Mary Wibberley

“She was free. Trembling, she found her voice.
'You are hateful,' she whispered.
'Am I? Good. I enjoy being hateful occasionally. Good for the manly image and all that.”
― Mary Wibberley, The Dark Isle

“His grey eyes were shadowed, mysterious, and she sensed the power within him, saw the hard lines of his expressive mouth soften momentarily as he murmured:
"What a girl!" His free hand reached out to touch her face, and she could scarcely breathe. "Let me—go," but the last word was lost as his lips came down on hers in a brief hard kiss that held no passion, only insult. Incensed, she tried to push him away and was imprisoned within the circle of his arms instantly Helpless, overpowered, she jerked her head to escape further punishment and he took hold of her hair and held her completely helpless as he kissed her a second time. Harder still, ruthless—only this time something changed. Quite suddenly the kiss no longer hurt her. She found herself melting into a delirious response. found to her horror that she was enjoying it, discovered that the imprisoning arms that held her were not steel bands after all, but were warm and wonderful instead...”
― Mary Wibberley, The Dark Isle