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“I fared better than some.”
“I find that hard to believe, with your insolence.”
She could almost believe he was teasing her, if it weren’t for the hatred she’d seen in his bronze eyes. She remained silent, allowing herself to enjoy the gentle flow of his fingers along her back, the soothing feel of ointment relieving the stinging pain of her wounds.
“What about these old ones?” he asked. “There are scars that have been here some time.”
Oh, God, why did he ask about those? Did her humiliation have to be so complete? Too exhausted to face the prolonged questioning she was sure he’d put her through, she answered.
“I was a selfish, unworthy daughter.” She repeated the words her father had flung at her so many times that she accepted them as unquestioned truth.
His fingers stopped moving on her back. He must hate the thought of touching someone as vile as she.
“Unworthy? In what way?”
“I ... I displeased my father in many ways.”
“So he beat you?” His voice rose in mild interest.
“Yes, he ... he had to teach me proper discipline.”
“By whipping you? What grave sins did you commit for such a punishment? Did he find you with a man?”
“Oh, no,” she cried, horrified at the very thought. “I told you that my father threatened dire consequences if ever I gave myself to a man.”
Realizing her current situation and what would soon happen between them, she spun her head around to stare at him, eyes wide, then quickly turned away once she’d met his fierce, angry stare. Of course, he’d be angry assuming the auctioneer had lied about her.
“I ... I am still a virgin.”
“Never mind that. You don’t think being given lashes is dire consequences? Especially from your father?”
She didn’t know what to say. What did he expect? She refused to think about what her father had threatened, what she’d seen him do to others.
“Answer me.”
His voice grated against her raw nerves, and she felt incredibly vulnerable. She couldn’t find her own voice and refused to remember the threats and the agony her father had inflicted.
His hand clamped down on her shoulder, and he urged her onto her back.
“I want you to ...” His words started off angry and sharp, but trailed off as he stared down at her, his dark eyes narrowing. She knew she’d gone pale; her cheeks felt cold and empty. Maybe he was afraid she’d be ill if he pushed her. Or could he be showing her some kind of mercy? The thought quickly dissipated as he tugged the sheet from her naked body.
“Are there scars anywhere else?” he asked, his voice flat.
Her eyelids closed for a moment, to head off a flow of tears she refused to shed. Of course, he’d be worried about having bought damaged goods.
“No.”
Her father had been careful to limit scars to her back, in case, as he’d often threatened, he ever decided to send her to the auctioneer’s block. How ironic, she thought, not for the first time, that she had wound up on that block after all, and yet her father had not been able to enjoy the profit from it.
His fingers trailed down the center of her chest, traced the lower line of her ribcage, then back up her side. Her breasts swelled to the feel of his fingers so close, and she tried to deny to herself that she wanted his large, warm hands to capture them, draw them into his mouth. She remembered his gentle touch by the lake, the way he had made her feel special and wanted. How safe she had felt in his arms. She wanted to feel that again.
“Why the hell are you looking at me like that?”
At his sharp words, her gaze jerked into focus on his face. She’d been seeing him as he’d been that first day they’d met, remembering his roguish grin, his debonair demeanor. At this moment, a scowl marred his finely featured face.
“I ...” Shaking her head, she averted her gaze, not sure what to say, not sure what he wanted to hear.
“Shet’ra, you’re driving me to distraction with your wide, innocent eyes and your helpless act. Remember, I know how good an actress you are. Do you think that because I showed you some compassion, I’ve forgotten why I brought you here and what I intend to do with you?”
