Free Her Wicked Captain: The River Rogues, Book 1 by Sandra Jones Page A

Now a yawn overcame her. She lay down beside her rifle. Turning her face into the delightful softness of a good feather pillow, she breathed in the scent of tobacco and spice, so overtly male and Rory. The captain’s quarters. Her pulse quickened. She was sleeping in his bed.
    Did he mind giving up the only private room on the packet? Perhaps she should’ve thanked him, but she didn’t have to be there. It was his condition, his terms.
    His loyalty to her stepfather must’ve been great for him to seek her out and fetch her back. Of course, the gambler had raised Rory. Wasn’t that like being father and son even if they weren’t blood relatives?
    A tremor passed through her.
    Sons often became their fathers.
    She closed her eyes and murmured, “Oh, Mama. Please forgive me.”
    “How’s the patient?” Rory met Trap at the helm. His friend guided the boat into the channel, and Rory watched Posey Hollow and all their recent debts grow distant in their wake.
    His mouth pulled thoughtfully. “He’ll live. He’s been awake some. We told him where he was. At first he got a wee bit anxious, but he soothed down quick enough when Asa told him his lady-friend was on board.”
    Rory watched the steep calico bluffs as they passed, recalling how Dell had led him to same spot the night before and insisted on helping him dig for Ephraim’s money. Jeremiah had no idea how lucky he was to have her. Living on the Mississippi, Rory had known very few kind women and even less with such courage. “I don’t think she would’ve returned to Moreaux without him.”
    Trap grunted. “If she has half the skills her mother had, she’ll be damned useful. You can use the slave as leverage when you need her to bait Wainwright.”
    Rory nodded, gladdened for the chilly wind numbing his skin. “If she’ll play along. She’s adamant against it now.”
    “It wouldn’t take much to make her see things your way. Just the truth about the boss.” Trap took his eyes off the water, searching Rory’s face.
    The cold seeped into his chest. “She doesn’t need to know everything about Moreaux. Her mother didn’t tell her much. She was only six-years-old when the woman died, but she seems to understand her stepfather wasn’t exactly the Good Samaritan, either.”
    “You could persuade her to help ruin him, Cap’n.” He grinned suggestively. “But you already had that in mind, didn’t you? You’ve got her in your bed.”
    Rory forced a smile. “Did I have a choice?”
    Thoughts of Dell’s body, her soft creamy skin moving between his own bedsheets assailed him, making him harden. He tugged at his snug cravat, yearning for more of the cool autumn air on his skin. Maybe if he took Dell as his lover she would be safer. He owed her his protection for coming back to Memphis. Then he’d be able to guide her while he completed his plan. The idea pleased him. He would have to consider it more later. “I couldn’t very well put her in your bunk, could I?”
    Trap chortled. “God no! Molly would have me ears.” He grew serious. “But where will you sleep?”
    That was a good question. On the smaller vessel, there were only the crew’s quarters and his, and now he’d taken on two additional passengers. Neither of those places would work. He could never allow anyone to witness his private torment.
    Though no woman ever stayed long in his bed, he never slept alone. His nightmares always kept him company.

Chapter Nine
    Dell awoke to the sound of her stomach growling. Her deep sleep combined with the pitch darkness of the room disoriented her. Where was she? What time was it? She sat up, feeling a soft coverlet fall away from her body. Not home. In her own bed, Sarah would’ve stolen the entire cover—a rough quilt with stuffing hanging from its threadbare patches.
    Then the sound of water lapping outside brought her memory crashing back to the present. She swung her legs over the side and stood. This was Rory’s bed. And she was wearing