“Fair! Surely you’re not trying to pretend that you’ve been fair?”
“I think it was a perfectly legitimate thing to do—in the circumstances,” he answered coolly.
She gazed at him, appalled. Lady Susan had indeed been right when she declared that Brett had no principles, and against his unshakable sang-froid Ann felt as helpless to make any impression as a wave beating at the foot of some granite rock.
“When you want something very badly,” he explained with the utmost simplicity, “the only way to get it is to forge straight ahead. You can’t afford to be squeamish over trifles. And I want you!”—his voice deepening to a sudden intensity.
The old, familiar fear and dread of him rushed over her afresh. She felt sick—sick and terrified.
“Oh, go—go away!” she exclaimed desperately.
“All right, I’ll go. But you’ll kiss me first.”
He took a step towards her. She could not retreat. The wall was immediately behind her. With a sudden sideways movement she twisted and tried to escape him. But it was useless. With incredible swiftness he caught her as she turned, and she felt his arms close round her in a grip of steel. He stooped his head.
“No—no!” she implored piteously. “Brett, let me go! Please—please let me go!” She struggled frantically against him. Then, finding herself helpless in his grasp, she covered her face with her hands, pressing them hard against her cheeks. But she might as well have tried to pit her puny strength against an avalanche. In a moment he had forced down her shielding hands, bending her slender body backwards so that her face lay just below his lips—shelterless and at his mercy. And then she felt his mouth crushed savagely on hers and the turbulence of his passion swept over her as the hot wind sweeps across the desert—scorching and resistless.
When at last he released her she swayed unsteadily.