His hands were warm, resting on her back, and his words offered a reprieve. “I’ll turn my back and you can get into your nightgown,” he told her. And true to his word, he turned in a half circle and faced the door.
With swift movements, Lily allowed the satin dress to slide to the floor, then snatched at her nightgown and pulled it over her head. Beneath the dress, she wore sleek satin drawers that matched the dress and in a moment they were folded and placed on the bed.
“Now what, Morgan?” she asked. “I have six bits if you want part of your money back. In fact I have a dollar in my bag, back in my room.”
“Turn around and look at me,” he said roughly. “And don’t mention money again.” He looked down at her hand where she held the tips she’d received in the saloon, taken now from the bodice of the dress. “Do you think I’d take it from you?” he asked, his jaw taut.
She shook her head. “I suppose not. But then, I don’t really know you, do I?”
“Not as well as you will by morning,” he said, and buffered the words with a grin. “I’ve never bought a woman’s favors before, Lily. I think I’m grateful to you for not allowing me to spoil my record.”
“Then what do you expect for your five dollars?”
“I think I want to know who Lily Devereaux is,” he answered. “Where she comes from—and maybe even more, where she’s going.”
Lily dropped her gaze and laughed, a mirthless sound. “Lily Devereaux only exists on this boat,” she said. “She’s a brand-new person, Morgan.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” His words were soft, as if he realized she would respond to his coaxing quicker than to a harsh demand.
Lily wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, and then dropped them quickly as Morgan’s eyes took note of the curves of her breasts as they were supported by her forearms. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, warming as a flush of embarrassment rose to tinge her face with color.
“For five dollars, I should be able to look, Lily,” he told her patiently. “I’ve already promised not to take more from you than you’ll give me freely.”
“If I told you—” She broke off abruptly and turned her head aside.
“Told me what?” he asked.
A desperate longing to gain some small bit of respect from the man drove her to offer a small bit of knowledge into his hands. “I’m not what you think I am, not a woman who works on her back for a living.”
“I already figured that out,” Morgan said. And with those words spoken, an inkling of a bold move, a rash decision, filled his mind. “I don’t know what you are, Lily, but I’d lay odds that you don’t belong on a riverboat, serving trash like the man who touched you earlier.” He motioned toward the bunk. “Go on. Crawl between the sheets.” He walked behind her, watching as she bent to pull back the top sheet and then retrieved the pillows. Her glance at him merited a small smile.
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay right here for now.”
Her curves were nicely traced by the taut lines of her nightgown as she leaned forward on one knee, drawing his gaze. Morgan caught his breath, almost ruing his vow.
Turning to face him, she settled on the edge of the mattress and he nodded, the demand implicit. Her feet slid beneath the top sheet and she drew it up to her waist, and then eased her way to the pillows. Morgan stepped closer and lowered himself to sit beside her.
“Now, unless you want me to change my mind, lady, I want you to tell me about Lily Devereaux.” He waited, his gaze unmoving as he met her dark eyes. She swallowed, a visible movement of throat and lower jaw, and then lifted her hands in a helpless gesture.
“I don’t know what you’d like to know, Morgan. I’m from the South….” She hesitated and he smiled, a lazy arrangement of lips that expressed amusement.
“I figured that out right off, honey,” he told her. “Now tell me something I didn’t know. Like who’s out there looking for you.”
She paled beneath his gaze and he felt a sense of triumph. He was, it seemed, on target with his suspicions. The lady was on the run. “Lily?” As she hesitated, his hands smoothed the sheet and toyed with the hemmed edge.
“No one’s looking for me,” she told him harshly. “I went north after the war was over and worked for a while. And then I found I wasn’t suited for the cold weather and decided to head back toward home.”
“And where is that?” he asked idly, noting her subtle movement as she edged away from him. One hand shot out and grasped her wrist, holding her firmly, but with a gentle strength.
“South of here,” she quibbled. “I’m not saying more than that, Morgan.”
“How did you get north?” he asked. “Must have been a long walk, honey.”
“I rode on a horse, then in a buggy. Finally on a train.” Her jaw set grimly as if she had been pushed far enough for one night, and Morgan relented.
“One more question,” he said. “But I want the truth, Lily. Were you with a man?”
She hesitated, and that small pause told him what he wanted to know. And then her chin lifted and a spark of defiance lit her eyes. “And if I was?” she asked.
Morgan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I just wanted to know if you’d be honest with me.” But it did matter, he thought. More than he’d realized it would. Lily Devereaux had secrets, but his curiosity was aroused—beyond the point of wanting to peer into her past, to the brink of an uneasy desire to discover her hidden reasons. Surely, the woman had known the risks she took by working on the riverboat. Something, or someone, had driven her to this desperate situation.
It was a puzzle. And Gage Morgan was a man who thrived on solving just such a conundrum. With a sigh he motioned to her to move to the back of the bunk. She did, watching him with eyes that shone with a trace of moisture.
“I’m only going to sleep beside you,” he told her. And then he shed his boots and shirt and lay down beside her, atop the sheet. It was to his credit that he waited until she slid into slumber before he gathered her in his arms and held her close.
Lily awoke with a start, aware of a weight across her waist, and the warm, solid bulk of a man beside her. She held her breath, frantic as she sidled from beneath the heavy arm that held her prisoner.
It tightened its grip and the man who owned it murmured her name. “Lily. Just lie still. You’re all right.”
Morgan. She breathed his name aloud then and felt disappointment creep into her heart. “You promised—”
“I promised not to hurt you, Lily,” his sleep-roughened voice said, reminding her of his words. “Are you wearing any bruises?” The arm holding her shifted, and she felt his fingertips trailing warmth across her skin as they traveled to her hand and then warmed her through the fine cotton of her gown, moving up toward her shoulder.
The fact that a thin layer of fabric hid her from his gaze seemed
