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She screamed and scrambled across the bed, her skirt tangling around her legs and impeding her progress. Finally, she slipped off the other side of the bed and braced herself against the wall.
"Take them off," he ordered, moving toward her. "Since the first day I met you, you haven't been without those damn gloves."
"I need my gloves," she cried, nearly in tears.
"For what?" he yelled. "To protect you?"
"Yes," she said, answering honestly. "I need their protection."
Zac didn't understand that she referred to the emotional protection. He thought her vain and uncaring.
"Take them off," he repeated harshly. "I want to see my wife's lily-white hands."
"No! No!" she cried, pushing herself flat up against the wall.
"Damn it, Prudence! I said off!" Zac lunged for her, his arms out straight and his hands spread wide.
She attempted to outmaneuver him, dashing to the side. He was too quick, too sure of his ability. His hands found her instantly and they wrestled to the bed together.
"Stop, Zac! Stop! You don't understand," she pleaded, fighting to keep her gloves from his reach.
Zac couldn't stop himself. To him the gloves represented her high-and-mighty attitude. He wanted to change that, to make her see herself and him for what they were —a man and a woman, not a gunslinger and a society lady.
They rolled around on the bed, fighting. Her skirt tangled around his legs, while her hands flew in all directions. She tried desperately to keep her gloved hands from his grasp. She shoved them above her head, to her sides, and even attempted to hide them beneath her bottom.
Zac had had enough of her stubbornness. Those gloves were coming off . . . now. He grabbed her by the waist and twisted her beneath him. Without a second's hesitation, he flung his leg over her, straddling her just below her belly.
Prudence was stunned into stillness. He rested flat and hard against her. Even through her layers of clothes, she could feel the perfect fit of him, every inch of him. There was no doubt he felt it, too. She had learned to read his eyes, to judge his emotions, but this time it was his body that spoke clearly.
He pressed into her, leaning forward, inching his way closer and closer. His chest hardened considerably from the effort of his slow descent. His midriff held not a trace of fat, only taut, hard flesh. His navel and a smattering of dark hair peeked from beneath his waistband and below that. . . .
Prudence gulped and shut her eyes as he applied even more pressure, a pressure that forced the sudden moistness between her legs to intensify.
"You've got something I want."
His tone was neither harsh nor tender. It rested in that dangerous spot somewhere in between, which left one feeling uncertain and wary.
Prudence's eyes opened wide. She didn't know whether her heart thudded so from fright or from anticipation. He was inching his way down over her like a victorious bird of prey claiming its foe. Was he going to kiss her? Or was he going to claim his husbandly rights? His face rested only a hairsbreadth away from hers.
She held her breath, afraid to breathe in the nearness of him.
Suddenly his hands shot out, grabbing her wrists and yanking her up. She was locked between his legs, unable to move her own limbs. He didn't wait for her to gather her wits, as he swiftly plucked her gloves off.
Prudence didn't even have time to protest. She steeled herself against the inevitable and felt a sadness descend upon her as her fingers came into view.
Zac winced when he saw the two end fingers of her left hand. They hugged each other and were slightly bent. The deformity wasn't hard to look upon. It didn't bother Zac in the least. What did bother him was the thought of the pain and hurt Prudence must have suffered over the years while growing up. He understood now why she had kept them hidden, but here, out west, it wasn't necessary.
"If you put my gloves back on, you won't be forced to view my affliction."
Zac's look wasn't angry, nor was it one of pity. It was warm and caring, and it tugged at Prudence's heart.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" he asked, holding her fingers up.
Prudence forced herself not to look away. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her deformity. It was the memories it brought back and the pain of being different.
"What was I supposed to say Zac, it seems that I have these two useless fingers I thought you should know about'?"
Zac saw the tears pool in her eyes and the effort it took to control them. She hurt deeply and he felt it as though her pain were his own.
"Tell me about it," he said, suddenly needing to share the weight of her burden.
