Nan Ryan by Silken Bondage

Author:Silken Bondage
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-11-13T13:20:16+00:00

23

She awoke with a start.

Her heart drumming loudly in her ears, Nevada bolted straight up in bed, the horror of the nightmare filling her with dread and panic. Swallowing convulsively, she tried to speak, couldn’t. Trembling like a leaf, she threw back the covers and finally managed to choke out, “Miss Annabelle? Miss Annabelle, I had this terrible dream and I—I …”

Her eyes fell on Miss Annabelle’s empty bed and the truth dawned. Miss Annabelle was not here with her. Miss Annabelle was sick and in the hospital. She was alone, all alone in the big, dark bedroom.

Her teeth chattering with fear and with cold, Nevada put her hands to her cheeks and told herself she must stay calm. It was just a nightmare, a ghastly, gruesome nightmare. It hadn’t actually happened, wasn’t going to happen. Running her hands up and down her chilled, stiff arms, she recalled with frightening clarity the macabre dream that had awakened her.

Johnny was on a Mississippi riverboat, playing cards below decks. A fire in the paddlewheeler’s galley had quickly spread to the dining room and on to the cabins. It was a dark cold night and terrified passengers jumped overboard and swam for their lives.

But Johnny was trapped!

Her hand at her mouth to choke back the sobs threatening to erupt, Nevada, shaking so violently she could hardly function, anxiously lunged from her bed and dashed across the carpeted room. She yanked open the door and rushed through the spacious sitting room to Johnny’s closed door.

Her hand on the polished brass knob, she waited, trying desperately to get a grip on her tensed nerves, delaying until the furious pounding of her heart could slow a little. Silently telling herself everything was all right, that Johnny was sleeping just inside, that he was safe and here with her, Nevada quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The silken drapes at the bedroom’s tall windows had not been closed against the night. A steadily falling rain pelted the uncovered glass. It was cold, much colder than in her own room. The gloaming from London’s streetlamps and the buildings’ gaslights bathed the bedroom with a pale ambient light.

Directly across from the door, in an oversized custom bed hung with rich brown velvet, Johnny Roulette slumbered peacefully, the white silk sheet riding his bare waist, a long muscular leg stuck outside the covers.

Staring at him, Nevada took a long deep breath of happy relief and turned to leave. She paused, glanced back at the sleeping man. Should she cover him? He wore no pajamas; what if he should catch pneumonia like Miss Annabelle?

Nevada tiptoed to the bed, looked down on Johnny, and felt her just-slowed heartbeat race once more.

He lay in the very middle of the huge bed, on his back. His head was turned to the side, the midnight-black hair tumbling over his forehead and onto the silk-cased pillow. His beautiful black eyes were closed, but his lips were slightly parted to reveal the gleam of wet teeth.

His

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