“I’m not a fool.” She began to struggle, and she was more annoyed than afraid when he didn’t release her.

“No, you’re not.” Her eyes were on his, fury matching fury. He thought he felt something break inside him, the last bolt that had caged the uncivilized. “Maybe it’s time I taught you the rest.”

“I don’t need you to teach me anything.”

“That’s right, there’ll be others to teach you, won’t there?” Jealousy clawed deep, drawing thick, hot blood. “Damn you. And damn them, every one of them. Think of this. Whenever anyone else touches you, tomorrow, ten years from tomorrow, you’ll wish it was me. I’ll see to it.”

With his words still hanging in the air, he pulled her to the bed.

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

She fought him. She refused to be taken in anger, no matter how deep her love. The bed sank beneath their combined weights, molding to them like a cocoon. The music drifted, calm and beautiful. His hands were rough as they dragged at the buttons of her shirt.

She didn’t speak. It never occurred to her to beg him to stop, or to give in to the tears that would surely have snapped him back to his senses. Instead she struggled, trying to roll away from his ruthlessly seeking hands. She fought, furiously bucking, pushing against him, waging a private war against the traitorous response of her body, which would betray her heart.

She would hate him for this. The knowledge nearly broke her. If he succeeded in what he set out to do, it would wash away other memories and leave this one, this violent, distorted one, dominant. Unable to bear it, she fought now for both of them.

He knew her too well. Every curve, every dip, every pulse. On a wave of fury, he locked her wrists in one hand and dragged her arms over her head. His mouth savaged her neck while his free hand slid down, unerringly, to find one of those secret, vulnerable places. He heard her moan as the unwanted, unavoidable pleasure tore into her. Her body tensed, a wire ready to snap. It arched, a bow pulled taut. He felt the burst of release as it shuddered through her, heard her choked-off cry. He saw her lips quiver before she pressed them hard together.

Regret burned through him. He had no right, no one did, to take something beautiful and use it as a weapon. He’d wanted to hurt her for something beyond her control. And he had. No more, he realized, than he had hurt himself.

“Libby.”

She only shook her head, her eyes tightly closed. Wishing for words that weren’t there, Cal rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

“I have no excuse . . . there is no excuse for treating you that way.”