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)
She rubbed at the nape of her neck. "Sore muscles," she complained, and then the thought struck like lightning. "Would you rub it for me?"
Her voice, dripping with sweetness, enlightened Zac to her obvious intentions. He supposed if she felt she wasn't too tired for them to play, then why should he?
"Take off your jacket," he ordered.
His strong command sent a shiver of anticipation racing through her and she quickly shed the garment.
Zac knelt behind her, taking her long coppery braid and placing it to rest over her breast. While his hands were there, they carefully unbuttoned her shirt and slid it down her shoulders.
"Cold?" he asked, his warm hands racing up to rub her bare shoulders.
She was far from cold; she was boiling. "No, not at all."
"Good. It's too difficult to massage someone through layers of clothing." He started then, his thumbs pressing into the base of her neck, working on the taut muscles. He soothed them, cajoled them into relaxing.
Prudence thought his touch rough at first, but the more he massaged, the more languid her body became. She felt like a limp rag doll, all her strength gone. She was pliable to his touch and she closed her eyes, giving herself completely over to him.
He bent her head forward and concentrated on her neck, kneading the last tension spots away. He brought her head up before his hands moved down her back. He eased her shoulders back slowly, forcing her chest out.
He took a moment to run his hands lightly over her breasts before returning to her back. He focused on the knots of tension running down her shoulder blades and with each stroke, with each pressure, her body surrendered to his masterful touch.
"Feels good?" he asked, his hands working their way farther down her back.
"Mmm," was her only reply.
He smiled, pleased with her response, and continued. A few more strokes, a few more whispers, and she'd be ready. He was. He was so damn hard, he thought he'd burst. But he worried that she might be sore from their previous night's adventures, and he wanted her relaxed enough to take him.
He eased her slightly slumped body back to rest against his. Her head nestled on his shoulder while his hand cupped her breast. He heard the steady rhythm of her breathing and sensed her lack of response as he gently squeezed her nipple. "Damn," he muttered, looking down into her closed eyes.
"Damn," he muttered again. This wasn't fair. He had expressed his concern for her fatigue, but she had insisted, most emphatically, that she wasn't tired. Now here she was sleeping soundly while he suffered the tortures of hell.
She moaned softly in her slumber, turning into his chest for comfort and protection.
Shaking his head, he eased her shirt back over her shoulders and buttoned it. Then he stretched Prudence out on her bedroll, covering her with the wool blanket.
He debated whether he should even bother to attempt to sleep. He was too wound up. Too tense. Too damn hard.
He threw himself back on his bedroll and focused on the thousand twinkling stars . . . and began to count.
CHAPTER 18
The grunts were what did it. They proved to Prudence beyond a doubt that Zac was upset. He had grunted his every answer to her questions since sunrise, when he had roughly shaken her awake and ordered her to make breakfast so they could be on their way.
Not that he ate any food. He drank three cups of coffee and ignored the biscuits and smoked bacon she had prepared.
They had been traveling for hours in silence. Every effort at conversation was met with a grunt. She was even beginning to distinguish the difference between the various ones. A short one meant "fine." A long one meant "leave me alone." And the one in between meant "I don't care."
She tried to understand what had brought on this miserable mood. A few days ago it wouldn't have disturbed her if he had remained silent. She probably would have cherished it. Now things were different. She found she actually took comfort in their conversations.
He always managed to offer some words of praise or a compliment, and her spirits were lightened considerably by his thoughtfulness. But this strange mood was incomprehensible.
Most women back in Boston wouldn't even consider their husbands' lack of communication a problem, but this wasn't Boston and Zac wasn't any husband. He was hers.
Prudence lifted her chin and stiffened her back. If he thought she was going to put up with such nonsense, he was crazy. "You didn't like breakfast?"
A short grunt produced her answer, and she assumed that if she measured his grunts correctly, his behavior wasn't related to the morning meal.
"The weather seems pleasant enough," she tried, wondering if he was concerned with the possibility of an unexpected storm.