Page 74 of Just Imagine
“I’ll be the judge of that. Now put down that comb and turn around so I can look at you.”
Slowly she did as he said, a queer excitement building along with her dread. Her eyes settled on the scars that marred his chest. “Where did you get the scar on your shoulder?”
“Missionary Ridge.”
“What about the one on your hand?”
“Petersburg. And I got the one on my gut fighting over a crooked poker game in a Laredo whorehouse. Now unbutton that shirt and come over here so I can take a better look at my newest piece of property.”
“I’m not your property, Baron Cain.”
“That isn’t what the law says, Mrs. Cain. Women belong to the men who marry them.”
“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you happy. But I don’t belong to anybody except myself.”
He rose and walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps. “Let’s get something straight right from the start. I own you. And from now on, you’ll do exactly what I say. If I want you to polish my boots, you’ll polish them. If I tell you to muck out my stable, you’ll do that, too. And when I want you in my bed, you’d better be flat on your back with your legs spread by the time I have my belt unbuckled.”
His words should have made her stomach churn in fear, but there was something too calculated about them. He was deliberately trying to break her, and she wasn’t going to let him do it.
“I’m terrified,” she drawled.
She hadn’t given him the reaction he wanted, so he came after her again. “When you married me, you lost your last bit of freedom. Now I can do anything I want with you, short of killing you. And if I’m not too obvious about it, I can probably do that, too.”
“If I don’t get you first,” she retorted.
“Not a chance.”
She tried again to reason with him. “I did a terrible thing. It was wrong, but you have my money. It’s triple what it should cost you to rebuild that mill, so let’s put an end to this.”
“Some things don’t have a price.” He rested one shoulder against a bedpost. “This should amuse you . . .”
She regarded him warily. Somehow she didn’t think so.
“I’d already made up my mind not to send you back to New York. I was going to tell you in the morning.”
She felt sick. She shook her head, hoping it wasn’t true.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” he said. “I didn’t want to hurt you like that. But everything’s changed now, and I don’t much care about that.” He reached out and began unfastening the buttons of her shirt.
She stood perfectly still, her earlier spark of confidence evaporating. “Don’t do this.”
“It’s too late.” He parted the shirt and gazed down at her breasts.
She tried not to say it, but she couldn’t help it. “I’m afraid.”
“I know.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes tight. He removed her shirt. She stood naked before him.
Tonight would be the worst, she told herself. When it was done, he’d have lost his power over her.
He caught her under the knees and carried her to his bed. She turned her head away as he began to strip off his clothing. Moments later, he lowered himself to the side of the bed. It sagged beneath his weight.
Something twisted inside Cain at the sight of her turned away from him. Her closed eyes . . . The resignation in that heart-shaped face . . . What had it cost her to admit her fear? Damn it, he didn’t want her like this. He wanted her spitting and fighting. He wanted her cursing him and sparking his anger as only she knew how.
