Passionate Retribution

'You should do something about that hand,' Luke said after a pause.

She felt oddly deflated that he had obeyed her fierce command so readily. 'I'm quite capable of doing so if necessary.'

'I wasn't offering any assistance,' he said without expression. 'And, Emmy,' he said as she turned to escape. She looked back over her shoulder warily. 'You do want to be in my bed.'

She made a faint choking noise in her throat.

He didn't follow her; that much at least she should have been thankful for. The irony was, half of her had longed for him to do just that. That was too easy, though… She had to capitulate. Her submission had to be total—part of the retribution!

Placing her raw hand underneath the running water did nothing to relieve the burning sensation that ran like molten liquid through her body. Such wanting, such despair…she had never dreamt that such terrible depths existed. Sadly mourning her lost innocence, she closeted herself in the small dressing-room. Was the chest of drawers she pushed up against the door to keep him out or herself in? she wondered bleakly as she climbed into the narrow bed.

The nightmare reappeared and she emerged from the visceral terror slick with sweat, whimpers still escaping from a throat raw from the terrified screams that had split the night.

The sound of splintering wood and the thud of the overturned chest only added to her confusion. She blinked as light from the room beyond, Luke's room, flooded into her own small ante-room.

Luke's eyes took in the overturned furniture and her white-faced figure, eyes huge, tears still running down her cheeks. 'Furniture removal, infant?' he observed, but the erratic throb of the nerve in his jaw belied the dry tone. 'Rape,' he said derisively, 'was never on the agenda.'

She couldn't counter his anger; she was still shaking. 'N-night terrors,' she stammered. 'I hardly ever get them now.' She gripped the bedcover and pleated it between her trembling fingers. 'I expect I was yelling.'

'My name.'

She closed her eyes. The terror which had been so stark wasn't as severe as the apprehension which assailed her now. Yelling out for him like some lovesick idiot… You're nothing to him but a dupe, Emily… If you're going to be used, girl, retain a little dignity! It was difficult to keep her mind running along these lines when it wanted to make detours concerning the way the line of hair on his chest disappeared into the pair of shorts he wore, the muscular contractions in his belly and thighs that made the skin glide like well-oiled teak over the compact conformation.

'Sorry I disturbed you.' In the circumstances she was pleased with the way it sounded. At least it had been articulate, not a hysterical scream!

'Disturbed? What a way you have with words, infant,' he drawled. He spoke after a pause that had been so heavy with unspoken comment that her reluctant eyes had been forced open.

'Luke…'

'Do you honestly believe it's worth fighting against the tide of something that's inevitable, Emily?' he asked harshly, his blue eyes banked with smouldering embers.

She took a deep breath. What had she been waiting for, some declaration of love? How stupid, she derided herself. It had been something in his eyes that for one brief moment had made her hopes flare. 'I haven't your dedication and single-minded ambition, Luke. I don't get a sadistic kick from gaining the upper hand, and neither do I polish my grudges over the years,' she informed him, shivering as the dampness on her skin grew cold and clammy. 'The only inevitable thing I know is how much I'm going to despise you. Marriage to you is still a nightmare, not a reality.'

His shadowed jaw grew taut and the air of restrained violence in his body grew more pronounced. With a single violent epithet he stalked, panther-like, to her narrow bed.

'What are you doing…?' she squeaked.

'You have a habit of asking questions with answers which are painfully obvious to anyone but a complete imbecile,' he growled, adjusting the angle of his jaw as a strand of her hair snaked around his neck. He glared at her, his manner one of intense exasperation. 'I'm taking you to my bed and, before you start to make speeches about my sullying your integrity just by occupying the same planet, I will go to great lengths to assure you that the only reason for this is I haven't the energy to break down any more doors to rescue you.'

'I don't need rescuing.' The curve of his shoulder was so inviting that it took all her will-power to hold herself stiffly rigid in his arms as he carried her into his room.

'If you don't shut up, you will,' he promised grimly. Without warning she landed on his bed, an undignified tangle of arms and legs.

'I can't sleep here!' She pulled her nightdress down over her knees with unsteady fingers.

'Sweetheart, I've indulged you to the hilt so far,' he said on a note of warning.

'Not so as you'd notice,' she retorted, outraged enough by this patently untrue statement to protest. He really was a barbarian—the word seemed disturbingly apt. He was standing in a diminishing circle of light which faded away to shadow at the perimeter of the room. The shadow playing across his skin lent it a satin-like bronze glow. The sharp planes of his face were illuminated, giving the contours an austere, almost sinister beauty. She tore her eyes away from him. To her, he symbolised the essence of raw, earthy masculinity. The effect it had on her made her appreciate how wildly optimistic she'd been in imagining she could keep her secret.