A Perilous Eden Read Free Page A

He kept speaking to the older man—the only other man whose opinion seemed to count.
    â€œWhere is the senator?” Amber demanded.
    They all stopped then, staring at her.
    â€œShut up,” Michael Adams told her flatly.
    She couldn’t let him turn away again. They were probably going to kill her one way or the other, so it really didn’t matter what she said anymore.
    â€œThey’ll hang you, Michael Adams. They’ll get you, you bastard, one way or the other. Maybe they’ll shoot you for treason. It’s a pity they don’t draw and quarter men anymore. It would be a fitting way for you to go.”
    His ice-blue eyes fell on her with complete disdain. “Shut up, Amber.”
    â€œThe hell I will—” she began.
    Three quick strides brought him to her before she could even attempt to back away. He struck her again, open-handed, his palm cracking loudly against her cheek. Tears rose instantly to her eyes, and she tasted blood where her teeth had caught the vulnerable flesh of her inner lip. She swore silently that she would not go down without a fight, that she would not be a pathetic victim, refusing to battle. She struck him with swift venom, startling him when her fingers connected with his face.
    A roar of laughter went up.
    Someone shouted out to Michael, and the sentence contained a word she understood. Puta . Whore. They were calling her Michael’s whore, she realized, and laughing because the man who held sway over all of them didn’t seem to be able to handle his whore. They all wanted to have something on him, she realized. They were afraid of him.
    At the moment she was afraid of him herself. She forgot that his intervention had saved her life. That it was still the only thing standing between her and death.
    â€œNo!” she shrilled furiously. “I am nothing to this man! Listen to me—”
    â€œShut up!” Michael ground out savagely. He grabbed her, wrenching her off her feet, and tossed her over his shoulder. His voice rose with rage, and he snapped out something in Spanish.
    There was laughter again. They weren’t laughing at Michael anymore; they were laughing at her.
    Michael kicked open the door and started down the steps that had brought her to the deck. Gasping, Amber saw that they were passing through the galley and the salon where she had so recently lain.
    She had been afraid of death; she had never even thought about rape. Now the echo of coarse male laughter reached her, and a new terror was born within her soul.
    They slammed through a hallway, then into a tiny hot cabin where the only illumination came from a pale ray of moonlight.
    Amber was cast like refuse upon a narrow bunk. For a moment she lay stunned; then she twisted in panic, her heart racing. She started to rise, but she was caught and thrown back.
    She couldn’t really see Michael in the humid darkness. All she could see was a silhouette, dark and menacing.
    Then she heard a rustle in the darkness, and the silhouette of the man began to glow. He had shed the black turtleneck, and the rippling muscles of his chest were gleaming in the pale light.
    She stared at him, able to see his eyes at last, the fathomless blue-ice eyes that had once so fascinated her.
    â€œLet me go, you son of a bitch!” she grated, her voice shaking with vehemence.
    He looked at her without emotion, without deigning to reply. He unbuckled his belt, and it slipped from the loops of his jeans with a curious slithering sound. Amber’s eyes widened as she saw him wrap the leather around his hand and wield the length of it like a whip. Dear God, he meant to beat her into silence.
    She let out a long scream of horrified anticipation. The leather made a snakelike hissing sound as it rent the air and struck … the bedding, not her flesh.
    Perhaps she was in shock. Amber couldn’t grasp what was happening. Half gasping, half laughing and very near tears, she stared at him.