

“A big responsibility,” Clint said. “I know how it is to struggle, wonderin’ how you’re gonna survive from day to day. I told
you I don’t come from money. Everything I ever owned I worked for, including my book learning.”

“By playing cards?”

“Among other things,” he admitted, then shifted the conversation back to her. “You really hated being a gambler, didn’t you?”

Her eyes took on a hard, cold gleam. “Can you imagine what it’s like for a woman surrounded by men who only play against her
to prove they’re superior—or to lure her into their beds? And don’t insult my intelligence by saying that thought never entered
your mind.”

Clint raised his hands. “I’d have to be a gelding if
that
thought
never entered my mind, but you beat me fair and square, Deelie. You’re that good.”

“Not exactly a skill women of quality are supposed to possess.”

“Neither is running an upriver freightin’ business, but you want to compete in a cutthroat man’s game.”

“It’s a respectable business, even if it is dangerous. I’ll take my chances.”

He looked at her, seeing the steely determination in her eyes. “Always the gambler, even if you have quit the cards.” He grinned
at her. “Let’s make a whole pile of money this summer, Deelie.”

She turned away from his admiring gaze, knowing she’d revealed far more than was wise to this enigmatic man. “Don’t call me
Deelie.” She wanted him to leave her alone so she could think, but then found herself saying aloud, “What will everyone say
when I return to the boat looking like a drowned rat? We’re due to take off any time.”