Island Flame (9 page)

“That’s torn it, you little hell-cat!” Jon roared, making a lunge for her. The book bounced harmlessly off his muscular chest. Before she could launch another missile his arms closed around her, squeezing like a boa constrictor until she could hardly breathe. Cathy kicked and clawed at him, but only managed to bruise her bare feet on his hard legs. Her nails had more success, scraping down the side of his face before he jerked his head back out of reach. She fought frantically as he half dragged, half carried her across the room, screeching hysterical curses at him. He seemed unimpressed by her vocabulary. Cathy screamed in earnest as he jerked the quilt from her, leaving her totally naked in his grasp. Teeth bared and nails flaring she reached for him but was left holding air as he twisted her effortlessly around. Before she knew quite what was happening he was sitting in one of the wooden chairs with her upended and furiously squirming across his lap, her long wet hair trailing the floor and her bare bottom wriggling ingloriously.

“I think it’s time you learned a few manners, my lady,” Jon snarled, and took a hard swat at her heaving backside. Cathy gasped as his hand found its target with all the force of a bullwhip, then screamed as he spanked her again and again. In a short time she was reduced to hiccupping sobs.

“Let me go, you filthy swine,” she managed with creditable
defiance, but his hand thudding down hard on her buttocks refused her even that small measure of pride.

“From now on, you’re going to do exactly as I tell you, right?” he questioned grimly, his hand hovering over her tender flesh.

Cathy said nothing. The hand stung against her bottom in a resounding slap.

“Right?” he asked again.

“Right!” Cathy screamed furiously, mentally condemning him to all the tortures of hell. He’d be sorry for all the indignities he was forcing upon her! She had her pride, and she would see him dead at her feet if it was the last thing she ever did!

“Who’s your master?” he went on.

Cathy hesitated. She couldn’t, simply could not, give him that satisfaction. Jon whacked her again, harder than before, and Cathy shrieked with pain and humiliation.

“I’m waiting,” he said ominously.

“Oh, you are, you bastard!” Cathy sobbingly hurled the admission at him and braced herself, sure he would beat her even more for her phrasing. But to her surprise he let her go, shoving her off his lap contemptuously as he stood up.

“See that you remember it,” he growled, and went to retrieve the chamber pot from where it had landed beside the door. When he picked it up he saw that it had broken cleanly in half. He regarded it grimly, then turned to survey the havoc in the cabin. Water stood in a lake around the half-empty tub, and the bar of soap lay forlornly beneath the table. The quilt was wet and lay in a soggy heap of color near the bunk. Cathy huddled on the floor where he had pushed her, her knees drawn up in front of her and her arms wrapped around herself to shield her body
from his gaze. Her eyes blazed with hatred as she glared up at him. Jon smiled menacingly at the feral picture she presented. By God, it was time the vixen was tamed!

“Get up!” he snarled. Cathy looked at him mutinously.

“I won’t!” she hurled back.

“I said, get up!” Jon thundered, his voice cracking like a whip. Cathy glowered at him, prepared to defy him further, but what she saw in his face dissuaded her. He looked ready to strangle her if she disobeyed him.

“I can’t. I—I don’t have any clothes on,” she muttered sullenly, not quite daring to openly contradict him.

“If you don’t do as I tell you, right now, I’ll make you very, very sorry. And that’s a promise.” His voice was deceptively soft, but Cathy could see a muscle twitching angrily at the corner of his mouth. As she looked at him he took a step toward her. Cathy scrambled hastily to her feet. Arrogant bully! She knew and he knew that she had no choice but to submit to him now. But later, she promised herself, later he would pay in blood for every humiliation he was making her suffer!

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!”