Free Nan Ryan by Silken Bondage Page A

in his Plantation House suite, he was beginning to feel better. And to quit blaming himself for Nevada Hamilton.
    Dressing in the afternoon dimness of his heavily draped hotel bedroom, Johnny pulled on a cool summer suit jacket of tan linen, reasoning that what had happened was as much Nevada’s fault as his. Didn’t she know that the girls entertaining on the Gambler made most of their money in the bedrooms, not onstage? Sure, she did! The hell with her. She’d gone into it with her eyes wide open. He just happened to be the unlucky cuss who was her first.
    Pushing her out of his thoughts, Johnny went in search of a game. The Silver Slipper, a small, classy joint built on stilts at the river’s edge, was one of his favorite places for afternoon action. The Slipper was filled to capacity with well-heeled gentlemen who, like himself, enjoyed wagering on the turn of a card, the throw of the dice.
    Johnny, grinning, relaxing at last, sat down at a faro table. He was not lucky. He dropped two thousand before leaving the Slipper. It was the same story at the Four Queens. Johnny couldn’t win at cards, couldn’t win at craps.
    His luck was lousy. He had the superstitious hunch that if tiny dark-haired Nevada Hamilton was at his elbow, luck would turn his way. He continued to buck the tables. And to lose. And although he had shaken off the foolish idea several times throughout the losing afternoon, when night fell Johnny found himself standing on the levee before the party boat, Moonlight Gambler .
    He climbed the long companionway, headed at once for the gaming room, and was stopped by the swarthy slender maitre d’ at the door.
    “Mr. Roulette, you can’t go in. You’re not dressed for evening and …”
    Johnny, hearing an unmistakably sweet feminine voice coming from inside, replied, “Sorry, Franco, I left something inside last night. I’ve come back to claim it. Won’t take but a minute.” And he breezed right past and into the smoke-filled gaming palace.
    There she was. Onstage, singing about “Johnny doing her wrong” and looking like she was forty years old. Johnny Roulette swallowed hard and raked a brown long-fingered hand through his hair. God, she had aged! It was the eyes, those deep blue eyes that had flashed so excitedly only last night. Now they looked sad, hurt. Old. Maybe she was dreading what was before her, after she left the stage.
    Johnny started moving toward the stage. At the same time he let his black eyes do a slow, deliberate sweep around the room at the patrons. Whose bed would she warm tonight? Tables of drooling, excited red-faced men were looking up at the pale fragile girl as though she were something good to eat and they could hardly wait for their first greedy taste.
    Heroes, her good luck had sent her!
    Johnny swore under his breath, “Well, she’s my Lady Luck and they can’t have her!”
    And not waiting until her number was finished, he strode determinedly down to the stage and plucked the shocked Nevada from it in midsong. Before he could turn around, Stryker was upon them like a charging bull.
    Stryker’s powerful arms enclosed both Johnny and Nevada and he shouted above the pandemonium that had broken out, “Put her down, Roulette, or I’ll squeeze the life out of you where you stand.”
    “No!” Nevada screamed to be heard. “Stryker, please don’t hurt Johnny!’’
    Never loosening his hold, Stryker said to Johnny, “You’re not taking this girl back upstairs, Roulette.”
    Johnny said, “No, I’m not. I’m taking her out of here for good. Off the Gambler . Tell Pops she’s my good-luck charm and she’s coming with me.” Stryker’s bulging arms relaxed their punishing death grip. Johnny turned to face the overly protective bouncer. “You tell me, Stryker. Is she better off here?” He inclined his dark head, indicating the loud, hungered throng surrounding them. “Or with me?”
    Stryker said, “Take her, Roulette. She’s got no business on this tub.