Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Zac stood over him. The set of his firm jaw, the menacing look in his eyes, his fists clenched at his sides and smeared with blood, warned Barney to remain where he was or suffer further pain.
Barney closed his eyes and grimaced from the pain. "I'll wire Mr. Madison that Prudence is safe in your care, Mr. Stewart."
"A wise decision," he said, then quickly searched the area for Prudence. She stood only a short distance away, near the edge of the platform. Her posture retained its usual stiffness, and her chin was tilted in that autocratic manner that so often annoyed him. He wondered if she had been at all tempted to return with Barney to Granger. He noticed her eyes then. They were different. They were wide with alarm and aimed intently at him.
There was no doubt he looked battered. The blood on his knuckles and under his nose and mouth probably made his condition appear worse than it actually was.
Was the alarm so evidently registered in her eyes intended for him? Did his condition concern her? The thought baffled him, since she constantly reminded him they were not fit for each other. Though he had the feeling they would fit perfectly. The misplaced thought fueled his imagination. And he couldn't help but smile over the fact that their fit would be as perfect as that of the finely stitched white gloves she always wore.
He took his white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face clear of the blood. He did the same to his hands, though he noticed two knuckles on his right hand had already begun to bruise. He then retrieved his hat from the platform and walked over to her.
"I'm not going with you," she blurted out before he could speak.
He dumped his hat on his head and pushed the brim back. "You most certainly are."
"You don't fit into my plans."
He stepped closer to her, his body planted almost on top of hers. "Oh, I fit all right, Pru. And you're going to learn that right quick."
"I refuse, absolutely refuse, to go," she said adamantly, crossing her arms solidly upon her chest.
"Suit yourself, wife," he said, pausing one moment, then leaning over, scooping her up, and flinging her over his shoulder.
"Put me down!" she cried, her hands fumbling to keep her bonnet in place. Her cheeks colored with humiliation as her eyes focused on the strength of his long legs and her skirt-covered derriere brushed his face.
He ignored her shouts and, grabbing her bags, marched through the crowd that laughed and rooted for him.
"Teach her who's boss," yelled a man.
"Don't take no nonsense," added another.
Prudence's face flamed even more in embarrassment. How could he be so inconceivably thoughtless? He had no right to treat her this way. He was a brute. A savage. Absolutely no gentleman.
He carefully boarded the train with his distraught baggage and deposited her in a seat next to a window. He sat beside her, turning halfway in his seat to look at her. Her hat sat askew. Loose strands of her reddish brown hair hung down her back and a few dangled in her face, and her cheeks flushed with the hottest, most tempting shade of red.
Prudence removed her hat and fumbled to right her hair. "You are—"
"Take them off," Zac ordered his tone dead serious.
Prudence's hands came to a stop on top her head. She saw where his eyes were fixed: on her gloves.
The warning in his voice was evident and so was the message. If she didn't remove them, he would. She glanced around the passenger car. The few people about were busy settling in their seats and paid them no heed. There was no danger of someone being upset by the sight of her affliction. Off the gloves came with only the slightest bit of hesitation.
"Happy?" she asked, placing her hands over the folded gloves on her lap.
He reached over and covered her hands with his right one. "There's no need to hide them away. The only problem with your hand is the way you've been made to feel about it."
She was about to argue the point, when she looked down and saw the tender black and blue bruises running across his two knuckles. She slipped her one hand from beneath his and ever so gently touched the swollen area. "It must pain you terribly."
She was right. He was in pain, deep pain, but not from his hand. It was her touch that shot the spark through his body and caught his attention. An extremely painful attention.
Her fingers skimmed across the bruises, making his skin tingle and sending the hot sensation up his arm. Damn, but her simple, light touch was erotic.
"Does it hurt?" she asked innocently.
"Yes," he said, almost choking on his words.
Her look and tone were sincere. "I wish I could ease your hurt."