CHAPTER ELEVEN
My God, I have fallen in love with Catherine Ransom, Rafe thought as he opened his eyes, squinting blearily against the light of a new dawn, to discover that the night before had not been some wondrous, impossible dream. Kitty lay nestled beside him, her naked body lying in warm and wondrous complement to his own, the smooth curves of her buttocks against his groin, the length of her spine resting against his chest.
Her father is going to kill me, he realized as he closed his eyes, nuzzling the tumble of auburn curls near his nose. He kissed the curve of her shoulder, and when she stirred slightly, murmuring in her sleep, moving her body against him, he felt a stirring of his own.
He had roused her repeatedly throughout the night to make love. Each time, she’d welcomed him eagerly, and it seemed his body had grown insatiable when it came to her. It was as if a dam of self-restraint and control within him had crumbled. No woman had ever held such effect on him; none before had ever driven him so near to the brink of madness with such overwhelming need.
He had never been with a woman who could manage him fully. Even with Isabel, there had always been some measure of restraint lest he thrust too hard and too deeply and mete forth some irreparable damage. Kitty had been different, amazingly so. She had drawn him inside of her completely, readily and he had met no resistance in her warm, wonderful depths. For the first time in his life, Rafe had been able to make love with abandon, to fully indulge not only his lover’s pleasures, but his own, as well. Kitty had writhed beneath him, as by his hands, mouth and hips each in turn, he’d driven her repeatedly to powerful, shuddering climaxes, and each time, he had found incredible ones of his own.
After one such session, when he had been crumpled against her, winded and spent, he had thought he heard a noise, the scuffle of footsteps out on the nearby balcony. He had looked, and thought he saw a momentary glimpse of a shadowy movement out by the balustrades. He had tried to peer more closely, but the movement had not been repeated, and Kitty had been tugging at him, drawing him down to kiss her. He had lost interest and nearly forgotten about it. Until now, that was, in the bright light of a new day, and he climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb her.
He walked toward the balcony, nude. He did not know what Isabel would do if she learned that he had taken Kitty as his lover beneath her roof. However, he had a strong suspicion as to what Cristobal might do, and he had no intention of his brother discovering. A quick glance about the terrace revealed nothing out of the ordinary, and he frowned, forking his fingers through his disheveled hair, pushing it back from his face.
“Rafe?” he heard Kitty call from behind him, her voice hesitant.
“I am here,” he said, turning and going back to the bed. He watched her expression, uncertain and somewhat anxious to have roused to find him gone, suddenly bloom with bright color, her mouth unfurling in a smile that left him breathless.
“Is everything alright?” she asked. She held the sheet up to cover herself and he found her coy attempts at modesty charming.
“No, but this is better,” he replied, grasping the sheet and whipping it back, leaving her naked and uncovered. She squealed with laughter, the blush in her cheeks deepening. Just the sight of her, all lean lines and soft curves, her hair askew and her face bright with color, stirred immediate arousal within him, making him grow suddenly, unexpectedly rigid.
“And this is better still,” Rafe said, taking hold of her ankles and pulling her toward the edge of the bed.
She laughed again as he grasped her hips, rolling her onto her stomach. “What are you…?” she began, and then her voice dissolved in a moan as he entered her from behind, pulling her back against the full, hardened measure of him. She caught the bedclothes in her hands, knotting them in her fists, as he plunged deeply into her, his hands against her hips. She gasped at every heavy, rhythmic thrust, as the flat plain of his groin slapped against her buttocks. He groaned her name, delving deeply and grinding against her. He leaned over, one hand leaving her hips to cup against her breast. With the other, he reached between her legs, finding the sensitive place with his fingers that brought her pleasure, and stroking against her until she moaned, moving eagerly with him.
He kissed her shoulder, her throat, her ear through her tangled hair. He moved his hand faster and faster against her until she gasped for breath, shuddering with climax. He felt her warmth tighten about him suddenly, sweetly, and he uttered a breathless cry, shuddering powerfully against her with his own massive release.
When they were finished, he leaned against her, holding her beneath him with his arms about her. “Better now?” Kitty asked, turning her face somewhat so that her cheek rested against his.
He smiled forlornly. “Much,” he whispered, kissing her bare shoulder.
He wished so desperately that he could have this―have her―for always. He could not, of course. It was impossible, and he knew it. She is John Ransom’s daughter―a proper English woman―and I am only the son of a hidalgo, no better than a pirate.
It was time for her to go home.
“Kitty, I want to talk to you,” he said, rolling away from her and sitting against the bed.
He could postpone the truth no longer, even though the thought of losing her tore at his heart. I have only just found her, he thought, dismayed. I have waited my life through for her. It is not fair.
She smiled brightly, drawing her long legs beneath her as she sat up. Again, she drew the sheets around her to cover her nudity. Her auburn hair hung in a disheveled, lovely corona about her face, and her sea-foam green eyes locked in on his face, following the sound of his voice.
“I am sending you back to England today,” Rafe said.
Kitty’s bright expression faltered. Whatever she had been hoping he would say, this obviously was not it. “I…I do not understand.”
He took her by the hand. “I am going to send Claudio to make the arrangements,” he said. “I am going to send him with you to make sure you arrive safely back at the Wight. And you do not have to worry for your father any longer. It is over. I have already told Cristobal. This has been foolish from the start, and I am letting it go.”
Kitty blinked at him, looking bewildered and stricken. “Foolish?”
Rafe leaned toward her, cupping his palm against her face. “You belong with your father, in your home, back on the Wight. It is where you should be―where you need to be. It is what right by you, Kitty, and I want to see it done.”
He had no accounting for the hurt in her eyes. He had expected she’d be at least somewhat pleased by the news; it was what she had wanted, what she had pestered him so incessantly about nearly from the first.
“I do not want to go back to England,” she said. “I want…please, I want to stay with you, Rafe.”
He blinked at her, surprised and moved, but then shook his head. “That is madness. You cannot mean that, Kitty.”
“But I…” she began, and she shrugged away from him. “I do not understand. What was this, then? Last night…and this morning? Just now?”
“Is that why you don’t want to go home?” he asked, and he reached for her again. “No one has to know the truth. Tell your father that I raped you. You fought me with all that was in you, but I held you down and forced you. No one will condemn you for that. I am the son of a pirate―I am the man who abducted you. No one will know otherwise. You can still marry with honor.”
Kitty stared at him. “I do not want to tell anyone that,” she said. “You did not force me. I chose it freely.” She blinked, the bewildered pain in her eyes growing suddenly cool. “You were using me.”
“No,” Rafe said, shaking his head, his eyes widening. “No, Kitty, no, that is not what I―”
“You used me!” Kitty exclaimed, and she kicked at him, punting him in the shoulder and driving him back. “You bastard rot! What―did your precious bloody Isabel reject you out in the garden, so you took what you could get? You have plucked your little English rose―plus a time or tw
o besides―and now you have had your fill?”
“Kitty, no,” he said, stricken, reaching for her again. He recoiled as again, she kicked at him, this time swinging punches, too.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried, and to his dismay, he saw tears flooding her eyes. “Get away from me! Leave me alone!”
“Kitty, please,” Rafe said, but she scuttled away from him, tangling her legs in the bedclothes as she scrambled back, pressing herself against the headboard. For the first time, Rafe could see that the sheets were spotted with blood; her maiden’s blood―the innocence he had taken from her.
Her tears spilled. She clapped her hands over her face and uttered a hoarse, anguished cry. “Leave me alone!” she wept, breaking his will, his soul, ravaging his heart. “I…I hate you! God, I hate you, Rafe Serrano Beltran!”