Beyond Eden by Catherine Coulter Page A

nipples?”
    She stared at him, unmoving, so afraid she was paralyzed.
    â€œOr your crotch? Have they put their fingers in you? No? Well, I’ll make it very nice for you. Girls like to have their lips rubbed and kissed. And there’s your little clitoris. Have you masturbated much, Lindsay? Have you given yourself much pleasure? Did all the girls at your school talk about it? How much they wanted to do it?”
    He leaned toward her again, his lips parted, his eyes intent on her mouth. “Have you any idea what it will feel like when I have my tongue hot on you?”
    Lindsay cried out, the sound of her own voice shoving her back into reality, back into herself. But this reality was ugly and it was right here beside her. She rolled to the side away from him and onto the floor, coming up to her feet.
    He was still smiling. He rose and came around the end of the bed. “Why are you afraid? It’s me, Lindsay, and you’ve loved me since you first saw me. Admit it.”
    â€œNo, no, stay back. Oh, God, you’re not what I thought you were.”
    He moved quickly then, grabbed her upper arms as she tried to dodge past him, and dragged her back onto the bed. “I don’t mind if you fight me,” he was saying over and over against her cheek, his breath hot, his voice fast and high. “You won’t like it as much, but I will. Jesus, I’ll love it.” He wasstill smiling and she could see the gold filling in one of his back teeth.
    â€œNo, damn you, no!” She saw that words had no effect on him. He was going to rape her. The instant she thought the word, a string of stark images flashed through her mind, and she went crazy. He was ripping her cotton nightgown open at the throat and she felt cold air on her chest. She kicked her legs up; they were strong because she played soccer, and he grunted with pain. Her knees hit his groin and he grabbed her two wrists and now he pressed himself down on her, pinning her legs. He was breathing hard with exertion, trying to hold both her wrists in one of his hands, but she was too strong. She was a big girl and she was in good shape. “You’re acting like a bloody American bitch,” he yelled in her face. “Stop it, for God’s sake! Hold still for me! Don’t be like your fool of a sister!”
    This was the real Alessandro, the man Sydney had married in good faith, the man Lindsay had fantasized about and dreamed about. He had set this whole trip up and he fully intended to rape her. God, she couldn’t believe—She twisted and yanked at his hold, tried to bring her legs up again to give her leverage. She was muscular, and she wasn’t going to lie there like a victim. She remembered her self-defense courses. Scream, scream, scream. Had he done this before, to Italian girls? And they’d just lain there whimpering and let him rape them? She yelled right in his face, spittle spraying him, and heaved upward, nearly knocking him to the floor off her.
    Suddenly he released her left hand, and immediately she was clawing at his face. He struck his fist into her jaw. She felt pain slam into her face, sawflashes of light, and gasped. He struck her again, hard.
    She was on the brink of unconsciousness for a few seconds, enough time for him to rip her nightgown open to the hem. He jerked the cotton edges apart.
    He was straddling her now, keeping her legs down by sitting on them, and he was staring down at her. He was smiling; there was triumph in his dark eyes. He forced her hands down on her abdomen, holding them there.
    â€œI hadn’t thought your breasts would be so large and your nipples so big,” he said now, dissatisfaction clear in his voice. All the softness, the gentleness, was gone. “Most young girls aren’t so filled out as you, but it doesn’t really matter. It was my choice to wait, so I have only myself to blame.” Because he couldn’t hold both her hands down with