water thrown in his face. It was only when she spoke in such cynical fashion that he realized how naive and innocent she had really been at first. Until he had changed her. Controlling himself with an effort he walked behind the desk, turning up the lamp.
“Such a painful sacrifice on your part isn’t necessary, mademoiselle. Please wrap a sheet around yourself at least—improvise a Roman toga, if you can. I can assure you that a little modesty and even coyness at times can be much more appealing to a man than such a blatant display of nudity.”
“Oh!” He had managed to make her angry at last. “And what makes you think that I am interested in making myself appealing to a man? If I am to judge all men by you, it wouldn’t matter; all you think of is your own selfish pleasure even if it has to be forced on an unwilling victim!”
He looked at her consideringly, the reflection of the lamp’s light in his eyes making them appear as golden as hers for an instant.
“Am I really that selfish? Poor little victim! But then, you see, I’ve been used to taking women as they come—and go. Do you want me to make you an exception?”
“I want nothing from you except my freedom!”
Sullenly Marisa turned her back on him, snatching a sheet off the unmade bed to wrap around herself. How she detested him! And what subtle new form of torment did he plan to use on her this time? What she had flung at him was true. She only longed to be free, and especially of him!
7
An obviously disapproving Donald brought dinner, sniffing loudly as he laid the table and setting down steaming covered dishes with an unnecessary clatter that caused his captain to raise an eyebrow and inquire politely if perhaps he was getting too old for life at sea.
Marisa sulked in the farthest corner of the big bed, keeping her back stubbornly turned; but she could not help overhearing the conversation. She could almost imagine Donald’s long face, and the way his lips must be pursed. Well, at least Donald was on her side, and as soon as they reached France she’d beg him to help her….
“And why would ye be wanting both wine and champagne?” Donald was asking in a gruff voice. “I can’t recall as ye’ve ever displayed much liking for the vile, wicked stuff before. All bubbles, it is, and only meant for—”
He cast a pitying glance towards Marisa who was smothered under the bedcovers, and he was angry enough to glower at the captain. He had no right to treat a young, unprotected child as if she were some dockside trollop picked up for his pleasure!
Dominic Challenger, reading what was in the older man’s mind, gave him a sarcastic smile. “Why should I need to seduce her when both you and she keep reminding me that she’s ruined already? And I happen to have a taste for champagne tonight—and none at all for your preaching, you old reprobate!”
Donald opened his mouth to speak again and found his speech cut off by a steely, threatening look. He left without speaking again.
Suddenly a spicy aromatic scent filled the cabin, making Marisa’s mouth water in spite of all her resolutions. Dominic had taken the covers off the silver dishes that Donald had brought in, and the delicious smell was almost too much for her to bear! Marisa bit her lip, her back stiffening, and the next moment she jumped as a cork popped loudly.
‘So that’s his game. I’m supposed to crawl and beg for my food now…. Well, we’ll see!’
The odor of seafood and spices and saffron-flavored rice took her suddenly back to Martinique. Oh, why hadn’t maman left her behind on that warm, happy island with her grandparents instead of dragging her off to France?
She was so hungry that even his presence could not stop the involuntary growling of her empty stomach, and Marisa blushed with shame.
“If you’re not hungry, petite, perhaps a glass of champagne will help you cheer up. We’ll soon be in France, and you might want to celebrate the parting of our ways!”
Lately he had taken to speaking to her in French; and as usual, his sarcastic tone of voice made her grit her teeth with anger. If she didn’t eat he was just as likely to have the meal cleared away as soon as his own appetite was satisfied.
Wrapping a sheet loosely around her, she finally sat down opposite him. Captain Challenger’s shirt was open to his waist, and she could not help noticing, all over again, the strangely wrought medal he wore on a silver chain around his neck. She had asked him about it before, and he’d only shrugged, telling her it was a good-luck charm given him by an old friend.
“It looks like a heathen thing to me!” she’d said primly and saw his lip curl ironically.
“You would appear the heathen to the man who gave me this, little wildcat. Stop acting so curious.”
Well, she would not ask him any more questions. She knew all she wanted to know about him, although his behavior tonight puzzled her. He had made Donald lay the table as if for a formal dinner party; and now he instructed her on the correct implements to use, all the while keeping her glass full to the brim with champagne.
“You might as well learn to eat like a lady instead of a hungry savage! Do you want this aunt of yours to feel ashamed of you? Or your lovers—”
“I would not take any lovers! Now that you’ve taught me what men really want from a woman I think I would much rather be a nun, after all!”
“Just think what you would have missed—immured in a Spanish convent!”
His eyes crinkled at the corners—why did she have to notice that? And when she would have answered him loftily, Marisa choked on her champagne instead. She spluttered, breathing up bubbles of champagne that seemed to penetrate her very brain, making it float away from her body.
“I think it’s time for your next lesson, ma fille.”
The sheet she had wrapped herself with had somehow vanished, and she was lying backward on the bed, her head spinning alarmingly.
“Since you are so determined to become a nun, you had better learn the ways in which men can take advantage of you.”
Had she dreamed the husky whisper? Marisa gasped with shock as something cold and wet trickled over her breasts and down her belly. Her body jerked, arching involuntarily, and her eyes, as she tried to focus them, held a puzzled, confused look.
“You are pouring champagne all over me! Are you mad? Stop—”
Marisa began to giggle helplessly the next moment when Dominic, bending his dark head to hers, said severely,
“Will you hold still, vixen? It would be a shame to waste all that champagne.”
Neither of them had eaten very much, being far too occupied in arguing, and she thought for a moment that he was as drunk as she. She became aware, all of a sudden, of a strange sensation. His lips and tongue were tracing the path of the champagne, and going even further, in fact…
Marisa tried to wriggle away, but he held her pinioned, concentrating first on one quivering breast and then the other until she felt her whole body burning with embarrassment. And—and—oh, it was the strangest feeling, but although she struggled and moaned, she did not really want him to stop, not even when her nipples were achingly sensitive under his hands, and his seeking mouth moved much lower—across her taut, shrinking belly—lower still, until—
Until frightened both of herself and him, she began to fight against him in earnest, her breath sobbing in her throat, limbs writhing as she fought to close her thighs against this different kind of encroachment.
Forgetting her pride in her fear, Marisa began to plead with him, although somewhere in the back of her mind a small demon sat grinning and damned her for being a hypocrite. She had come closer than she ever had before to understanding desire—so close that when with a muttered expletive he slid himself up her body and kissed her mouth instead, she was almost sorry. She felt as if she had been on the brink of