Free Island Flame by Karen Robards Page B

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 heacknowledged 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