Delilah's Flame (8 page)

Delilah dealt the first round in her clumsy, misleading way. A few rounds later she had lost a sizable stack of gold coins.

“Oh!” Delilah showed her hand and then Tabor his. Her lips went into a soft pout. “You are entirely too skilled for me, Tabor. You’ve won again.”

“Looks that way.” He grinned. He should be complimenting her on her skills. She was quite a woman. Every word, every gesture, every glance designed to ignite a man’s passion. And it did. For the last hour he’d felt that he had a volcano inside him. If she wanted him at a fever pitch when they made love, she would have her wish. With every minute that passed, he was more fascinated with her. She was a better poker player than she let on, too good to lose every hand. That too had to be deliberate. Maybe she thought it swelled a man’s pride to win.

“More brandy, Tabor?” She stood for a moment and refilled his snifter, brushing her arm against his shoulder as she placed it on the table. “You aren’t by any chance a professional gambler, are you?”

“Not at cards,” he returned, feeling a jolt as her flesh touched him and the scent of her perfume invaded his nostrils.

That was the third glass of brandy she had forced on him. He could swear she was trying to get him drunk. But why? If she opened another button on her bodice, he would gladly do anything she asked. Maybe she wanted to be sure she could stay in control of the situation. His easy grin widened. “I do enjoy the excitement of taking risks. How about you?”

“Oh, I rather like following the tried-and-true. Maybe that’s why I so seldom win.”

“At cards?”

Annoyed, Delilah almost forgot to smile. She wasn’t accustomed to having a man tease her. The problem was, Tabor held his liquor too well. He wasn’t the least bit tipsy and now he’d stopped drinking. At least she’d learned enough about him to feel confident her hasty plan would work. He’d been in the navy until recently and evidently never in Mexico. The detective had done a poor job tracing Stanton. He seemed to have no roots. He mentioned no family. As best she could tell, he drifted around living on what was left of his navy pay.

“You haven’t touched your brandy,” she said as she dealt another hand.

He lifted one eyebrow devilishly. “I don’t like drinking alone.”

“We’ll have to remedy that.” Delilah quickly rose to her feet and poured herself another snifter of brandy. She wished she’d added the powder when she poured his. Maybe she could distract him and slip it into his glass at the table. She didn’t want to prolong this encounter. She didn’t like the way those smoke-gray eyes looked as if they could see right through her. She didn’t like the way that grin softened his face and made it look so...appealing. She wanted to be done with Tabor Stanton as soon as possible.

Damn! Delilah swore under her breath. The little silver snuffbox with the powder wasn’t in her pocket. She’d been so upset about Dinah, she’d forgotten to get it from Loo. She felt like crying. This might be a long night after all. She had no choice but to get Tabor genuinely drunk.

“Drink up,” she said, and took a generous swallow of brandy. “Let’s play another hand. My luck might change.”

“Or mine might,” he quipped.

She lost, again and again. Looking forlorn, Delilah cast her luminous blue eyes on him and said a bit thickly, “Pour me another brandy.”

Tabor got unsteadily to his feet. “Brandy’s all gone,” he reported. “Champagne too.”

Delilah watched him bump the chair and breathed a sigh of relief. “Sherry, then, and tell me about the Admiral.”

“Which one?”

“The four-legged one. The one you spent your severance pay on.”

Tabor grinned. “You ought to see him. Black as midnight, almost seventeen hands at the withers, long powerful legs, good bloodlines, and he’s smart, smarter than most of the scalawags I sailed with.”

“And you spent all your money to buy this horse, the Admiral?”

Tabor settled back in his chair. Christ! His head was swimming. Was she trying to stroke his passion or put it out? “All I could save from the last five years of navy pay. When a man’s had nothing steadier than a rolling deck under him for years, he wants a good horse. The Admiral’s the finest piece of horseflesh west of St. Jo.”

“Would you sell him?”

His heavy dark brows flew up. “Sell him? Hell, no! I’ve got plans for the Admiral.” His words slurred, “Ranch...a few good mares.”

“A ranch costs money.” Tall plans for a man who was little better than a saddle tramp. The Admiral was probably a fleabitten nag. But the horse was apparently the only thing of worth Tabor Stanton owned. And that wouldn’t be for long.

He clinked the coins from his stack of winnings and slid most of them into a vest pocket. “A few more poker games and who knows.”

She knew. Delilah fumed beneath her pasted-on smile. He had a high opinion of himself. And this encounter had gone on long enough.

Delilah placed a hand to her temple to steady her head. How much could one man drink? She could handle perhaps one more glass of sherry. Tabor was several ahead of her. She hoped one more would be enough to drop him.

“A toast to luck,” she said, sporting a sugary smile. The glasses clinked.

“Always ready to drink to luck,” Tabor told her. “Your deal.”

He started to pick up his cards, but Delilah stopped him. “Let’s change the stakes,” she suggested. “Make the game more exciting. Let’s wager something we value.”

“What would that be?” he asked, mesmerized by what he saw glistening in her sapphire eyes.

“I believe I have something you’d like to possess,” she said. Tabor slowly nodded. “Suppose you wager the Admiral and your winnings against—” She paced out her words. “—anything you’d like from me.”

“Anything?” He felt the jolt of desire in his loins. Damn, she knew how to make a fire hotter. “Do I have to name my pleasure before we play?”

She moistened her lips. “That would make it more interesting. What would you like?”

But if you love Delilah, there’s a terrible price
...Tabor flooded his lungs with oxygen. Christ! It was all in the song. What a game she played. The lady was a spider. She built a man up, then snatched the ground out from under him. If he had the picture right, she’d win the next hand, have his horse, then call those two buffoons to drag him out. She didn’t want to make love to him. She wanted to castrate him. Damn her! All his passion turned to raw fury. It was time Delilah met a man she couldn’t geld.

He nodded his consent and gave a smile the devil would have envied. “I’m going to remember this game the rest of my life.” He paused while he rolled a cigarette and lit it. “What I’d like is to have Delilah as my love slave for one entire week.” He exhaled a smoky breath. “Agreed?”

She didn’t hesitate, though she would have liked to scratch his eyes out for even thinking such a thing. “Agreed,” she said, and winked. “Sounds tantalizing.” The dolt! He’d remember this game the rest of his life, all right.

Slowly Tabor and Delilah picked up their cards and looked at the hands dealt. Delilah frowned. Tabor hardly restrained himself from bursting out with laughter. She’d dealt him a pair of kings and a pair of queens. She wanted him to fall hard. Her frown deepened. She was a magnificent actress.

“Cards?” she asked, sounding worried.

Tabor rubbed his eyes and reeled in his chair. She wanted him drunk. Let her think he was. “I’ll hold what I have,” he mumbled. “Go ahead.”

Her former clumsiness with the cards vanished. She handled them with expertise and finesse, discarding and quickly dealing herself two more.

Her expression changed from one of worry to one of joy. “I believe my luck has changed, Tabor,” she said sweetly.

The corner of his mouth twitched. She just didn’t know how right she was. “I’m sure it has,” he replied. “No changing the ante?”

“No changing.” Delilah stroked beneath her chin with one slender finger. “Shall we do this together?”

“By all means.”

In unison they spread the cards on the table. His eyes went to the full house she’d dealt herself.

“You lost.” Her eyes glowed with triumph.

“I’ll be damned!” His fist slammed the tabletop. “Never saw anything like that. Well, hell.” He nodded complacently. “Fair’s fair. I reckon you’ll want a written claim for the Admiral. You’ll find him down at the livery. Just promise you’ll treat him good. He’s a fine horse.”

“I’ll get paper and a pen,” she responded, turning her face away from him to conceal her haughty smile. At the dresser she opened a drawer and removed the needed articles. She quickly scrawled out a few words, then laid a paper before him which lacked only his signature. Tabor hastily signed his name to it.

Delilah folded the title and tucked it in her bosom. Being sotted obviously made him more agreeable. She couldn’t believe he wouldn’t offer more fight if he were sober. If she could get him to take one more drink she was sure he’d pass out. Then she could carry out the remainder of her plan.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to give me a chance to win the Admiral back?” he mumbled, sliding down in his chair a bit.

“Maybe,” she lied. “Let’s have another drink while I think it over.”

He staggered to his feet. “Don’t mind if I do.” Spilling half of it, Tabor attempted pouring sherry in his glass, and failing, forgot the glass, picked up the nearly empty bottle, and stumbled across the room toward the bed. He downed the amber liquid, unsteadily deposited the bottle on the bedside table and himself on the bed. His eyes snapped shut.

Delilah watched. “Tabor?” She got no answer. Imagine that. And so easy. She approached him. “Tabor?”

Delilah stood over the sleeping cowboy a few moments, listening to his heavy breathing. One of his arms hung off the bed, the other sprawled across the opposite side. He looked amazingly different with his eyes closed, boyish, harmless. Had she called him passably handsome? Now she had to admit he was much more. The dark shadow of a beard covered his chin. Not sure why, she ran a finger over the fine bristles and got a surprising ripple of delight.

Angry at herself, Delilah quickly drew her hand away. The gold coins were in his vest pocket. They had been part of the stakes. She reached for them.

A flurry of silk skirts whirled over the bed. Tabor, moving like lightning, trapped Delilah and pinned her beneath him, his arms holding hers above her head on the pillows. Outraged, she spat out a profanity and glared at the diabolical face above her.

“You took your time,” he whispered, smiling.

“Let me go, you mangy bastard!”

Holding both her wrists with one hand, Tabor clamped his other one over her mouth. A devilish look flared in his eyes. “Watch that gutter language,” he warned. “You’ll spoil the illusion of Lady Delilah.”

His taunting gave her time to think a little more clearly. She tried a calmer approach and her most ladylike tone. The hard glare in her eyes softened as her voice did. “You are making a mistake, Mr. Stanton. I implore you to let me go.”

He gave a scornful laugh. “This is the mistake,” Tabor reached inside her bodice and searched for the paper he’d signed. Delilah gasped as his hands probed where they would. He found the paper, snatched it out, and tossed it to the bedside table.

“I won that horse!” Her face was a mask of fury.

His expression was one of amused tolerance. Now his hand roamed to her pocket and snatched out several playing cards.

“You cheated,” he said tonelessly. Before she could shriek a denial, he clamped his hand over her mouth again. “Which means the Admiral still belongs to me. So does the gold.” His smile struck terror in her eyes. His voice fell low and husky. “And for the next week, Delilah belongs to me too.”

She nearly exhausted herself struggling, to no avail. Tabor settled himself over her, his weight pinning her tightly to the bed. His mouth replaced his hand over her lips. Again she fought as something intense and frightening ignited within her. Disgust? No. Desire? Impossible. She refused to admit it. She hated Tabor Stanton.

His free hand tore the puffed silk sleeve from one shoulder and slid to the soft swell of her breast. She gasped her horror at his action and her reaction. A quick rush of heat filled her. She’d never been touched that way, never been forced so close to a man. The shame of it was that half the emotion she felt was desire. How could she? How could she have turned wanton? For him?

As his hand moved lower, she fought a new surge of passion but felt herself weakening. Delilah shut her eyes. It was a mistake, heightening the other senses to his nearness. His lips, ravishing hers, still held the taste of sherry. The scent of him, maleness and leather, intoxicated her...the sound of his heartbeat and breathing drummed in her ears. His body against her was hard and strong as steel, his mouth unrelenting.

Her body turned renegade, responding to him, wanting to give in to him, softening under his pressure. “Tabor...” she moaned as his tongue slid past her lips.

“You won’t regret losing this time, Delilah. I promise,” came his hoarse whisper.

His words were ill-timed and reminded her who he was. When he released her arms, she struck at his shoulders with her fists. But as his mouth reclaimed hers, the fighting ceased and she clutched at his leather vest instead. Lost, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him closer.

“Delilah,” he whispered, kissing her face as he plucked the pins from her flaming hair. Fingers laced in the loosened silk strands, he continued exploring the velvet warmth of her mouth, stopping only when he felt her struggle for breath. Damm, how he wanted her.

His mouth crushed down hard on hers again, savoring the honey taste of her lips. His tongue swept once more into the soft hollows of her mouth.

Delilah’s arms locked around him, holding him close when she would have pushed him away. Oh, God help her, she was kissing him back, joying in the feverish press of his lips.

“Nooo,” she moaned when he took his mouth away. Her eyes locked instinctively with his.

“Yes,” he corrected, his hands never leaving her. Warm rough fingers slid from her hair to her throat, over her shoulders, downward to tease beneath the restricting lace-covered bodice. With what seemed like infinite slowness, he unbuttoned each tiny black pearl stud. When all were free, he parted the garment, moaning as the rose-tipped mounds spilled out.