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Prudence was grateful that the room contained a privacy screen. She could wash and freshen up without worry of Zac watching her. Not that it mattered. It appeared he wasn't the least bit interested in her. He was her husband now and could rightfully demand she perform her wifely duties, yet he made no mention of it. She could only assume that he wouldn't have married her if over a dozen rifles hadn't intervened, and of course, there was the substantial fee from her father for her safe return.
She slipped into a clean white blouse and sighed. She could continue to dream. No one could take her dreams away from her. In her dreams a handsome man, similar in features to Zac, would follow her to the ends of the earth, declaring his love and insisting she marry him. Then he would carry her away and make love to her.
"Melodramatic," she whispered to herself and smiled. The idea that a man would go to such lengths to claim her filled her with tingles and chills.
"Stupid childish dreams," she admonished softly, and her smile faded. "No one will love you that much, not even Zac Stewart."
"Did you call me, Pru?" Zac asked from where he lay on the bed.
"No, and my name is Prudence," she corrected, annoyed with herself and her silly dreams.
"I like Pru. It's short and to the point. And don't bother to correct me again. I’ll call you what I like."
Prudence couldn't help but smile. He was so dictatorial at times and so tender at other times. A gunfighter and a gentle man. What a combination. She giggled quietly. She liked the gentle side of him, but the gunslinger side added that air of danger and mystery that fascinated her.
"What? No arguing? No insisting I do as you say?" Zac asked teasingly.
Prudence stepped around the screen.
Zac grinned wickedly and shook his head. "Honey, that's not what I would expect my wife to wear on our wedding night."
Prudence blushed, hating the swift heat that rose to paint her cheeks a deep red. She stiffened her posture and reprimanded him with a "Mr. —"
"Be careful, honey. Remember my warning. And this time if I kiss you, I won't stop. I’ll take it further and discover if that sweet blush starts at your toes and works its way up your entire body."
Her first thought was that he was no gentleman. But then was it a gentleman she wanted in her bed? Or the notorious, sometimes savage gunslinger?
"Next time wear a nightgown," he ordered roughly. "I'm not in the habit of ravishing Bostonian virgins."
Prudence gasped, her hands flying to her chest at the audacity of his remark.
"You mean you're not a virgin?" Again he produced that wicked smile that captivated women and held them spellbound.
"I most certainly am," she said indignantly, feeling her racing heart would burst from her chest any moment.
He held out his hand to her, and his face took on a more serious and thoughtful expression. "Come to bed, Pru. We'll discuss your virginity another night."
There was an underlying meaning to his words. Prudence was sure of it, but she wasn't certain just what it was. She walked to the bed, tired and weary from the long day and all that had happened.
"Come on," he coaxed gently. "You're exhausted and need rest."
He sounded so sincere and she wanted so badly to trust him. She reached out to him.
His fingertips grazed hers, slipping across her hand until he had captured hers softly in his. He pulled her down upon the bed beside him and covered her with the quilt, tucking it around her waist.
He leaned over her, his dark eyes reflective. "I'll do whatever I can to help you find your mother."
His words stunned her. She had thought him about to kiss her, but somehow his offer of help was so much more potent.
"Go to sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow," he said softly, and taunted her lips lightly with his own.
Then he moved away from her and turned down the oil lamp on the nightstand beside him.
The room was engulfed in darkness. A quiet calm had settled over the street outside, except for the occasional howl of a dog or the distant burst of laughter from the saloon at the far end.
Zac stretched his long legs out and raised his arms above his head, bracing his hands against the wooden spindle headboard. He felt wired, strung taut. And there was no way to release his pent-up emotions. In teasing Pru, he had succeeded in teasing himself and to a dangerous degree. Right now he ached to strip her of that damn white blouse and gray skirt, and all the garments beneath it, until he reached her naked flesh.
Hot. Her skin would be hot. He had no doubt. She was a virgin, inexperienced. Damn, she probably grew moist from the slightest suggestion of sex.
