Island Flame (24 page)

“I accept your apology, Harry,” Cathy said, deeming it wiser to ignore the last part of his speech. She tugged gently at her arm. “I really have to go in now. It’s getting quite dark.”

“God, you won’t even listen to me, will you?” Harry burst out savagely. “Well, maybe you’ll listen to this!”

Before Cathy knew what he intended his arms came around her, dragging her protesting against him. Cathy tried to pull free, but he was too strong. He was not as big as Jon, or as muscular, but he was wiry and he was determined to kiss her. She went limp in his embrace, hoping that by her lack of response she could convince him that his pursuit was hopeless. Just wait, Cathy thought furiously, keeping her teeth tightly clenched against his probing tongue. When you let me go I’ll slap the daylights out of you, you stupid fool!

Cathy’s eyes were wide open and filled with disgust as Harry’s lips and hands beseeched her. As she glanced over Harry’s shoulder her eyes grew even wider. Not three feet away stood Jon, leaning heavily on a hand-whittled crutch. As Cathy watched, horrified, the blood rushed into his lean face and his eyes, darkly furious as they met hers, showed murderous anger.

Nine

J
on felt a deep, boiling rage build up until he thought its force would blow him apart. “The cheating little bitch!” he raged silently. He had begun to think that she was different, sweet, innocent—even that she was starting to care for him. “Fool!” he castigated himself furiously. He should have known that all women were basically the same. Like some besotted addlepate he had allowed a lovely face and soft flesh to lead him around by the nose. It enraged him to realize that all the time the two-faced slut was murmuring breathless little endearments to him, she had been planning to meet another man on the sly. But no more, he promised himself grimly. He would take her apart with his bare hands. And as for Harry. … Jon smiled savagely. That he would really enjoy!

Cathy’s horrified shovings at Harry’s shoulders finally had some effect. He released her reluctantly and started to speak, staring passionately down at her white face. What he saw there made him swing around. Oh, God! Jon! He looked more furious than Harry had ever seen him, his dark face suffused with blood, a muscle twitching convulsively in his cheek. His gray eyes stared at Harry like icy harbingers of death. Harry felt the color drain from his own face and devoutly thanked God that the other man had not yet recovered his full strength.

The three of them stood frozen in place for a long
moment, like some ghastly tableau from a play. Cathy finally recovered the use of her limbs and ran across to Jon, catching him by the arm and shaking it slightly.

“Darling, it’s not what it seems,” she told him urgently. The set stillness of his face and those awful, leaping eyes frightened her far more than any amount of ranting would have done. “Jon, you must believe me! I can explain … !”

Jon stared down at Cathy, his eyes glowing like twin coals on the devil’s hearth. When she called him darling in that insidious little voice, he felt like he’d been stabbed in the gut. His pain was so intense that he was almost sick with it.

“You lying little bitch!” he snarled softly.

The arm she was clinging to swept violently against her, sending her staggering, and she fell heavily on the hard boards of the deck. She cried out at the force of the impact. Automatically Harry started to go to her assistance, only to find Jon blocking his path.

“Don’t touch her, you damn bastard,” Jon said through his teeth. His voice was icy cold, his hands twitching in their eagerness to close around Harry’s neck. Harry backed off. Normally he was no match for Jon, but in the captain’s weakened state he just might stand a chance. Or he might not. Rage had been known to give even the weakest of creatures incredible strength, and Jon, even leaning on a crutch, looked capable of tearing him to pieces. But Cathy needed him. … And what Jon might do to her after he was finished with Harry himself did not bear thinking of.

Jon settled the matter. He began to advance on Harry slowly, menacingly, the cold purpose in his eyes enough to send Harry backing away from him. If ever death had looked out of a man’s eyes, it was looking now out of Jon’s.

With deadly purpose Jon withdrew the long knife from the scabbard at his waist. His fingers stroked along the finely honed blade almost caressingly. Harry was backed against the rail and could go no farther. He looked about him desperately for a weapon. There was nothing. He felt terror rise in his throat like bile.

Cathy saw what was happening and scrambled to her feet with an inarticulate cry of horror. She ran frantically across to Jon and caught hold of the arm holding the knife in a grip that refused to be shaken off.

“Jon, you can’t!” she screamed at him recklessly. “Harry didn’t do anything! You can’t kill him! It was me! I tell you, it was me!”

Her lie was the only thing she could think of that might save Harry’s life. A kiss wasn’t worth killing a man! Give Jon time to get over his first wild rage and he would agree, she knew. But in the meanwhile he must be kept from doing something that he would regret forever.

Her words succeeded in attracting Jon’s attention. He stared down at her, his burning gray eyes going first to the saucer-roundness of hers and then firing on her trembling lips. That soft mouth, only a little over an hour ago, had been driving him mad. … Now it was driving him mad in a different way. His eyes blazed at her, one hand moving up to grab her hair. Cathy gasped as her head was jerked back suddenly, and she thought for a second that her neck might snap. Jon held her cruelly, his big hand purposefully hurting her as it dug into her scalp. The fingers twined themselves painfully around the silky strands, twisting her head back so that it was forced to rest against his hard shoulder, her face turned up to his. Cathy didn’t attempt to struggle. Despite his fury, she didn’t really think that he
would hurt her. But if she were to resist him now, he might be driven to ungovernable lengths.

The straight line of his mouth closed over hers, prying her lips apart, purposefully bruising her. He kissed her as if he wanted to hurt her, to insult her, to imprint his total possession of her in her mind. Cathy quivered under his assault, but instead of trying to pull away she returned the full sweetness of her mouth to him. A miniscule portion of the rage had died out of his eyes when he released her.

“This is mine!” he barked at Harry, who had watched the scene in frozen silence. Jon’s bullet-like speech was so abrupt that Cathy started nervously in his arms. He whirled her around so that she stood with her back against his chest facing Harry. The arm holding the knife was tight about her waist, the sharp blade facing out. Harry took in its glittering menace, and paled.

“This is mine,” Jon repeated savagely. “If you ever attempt to touch her again, I’ll kill you on the spot. Understand?”

Harry stared at Jon, then nodded wordlessly. He felt like a condemned man who had just been granted a reprieve. Jon’s eyes raked over him, still flickering with anger, and then turned his attention to the trembling girl whose soft body he held so brutally. Roughly he shoved her away from him, sending her reeling to the deck.

“Get back to the cabin, slut,” he growled. When Cathy made no move to obey him he lifted a hand as if he would strike her. Cathy’s eyes flashed angrily at him, but before she could speak Harry broke in.

“She lied,” he said as if the words were being dragged from him. “She didn’t do a thing. I kissed her, and wouldn’t let her go even though she tried to make me.
She’s completely innocent, as you would know if you weren’t so goddamned stupid. She’s far too good for you; you treat her like a whore, and yet she calls you darling.”

Jon’s eyes turned to Harry. Cathy stood up, her mouth shaking. That last display of violence had both frightened and angered her. She couldn’t believe that he would treat her so brutally, not now, not after. … Pressing a trembling hand to her mouth, she turned her back and walked with dignity back to the cabin. She could feel his hard gaze boring into her back as she went.

While Jon’s attention was concentrated on Cathy’s retreating form, Harry took the opportunity to slink away below. When Jon turned back toward the rail he found that he was alone. He stood staring out at the darkening sea for some minutes before finally limping after Cathy.

“Is it true?” he asked heavily, leaning back against the closed cabin door. Cathy stood in the far corner of the room, sapphire eyes enormous in her white face, arms hugging herself to stop her body from shaking. The look she turned on Jon was stony.

“Is it true?” he repeated, voice grating. “Did he force you?”

“Believe what you like,” Cathy said coldly. “It makes no difference to me.”

Jon’s gray eyes, like twin shards of glass, seemed to impale her shivering body. Cathy stared back at him, icily angry herself. If he thought of her as a slut, after the slavish devotion she had lavished on him, then he didn’t deserve an explanation!

“I asked you a question.” Jon’s voice rumbled ominously, like a volcano before it erupts. “I advise you to answer.”

Cathy shot him a withering look.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she sniffed contemptuously.

“By God, you damned well should be,” Jon snarled, coming away from the door in a lunge. Cathy bravely stood her ground, chin tilted defiantly, eyes flashing as he closed in on her. She could not stop from cowering instinctively as he reached for her with savage imprecation, but she made no sound. His big hands came around her neck, squeezing the soft flesh just enough so that she could feel his strength. His thumbs pushed her chin up until her face was tilted to his.

“I could break your neck in less than a second,” Jon growled, tightening his hands slightly.

“Then why don’t you?” Cathy dared recklessly, her growing anger swamping her fear.

“I will,” Jon promised grimly, “if you don’t answer my questions. Was Harry telling the truth? Did he kiss you against your will?”

“You’re jealous again, aren’t you?” Cathy taunted, wanting to hurt him. “You’re so jealous that you’re crazy with it. Well, as I’ve told you before, you’ve got no hold on me. I can do as I please!”

Jon’s eyes darkened furiously.

“Cathy,” he warned very softly. “This is one time when I would advise you to keep a hold on that sharp little tongue. I mean to have an answer. Did he force you?”

“And what if I say he did?” she challenged. “Will you believe me? You were ready enough to think the worst of me out there.” She nodded in the general direction of the deck.

“I’ll believe you,” Jon muttered after a long moment. “God knows why, but I’ll believe you.”

“All right then, he forced me. Are you satisfied?” Her voice taunted him.

Jon looked down at her mutinous little face, and felt the slender fragility of the white throat he held in his hands. He could kill her so easily. … His hands tightened until he saw the blood rush into her pale face, then loosened again. She had said that Harry had forced her.…

“Is that the truth?” he demanded, his eyes burning her. Cathy stared up at him angrily.

“I’ve said it was. I thought you said that you’d believe me.”

“All right, all right. I believe you.” Jon felt the killing pain that had been throbbing in his belly subside. His hands slowly released her throat, then dropped to his sides.

Cathy glared after him as he turned away, limping across to the bunk. His crutch lay where he had dropped it by the cabin door, and he stopped to pick it up and lean it against the wall by the bed. Then he sank down in a sitting position on the mattress, his back toward her, and his leg thrust out stiffly in front of him. Absentmindedly, he began to knead his wounded thigh. Watching him, Cathy felt herself soften slightly. After all, she wanted him to fall in love with her, and jealousy was a healthy symptom of love. Or maybe not. Maybe he was equally possessive with everything to which he had staked a claim.

“Does your leg hurt very much?” she asked, almost unwillingly. The broad shoulders shrugged.

“I’ll live,” he grunted, slanting a look over his shoulder at her. Then, as if compelled, he added tightly, “Has he ever touched you before?”

Cathy’s antagonism bristled anew.

“If what you want to know is, have I slept with him, why don’t you just come right out and ask me?”

“Have you?” he growled, turning to look at her almost as if he hated her. Cathy thought she could detect traces of pain in the gray eyes that had nothing to do with his leg. He was hurting, she realized with a pang. His violence stemmed from acute suffering. Realizing this, and remembering what he had told her about his stepmother, she felt her anger drain away. Her skirts rustled as she crossed the room to kneel at his feet, catching his long brown hands in hers. He allowed her to hold his hands, but the look he bent on her was wary.

“Jon, I had never known another man,” she began, her eyes searching his skeptical face. “And if you remember, I didn’t surrender to you willingly. You had to force me, didn’t you?”

It was a measure of his hurt that he didn’t even argue the point, but merely nodded curtly.