Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

“You want to borrow a whip, Saint?” Brent asked with interest, not at all intimidated by his friend’s menacing size or mean stare. “Really bring the little fool to her knees? Or you could send her back East with Thomas. And if Thomas isn’t going back East, hell, send her there by herself. Get rid of the thorn in your side once and for all.”

Brent’s mockery seared him. It’s time to end it, Saint realized, staring blankly through Brent. “Yes,” he said, “it is time to get rid of the thorn.”

Brent felt a moment of fear at what his words had wrought. He wondered if he should cosh Saint over the head, if he should . . . No, he decided, violence was abhorrent to Saint. If he had indeed thrashed her, he wouldn’t again. He watched Saint throw down several dollar bills and stride out of the Wild Star.

“You calm him down, Brent?” Nero asked.

“God only knows,” Brent said. He rose and heaved a mighty sigh. “I think,” he said, a crooked grin on his face, “that I shall go upstairs and tell my wife how much I love her.”

Saint had sobered up dramatically by the time he reached his house. It was completely dark. What did you expect, you fool? It was, after all, well after midnight. He banged about loudly, wanting her to wake up.

Jules was awake. After Saint lit the lamp in the spare bedroom, she was sitting up in bed, regarding him warily.

“How’s your bottom?” he asked, sitting down beside her on the bed. Her hair was in wild disarray about her shoulders, her eyes vivid and large in the spidery light.

She looked thoughtful a moment, as if considering his question. “I am fine,” she said finally. “Are you drunk?”

“I was, but not much now. I guess that’s one benefit to being a large man.”

“Did you come to hurt me again?”

“No,” he said, wincing inwardly at her words. “At least I hope I won’t hurt you. I’ve come to end it all, Jules.”

“Jules,” not “Juliana.”

“What do you mean, Michael?”

He gave her a crooked grin. “Well, first I want to have a look at your bottom. I was pretty heavy-handed with you, I’m afraid.”

She flushed, and drew back a bit. “My bottom is fine, I told you.”

“After I look at your bottom, I want to toss that nightgown of yours into the corner. Then I want to carry you to my—our—bedroom.”

Jules couldn’t believe his words, and gaped at him. She began nervously to pleat the sheet between her fingers. “Why?” she blurted out.

“It’s got to stop,” Saint said. “I’ve been a bloody fool. I want you, Jules. I want you so badly I hurt most of the time.” He paused a moment, looking at her searchingly. Her expression was unreadable, but of course he hadn’t tried all that hard to read her expressions. “First, I want to see your bottom.”

Jules felt a surge of pure happiness flow through her. She knew that if she showed the slightest hesitancy, the slightest fear, he wouldn’t touch her. She clamped down on the silly feelings of embarrassment. He was her husband.

She smiled up at him. “All right,” she said.

Saint hadn’t expected such a ready compliance—she saw it from the shocked expression on his face. Had he believed she would fly at him and try to scratch his eyes out for spanking her? He looked suddenly uncertain. Maybe it would be easier if he had drunk a bit more. Well, it was too late to give him more now.

Slowly Jules pulled open the three pink ribbons that fastened the front of her nightgown.

He watched every movement of her fingers.

“I would appreciate you looking at my bottom,” she said, peering at him from beneath her lashes. “I guess I do hurt. Maybe you broke something.”

“No, there’s nothing to break in your bottom,” he said, his eyes on a white breast newly revealed by the parting material.

“Still . . .” Jules temporized. She came up onto her knees and pulled her nightgown over her head. She balled it up and tossed it toward the corner. She placed her hands flat on her thighs, and didn’t move.

Saint stared at her, not speaking.

Jules tossed her head a bit, thrusting her breasts outward. She felt foolish for her exhibition, and at the same time, hopefully excited.

As if in a dream, Saint stretched out his hand and gently touched his fingers to her breasts. He felt her quiver, and quickly drew back his hand.