Lance was as good as his word. That night he neither touched her nor made the slightest attempt at intimacy. Indeed, the only time he spoke was to order her tersely to get some sleep. Summer was still tossing and turning on her bedroll long after Lance’s even breathing told her he had nodded off.
Her resentment of him only swelled, if that was possible. She could scarcely believe he hadn’t shown the slightest shame or remorse for the carnal act he’d performed on himself. It was as if he had dismissed the incident from his mind, dismissed her from his mind as well.
Summer couldn’t forget, though. Her cheeks grew hot every time she remembered Lance standing naked in the stream, his hand massaging his erection. Each time she closed her eyes, she remembered the magnificent sight he made coming naked up out of the water like some pagan god. Damn him for confusing her! His scandalous action had disturbed and aroused her, despite all her efforts to the contrary. But while Lance had found relief for himself, he’d left her to struggle with her bewildering feelings alone, offering no respite for the powerful, shameless yearnings he’d incited in her.
The following morning was worse. Lance ignored her entirely as he broke camp, and when Summer went down to the stream to perform her morning ablutions, the memories followed her. More disquieting, when she drew the slippery soap over her skin, all she could think about was Lance’s slick hands on his body—and what her own were doing just now.
What if it had been my hands on him, touching and arousing him? Bringing that painful look of ecstasy to his face?
Scandalized by the thought, Summer flushed to the roots of her hair. And yet the images wouldn’t go away.
Lance’s hands had pleasured her on their wedding night—and last night had pleasured himself that way. Could she do the same to him? Should she be doing that to him? Was that what he’d meant when he had taunted her about not being a proper wife?
Her cheeks hot, Summer cast a vexed glance over her shoulder where Lance was saddling the horses. His cold silence only heightened her pique. The Belle of Williamson County was not accustomed to being ignored by a man. But then, Lance Calder was not just any man. Nor was their relationship like any marriage she had ever envisioned. She was a bride, but not a bride. She was his wife, and yet she remained celibate. Which was her own fault, of course. Lance had made it clear in a dozen ways that he wanted her, even if he was treating her like a pariah just now. She had felt his desire yesterday, in his every hard look, every restrained gesture, every angry, heated caress.
Abruptly Summer splashed a handful of chilly water over her burning cheeks. Honestly, she should feel grateful for his abstinence. Any child of Lance’s would likely suffer the same cruelties growing up that he had, and she didn’t want that for her children—or for herself, for that matter. It was too late for her, perhaps; her marriage to Lance had no doubt made her an outcast in her own society. But her situation would only be made worse if she were left with a mixed-blood child to raise alone. If Lance didn’t return from this mission—But she couldn’t consider such an alarming possibility She couldn’t bear to think Lance might lose his life trying to help her.
Besides, she might not become pregnant. He had said there were ways around it…ways a proper wife would know.
Hotly, Summer dried her face on a scrap of a cloth and then began rebraiding her tousled hair. Perhaps she deserved Lance’s coldness. He was right about one point at least. She had to learn not to flinch every time he looked at her with those smoldering, yearning eyes.
She didn’t fear Lance, precisely. He had never hurt her, even if he did have a temper like a wounded bear. Indeed, he had often treated her with astonishing gentleness for so hard a man.
What she feared was the overwhelming feelings of confusion he aroused in her, the feeling of being swept away, of losing control. And yet…would it be so wrong to allow Lance to sweep her away? To forget just for a short while her terror over her sister?
Biting her lip thoughtfully, Summer gathered her toiletries and slowly rose. Perhaps she was being selfish. Considering the risk Lance was taking for her sake, he deserved better from her. She should at least try to be the wife he wanted. She owed him her best effort. If what he wanted was a proper wife, then she should comply.
Indeed, that was what she’d promised when she agreed to their bargain. She couldn’t claim ignorance, either. Lance had warned her what to expect in their marriage bed. He had been honest—brutally so—f
rom the first.
It shouldn’t be a hardship, though, letting Lance make love to her. He’d shown her what a considerate lover he could be. And her surrender might help soothe his brutal temper. Perhaps he simply needed the physical release. Her sister had always said men felt carnal urges more strongly than women. And Lance was more man than even she knew how to handle.
Drawing a deep breath, Summer returned her toiletries to her saddlebag and stood watching as he loaded the packhorse, twisting her fingers together with uncharacteristic uncertainty.
“Lance?”
“What?” He didn’t even turn to look at her.
“I’ve…been thinking about what you said. About the risk you’re taking for me…And you’re right. You do deserve a proper wife.”
“So?”
His curt replies weren’t helping her at all. “So you can…if you want…you can make love to me.”
That brought his head whipping around. His black eyes pinned her, while his lips thinned. “Don’t do me any favors, princess.”
Summer flushed. “It isn’t a favor…I wouldn’t mind if you…Honestly.”
“I don’t want your damned charity.”
“It isn’t. You have the right, just like you said.”
“Sure, but maybe I don’t want what you have to offer.”
That was a bald lie; they both knew it. A man didn’t look at a woman the way Lance sometimes looked at her if he didn’t want her. Even now his smoldering glare gave her reason to hope. Desire was there, hot and shimmering between them; she could feel it.
Before Summer could challenge him, though, Lance added tersely, “Maybe I just don’t enjoy feeling like trash every time I touch you. Maybe I don’t care to have you looking at me like I’m going to attack you.”