“I went to fetch Molly Jenkins’s boy,” Lance said gruffly into the silence. “And to pick up some supplies.”
As he set down on the table the parcels he carried, Summer raised her head and their gazes collided. The shock was like plunging into an icy swimming hole on a hot summer’s day; it stole her breath away. When he looked at her with those hard obsidian eyes, her thoughts scattered. All she could remember was Lance’s mouth on her breasts, his fingers stroking between her thighs.
He broke the spell first. Carefully avoiding touching her, Lance moved past her and began filling his saddlebags for the journey ahead.
Summer sat awkwardly sipping her coffee, wondering what she should do or say. The tension was back between them; she could feel its presence, alive and distancing. And Lance’s silence disturbed her as well.
“Do you need me to help?” she asked after a moment.
“No. I can take care of it.”
“It…it feels so strange…to be married.”
When he glanced up from his packing, his ink-black eyes looked wary, the guarded look of a wild animal prepared for danger. “We’re not really married yet. Not completely.”
His caution struck her as odd. Was it possible that Lance was as uncertain how to act toward her as she was toward him?
The notion of Lance Calder—arrogant, rebellious, hard-as-nails Lance—exhibiting uncertainty at anything amazed her. And consoled her at the same time. For an instant Summer forgot her confusion and resentment, forgot the strange circumstances of their marriage, in the need to reassure him, to ease the tension between them.
“I want…I should thank you, Lance…for being so considerate last night.”
The swift play of emotion that crossed his face was gone in an instant, to be replaced by the familiar hard remoteness. “Just don’t expect to get around me so easy next time.”
“Next…time?”
“We didn’t finish last night, princess. Stop pretending to be so ignorant.”
“I wasn’t pretending. I know we didn’t finish.”
He made a sound that was almost a grunt and returned to his packing.
Summer watched him, having difficulty reconciling the hard stranger with the tender lover he had become last night. “Are you always such a bear first thing in the morning?” she demanded in irritation.
He looked up at that, focusing narrowed eyes on her. “Only when I’m left hot and aching by a damned tease.”
She flushed. “I wasn’t…I didn’t mean to tease you.”
“Sure you did, princess. That’s always been your game. Arouse a man till he’s half-crazy with lust for you and then sashay away.” His dark eyes swept over her with that characteristic hard stare of appraisal and challenge. “But you better understand now that you’re not going to treat me like that. You’re my wife now. When I want you, I intend to have you.”
Summer felt her resentment swell again at his highhandedness. She appreciated Lance’s consideration last night, but just because he hadn’t raped her was no reason for her to grovel in gratitude. He had forced her into this disreputable marriage, but she hadn’t agreed to be his doormat—or his trollop.
Her chin rose. “I consented to become your wife, Lance Calder, not your…your fancy woman. And I won’t be treated like one!”
His gaze hardened. “Are you already trying to get out of our bargain?”
“I wasn’t, but if you mean to be such a boor, perhaps I should reconsider. Perhaps I was too impulsive—”
Lance cursed out loud. His temper was raw as fresh meat from the lack of physical release. He had an erection the size of a fence post, and it was all he could do to keep his hands off his bewitching bride. And now Summer was threatening him with what he feared most: her defection.
He had clenched his fist and opened his mouth to reply when he was interrupted by the rattle of wagon wheels outside. Lance immediately went rigid, while Summer tensed. She couldn’t mistake the sound of her brother’s voice cursing and telling his team to “Whoa!”
She rose from the table, smoothing her skirts and straightening her shoulders. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to face a confrontation with Reed this morning, but he must have learned from Dusty about her marriage and come after her.
Avoiding Lance’s gaze, she went to the door and opened it. She wouldn’t make Reed climb down from the buckboard on only one leg. She stepped outside where he waited in the sunlit morning.
His gaze swung at once to her, his eyes pinning her, but otherwise he remained where he was.
For a long moment Reed sat unmoving, his hands clenched on the reins, his handsome face tight with conflict, his blue eyes filled with feeling: fury, anguish, regret.