The Gambler (21 page)

"I'm not hungry." Though it was, quite suddenly, the truth, it was also, Raven realized, the perfect thing to say, for sickness often dulled appetite, didn't it?

"But you must eat. You'll only weaken if you don't. And you had no breakfast or lunch.

"You mustn't concern yourself," he said, gladly allowing her misconceptions.

"Are you feverish?"

"Of course not." Only when he looked at her.

She bit the inside of her lip, staring at him before setting aside his meal. "I'd better see to your wound."

Goddamn if he hadn't forgotten his wound. "It's fine. Really it is." Really it
was.
But he'd hate for her to believe him.

She looked as if she did not. "Doc said to change the bandage." Her voice was firm, though she didn't move forward to follow the old quack's advice.

Raven watched her. She looked terrified; apparently the thought of touching him was almost too much to be borne. "You needn't," he said quietly. "It'll heal fine on its own." He felt he could actually see her relax as she absorbed his words.

"It's my responsibility."

By God, yes it was. He almost smiled. He'd done his duty as a decent person, which he wasn't, and as a scoundrel, which he was. He'd allowed her the opportunity to shirk the job of touching him. He couldn't be expected to do more to discourage her.

"Well..." She drew a deep breath. "I'll get started."

He said nothing, and in a few moments she was perched on the edge of the bed, looking scared enough to faint and flighty enough to fly.

"Shall I sit up?" he asked quietly, knowing better than to move without her permission. Widow Worth would indeed wonder about their relationship if his charming little wife went scampering from their room because Raven had taken it into his head to sit up without warning.

"I suppose you had better."

He did so, slowly sitting erect before sliding back to rest against the headboard. It wasn't an easy task with only one arm to support him.

Charm stared at him as if he were somehow more dangerous now, but he didn't move farther, and finally she reached out to touch his bandages. The knot came loose in her fingers. She bit the inside of her lip again.

"I'll need you to... lean forward a bit."

"I can care for myself, Charm."

"No," she said with surprising speed. "I'll do it."

He nodded before fulfilling her request, putting the bare flesh of his chest very near her torso.

"Be merciful to me, O Lord!"

"More Scripture?" he asked quietly, entranced by the intensity of her face.

"Job." She swallowed hard. "Chapter 9. Verse 13."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why do you quote Scripture?"

"Oh. It makes me feel better. The people in the Old Testament, they were..."—she shrugged—"they were... less than perfect, but God took care of them. Kept them... safe." She eyed his bandaged chest as if it might jump forward and consume her.

"You seem to know it very well," he said, trying to keep her talking, to calm her nerves.

"Jude thought it important that I learn to read." One hand was formed into a loose fist in her lap. "He wanted to teach me himself." She smiled weakly. "Said he could. I was almost ten when I learned the truth. He can't read a word. He was terribly ashamed, though I never understood why, because it never mattered to me. But in the end he hired Mrs. Billet." Charm nodded as if remembering. "She was, ahh... addled with strong drink most of the time."

It took Raven a moment to realize she meant "drunk." He found it rather amusing that she sometimes used biblical terms.

"She taught me enough to get me started, but we've never had access to many books," Charm said. She shrugged, looking a bit more at ease. "But I've always had Mother's Bible. At night, when Jude was asleep, I'd read."

"You've memorized the Bible."

"Just portions." She lowered her gaze. "Mostly the begging for mercy parts."

Raven remained silent, watching her down-turned face. "Mercy from what?" he asked finally, the words very quiet.

"I don't know." Her answer was no louder.

"Who has frightened you so?"

"No one," she said quickly. She lifted her gaze sharply to his, but in a moment her expression softened and she sighed. "Everyone."

"But why?"

She shrugged, looking very young. "The fear—it's just inside me. In my head. My dreams."

There seemed to be nothing he could do to keep from touching her. His hand simply moved of its own accord. "I won't hurt you, Charm," he whispered and let his fingers drift to her cheek.

She didn't move away. But she sat very stiff, her eyes suddenly clamped shut and her breath coming hard.

"I won't hurt you. See?" He drew his hand back. "There's nothing to fear. Not from me."

Her eyes opened slowly. He raised his brows and smiled at her. "You can touch me, Charm. I won't bite." But she looked as if she expected him to do just that, and so he reached out, taking her hand very gently in his own. "See?" He longed to kiss it. As never before in his life, he wanted to feel her skin against his lips. Instead, he pulled her hand nearer, finally resting it against a hale portion of his chest. Her breath came to a halt, but she didn't pull away.

"You can touch me," he repeated quietly. "I won't hurt you. In fact," he whispered, caught in her wild, green gaze. "I won't even touch you back. You're safe to do whatever you wish with me."

She could do whatever she wished with him, he'd said. But what was it she wished to do? Charm stared at him in silent uncertainty. He remained very still. His shirt was removed, and the hard slopes of his chest rose slightly with each breath.

She kept her gaze carefully planted on his face. He had deep-set, brown eyes. Not a solid generic brown, but a mesmerizing warm tone, swirled with highlights of gold and green. Fascinating eyes, she thought, when she looked closely at him. His hair was black, as were his brows, which were cast in a straight solid line, and though his expression could be intimidating, it was not so now. In fact, at this moment, he looked quite innocent and rather shy.

"You can leave," he repeated softly. "Anytime you want."

The knowledge that she didn't want to leave, hit Charm like the blow of a fist. She winced, wondering what had come over her, knowing she should remove herself from his presence immediately.

Instead she simply murmured, "But Doc said I should change your bandages."

"Doc never saw you in that gown." Raven's tone was deep and quiet, and though Charm would have liked to ask what he meant, she found she lacked the nerve.

Nevertheless, her hands reached out to untie the bandage. Neither of them spoke as he leaned forward, allowing her to pull the fabric from behind him once again. For a moment their faces were inches apart. Their gazes caught. Their breath halted in unison. Beneath the bandages, Charm could feel the warmth of his living flesh. Stark, raw sensations assaulted her. But what they were she couldn't tell. Excitement? Terror? Excruciating anticipation?

His lips parted. She heard the sharp rush of his breath returning, but as for herself, she failed to inhale, failed to think, to move, finding herself only able to feel as she stared at him.

He leaned back stiffly, seeming to force his body to comply with his commands. His chest was rising and falling more dramatically now, as if he'd run a hard race and won. "I think perhaps I should see to this myself, Charm."

The words were soft, so soft, in fact, that she found she could ignore them, as if they were never said. She drew a deep breath. Her hands were shaking. She should hide her fear, she thought, but didn't, for he looked no more certain than she felt. Somehow that knowledge reassured her, causing her to continue on, to unwrap the remainder of the bandage from his chest, letting her fingers brush against his skin now and then, and feeling the sparkling sensations lick her like flames against bare flesh.

Finally the dressing was completely removed and his wound exposed, but still she couldn't speak. The flesh near his injury was reddened and inflamed, while the center of the thing looked even worse. Charm swallowed hard, feeling sickened by what she had done.

"I'm sorry." Her words were a mere whisper, and suddenly her fingers reached out as if to touch him. But she snatched them back, raising her gaze to his at the same time.

As for Raven, his expression remained unmoved. He watched her steadily, his lips parted, exposing neat rows of teeth as he drew breath through his mouth.

You can touch me. I won't touch you.

Though he didn't say the words again, it seemed they still reverberated in the room. Slowly, ever so slowly, she reached for him. The skin near his wound was warm and certainly must be painful. Nevertheless, he didn't flinch as she touched him. Neither did he move.

Charm again drew a deep breath and pulled her hand slowly back. Their gazes met again. She closed her fingers into a fist and exhaled, feeling shaky.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered.

"No. It feels like heaven."

She scowled, thinking he was teasing, but as she studied his face, she realized he was not talking about his injury but about her touch. She shivered now, feeling his words sear a thousand hot trails to the core of her being. For a moment she wanted to flee, wanted to run away, like a child from a thunderstorm, but she remained as she was, feeling the electricity crackle around and within her.

"Please." His voice was so low it seemed that she felt rather than heard it. "Touch me again."

Her hand moved like a separate entity. Slipping from her lap, it lay finally against the hard, hale slope of his right pectoral. His flesh didn't feel like her own, but was very solid. She could hardly breathe, and she didn't raise her gaze to his but held it steady on her hand. Her fingers looked pale against his dark skin and beside the slim rope of gold that held his ring.

Below her thumb, his nipple was a small dark pebble surrounded by a circle of creamy brown. Charm exhaled. Her body felt stiff. From somewhere, inside or out, thunder crackled a warning, but she didn't respond. Her fingers slipped lower. His aureole was as soft as an old scar. She lifted her hand away slightly, all but her ring finger, which drifted around the small target of brown.

The muscles of his torso jerked. Charm gasped. Frightened by the quick movement, she yanked her hand away as her gaze fled to his face. Raven's nostrils flared and his lips parted. He was breathing hard, and every muscle looked tight, including those in his broad, dark throat. The tendons there stood out in sharp relief, making him look predatory, dangerous. And yet it was a danger that enticed her now.

She raised her chin a notch. "Did I hurt you?"

He remained silent for a moment, but finally he spoke, his tone as rich and dark as black coffee. "I think you know better."

She swallowed hard, wanting to ask more. But she found now that it was easier to touch than to speak. Her hand drifted hesitantly out again, and she held her breath, waiting to see where it would land. His cheek was stubbled with unshaven whiskers. They felt rough and somehow alive beneath her strangely sensitized fingertips.

When was the last time she had touched a man's face? As a child? She couldn't recall. In fact, she couldn't remember ever willingly touching anyone but Jude. Somehow that realization frightened her, made her feel less than human. For a moment she wanted to draw away, wanted to find a place in the dark to hide.

"I won't touch you," he said. The words were real now, though very quiet and rather forced, as if he somehow understood her need to hear them, yet found it hard to press them forth.

Her lips parted and she breathed through them, watching his for a moment. Could he read her mind? Or could she read his? Or was it simply the terrifying magic of touch that was affecting her so?

She wanted to ask, but no matter how she worded the question, it would sound foolish. Taking a deep breath, she skimmed her fingers down his cheek to the corner of his mouth and across his smooth lower lip. She felt his shiver transferred from him to her. Lightning flashed, illuminating the world outside their window but failing to draw her attention from his face.

With her middle finger, Charm traced a path over the precipice of his lip to the small indentation below, and from there to his chin. It, too, was stubbled with dark, unshaven hair, like nothing she had ever felt, but below that his throat was smooth. A trio of her fingers rippled across a taut tendon of his neck before following the ridge downward to fall finally into the deep hollow between his collar bones.

Life beat there in a steady thrum of vibration. Charm breathed to the rhythm. Resting her fingers in this little valley, she noticed again how light her skin looked against his.

"Have you met your father?" Charm had no idea why she asked the question, but it came nevertheless, seeming somehow pertinent to the moment.

She could feel his warm gaze on her face. "No. I've never found him."

His chosen words, as well as his tone, told her something. She lifted her gaze to his, trying to discern what it was. "You've been looking for him?" she asked. "All these years?"

He drew a deep breath, making his nostrils flare more dramatically. "Since Mother died."

She wanted to delve into his past, to draw their similarities into the coldness of light. But she lacked the strength, or whatever it was that allowed two people to share their frailties.

"Since I was thirteen," he added. In that moment, Charm wondered if he was so much stronger than she, that he could speak of reality with such seeming ease.

She dropped her gaze to her own fingers, where they still rested in the warm depression of his throat. "Why?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer. She shifted her gaze to his face, narrowing her eyes and asking again, "Why have you been looking for him?"

There was another pause, but he answered finally, his tone harsh but carefully controlled. "Maybe to kill him."

She held his gaze, seeing there the deep well of his soul. There was nothing between them now. No artifice. No lies. Only the open, aching wounds of the past and the unhidden reality of what they were.