As she rose quiveringly to her feet he looked her over slowly, his bold eyes stripping her of the last remnants of her self-respect. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she tried to shield her body from his perusal using her hip-length hair. The damp strands were woefully inadequate as covering. This was just another form of rape, Cathy thought angrily, as his eyes searched out and lingered over her body. Innate pride kept her chin up, her mouth firmly set. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower.
Jon took his time, letting his eyes caress her lovely quivering breasts, long ivory thighs and the alluring triangle of reddish hair between them. Almost reluctantly he acknowledged the hot stirring in his loins. The little witch was really beautiful, he had to admit. He would have to watch it or she’d be getting under his skin. She could already make him madder than any female he had ever encountered, and that was a bad sign.
Wasn’t there some saying about a man having to be careful what he wished for because he just might get it? Well, he had wished for the taming of the little shrew the first time he’d set eyes on her. Now he had it, and it wasn’t working out quite as he had expected. She was too soft, too lovely, too totally feminine despite her quick temper. Already an unfamiliar twinge of remorse was beginning to gnaw at him as he saw the bruises darkening on her white flesh. With a muttered curse he swung away from her, striding to the door and flinging it wide.
“Petersham!” he bellowed. Then, over his shoulder to Cathy, he added in a quieter tone, “Cover yourself.”
Cathy snatched the damp quilt from the floor, wrapping it thankfully around herself until she could retrieve her wrapper from the bowels of the trunk. Jon watched her broodingly as she crossed the room to rummage through her belongings. His eyes never left her as she dropped the quilt, her back to him, to shrug into the flimsy blue garment. If she had been looking Cathy would have seen him wince at the livid marks that marred the soft flesh of her buttocks and the backs of her thighs.
By the time Petersham came hurrying to the door, Cathy was respectably covered and standing by the bunk. Her bottom was too sore to permit her to sit. Petersham glanced at her briefly, his eyes widening as he noted the tearstains on her cheeks. Hurriedly he transferred his attention back to the captain.
“Sir?”
“Bring more hot water. I feel the need of a bath myself.”
“Yes, sir!”
Petersham moved off with alacrity to do as he was bidden, knowing better than to interfere with Master Jon in any way when he looked like that. The captain had a temper to rival the devil’s when he was roused. Petersham only hoped that Miss Cathy hadn’t had the poor judgment to set it alight. But from the looks of things she had, and there was nothing anyone could do to save her from the consequences of her actions.
Cathy silently rubbed her wet hair with a towel as Petersham brought more water to fill the tub. Jon was equally withdrawn. Petersham, glancing from the captain’s set face to Miss Cathy’s subdued form, knew when it behooved him to keep his tongue between his teeth. He busied himself with wiping up the puddle of water that had spread to cover half the floor. When Jon finally dismissed him with a nod, he departed with a feeling of heartfelt relief.
Still Jon said nothing. Cathy almost wished that he would rant and rave and shout at her. The silence was more unnerving than anything he could have done. As he was probably well aware, she told herself resentfully as she watched him undress from the corner of her eye.
Naked, he was an awesome sight. His muscles rippled under their sleek covering of skin like a jungle cat’s. Hair covered his chest in a thick black pelt, tapering down his flat belly in a narrowing trail to thicken again at his burgeoning maleness. The flickering candlelight cast shadows over his face, making it look sinister, almost evil. He looked almost unnaturally tall and strong and masculine. Cathy shivered, then flushed as he glanced casually in her direction, his eyes meeting hers in a brief, mocking salute. Mortified that she had been caught looking at him, she turned hastily away.
“Wash my back.”
The stern tone brought her out of her reverie to find Jon ensconsed in the tub, looking slightly ridiculous as the water lapped around his waist. If Cathy hadn’t been feeling so tired, so sore, and so thoroughly humiliated she would have smiled at the sight of his big body folded into the dainty porcelain tub. As it was, she could barely hold back her tears.
“I said, wash my back.”
The command was a growl this time. Cathy stared at him disbelievingly. He couldn’t be serious! He couldn’t actually expect her to.…
“Damn it … !” Jon roared. Cathy jumped hastily to her feet.
“Yes, master,” she said bitterly, crossing the cabin to where he waited. Jon silently handed her the bar of soap and she moved around behind him, biting her lip. What she wouldn’t give for a knife now, she thought venomously, staring down at that broad back. The muscles of his neck tensed suddenly, as if he expected to be attacked, and Cathy’s lips twitched. The man must be a mind reader, as well as everything else. But he needn’t worry, he was in no immediate danger. She would have been more tempted if her stinging backside hadn’t reminded her of the consequences of a similarly violent act.
“What are you waiting for?” Jon snarled over his shoulder. Cathy pushed back the trailing sleeves of her wrapper and bent to the task. His shoulders quivered slightly as she began to work the soap into their hard contours, but other than that he was still as she hurriedly scrubbed at his back. His skin was as smooth as silk under her fingertips, and gleaming brightly. She badly wanted to rake her sharp fingernails in long furrows down his back to repay him for his use of her, but common sense restrained her. To do so would only invite more trouble. Gritting her teeth, Cathy finished the job with workmanlike efficiency, sighing with relief as she straightened away.
“Will there be anything else, master?” Cathy could not resist a jeering emphasis on the last word. She jumped a foot straight up in the air when Jon’s hand shot out to catch her by the wrist.
“You can damn well wash the rest of me, since you’re so anxious.” The angry muscle was twitching again at the side of his mouth. He pulled her around until she was standing where he could see her. Cathy resisted, horrified at the impasse into which her rash tongue had led her. He couldn’t really expect her to wash him all over! It would be the final, humiliating straw!
“I won’t!” Cathy muttered, then started as the hand tightened like a vise around her wrist.
“You’ll do just exactly as I tell you, my girl. Get on with it.”
He stretched back to give her access to his chest, releasing her wrist. Cathy made a quick move as though she would dodge away. He looked at her warningly.
“If you put me to the trouble of getting out of this tub and fetching you, you’ll regret it.” His voice was expressionless, which made it all the more convincing. She had no choice but to do as he said, and they both knew it. Better to go ahead and get it over with.
Cathy bent reluctantly over the tub, wetting the soap and then running it in slow strokes over Jon’s chest. His body hair curled into loose little circles under her ministrations, its coarseness rasping against her sensitive fingertips. Cathy felt a sudden, almost irresistible temptation to drop the soap and let her hands run over the dark furring. Shocked at herself, she did just the opposite, letting the bar of soap wash him while she touched him as little as possible. Jon was aware of her ploy, she knew, but he said nothing, closing his eyes and relaxing while she did her job. She finished his chest hurriedly, splashed water on it to rinse the soap away, and stood up. He opened one eye to stare at her consideringly.
“Finish what you started.”
Cathy glanced involuntarily down at his long body, clearly visible through the water. He was already swollen with desire! She couldn’t do it! She simply could not!
“I—I can’t!” she murmured despairingly just as his eyes began to narrow with anger.
“You can’t?” he repeated slowly, questioningly,
as though weighing her statement.
“Don’t make me,” she whispered, voice humble, despising herself for her weakness but unable to help it.
Jon stared up at her for a long moment. Her lips were trembling and those beautiful eyes swam with tears. He was suddenly reminded of the time he’d jumped his best filly over a fence she had tried at first to refuse; the animal had caught her hoof on the top bar, fallen, and broken a foreleg. Her eyes had held the same expression of stricken entreaty that Cathy’s held now.
“Get to bed,” he said brusquely, surprising even himself, and straightened to finish the job with a wry grimace.
Cathy did as he ordered, huddling under the bedding on the wall-side of the bunk. She was too miserable even to think of reaching for the candlestick that still reposed beneath the mattress. What was the use? He would only take it from her and punish her for the attempt. Tears slid down her cheeks and dampened the pillow. Always before she had been surrounded by people who loved and cared for her. To this man she was nothing more than an object to be used like a—like a chamber pot! Cathy stifled a sob. Why had this had to happen to her? What had she ever done to merit such a fate?
She stiffened when Jon blew out the candle, huddling as close to the wall as she could get. He crawled into bed beside her, and she shrank from the feel of his hard nakedness as he settled down into the mattress. His hand reached for her, and she gave a little moan of distress. Surely he couldn’t mean to force her to go through that filthy act again? Could men do it more than once a day? She didn’t know. She had never had anything to do with the darker side of a man before.
His hand caught her around the waist, pulling her against his hard body. Cathy tried to free herself, but her efforts were futile. He drew her effortlessly against his side. She struggled weakly as his hands moved over her, seeking, caressing.
“I—we—you can’t!” she finally protested in a wailing whisper. “Not twice in one day!”
She could just make out his hard mouth as it curved in a smile.
“Even more than that, little innocent, if I have anything to say about it,” he said in her ear, putting his lips against the soft skin of her neck and slowly stroking it with his tongue. Cathy shivered. She knew now what he was leading up to, and she didn’t think she could bear it again so soon. But she had no choice. She was his prisoner, and he could rape her until she died if he wanted to. There was no one to stop him.
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks at the thought, and she pulled away a little. He caught her around her thighs to bring her back to him. As his hand closed around the tender flesh Cathy whimpered painfully.
“Damn!” Jon muttered, pushing her away. The next instant he was on his feet beside the bunk, lighting the candle.
Cathy stared up at him wide-eyed as he turned back to her. Was he angry at her for her resistance? Surely he didn’t expect her just to melt in his arms!
“Turn over,” he ordered harshly.
Cathy’s mouth went suddenly dry. He was going to beat her again. Oh, God, please no! Her skin was swollen from his earlier blows, and this time would be even worse.
“I—I—please don’t hit me,” she whispered brokenly, making no move to obey him. Jon caught his breath sharply as he saw the tears coursing down her cheeks.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised tightly, rolling her over despite her slight effort at resistance. Cathy shuddered as she felt him lift the skirt of her wrapper, but lay submissively still as he examined her. He was too strong to fight, far stronger than she was, and she was too tired! She would just have to endure whatever he meted out to her. It couldn’t be worse than what he had done to her already!
Jon stared down at the soft curves he had so sickeningly bruised and despised himself. No matter what she had done to provoke him, she had not deserved this! The ivory flesh of her bottom and upper thighs was hot and red, punctuated with rapidly darkening yellow marks. It must hurt like the very devil! He turned abruptly away to rummage in a sea chest, then stood up seconds later with a first-aid kit in his hands. He felt like the biggest rogue unhung, as he sat down beside her on the bed. She neither moved nor whimpered as he began to smooth a healing lotion into her burning flesh.
His long fingers stroked the cream into her skin. Cathy tried not to flinch from the intimacy of his touch. His hands on her were worse than the pain, she thought dully. That she, willful, pampered, accustomed to every care and luxury, should be brought so low was unbelievable. Yet it was happening.
“Is that better?” he asked softly after a few minutes. Cathy wanted to scream at him, but it was too much effort. She nodded listlessly.
“You bruise easily,” he continued in a faintly accusing tone, as though the marks on her were somehow her fault. Cathy made no reply. After a moment he said brusquely, “I suppose you think that if you sulk long enough, I’ll apologize.”
Apologize! Cathy quelled an insane desire to giggle. He actually thought that three little words would make it all right for her again. Still, she thought, it would be something. The first step on the road to humbling that proud black head!
“Don’t worry. I know better than to expect anything like that from you,” she managed bitterly, then shivered as she heard the sharp sound of his jaw as it snapped shut.
Jon saw her shudder and cursed himself. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, God knew! But she’d been enough to try the patience of a saint, much less someone as hot tempered as himself. Anyway, how was he to know she’d bruise so easily? He blew out the candle slowly and got back into bed, lying on his back and making no attempt to touch her.
“All right, I’m sorry,” he said stiffly after long moments.
The remark out of the blue surprised Cathy. She hadn’t really expected him to apologize. Was there anyway she could turn his remorse to her advantage? Perhaps if she pretended to forgive him.…
“W-what?” she asked cautiously.
“Damn it, I said I’m sorry.” The words were ground out through gritted teeth. Cathy almost smiled. It was obvious that the admission was difficult for him. If she could actually wring an apology from him, it might be just a matter of time until she had him right where she wanted him: groveling at her feet. Not that that would satisfy her. Nothing would, until she saw him dead!
“You asked for everything you got, you know,” he said as if he had to justify his actions.
“I asked for it?” Cathy gasped, forgetting her plan to be sweetly forgiving. “How can you say that? I certainly never asked you to rape me!”
“It wasn’t rape, and you know it as well as I do,” Jon said roughly, raising himself on one elbow and leaning over to peer at her face.
“Not rape!”
“You wanted it, too. Where I come from, if the lady’s willing, there’s no question of rape.”
“Willing! I was certainly not willing! You forced me! I had no choice!”
“I admit I would have forced you if I’d had to. As it happened, I didn’t. From the first time I kissed you, back on the Anna Greer, I knew you were mine for the taking. You’re a very passionate woman, sweet, or at least you will be when you learn a little more of what it’s all about!”
“You beast!” Cathy shrieked, sitting bolt upright in the bed as his words flicked a raw spot. “I hated everything you did to me! I hate you to touch me! I hate you, period! You raped me, you filthy cad, and now you’re trying to soothe your conscience by saying that I wanted it!”
“Didn’t you?” he murmured provocatively.
“No!” Cathy was outraged.
“Shall I prove otherwise?” he asked, voice soft as one hard arm snaked around her waist to pull her back into the bed.
“But you—you can’t! You apologized! How can you want to do the same thing again when you’re sorry for the first time?”
“You misunderstood me, sweet. I apologized for spanking you, richly though you deserved it. I never regretted taking what you were dying to give me.”
“You let me go, you lying sw
ine!” Cathy railed. “Can’t you get it through your conceited head that I despise you? I said let me go!” Her voice grew shrill as he dragged her against him.
“Don’t be frightened, sweet. I told you that the next time would be better. This won’t hurt you at all, if you’ll just relax and let me.…” His voice trailed off as he buried his mouth in the soft, rose-scented valley between her breasts.
“I’ll never let you do anything!” Cathy got out in a strangled whisper, pulling fiercely at his black hair. “Anything you want from me, you’ll have to take! You’ll have to rape me again and again and again, and still I won’t give in! I hate you, I tell you, and I’ll die before I submit to you!”
“I doubt it, my girl. Not unless you plan to do it mighty fast.”
These words were murmured against the curve of her breast as Jon reached up to secure her hands. Cathy wriggled and squirmed as he leisurely suckled at first one taut peak and then the other. Strange yearnings shivered through her body at the touch of his hard mouth, but Cathy fought the tentative urge to surrender. This time, she knew what he was leading up to. She had experienced the knifelike pain that had felt as if it would split her in two. Oh, God, she couldn’t take it again! She couldn’t.…
He was lying on his side facing her, careful not to turn her onto her sore back, holding her clamped tightly to his muscular body. With one hand he stripped her wrapper from her. When she was as naked as he, his arm snaked out, catching her leg and hoisting it high around his waist. Cathy struggled frantically, horrified at this fresh indignity, but to no avail. Cathy wanted to scream, to cry, to plead with him to spare her this new torture, but his mouth was on hers, stifling her cries, suffocating her. She felt his hardness probe between her legs, and tensed for the pain she was sure must follow. To her surprise, she felt none, only a hot, sweet fullness as he slid inside her. She gasped at the strange sensation, but not from pain. It felt good.…
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