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He felt her heat and moistness at hand. His blood raced, his heart pounded, his shaft throbbed unmercifully.
He tore his mouth from hers, moved his finger slowly, and whispered, "I want to feel you, taste you, and see every inch of you."
Prudence's passion was high, soaring beyond description. She had never thought pain and pleasure could be synonymous, but they were. She wanted him to feel her and taste her . . . but see her naked? The thought of such extreme exposure, of such vulnerability, caused fear to rear up in her. She tensed once again, raising her defenses. "No," she stammered.
He stilled all movement. His fingers rested against her moistness. His lips touched hers. He drew his head away from her to look into her eyes, afraid of what he would see.
They were icy green, full of coldness and reproach.
Had she just realized who was touching her? Did the fact that he was a gunslinger and not of her breed make him acceptable for dallying with but not for anything further?
Her chin went up defensively.
"I have no intention of forcing you, Pru," he said, and quickly moved off her to stand.
She reached for her blouse, pulling it over her, covering her exposure, shielding herself.
He reached for his shirt, roughly tugging it on, and then grabbed his waistcoat. He opened his mouth to speak and then, thinking better of it, shut it and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.
Prudence sat up, still holding the blouse firmly against her chest. What was the matter with her? All evening she had wanted Zac to touch her intimately. That was all her mind could think about. All through supper she had watched his fingers as they skillfully and gracefully moved, and she had fantasized how they would feel caressing her. She had worked herself up into such a heated state that the cabin had become a furnace to her.
He had offered, really quite gentlemanly, to ease her discomfort. After all, he was her husband. And she had given much thought to experiencing such things with him, realizing it might be her only chance. And his touch had been more than she had imagined. It had awakened in her feelings she had never even dreamed possible.
Yet her self-doubt had risen once again to torment her. So what if he saw her naked and wasn't pleased? Surely, he wouldn't be so rude as to embarrass her. He'd just complete the task and she would be none the wiser.
Perhaps somewhat wiser, for then she would learn the womanly secrets that she had only touched upon this evening. Secrets her body still ached to experience.
"But how will you ever get him to touch you again after this evening's disgraceful display?" she asked herself.
Perhaps if she undressed and waited in her nightgown and was pleasant to him . . . It might work. It was worth a try.
She hurried to change, hoping her pink cotton nightgown with its high-neck collar and long sleeves would appeal a little and not discourage him.
After brushing her hair loose and not braiding it as usual, she hurried to the bed to wait.
Time ticked by slowly and the breeze outside turned into an angry wind, churning the river and the boat.
Prudence felt the change. It wasn't much, but after all the upset this evening it was enough to rattle her stomach. She released a woeful moan and prayed the remainder of the evening would not turn disastrous.
Zac walked along the upper deck to the cabin. He had spent the last two hours drinking and playing cards. The booze had left a sour taste in his mouth and the card game had left him with an empty pocket. He berated himself for being a fool… a fool for drinking and playing cards when his mood was foul, and a fool for not calling Prudence to task for her objection to his making love to her. He should have put his foot down, asked questions, demanded answers. But his temper and pride had been riled, so instead he had stormed out of the cabin afraid of saying or doing something he would regret.
After losing the last hand in cards, he realized he wouldn't be satisfied until he confronted her. Now standing in front of the cabin door, Zac wondered if his idea had been an intelligent one, or if it was his pride —or perhaps his body — that needed stroking. With that lustful thought and an added smile, he opened the door and walked in.
The room was dark, the oil lamp having been extinguished. He fumbled his way to the bed, calling out to Prudence.
He thought her still angry and that she was purposely ignoring him. He called out to her again, more sternly. "Pru."
Still no answer. His concern deepened with the furrow of his brow. She had to have heard him. "Damn it, Pru, answer me."
