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Prudence swung it away from him. "That's not necessary. I've carried it this far on my own; I can continue to do so."
"Damn it, woman. I didn't ask your permission," he snapped, pulling it roughly out of her hand.
Prudence stopped dead in her tracks, her expression reproachful. "Mr. Stewart, you will not use profanity around me again."
"Then do as I say, or you will hear words that will make your ears burn hot red."
"Mr. Stewart!"
Zac stopped, walked over to her, and looked down into her upturned face. "I'm going to tell you this one more time. Don't call me Mr. Stewart again."
"And if I do?" she persisted.
"You'll never finish the name," he said with a nasty grin.
"And how do you propose to prevent me from—" She stopped suddenly when she realized his intentions. He would stop her with a kiss. He would capture his own name with his mouth and do unspeakable things with his lips and tongue. Again she recalled the kiss in the garden. Had his kiss been unspeakable or delightful or perhaps a little of both?
"I see you understand me."
"Perfectly," she answered, purposely refraining from using any name.
"Good," he said, and then walked away.
His "good" made her wonder if he had found kissing her repulsive. After all, he had only kissed her to prove a point, not because he desired her.
"Let's go, Prudence. I can't carry you and this satchel."
Prudence noticeably stiffened, walking toward him with her head erect and her body straight. He didn't have to insult her. At least she now knew he favored petite women and, of course, that answered her other question. About the kiss. He hadn't enjoyed it. She was certain of that now.
"I didn't ask for your assistance, nor do I need it," she said, and walked quickly past him.
"Damn," he muttered.
"Watch your profanity, Mr. Stewart, and I shall be more careful as to how I refer to you."
Zac was about to say damn again, but instead he smiled. Prudence Agatha Winthrop was one determined and smart lady. She had made sure she was a safe enough distance away before she called him Mr. Stewart, and she had bartered one irritating habit for another. Although he doubted he wouldn't say damn again around her, and he seriously doubted she wouldn't call him Mr. Stewart again.
The thought made his smile grow. He was going to enjoy that kiss. Yes sir, he damn well was.
Prudence was already in the hotel when Zac entered. Now he could clearly see her fatigue in the way her shoulders drooped slightly. If he hadn't been familiar with her stiff posture, he wouldn't have noticed it. But having grown accustomed to the erect way she held herself, he now saw the slightest droop. Even her eyes had lost some of their luster and vitality. The girl definitely needed rest.
"Let me see about rooms and have them hold your bags until after we talk and have some food," he said, turning away from her before she could protest.
Prudence walked over to the well-worn Victorian chair near the lone window. Its red velvet material was faded and stained from years of use. She glanced down at the chair forlornly. It looked almost as weary as she felt. She wondered if she would be able to stand up again if she sat down. Her tired body decided for her. She plopped down in a most unladylike fashion and sighed contentedly.
Prudence looked about the small quarters of the hotel. The furnishings were sparse, a few chairs grouped strategically for conversation, a large braided rug threadbare in spots, and a freshly polished smell that added a definite air of cleanliness. And the delicious, heavenly scent of beef drifted in from the dining salon and made her mouth water.
Food and rest were two of the priorities on her list, but the top one was convincing Zac Stewart she couldn't return to Boston with him. And the only way she felt she might have a chance was if she confided in him and told him the truth.
"All set," Zac said, looking down at her.
It wasn't necessary for Prudence to force a pleasant smile. It came naturally this time, and the change it brought to her face was startling.
Zac took immediate notice. Her cheeks were warm with a gentle blush, her green eyes soft in their look, her lips loose and pliable, as though ready to be tasted and enjoyed.
"Let's eat!" he snapped and walked away from her, not even bothering to extend his hand in assistance as a proper gentleman should.
Prudence stood, a moan involuntarily escaping her lips in protest.
Zac turned quickly, shook his head, and walked back to her. "How much does it really hurt? And don't bother to deny it does. I hate martyrs."
"I'm not a martyr, nor do I wish to be. I assumed soreness would be part of my travels. And how much it really hurts is none of your concern," she said and, though it pained her to move as fast as she did, walked past him in quick strides toward the dining salon.
