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Then his arms were around her and he lifted her out of the tub. With one arm under her knees and the other supporting her shoulders, he carried her out of the bathroom and sat down on the bed, cradling her gently in his lap.
“You really were afraid, weren’t you?” he whispered, brushing back strands of hair from her cheek. “I’m sorry I made fun of you. Shhh, he’s gone. Everything is okay.”
She turned her face into his chest and buried it in the soft fabric of his shirt as she once again started sobbing uncontrollably. He patted her back and stroked her cheek, repeating words of comfort. Finally, she was spent; her tears ran dry. She shuddered when she thought of the fool he must imagine her to be. Slowly she raised her head and looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry I’ve held you up. You must have been getting an early start for the plantation. I’m glad you were up and about or I might still be standing in the bathtub.” She smiled tremulously and looked away from his piercing blue eyes. “How do you suppose the… the snake got in?”
He laughed. “He probably heard all the talk about our charming houseguest and wanted to look you over. I imagine he came in through the plumbing somehow. Don’t worry about it. I’ll have Simon check to make sure everything is secured. I don’t think you’ll have another visit. You scared him as much as he scared you.” She shuddered against him involuntarily.
His strong fingers reached out and tilted her chin so that she was forced to look at him. “You’ve gotten my shirt all wet,” he teased. She looked at the damp material where she had shed most of her tears.
“I’m sorry about that, too,” she said softly and brushed her fingers across the cloth covering his hard chest. His body shook slightly, and she looked up to see a new light in his eyes. Camille was suddenly aware of their intimacy. She felt the soft denim of his jeans under her bare thighs and knew he could feel her heart pounding under the breast that was pressed against his broad chest.
Strong, sun-tanned fingers cupped the back of her head as he lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was firm and warm and chaste… at first. Then the all too vividly remembered sensuality of his mouth became real again. Camille’s lips opened under the gentle pressure of his tongue and her breath caught in her throat when it explored her mouth with increasing fervor.
When they had to breathe, he pulled his lips from hers, but they didn’t leave her face. He rained light kisses over her cheeks and forehead then trailed down her temple to give ardent attention to her ear. She sighed against his neck as she breathed in the fresh fragrance of his cologne. Who but Zack would apply cologne before going off to work in the fields all day?
Her sigh brought him back to her lips, and he teased them with soft, sipping kisses. Camille groaned as he lifted her arms and moved them around his neck while he firmly fastened his mouth on hers. The kiss was deep and thorough and arrested all Camille’s senses. She was only vaguely aware of his hand moving to the top buttons of her nightshirt and the cool air against her bare skin. But she gasped and pulled her mouth away from his when she felt his hand slip into her opened nightshirt and cover her breast.
“Zack… please…” she breathed. His mouth had moved down her neck to the base of her throat, where he traced that small triangle with his tongue.
“Please what? What, Camille?” he asked huskily against her throat as his fingers coaxed a physical response from her breast.
“No, Zack, please—”
Whatever she was going to say was cut off abruptly as they heard a door slam. Simon’s voice carried across the terrace as he chatted with Dearly while they made their way to the main house to start their morning chores.
Camille jumped off of Zack’s lap and snatched together the front of her nightshirt. Shame and embarrassment bathed her cheeks with color as she faced him after securing the buttons down her front. She wished the night garment were longer. She was well aware that her long legs were completely bare and Zack took advantage of that fact as his eyes made a slow tour up and down her body.
A mocking grin lifted the corners of his mouth as he drawled, “What are you afraid of? Losing your virtue?”
She glared back at him and raised her chin haughtily. “That’s a ludicrous question coming from you!”
He rose from the bed with the ease of a stretching jungle cat and pulled the cowboy hat low over his sun-bleached brows. He took a few steps forward, and only stubborn determination kept Camille rooted to her spot, for her inclination was to turn away from the blue eyes that burned her skin with their audacious, raking appraisal.
He stopped a few inches in front of her and murmured, “You’re beautiful in the morning.” He tugged playfully on one of her unruly curls and chucked her under the chin before he turned and walked out the screened door. He was whistling as he crossed the terrace. Whistling! It was that nonchalance that made her seethe with anger. He was so casual about what had just happened between them while her nerve endings were erupting like tiny volcanoes and filling her veins with a frightening fire.
Four
That morning Camille and Rayburn began the restoration of Bridal Wreath, discussing different colors, fabrics, and motifs. Camille was surprised at the older man’s exquisite taste and pleased that they shared comparable visions of how the house should look when the redecorating was completed. Camille’s own taste ran toward clean, simple, and graceful lines, lightly touched with elegance. She hated entering a room and feeling suffocated by the decor rather than being able to enjoy the room for its own merits. Rayburn seemed to approve of the wall colors, drapery samples, upholstery fabrics, and accent colors that she had tentatively selected. They tried several different combinations in each room until they agreed on the best ones, making certain that all the rooms would blend together. She took careful note of the order numbers stamped onto the backs of the various samples. When she ordered the materials, she wanted there to be no margin for error.
They continued with their work after lunch but, at Simon’s suggestion, stopped in the middle of the afternoon. Simon had urged Camille to go to the dowager house and rest, but she knew that he was thinking about Rayburn’s health and wanted the elder Prescott to lie down until dinner.
As far as the younger Prescott was concerned, Camille didn’t see him until dinner. Throughout the day, she caught herself reliving the events of the morning, and was furious with herself for allowing him to kiss her with such unrestrained passion. He must have been laughing at her all day, knowing how she had practically fallen into his arms and succumbed to his expert caresses. Camille felt a stab of jealousy wondering on whom he had learned to be so knowledgeable in the art of loving.
She hated herself for being so pliable. He had barely touched her and yet she responded wantonly. The two years since Snow Bird seemed to dissolve, and his kisses brought back all the rapture she had felt when she lay in the security and warmth of his arms. His lips had tenderly demanded a response from hers and they had not been disappointed. His hands moved over her with a gentle familiarity that left her breathless. She had never allowed any other man such access to her body. Why Zack? What kind of power did he practice on her? All sense of propriety and moral conviction faded into oblivion when he held her in his arms. That was a dangerous situation. She had surrendered herself to
his compromising persuasion once, and she still carried the guilt of that with her. She didn’t intend to make that same mistake a second time.
Camille wore a simple cotton dress for dinner. It was a gold color that matched the golden flecks in her eyes. When she entered the parlor, Rayburn was sitting in a comfortable club chair that was destined to be reupholstered. It was one of his favorite chairs, and he had shyly asked Camille if he would be allowed to keep it. Laughing, she had agreed. Zack was standing at a long sideboard pouring himself a drink.
The navy slacks fit his long, muscular legs to perfection, and the ecru silk shirt caressed the sleek muscles of his back and shoulders every time he moved. He turned when he heard her enter and Camille saw that the silk didn’t fully conceal the mat of tawny hair that covered his chest. She swallowed the annoying lump in her throat and murmured a low, “Good evening.”
“Hello, Camille. Would you like a drink?” Even his voice was seductive.
“White wine, please. On the rocks.”
“A real lady’s drink, Camille,” Rayburn approved. “I dislike women who drink hard liquor. I was just telling Zack about some of the plans we made today. You’ve reconfirmed my trust in your talents.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Prescott. I hope that your son will be pleased with the results.” She turned her eyes toward Zack, who was still standing after having crossed the room to hand her her drink. “If you should want to see the samples we’ve selected, I’ll be glad to show them to you before I phone in my orders.”
