"I wasn't thinking of inviting you all," he returned coolly. "Even if the yacht could accommodate you. I was limiting the proposed yachting party to you--and me." Ann moved restlessly. "Don't be absurd, Brett." He laughed--that gay, triumphant laughter of his which always made her a little afraid. It sounded so sure, so carelessly confident. "Then don't fence with me any longer," he retorted. "What's the use of pretending, anyway?" "Pretending? I'm afraid I don't understand." She threw a quick, dismayed glance down the length of the deck, devoutly wishing that some one would come along and interrupt them. But there was nobody in sight except one of the crew--and he was keeping his eyes very studiously turned away from the corner where they were seated. "You don't understand?" Brett's voice roughened a little. "Haven't I made it clear what I want? I want _you_--" "No, no!" Ann jumped up from her chair precipitately. "Don't say it, Brett! Please don't. I--I don't want to hear." There was a note of urgent pleading in her hurried speech, but if he heard it he paid no attention. He was on his feet as quickly as she was. Perhaps if she had looked at him she would have realised that she was drawing upon, herself the very thing she was trying to avoid. But she had averted her face, afraid of the blue flame of his eyes, and his quick movement, silent and certain as the leap of a panther, filled her with a sudden irrational terror. She started to run. Then, her feet entangled in the rug which had slipped to the floor when she sprang up from her seat, she stumbled and pitched helplessly forward. But she did not reach the ground. Brett's arms closed round her like a vice of steel, and the next moment she felt his lips on hers--on her eyes, her throat, the gleaming curve of moon-white shoulder, straining against them in fierce, possessive kisses that seemed to drain her of all strength to resist. At last: "Now do you understand?" he demanded hoarsely. "I love you!... God in heaven! I wonder if you know how much I love you!" "No, no!" She struggled to free herself from his arms, but he held her in a relentless grip that no power of hers could fight against. "Let me go!" she gasped, finding herself helpless against him. His eyes burned down on her. "I'll let you go when you promise to be my wife--not before. Say you love me, Ann!" "But I don't--I don't love you at all. Let me go, Brett!" She made another futile effort to release herself, but his grasp never slackened. "You _shall_ love me!" he declared violently. With the imperative need of the moment Ann found her courage returning. She realised now that it was to be a battle between them, and she was filled with a cold fury against this man who tried to enforce his will on hers. Suddenly she ceased to struggle, and, bending her head back so that she could see his face, confronted him with a cool, proud defiance. "I shall hate you if you don't release me at once," she said quietly.