She swallowed, dry. It had happened so quickly. His huge, heated entry, her explosion, his explosion. She needed to feel him again. Not once or twice, but thrusting endlessly, deeply…oh, God, she did.
Katherine choked on her moan. She rolled into a ball. On her side, she finally looked up at him.
How magnificent he was. He stood fully clothed, his lean jaw hard and tight, his gray gaze wild, his blond hair damp and disheveled, staring down at her as if he had never seen her before. Katherine grew uneasy. She sat up, pulling a pillow forward to cover her nakedness. She stared back, into his stormy eyes.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked harshly.
For one heartbeat, Katherine could not understand why he was asking such an absurd question. She had been weeping with her pleasure. And never had she dreamed he would feel so good inside of her.
“Did I hurt you?” he repeated. His right temple throbbed visibly.
This time Katherine understood. Her pulse was finally beginning to subside. But not the ache between her thighs—for just looking at him made it worse. She inhaled, hugging the pillow hard. Realizing that it was done. Finally, it was done. He had taken her virtue, and somehow, it was a relief. Had she not been secretly anticipating this very moment for a long time?
Katherine grew still. Her pulse picked up its beat. She did not care for the loss of her virtue, but…’twas the last thing of value she possessed.
And she was married to John Hawke.
Katherine froze. Not too many hours ago, she had stood beside John, exchanging vows. Yet now, she sat naked onthe pirate’s bed, her body pulsing with uncontrollable passion, feverish for another man.
In her mind she could see Hawke now, manacled to their wedding bed, his expression furious.
Sickening dismay beginning to wash over her, drowning her, Katherine shifted slightly and looked down at the coverlet. At the blood. At her blood.
She had lost her virtue. She was another man’s wife—but Liam had taken her virtue. And she had given it willingly. Wished to give it to him yet again.
“Katherine?” he asked.
Her gaze snapped to his. What she had done was unbelievable. “Get away from me!” she cried.
He flinched. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Katherine.”
She skidded backward on her rump, away from him, until her back hit the bed’s headboard, still hugging the pillow. “Oh, God! Get away from me!”
“I am sorry,” he said, agonized. “I didn’t mean…I lost control…I am sorry.”
Katherine did not hear him. Her mind was in a daze. But she managed to comprehend the final truth. She had lost far more than her virtue. She had lost her dreams—every single last one of them.
21
Whitehall
Queen Elizabeth had turned white.
John Hawke stood before her, flushed with rage, his hand gripping the hilt of his sheathed sword. Although fully dressed in his crimson uniform, somehow he appeared disheveled. “I beg you, Your Majesty, to aid me in recovering my bride,” he said.
Slowly Elizabeth rose from her throne. Her stunned gaze met Cecil’s. “I cannot believe this tale.”
Cecil moved to Hawke and put a hand on the man’s trembling shoulder. “Your anger will lead you astray.”
Hawke’s smile was menacing. “You are wrong, my lord. It will lead me exactly where I wish to go, and aid me in killing the pirate bastard when I find him.”
Elizabeth turned away from both men, her pulse thundering in her ears. Jealousy consumed her. She had thought to keep them apart. But even now, her golden pirate spent himself on the Irish girl. Defying her and her will.
Hanging was too good for him.
She trembled with rage, facing Cecil. “I demand he be brought to me to answer for his insolence!”
“I will gladly bring him to you,” Hawke said.
