The Gambler (9 page)

Clenching her jaw, she crossed the room and
stopped by the table he sat at. It took him a few moments to see
her and when he did, his eyes widened before he tried to sit up
straight in his seat. The floozy in his lap prevented it and
Emmaline threw him a sarcastic smile before glancing at the girl.
“Slumming it, Tristan? I would have thought a man as wealthy as you
would find your pleasure in one of the more upscale whore houses in
town.” She smiled when the woman on his lap gasped and tried to
look offended. “I know money can’t buy you everything but I thought
it would at least buy you a woman that didn’t have the spendings of
four other men still on her thighs.” The whore gasped again and
stood. Tristan grabbed her arm when she started around the
table.

“Go home, little girl,” the whore said. “I’ll
send your man home nice and relaxed for you.”

Emmaline laughed. “Keep him. I’d rather have
a dirt-poor pig farmer than a no good gambler anyway.” She gave
Tristan a sneer and turned.

She was shaking by the time she reached the
bar. Why was she so rattled? She didn't have time to contemplate
the reason as a group of men by the bar started laughing, a few
moving into the open area leading to the door and blocking her
exit. Emmaline stopped, waiting for them to move, when one of them
turned and saw her. He smiled a wide toothy grin and bowed,
courtly, in her direction. “My apologies, My Lady.”

The other men laughed and Emmaline raised an
eyebrow at them. Drunkards, the whole lot of 'em. “No harm done,”
she said.

One of the men by the bar reached out, taking
her arm. “Let me buy you a drink, pretty lady.”

Emmaline laughed. “Uh, no thanks.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “We’re
celebrating!”

“Yeah. We just spent the last month on the
trail and haven’t had the pleasure of a sweet smelling woman in all
that time. Have a drink with us.”

Looking around the room, Emmaline noticed the
number of women inside the building, all of them dressed in their
satin and ruffles. “The saloon is full of women. I’m sure one of
them would be more than happy to have a drink with you.”

“Ah,” the man who bowed to her said, “They’re
not interested in saddle bums. They’re all after the high rollers
in the room.”

Emmaline turned and looked around the room
again. He was right. Almost every girl there was perched near one
of the gaming tables, their attention on the men tossing down their
money as if it were never ending. Her gaze fell on Tristan. He
wasn’t smiling now but that woman was still on his lap, her fingers
running through his hair as if he belonged to her.

He glanced up, his blue eyes finding her own
and she gave him a contemptuous looked before turning back to the
men at the bar. She smiled and crossed the distance, laying her
hands on top of the shiny mahogany. “All right. One drink.”

Their cheers drowned out everything else as a
glass was sat in front of her and she picked it up, trying not to
snarl her nose at the horrible smell of the whiskey and turned to
look back at Tristan. She smiled, saluted him with the glass, and
brought the foul liquid to her lips and swallowed the contents in
one hefty gulp.

It burned a trail to the pit of her stomach
and she coughed, bent at the waist and wheezed to catch a breath.
The men laughed, someone patted her on the back and when she could
breathe again, she stood and put the glass down and wiped tears
from her eyes.

The bowing man poured her another drink and
Emmaline was about to refuse until she looked up, noticing the
large mirror behind the bar. The entire room was reflected in the
glass and one face in particular caught her attention, those ice
blue eyes shooting fire in her direction. Tristan was glaring at
her, the girl on his lap forgotten.

She grinned, picked up the glass for a second
time and turned to the men. “Bottoms up, gentlemen!”

Chapter Five

Tristan lost count of the number of drinks
Emmaline had tossed back and he’d lost a sizable amount of his cash
from being so distracted by what she was doing. The blonde on his
lap wasn’t helping matters either. She didn’t seem interested in
leaving anytime soon and the way she was moving around in his lap,
he knew she was trying her best to arouse him enough he’d leave the
table and follow her upstairs. It wasn’t going to happen. Not
tonight. Not with Emmaline surrounded by six men, all of which were
plying her with drinks he wasn’t even sure she could handle.

She’d stumbled once already, caught in the
arms of one of the men and he’d yet to let go of her, his filthy
hands resting low on her back, his fingers grazing her bottom.

Cheers erupted from his table and Tristan
realized he’d lost another hand. That was five in a row. He never
lost that many games unless he meant to do it and tonight he
hadn’t.

He cursed under his breath, tossed his cards
to the middle of the table and refused to look at Emmaline again.
He’d made a promise to see her settled into a new life, one he had
no intentions of being a part of, so he had to let her do as she
pleased. He concentrated on the game when the cards were dealt
again and tossed his chips in when the others did.

His hand was decent and the desire to look
up, just to see what Emmaline was doing now, was great, but he
resisted. He concentrated on the game and held back a smug grin
when things finally started going in his favor. Three games later
he’d won all the money he’d lost back and the noise inside the
building had grown to a deafening level.

He made the mistake of looking up. Emmaline
was sitting on the bar, tossing back another drink. The number of
men surrounding her had grown and she’d let her hair down at some
point, the strands falling around her shoulders in a silky shawl of
brunette waves.

She slammed her glass down to the cheers of
those around her and teetered to one side. The man in front of her
steadied her with one hand under her left breast. When he reached
up with his other hand, his fingers sliding into her hair, and
pulled her head down to him, Tristan stood so quick, the blonde in
his lap toppled to the floor, her outraged shriek drawing the
attention of those at surrounding tables. He tossed his cards down,
left his money lying and stalked across the bar with the intention
of killing the bastard who was obviously kissing Emmaline.

Tristan grabbed the man's shoulder when he
reached them, jerking him around to face him and barely caught
Emmaline as she toppled off the bar. She screamed, then laughed,
before screeching, “Tristan,” in a high-pitched voice while
giggling. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he held her up while
glaring at the men who’d spent the last hour pouring whiskey down
her throat. “I think she’s had enough, gentlemen.”

Looking down at her, her eyes glassy and
bloodshot, he bit his tongue to keep from yelling at her in front
of everyone. She grinned, raised her arms to wrap around his neck
and laughed again. “Your eyes are so purdy.”

“That’s good to know.” Lifting her, he tossed
her over his shoulder and exited the bar, ignoring the complaints
of Emmaline’s new friends and her shouted protests about
leaving.

The wind gusting down the street was
downright frigid and the air smelled of snow. Tristan walked as
quickly as he could, Emmaline’s laughter following behind him and
he gritted his teeth when she pinched his bottom and giggled
again.

She was drunk and would pay dearly for it
come morning, assuming she didn’t spend the rest of the night
emptying the contents of her stomach into a chamber pot.

Entering the hotel, he ignored the man behind
the desk, took the stairs at a fast clip and opened her room door.
It was dark inside and cold, the fireplace sitting empty. He placed
Emmaline on the bed, reached into his pocket for the matches he
kept there and lit the lamp on the bedside table.

Emmaline was staring at him when he looked
down at her. She was still grinning and he didn’t like the look in
her eyes. She looked as if she’d just accomplished some great feat
and was basking in her victory.

He ignored the look and reached for her feet,
taking his time unhooking all those buttons on her boots before
pulling them off and tossing them to the floor. When he stood, she
was still staring at him. “What?”

“I didn’t say nothing.”

“No, but you want to, so spit it out.”

She giggled again and rolled to her side,
then up to her knees, pulling her skirt up dangerously high on her
thighs when she got tangled in the fabric. Those little ribbons
holding her stockings up met his gaze and his cock throbbed at the
sight of them. Her skin looked so smooth. His fingers twitched with
the need to touch her.

Blinking lazily at him, she raised her hands
and ran them up the front of his chest, toying with the buttons of
his vest. “Did you think she was pretty?”

“Who?”

“The whore in the saloon.”

Tristan shook his head. “Not
particularly.”

She glared at him and slapped his chest.
“Then why’d you let her straddle you?”

He laughed. “She wasn’t. She was sitting in
my lap.”

“Same difference.”

She rolled her eyes at him before unhooking
two of the buttons on his vest. He grabbed her hands. “You need to
sleep, Emmaline. The stagecoach leaves first thing in the morning
and you’ll feel like you’ve been pulled behind it for days once the
sun comes up.”

That tinkling giggle filled the room again
and she tugged her hands free and reached for the waistband of his
trousers. “Not ready to sleep.” She unhooked his pants with fingers
a bit too deft for one so drunk. He gasped when she reached inside,
grabbing hold of his cock with hands so cold it felt as if she’d
dropped a bucket of snow down his trousers. “Emmaline…” He reached
for her hand, tugging at it.

“Why don’t you want me?” she asked, looking
up at him through her lashes, a pretty pout on her face.

“I never said I didn’t want you.”

“Then why do you want me to stop?”

He laughed and looked at the ceiling. She’d
wrapped her hand around his cock and was slowly stroking him. Her
icy hands were warming and he knew his heated erection was the
reason. He looked back down at her and sucked in a deep breath.
“You’re drunk. You’ll not even remember this in the morning.”

“Yes, I will.”

In a move he wouldn’t have imagined, she bent
at the waist, pulled his erection from his trousers and wrapped her
lips around it, swallowing his cock in one hungry gulp. He gasped,
a jolt running through his body so hard, every nerve fired at once,
sending heat to travel his limbs and explode near his balls. He
reached out, his fingers tangling into her hair and he was
powerless to do anything but stand there while she sucked his
cock.

He groaned, tilted his hips forward and
closed his eyes as she worked him from head to root, her tongue
teasing the soft skin until he was shaking. A voice in the back of
his head was screaming to make her stop, that she was drunk and
wouldn’t have touched him had she not been, but it felt good. Her
mouth was hot, her tongue soft. He felt ready to explode with a
single glance down, watching his cock disappear inside her mouth.
Hearing the small noises she made.

Letting her continue a few more minutes,
reason won out over his unscrupulous conscience and he pulled her
head away, moaning as he slipped from the warmth of her mouth.
“Emmaline, you can’t…”

She rose on her knees and kissed him, her
arms wrapping around his neck and damn it all to hell, the moment
she slipped her tongue into his mouth, he was lost. She tasted of
whiskey and smelled so damn good. He wrapped his arms around her,
her slight frame fitting so nicely in his arms he ignored the fact
she’d hate him in the morning.

Pulling him closer, Emmaline tugged at him
until he placed a knee on the bed, crawling onto it before she
straddled him. She kissed him in long, hungry strokes, her fingers
tangled into his hair and he thought his cock would break, his need
to be inside her was so profound.

He broke the kiss, fumbled with the buttons
of her dress and unhooked them, untied her shift and took one of
those perky little breasts into his mouth, her nipple pinched tight
and perfect, rolled it with his tongue until he sucked it in and
never wanted to leave. She moaned, wiggled, and rubbed those silky
bloomers against his cock until he thought he’d die from the
wanting of her.

Letting her breast go, he reached between
them and tugged at her bloomers. “Sit up, Emmaline. Get these
drawers off.”

She moaned and lowered her head, nuzzling the
side of his neck and wiggled her bottom again, grinding against him
until he thought he’d come without even entering her. When she
stilled suddenly, he stared at the ceiling and wondered what had
happened.

He knew a moment later when a small snore
escaped her throat. “No, no, no, Emmaline. Don’t pass out,” he
whined and grabbed her shoulder. “Come on, darlin', wake up.”

She snored louder, her body falling like dead
weight against him.