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with disbelief and despair. This was not
supposed to happen. Things like this were not supposed to happen, not to her!
She tried to think of Bennett, of how it should have been, would have been had
they both forgotten themselves that night in the garden, but the reality of
being filled and stretched and molded to accommodate the swollen presence of
Morgan Wade's flesh stripped every other consideration from her mind.
    There was a fleeting moment of hesitation on Wade's
part when he met with an unexpected shield of resistance, but his anger carried
him forward, acknowledging her whimper of pain with a sound that was only half
curious, wholly dismissive. And not the least regretful as the action shocked
her lithe young body into clenching even more tightly around him.
    Summer gasped . . . and gasped again with the
realization that her mouth was free and had been for several moments. Her
wrists had been released as well, but there was nothing she could do other than
curl her hands into tiny, furious fists. She knew she should scream, or cry
out, or do something— anything —to protest the injustice of having had something so
precious stolen away so perfunctorily . . . but who could she appeal to? Wade
was the captain, the governor, the king on board his ship. To him she was a
mere governess, no better than a servant, and therefore fair game for his
absurd little lessons in obedience.
    She clawed his shoulders out of rage and frustration
and felt a small measure of satisfaction in hearing him curse. She ground her
teeth and pressed her head back against the linens, her body straining with his
thrusts time after time until she was forced to move with him just to ease the
excruciating tautness. And, just when she thought she could not possibly bear
any more, he threw back his great black mane of hair and parted his lips in a
soundless cry, his body shuddering and convulsing through a series of mighty
spasms.
    Then there was only the weight of him collapsing over
her, and the slippery, liquid heat of him draining away the menacing urgency of
his flesh. Summer's senses were still reeling. A strangely disquieting tension
shivered over the surface of her skin and she could swear her blood had thinned
to the consistency of hot oil where it pounded and hummed through her veins.
Her thighs ached where they were wedged apart and her arms were limp in defeat,
her fists resting on the bunched muscles of his shoulders.
    He appeared to be in no hurry to move, not even when
he heard the muffled half-sob she could not quite stifle in her throat. After
an agony of waiting, he raised himself slowly onto his elbows and studied her,
the same maddening smirk as before playing across his lips.
    Summer lay perfectly still, hoping he could sense the
absolute loathing of him that seeped through her every pore.
    "You should have told me you were a virgin,"
he said casually.
    "Would it have made a difference?" she
snapped.
    Wade's gaze slid down to the luscious, slightly
swollen redness of her lips.
    "Probably not. My manners tend to suffer when
I've been too long at sea."
    Summer's eyes blazed with sparks of green fire, but
she refused to respond to his arrogant mockery. Her attention focused instead
on where her hands still rested on the darkly tanned shoulders. She jerked them
away as if his flesh had suddenly burst into flame, noticing as she did so, a
trail of fresh blood smearing the hard muscles.
    Tears that needed no provocation welled over her
lashes when she saw the damage her nails had inflicted on the injured palms of
her hands. The two partially healed burns now had a row of tiny half-circlets
of blood where the points of her nails had assisted her through her ordeal.
    Wade frowned and maneuvered himself free. "What
have you done to yourself? Let me see."
    "Leave me alone," she cried softly.
"You have done enough already. Just leave me alone."
    He swung his long legs over the side of the bed and
walked to the washstand in the corner, scowling