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“Don’t—” she protested, but the word was smothered when Zack’s mouth claimed hers. His arms were like steel bands across her back. She resisted, bracing herself on her hands, stiffening her arms, fighting to keep her body from touching his.
His lips were persuasive, and, with the ardency of his kiss, Camille felt her limbs weakening as the warmth of his seeking tongue spread a liquid fire through her veins, melting her resolve, clouding her mind, obscuring her will. She collapsed against his chest with a moan. His arms relaxed their iron grip on her and started caressing her back with a tenderness that was even more binding than his previous stronghold.
“Did I ever tell you what a cute bottom you have?” he asked against her lips as his hands moved under her skirt and slid over the object of his admiration. The warmth of his hands moving over her silky panty hose was intoxicating.
“No! You didn’t tell me any such thing. I would have slapped y
our face,” she objected without conviction. He was kissing her again, and her senses were drowning in an ocean of desire.
“Zack, please don’t kiss me like this,” she pleaded when he finally moved his mouth from hers in order to explore the region behind her ear.
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled. “This is the only way I know how to kiss.”
“You know what I mean,” she persisted as she raised herself over him. He used her movement to turn her over on her back so that now he was looking down on her. The sheet had fallen to his hips and the hair-matted chest was on a level with her flushed face. The golden cross dangled from its chain before her eyes. She was breathless. He stroked back her tangled curls and said with a soft laugh. “As I recall, the first bed we shared was quite a bit larger than this one.”
She disengaged herself from his arms and was off the bed before he could react. “I told you that I didn’t want to talk about that,” she cried vehemently, then glanced toward Rayburn’s bed to see if she had roused him. Thankfully, he was still sleeping heavily. “Every time you mention Utah, it proves just how insensitive you are. I asked you not to discuss Snow Bird anymore.” She was unsuccessfully adjusting her clothing with trembling fingers.
“Well, I don’t always do what you ask, do I?” he whispered harshly as he came out of the bed and started toward her. “I want to have this out here and now. Was spending the night with me in Snow Bird so odious to you? You make me sound like a hoard of Vikings looking for the village virgins and you being the only one found. I don’t remember it that way. You weren’t raped, Camille. I don’t recall you screaming, or kicking, or biting… well, maybe a little biting,” he added with a wicked glint in his eye as he rubbed a spot on his shoulder. Camille gleaned his implication and was aghast.
She stamped her foot. “You’re despicable. No gentleman.” Then she groaned, turning her head away. “And I can’t stand here and talk to you any longer if you don’t put some pants on.” She hated the tremor in her voice and tried to steady it as he mumbled, “Oh, hell.” He fumbled in the darkness for his jeans and, finally finding them, dragged them on and zipped them quickly.
“Is that better?” He mocked her modest shyness.
“Yes, thank you,” she said primly.
“You’re welcome,” he answered in kind, and Camille hated him for his coolness.
“I want to know what was so urgent that you left me without so much as a good-bye. I want to know now!” There was no mistaking his imperative tone. All teasing was finished.
“I… I was… ashamed, humiliated. I went to bed with a perfect stranger and you took… It is the only thing a woman… It should have belonged to the man I’ll marry.” She was crying now but couldn’t help herself. “What if I had gotten pregnant?” She saw his face go completely blank then he groaned, “Oh, God—” She was quick to reassure him. “No, I didn’t but I could have. I wasn’t… protected. I had never… you took—”
“I didn’t exactly take anything, Camille. I didn’t know you had never been with a man. If you had told me, I would have left you alone.” He raked one hand through his hair and rubbed the other one across his chest. “No, I wouldn’t’ve,” he admitted with a sigh. Then impatiently, “Hell, I don’t know what I would have done, and it’s useless to surmise. It happened the way it did. Nothing can change that. And truthfully, I can’t say that I regret sleeping with you.”
“That’s the difference with men and women, Zack. At least this woman. It was just a casual thing with you. I ruined myself. Every time I think about it, I feel cheap and dirty. No decent man will ever want me. I have no self-respect anymore so how can I expect anyone else to respect me?”
“Ruined? Cheap? Dirty?” His volume rose with each word. “Well, thanks a helluva lot. I didn’t think my lovemaking was so bestial that it could reduce someone’s self-esteem to such a low level.” He was slinging on the rest of his clothes, his hair in wild disarray around his head. He was furious, and Camille knew the effort he was exerting not to shout at the top of his lungs. Dressed, he came toward her and grabbed her shoulders. “When you and that decent fellow finally get together and you’re tearfully explaining to him your lost virginity at the hands of a base, sex-starved maniac, explain this, too.” He crushed her body to his. It was a deep, insulting kiss, totally lacking in the warmth and tenderness of those just minutes before. When he had thoroughly plundered her mouth and moved his hands over her in a demeaning way, he shoved her from him and went toward the door. Just then the nurse who had threatened him with the needle the night before came in with Rayburn’s breakfast tray and morning medication.
“God! Don’t you ever go off duty?” Zack roared as he went through the door, brushing past her immense bulk and almost upsetting the tray in her arms.
Camille, under the nurse’s speculative stare, hurriedly gathered her purse and coat and fled, asking the nurse to tell Rayburn that she would be back later.
Eight
The dreadful scene in the hospital room left Camille feeling even more vulnerable with Zack than before. He had the power to hurt her deeply, strip her of her defenses, and this gave him a frightening hold over her. She kept away from him as much as possible lest he see how he affected her.
They spoke to each other with the cold politeness of strangers, and only when forced to speak at all. They tacitly agreed that from that night on, she would relieve him on alternate nights in Rayburn’s room. The rollaway bed was left there for them to use while spending the night with him.
After another week, Zack finally conceded that Rayburn was recovering well enough to stay alone. He was now able to take short strolls up and down the halls, usually accompanied by an attractive nurse, all of whom had developed deep crushes on this white-haired Southern gentleman.
Camille continued to visit Rayburn at least once a day, although she was busy with redecorating the house. It seemed that even the most professional of workers she had hired needed her to answer myriad questions, or give her advice, or offer her approval. As exhausting as her constant vigilance was, she would rather the artisans make sure they were doing something exactly to her specifications than to have them do it wrong and necessitate correction.
These final phases of restoration were providing a glimpse of how lovely the house was going to be when completed. Camille was pleased with all her choices and was anxious for Rayburn to see their planning come to fruition. She inferred that Zack’s noncommittal grunts indicated his favor. She was feeling confident about her work on Bridal Wreath and congratulating herself on her excellent taste.
Then the hammer fell.
Early one afternoon she noticed Zack standing in the wide hall looking into the dining room. His hands were on his hips, his booted feet planted wide apart. He had apparently just come in from the plantation for he still had on mud-splattered jeans and a worn jean jacket. He held a battered hat in one of his hands and Camille was reminded of her first day at Bridal Wreath when he had confronted her in this same stance. It was still intimidating.
“Miss Jameson,” he said crisply when he saw her approaching. “What in the hell is this?”
