"You're hurting me. Isn't that the prelude to rape?"

"I want to hurt you." Nevertheless, his hands loosened slightly. "I'd like to-"

"Strangle me," she finished for him. "I know. You needn't repeat yourself. It grows boring."

She saw at once she had gone too far. "I would hate to bore you," he said silkily. "Let me see… now what can I do to entertain you?" His hands left her shoulders and moved down to cup her hips. "You obviously want attention paid to this portion of your body. The invitation is so blatant."

"You know I meant no invitation."

"Part your legs."

"No."

His fingers moved probingly, skillfully. She tensed as a ripple of heat went through her.

"You know you like my hands on you."

"That doesn't mean I'll let you"-she gasped as his fingers stroked that most intimate part of her-"fondle me."

"Fondle?" He searched and found; his thumb and forefinger plucked at the nub. "Do you mean this?"

She shuddered as the muscles of her stomach clenched with need. She didn't answer.

Her silence seemed to make him even angrier. "Damn you." He stripped the sarong from her upper body, picked her up, and carried her toward the bed.

"I don't want you to do this," she said desperately.

"Then why did you come? You knew what would happen." He sat her down on the bed and knelt on the floor in front of her. He pushed her legs apart and looked at her. The blood surged to where his gaze was fastened, pulsing, hot, tingling. She felt naked, exposed, owned.

He said thickly, "I suppose I shouldn't blame you for wanting to display this treasure. You're very beautiful here."

She tried to close her legs, but he held them open with merciless grip.

"But I do blame you." His eyes were suddenly blazing up at her. Three fingers entered her, deep, thrusting.

She gasped as the intrusion sent a bolt of heat through her.

He withdrew and plunged and plunged again in pace with his words. "I-don't-want-you-ever- to-do-it-again."

Dark pleasure was cascading through her. She must not give in to it. This was not the sensuality he had shown her last night-this was violent and merciless. "I'll do-what I wish. You can't force me to-do otherwise."

"The hell I can't." He pushed her back onto the bed and loomed over her. "I'll see that you're not tempted to-" He stopped and closed his eyes. "God." His features contorted, then he got off her and stood up. "Did I… bruise you?" he asked curtly.

His withdrawal had come so suddenly, she couldn't quite comprehend it. She just stared at him.

"Well, did I?"

"No." She felt as exhausted as if she had been through a hurricane, but there was no pain.

He lay back down beside her and drew her into his arms. "Don't do this to me again." His words were muffled in her hair. "It's not safe. That's the closest I've ever been to raping a woman."

His embrace was tender, and that was as bewildering to her as the violence. She had never really known tenderness from him. She wanted to stay there, to yield to it just for a moment. "You don't understand, I can't let you-" She broke off and then said wearily, "I cannot promise."

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. He didn't say anything for a moment. Then he rolled away from her and onto his back. "I see."

She had the uneasy feeling he spoke the truth, that he had seen her desperation to retain some control in these encounters.

He said, "Very well, but I'd advise you to find tamer ways to challenge me."

She had no other way. He held all the weapons. "I'll wear what I like."

"The devil you will. Don't you ever give-" He shook his head. "All right, wear whatever suits you. Come to me naked. Come to me in a ball gown. I don't care."

She was surprised at the surrender. "You don't?"

"Well, I'd prefer the ball gown." He smiled crookedly. "You'll remember I like to unwrap my packages."

His words brought back that scalding discomposure she had felt at supper. Ridiculous that mere words could shake her when she had just experienced the most sensual of intimacies with him. "I don't have a ball gown."

"No? We must take care of that once we reach England." His hand reached out and lazily rubbed her belly. "Red, I think. I like red, and it would be beautiful with your dark hair."

"I've never worn red. Clara thought it was a heathen color." She stiffened beneath his touch but then relaxed as she realized the caress was without sensuality. It was soothing, almost affectionate, and as sexless as the way he stroked Kapu. "Don't be foolish. What would I do with a ball gown? I'm not going to England to go to balls."

"That's right." He snapped his fingers. "How could I forget? But I do go to balls on occasion. I suppose if you're to remain close to me, you'll have to masquerade as a footman." His gaze wandered to her breasts. "No, the encumbrances to that plan are too… sizable. Oh, well, I'm sure you'll think of something."

He was joking, she realized incredulously. After the tumult and intensity, it took her off guard. "That's not amusing."

"I'm devastated you don't appreciate my wit. It is a bit crude for the taste of most women of my acquaintance, but you're not like them."

She felt an odd pang. No, she would never be like the women of Jared's world. She would never have the gentleness or meekness. She would never have the grace or sweet ways.

"What's wrong?" His smile had faded as his gaze searched her face.

"Nothing." She didn't look at him. "I wouldn't want to be like your fine ladies, but I'm not crude. I would bring no shame to myself in your grand ballrooms."

"Christ, I didn't say you were- Look at me."

"I don't want to look at you."

He reached out and grasped her chin and turned her face toward him. "Now I truly have hurt you."

She shook her head.

"Listen to me. You're not crude. You have courage and an honesty that I've never seen in any other woman." He added gruffly, "You're also impulsive, hot-tempered, and the most obstinate chit I've ever encountered. I might want to strangle you, but I'd never be ashamed of you."

He meant it. He was staring directly into her eyes and she couldn't look away. She was drifting, drowning, floating away from every mooring she had ever known. Dangerous. Dear God, how dangerous. She tore her gaze away from him. "I have to go," she whispered.

Something changed in his expression. His hand dropped away from her chin. "Yes."

She hadn't wanted him to agree with her, she realized at once. She had wanted him to keep her, make her stay. More dangerous than she had imagined. She slipped from the bed.

"How is Kapu?" he asked.

"Nervous. Some days are better than others." She found her sarong and wrapped it around her hips. "I'll be glad to get him ashore."

"Are you still sleeping in the cargo hold?"

"When the sea's at all rough." A memory suddenly came back to her. "You once said you have a horse better than Kapu."

"My mare runs like the wind. She's won any number of purses for me."

"A mare?" She shook her head. "No mare could match Kapu."

"You told me that I shouldn't judge a horse by glancing at him, and yet you're guilty of that trespass. You haven't even seen Morgana."

"That's different."

One corner of his lips lifted. "Because it threatens your beloved stallion. Shall I tell you how I got Morgana? She came almost as far from England as your Kapu."

Curiosity suddenly sparked. "Did she? Where? I thought-" What was she doing? Conversation led to intimacy, and that was forbidden to her. "I don't care where you got her."

He smiled. "Ah, how easy it is to fall into the pit of curiosity. I sympathize completely. I want to ask you a hundred questions, but that's forbidden, isn't it?"

"Yes." She ignored the taunt and opened the door. She didn't look at him as she asked, "Are you going to insist on coming to my cabin tomorrow night?"