Free The Gambler by Lois Greiman Page A

is how you got the Bible."
    Breathe, she reminded herself, but it was difficult indeed, for he would not like the truth, and no believable lies were coming to mind. "I got it from my father." She had meant to say she'd gotten it from her mother, but the truth had made him very unpleasant in the past, causing her to avoid that topic for as long as possible.
    His eyes narrowed slightly. "When did he give it to you?"
    The lower half of his face was shadowed, while his hair shone raven black in the dusky light.
    "When, Charm?"
    She let her attention fall breathlessly to his mouth when he spoke. It was close enough to allow her to feel the air of his words stroke her cheek.
    "Charm?" he whispered, leaning closer still, so that she could make out each lean, unshaven line of his angular face. "When?"
    Fear twisted her gut. It must be fear, she reasoned, for he was too near and strong and dangerous to allow any other emotion.
    "I was very young," she whispered. She could feel his heartbeat against her breast, thrumming with his life. "Jude was hurt. Shot." She squinted as the memories rushed painfully at her. For a moment the emotions held her in their grip. "He thought he was dying, so he gave me the Bible."
    Raven watched her. A ray of fractured light had found its way between cloud and branch to fall with merciless scrutiny upon her face. Such direct illumination would be harsh to most women. To Charm it was marvelously benevolent. Raven took a steadying breath as he studied her. Good God, she looked like an angel, like a frail piece of heaven, soft, and helpless, and oh so sad. And if the angel had fallen a bit, who could blame her? Surely not Joseph Neil, the man who called himself Raven.
    "Why did he give you the Bible, Charm?"
    "He said..." She paused, lifting her eyes to his. They were huge and bright and so filled with fear and sadness that for a moment he seemed to feel her pain in his own chest. "He said it had been my mother's. That I was old enough to care for it now."
    The words fell uneasily into the silence. Raven watched her, thinking a thousand thoughts. Each had something to do with the softness of her skin, or how the sunlight danced upon the cinnamon streaks of her hair.
    "He said she'd wanted me to have it."
    Raven brought his thoughts back with an effort. "Your mother's?"
    She nodded. The movement was erratic and frightened the shadow of her chin into dancing across the delicate column of her throat.
    "Did she look like you?" It was not the question he had meant to ask, for it had little bearing on his search.
    "I don't remember her." Charm's words were no more than the breath of a whisper. Raven watched her, seeing the abject emotions in her eyes.
    "Not at all?" He could remember his own mother so easily. How she would hum him into dreamland when the world crowded in too close. How she would lift her chin in the midst of trouble and remind him that one must take the bad with the good. But there had been too little good for Abigail Scott, and too damn much bad.
    "She died giving birth to me," Charm whispered.
    Good God! Such a beauty, with no one but a drunken father to protect her from the harshness of the world. "I'm sorry." Raven's words came unbidden and unwanted. He reached his hand up to gently push a few dark, wild wisps of hair from her neck. A pulse beat there, strong and rapid, like a frightened doe's. For a moment, Raven allowed his fingertips to remain on that delicate spot, feeling the steady, sensual throb.
    "It wasn't Jude's fault," she murmured. Her lips were slightly parted, and she breathed rapidly, with her gaze pinned on his while her soft, half-bare bosom rose and fell against his chest. "He couldn't have known what would happen. He couldn't have guessed."
    "Charm..." Raven said softly, and finding he could no longer resist her, pressed his lips to hers.
    They were soft and full and very like a brief touch of heaven. He moved his mouth, feeling the warmth streak through his system like a