“Katherine…” Liam stared at her, his chest heaving.
She looked away, then felt him touch her. Katherine fled to the other side of the room. “Don’t touch me!” she cried hysterically. Panic was replacing her anger, and she was finally aware of how bone-tired she was. How would she find the strength to resist him—to resist her own sinful nature? She told herself that she must not enjoy his lovemaking—at all costs. She whispered, “Please set me free. Please let me go back to John. Please don’t do this to me.”
Liam stared at her, his jaw rigid. For a long moment he did not speak. Then he said, reluctantly, “I cannot.”
“What do you mean, you cannot?” Katherine heard the hysteria in her tone. “Of course you can free me! Ofcourse you can send me back to John! You are king here, and can do as you will!”
His mouth curved without mirth. “Yes, I am king here—king of the pirates, the wind, and the sea. Everything you now see, I command.” His gaze was sharp. “And you, Katherine, you I also command.”
“You do not command me!” she almost sobbed.
“No?” One brow rose.
“Do you like your infamy?” she asked bitterly. “That is it, is it not? You like being lawless, answerable to no one other than yourself!” An idea seized her, a way of manipulating him. “You like being Shane O’Neill’s son.”
His nostrils flared with anger. “I hate being his son.”
And Katherine moved to him, gripping his wrist—then wished that she had not touched him. She removed her palm from his hard, tense forearm. “Then pretend you are not his son,” she cried softly. “Play the gentleman, Liam—and release me.”
He inhaled sharply. His gaze locked with hers. “You ask too much.”
Katherine stared into his glittering gray eyes. He acted rational, spoke in a conversational tone, but what she saw was his lust. In the brief silence which followed she realized that she had lost. Panic surged forth again, and she glanced at the door—her only means of escape.
His jaw flexing, Liam turned and locked the door, pocketing the key. When he faced her again, he said, “You are cold.”
Katherine realized that she was not just frozen in her soaking cloak, but shivering as well. She shook her head in a ridiculous denial, her eyes fixed upon him—awaiting his next move.
He moved toward her; she leapt away. He murmured, “I intend to be patient with you this night, Katherine. If you wish to be wooed, so be it. Tonight is not a night for cords or knives.”
Katherine gasped, his words drumming up those old memories she wished to avoid, as she stood beside the teakwood bookcase.
Liam smiled slightly at her, the way he might at a frightened child. Katherine pressed back against the bookcase. But her eyes darted toward the bed, just once. She must flee—but flee where?
“I cannot live without you, Katherine,” he said, his gaze holding hers, taking another step toward her. He did not smile; his tone dropped, becoming soft and cajoling. “I cannot function. You are in my mind at the most inappropriate times. My lust is making me lose all sanity.”
Her nipples hurt her now, hard and pointed and chafed by the wet wool of her cloak. She was holding her breath, and she expelled it all at once, helplessly glancing down at him.
He smiled slightly. “For you, Katherine. My loins are hard and close to bursting for you.” He paused beside her, so that they stood almost cheek to cheek. “You are wet, cold.” He touched a strand of her wet, tangled hair, one that curled against her cheek.
A frisson of fiery sensation sparked from his fingertip to her skin and raced through her entire body. Katherine jerked. “No!” She ran from him to the door. She wrenched at it uselessly.
Liam watched her and sighed, using great willpower to curb his impatience. His body wished to explode, sorely needed release, but he must not give in to his lust. Not now, not yet. He wondered if she understood that he spoke the truth. He faced her, waiting for her to calm herself.
She had her back plastered to the door and she stared at him wildly. “I want to return to John,” she whispered hoarsely.
His temper sizzled and threatened to make him lose all control. He reined it in, hard. “I am not returning you to John. I, at least, am honest. I want you. I will have you. I will have you willing and warm before the hour is through.”
“No.” He saw that she was still shivering.
“And you are freezing,” he said, matter-of-factly. He turned from her and went to the armoire, opening it. He pulled out a thick towel that was cotton on one side, silk on the other. Casually he said, not looking at her, “Come here, Katherine.”
Trembling, she shook her head.
Liam took another towel for her hair. “Do you wish to catch your death?”
Katherine stared at him as if she could not look away. Her lips were parted slightly, her cheeks flushed. No longer, he thought, just from anger, but also from anticipation of where he led.
“Come,” he murmured, his gaze boring hers.
