His breath came in harsh rasps. God in heavens, what had he done? To what depths had he sunk? He eased his weight from her, looking down at her, knowing that she had fought him to the bitter end. ‘Lisette?’ He raised his hand to wipe away her tears and she jerked her head to one side, her hair spilling acoss her face, fanning out over the deep-shaded tones of the carpet. ‘Lisette,’ he said again, his voice raw with urgency. ‘Lisette, look at me. Listen to me.’ She was rigid, the long lovely line of her throat taut, her knuckles clenched, her face beaded with sweat, her skin so pale it was almost translucent. He knew he had hurt her. He had taken her as if she were a whore. Taken her with a brutality that sickened him. Blood trickled down her inner thigh. Blood and semen inextricably mixed. ‘Let me help you,’ he said, leaning back on one knee, taking hold of her shoulders. She gasped aloud, pushing herself away from him, scrambling to her feet.
