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“Okay,” he replied cheerfully and released her immediately. She was shocked at his obedience and, if she admitted it, a little disappointed.
He was not to be daunted. “Jeans next, right?” He held up her jeans expectantly, and she had no choice but to support herself with one hand on his shoulder as she stepped first into one leg and then the other. She was acutely aware of his warm breath against her stomach as he leaned down to pull the tight jeans up her legs and over her hips. As he reached to close them, she said quickly, “I’ll fasten them,” and hurriedly drew up the zipper and snapped the snap. He grinned at her wickedly and shrugged.
“Okay. I’ll do the belt.” Again his arms went around her as he drew the belt through the loops at the back of her jeans. His head was pressed against her chest, and she noticed that it was taking an unnecessary length of time for such a simple task.
“Zack, you’re not fool—”
“There, I’ve got it now. I was having a little trouble with one of the loops.” He lifted his head to meet her eyes. His mouth was curled into such a mischievous grin, and his eyes were dancing with such devilish delight that Camille was tempted to laugh with him and tease back. She stymied the impulse and looked back at him coolly. He was not at all impressed by her hauteur.
“Pretty blouse,” he commented as he held it while she put her arms into the sleeves. He buttoned the cuffs with aggravating care. She expected him to do the same with the buttons on the front, but when he looked at her this time, she could see that he had dropped his teasing manner. He held her eyes with his. She couldn’t escape the hypnotic pull they had over her senses. He slipped his hands into the open shirt and pressed them onto her breasts. Having a will of its own, her body began to respond. She leaned nearer to him, and one of his hands closed around the back of her neck, drawing her face down to meet his.
“Zack—”
“Don’t say ‘don’t.’ ”
“Zack—”
“Don’t say ‘don’t.’ ”
And then she couldn’t say anything for his mouth was blending with hers. In a heartbeat, he was off the dressing table and standing with her, pulling her into him with a ferocity that was as frightening as it was thrilling. His tongue plundered her mouth hungrily as if he could not get enough of her. Their bodies welded together, and, even through the thickness of their jeans. Camille knew his desire and answered it with an instinctive pressure of her hips.
Finally his lips left her mouth and traveled on a fiery path down her neck to her throat. She clutched his bare back and marveled at the rippling muscles under her fingers. The hair on his chest and stomach tickled her as he pressed her torso against him.
“Camille, please,” he moaned. “Why do you refuse what we both want so badly? Why?”
The words were ground out near her ear and she recognized the anguish in them. He was suffering through all of this, too. But his suffering was only physical, while hers was of the spirit as well. Oh, she did want him. She wanted him with a passion she never knew she could be capable of. It would be so easy to submit. She longed for release from this painful torment. Release that could only be found in his arms. But she knew that to assuage it would only bring more pain to her soul, and she couldn’t do it. It took every ounce of will, every vestige of her strength, to push away from him.
She saw the bafflement, the abso
lute incomprehension in his eyes, and she almost dismissed her resolve. But then the blue eyes became clouded with mounting frustration that grew into savage anger even as she watched.
“Dammit, Camille! I know you want me as much as I want you.” His fingers dug into her shoulders, and he spoke through clenched teeth.
“Let me go, Zack,” she screamed. She was on the verge of hysteria, hating herself for what she must do for both their sakes.
He released her so suddenly that she reeled backward. She allowed herself one fleeting glimpse of his hard, bitter face before she flung herself into her bedroom and slammed the connecting door. She fell against it and slid down its cold surface to the floor. Sobbing uncontrollably she whispered, “I do want you, Zack. If only you’d say you love me.”
* * *
That evening Zack went out alone for the first time since their marriage. Camille couldn’t face him at breakfast after what had happened in the bathroom. Dearly brought a tray to her room. After she had eaten some biscuits and drunk several cups of coffee, she felt somewhat restored. She was just leaving her room when she heard the telephone ring. As she passed Zack’s bedroom door, she heard him answer it, pause, and then say, “Hello, Erica.” His voice was light and happy, a far cry from the harsh, bitter tones he had flung at her an hour before. She didn’t want to hear the rest of the conversation, so she hurried down the hall and went downstairs to visit with Rayburn.
The day seemed to drag by. Whenever she and Zack were in the same room, the anger and tension between them was almost tangible, separating them like an impenetrable curtain.
At dinner when he announced that he was going out for the evening, her heart plummeted. Even though he made some vague excuse to Rayburn about a poker game with friends, she knew that he was more likely meeting Erica. Was this their first meeting since the scene in the restaurant on the day of his wedding, or was this just the first one she knew anything about? Would she have been suspicious of his evening out had she not heard him talking to Erica this morning on the telephone? It struck Camille as strange that Erica would chance calling Zack at home instead of him trying to contact her. Did the woman have no shame? She apparently was confident in Zack’s love for her.
Zack stayed out until early the next morning. Camille didn’t fall into a restless sleep until she heard him come upstairs and go into his room.
The household fell into a new routine. Zack was gone most of the day every day. Sometimes Camille caught a brief glimpse of him in the mornings before he rushed out. Other days it wasn’t until dinnertime that she saw her husband. Though they tried to keep up a happy facade for Rayburn, she wondered if the older man was fooled.
It was puzzling to her that Zack had made a romantic overture to her. He obviously hated her. Why had he bothered to accost her in the bathroom? She had only to look at Rayburn’s hopeful face to find her answer. He wanted an heir for Bridal Wreath. Was Zack’s motivation in wanting to make love to her to provide his father with that longed for grandchild? Sadly, she reasoned that it must be.
She spent most of her time with Rayburn. They worked with his plants, took slow walking tours of the lower floor of the house while she pointed out the final stages of decorating, and even went for brief strolls around the terrace in the backyard when his strength and the weather permitted it.
The weather didn’t allow many of those days. It had been a very wet and dreary month. It rained nearly every day, and, when it wasn’t raining, the clouds hung heavy and threatening over the landscape. Camille’s depression seemed intensified by the outside gloom and the cold rain that came down in torrents. Would there be no end to this unhappy situation?
To her further humiliation, Zack continued to go out nearly every evening. He rarely left just after dinner, but most usually he waited until Rayburn had retired for the night before leaving. There was no doubt in Camille’s mind where these nightly sojourns led him. He went straight to Erica Hazelett’s arms.
Vainly she tried to keep her hopelessness and listlessness out of her eyes, but she failed to do so. Her mirror told her that she looked pale and haggard. Her eyes were often puffy and red from crying and lack of sleep.
