crying at once, and called out teasingly, “Yes? Who is it?”
The Gambler’s burly bouncer, Stryker, answered in a low, gravelly voice, “Miss Nevada, you okay? Did Roulette do anything out of line?”
“No, no,” she called out, heartsick and disappointed, “I-I’m fine, Stryker.”
“You sure?”
Hand going to her mouth to hold back the sobs threatening to erupt from her aching throat, Nevada shook her dark head yes.
“Nevada?” he said again.
“I-I’m … sure,” she managed, jerking the hem of her covering sheet loose and shoving it into her mouth to stifle her weeping as the hot, stinging tears poured down her cheeks.
“All right, then,” said the big bouncer. “You get some sleep, before afternoon rehearsals.” He turned and left.
Nevada, hearing his heavy footsteps falling away, sighed with relief and pulled the choking sheet out of her mouth. Trembling like a leaf in the wind, she turned about and leaned back against the door for support. Still, her weak legs would not support her. Slowly she sagged to the carpeted floor, sat flat down, and cried until there were no tears left.
Then wearily she rose, crossed to the bedroom, and stretched out on the rumpled bed. Flat on her back, every muscle in her body aching, Nevada slowly turned to look at the empty place beside her. Her red, swollen eyes fell on the pillow where Johnny’s dark head had left a deep indentation. Reaching out, she clutched a corner of the satin-cased pillow, drew it slowly to her, and placed it directly atop her bare breasts. Her arms came around it and she hugged the pillow tightly to her, inhaling deeply the unique masculine scent that clung to it.
Nevada lay there hugging Johnny’s pillow, feeling as though she were somebody else, not herself, not Nevada Marie Hamilton. And indeed she was a new person. The starry-eyed, innocent girl who had preceded the roguish, heavily intoxicated Johnny Roulette into this lavish floating playroom for grownups was gone forever.
In her place was a sad young woman with swollen lips, an unfamiliar tenderness between her legs, and a painfully aching heart, who clung tenaciously to all she had left of her handsome, heartless lover.
Exactly one hour after Johnny had gone, Nevada—face washed, hair brushed, broken heart bravely concealed—exited the scene of her loving and loss. With a tight smile she stepped out onto the wide inside balcony and, almost at once, Stryker materialized out of nowhere. His frowning florid face wore a look of inquiry as his keen eyes swept slowly over Nevada. He looked at her as though he was checking all her parts to see that they were still intact.
“How are you this morning, Stryker?” Nevada asked, smiling, making her voice sound cheerful.
“It’s afternoon and I’m always okay.” He blocked her path; his eyes met hers. “I knew it,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Knew what?” Nevada asked nervously.
“You’re in love with him.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re … I most certainly …” She was faltering badly, but pressed on. “I’m far too sophisticated to … to … I …”
Stryker shook his sandy head and his arms opened wide. Nevada fell gratefully into them. “There, child,” he crooned, patting her back awkwardly with a big, gentle hand. “I knew what would happen when Roulette took you upstairs.”
Nevada found herself swallowed up in Stryker’s gargantuan arms, her face pressed to the rough cotton shirt stretching across his broad chest. To this big strong man she said, “Stryker, don’t tell the other girls I was fool enough to fall for Johnny. Promise me.”
“Say anything you please to the others and I’ll back you up,” assured the tenderhearted bouncer.
So that’s exactly what Nevada did. Smiling as though she were guarding a delicious secret, Nevada swept confidently into the dressing quarters where Lilly and Belle and Julia and Betsy were relaxing before afternoon rehearsals.
They looked
The Gambler’s burly bouncer, Stryker, answered in a low, gravelly voice, “Miss Nevada, you okay? Did Roulette do anything out of line?”
“No, no,” she called out, heartsick and disappointed, “I-I’m fine, Stryker.”
“You sure?”
Hand going to her mouth to hold back the sobs threatening to erupt from her aching throat, Nevada shook her dark head yes.
“Nevada?” he said again.
“I-I’m … sure,” she managed, jerking the hem of her covering sheet loose and shoving it into her mouth to stifle her weeping as the hot, stinging tears poured down her cheeks.
“All right, then,” said the big bouncer. “You get some sleep, before afternoon rehearsals.” He turned and left.
Nevada, hearing his heavy footsteps falling away, sighed with relief and pulled the choking sheet out of her mouth. Trembling like a leaf in the wind, she turned about and leaned back against the door for support. Still, her weak legs would not support her. Slowly she sagged to the carpeted floor, sat flat down, and cried until there were no tears left.
Then wearily she rose, crossed to the bedroom, and stretched out on the rumpled bed. Flat on her back, every muscle in her body aching, Nevada slowly turned to look at the empty place beside her. Her red, swollen eyes fell on the pillow where Johnny’s dark head had left a deep indentation. Reaching out, she clutched a corner of the satin-cased pillow, drew it slowly to her, and placed it directly atop her bare breasts. Her arms came around it and she hugged the pillow tightly to her, inhaling deeply the unique masculine scent that clung to it.
Nevada lay there hugging Johnny’s pillow, feeling as though she were somebody else, not herself, not Nevada Marie Hamilton. And indeed she was a new person. The starry-eyed, innocent girl who had preceded the roguish, heavily intoxicated Johnny Roulette into this lavish floating playroom for grownups was gone forever.
In her place was a sad young woman with swollen lips, an unfamiliar tenderness between her legs, and a painfully aching heart, who clung tenaciously to all she had left of her handsome, heartless lover.
Exactly one hour after Johnny had gone, Nevada—face washed, hair brushed, broken heart bravely concealed—exited the scene of her loving and loss. With a tight smile she stepped out onto the wide inside balcony and, almost at once, Stryker materialized out of nowhere. His frowning florid face wore a look of inquiry as his keen eyes swept slowly over Nevada. He looked at her as though he was checking all her parts to see that they were still intact.
“How are you this morning, Stryker?” Nevada asked, smiling, making her voice sound cheerful.
“It’s afternoon and I’m always okay.” He blocked her path; his eyes met hers. “I knew it,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Knew what?” Nevada asked nervously.
“You’re in love with him.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re … I most certainly …” She was faltering badly, but pressed on. “I’m far too sophisticated to … to … I …”
Stryker shook his sandy head and his arms opened wide. Nevada fell gratefully into them. “There, child,” he crooned, patting her back awkwardly with a big, gentle hand. “I knew what would happen when Roulette took you upstairs.”
Nevada found herself swallowed up in Stryker’s gargantuan arms, her face pressed to the rough cotton shirt stretching across his broad chest. To this big strong man she said, “Stryker, don’t tell the other girls I was fool enough to fall for Johnny. Promise me.”
“Say anything you please to the others and I’ll back you up,” assured the tenderhearted bouncer.
So that’s exactly what Nevada did. Smiling as though she were guarding a delicious secret, Nevada swept confidently into the dressing quarters where Lilly and Belle and Julia and Betsy were relaxing before afternoon rehearsals.
They looked
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