talk. Perhaps he could lull her into being calm with a mundane discussion. Or bore her out of being scared. “The stage isn’t usually held up so close to Stockton.”
Her face—what he could see of it—screwed up. “Is there a place where it is usually held up?”
“No. Just that it isn’t wise to stop the stage so close to a town where a sheriff can quickly form a posse to pursue them.” He splashed water on his face, lathered up, then reached for his razor. “There are a lot more desolate places where it would take days to get word to a lawman.”
John didn’t normally shave before bed, but she might appreciate him doing so. Her gaze burned holes in his backside as if she wanted to look at him, just not while he was watching her. He tilted his head, catching her reflection in the small mirror.
She jerked her face away, but that she’d been looking at him built a fire in his gut.
His jaw stung. Damn, he’d managed to nick himself. Splashing water on his chin, he checked Selina’s reflection to see what she made of his clumsiness, but her head was tucked against her knees.
He tried again as he pressed the washcloth to his chin. He blew out slowly, fighting the heat in his blood. “I expect they’ll run for the mountains or for Mexico. The good thing is all the men who were shot are doing fine.”
She lifted her head, met his eyes in the mirror for a second, before her gaze darted away. He hoped the longer look meant she was relaxing. Goodness knows, he wasn’t. His body was buzzing with anticipation. He wanted nothing more than to cross the floor and yank her nightgown over her head and make mad, passionate love to her.
But he needed her cooperation for that. Better if he went slowly. He ran the washcloth over every inch of exposed skin, leaving the edges of his underclothing damp. She turned her head so she was staring at the lamp. Her mouth was flat and he wondered if he was missing something.
“I’m thankful you weren’t hurt,” he offered.
Her gaze darted back to his and his breath left him in a rush. He was thankful this magnificent creature was his. With her long wavy hair, her pale, luminescent skin and her deep dark eyes, she was beautiful.
“Why did you come to California?” she asked.
He tensed, fearing they would revisit the elements of his past that would drive a wedge between them. “Like the rest of the forty-niners, I came seeking fortune and gold.” He’d quickly discovered there was more to be made selling goods to the rest of those seeking their fortune. “And it wasn’t like I had a family to tie me to a place.”
Her eyes glistened.
Had he blundered by reminding her of her siblings and her recently deceased mother? Feeling like an idiot, he finished his preparations for bed, folded and hung the towel on the bar of the washstand. He took a step toward the bed.
“The light, please,” she said.
A puff of air escaped him. Why didn’t she want the lamps burning? “You can close your eyes if you don’t want to look upon me.”
Her eyes darted up and tracked him as he crossed the space.
Ignoring the churning of his stomach, he slid into the side of the bed she’d left open. Like her, he propped his pillows against the headboard, leaned back, then settled the covers over his lap, hiding his response to what even her skeptical glance did to him. She remained with her knees drawn up.
“I do not find you displeasing to look upon,” she said.
He had to sort through her words to understand she’d said he was not ugly to her. But she was determined to have darkness.
He put a palm on her rounded back. She jerked and the flesh under his hand tightened. If she didn’t relax, it was likely to be a miserable night. And nothing he’d done or said had calmed her, that he could tell.
“Are you very tired?” he asked.
“I’m tired, but I don’t think I could sleep.”
Trying to soothe more than seduce, he rubbed his hand along the side of her spine. “You are far more beautiful than I expected.”
She tensed more.
“I will not hurt you, Selina.” He slid his hand under the weight of her hair. The strands slid across his arm like silk. He kept his movements slow, easy, ignoring the rush of wanting, his pounding heart and hardening body. Desire clawed at him.
He should lie down and tell her that he could wait until she was comfortable with him, but she’d said she wanted to be made a wife tonight. He’d waited so long for her arrival, so very long until he had a wife. Since he’d begun courting her in letters he hadn’t been with anyone else; even though her responses had been months in coming, he hadn’t felt it was right. His body burned now with a need that wouldn’t be easily extinguished. And each time he looked at her, he only wanted her more. Touching her sent sparks flying until he thought he might burn to a cinder if he didn’t make her his.
She twisted and looked at him, her mouth pursed.
To taste that mouth...
She pushed her legs down and slid to the side of the bed. Had he betrayed his lust, the thin thread of his control?
She shoved back the covers and padded to the table. Holding back the curtain of her hair, she bent and blew out the flames.
The room plunged into darkness. Only then did he realize she’d draped dark curtains over the windows that might have let in moonlight.
“Darkness helps,” she said.
No, it didn’t help. Not being able to look into her eyes to gauge her fear put him at a disadvantage. Measuring the cadence of her breathing wouldn’t be enough, not when fear could account for the rapid breathing as much as passion could. Besides, he wanted to see her. What was the point in having a beautiful wife if he couldn’t look upon her? The mattress dipped and swayed. She must have climbed back in the bed. Certainly, he couldn’t see a blessed thing.
She scooted closer and his heart threatened to pound through his chest. Carefully, she leaned back against the pillows next to him.
“Then you don’t want to have a conversation first?”
“I’d just rather you got on with it,” she said, so softly he was certain he had imagined it.
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