Triumph by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

tried to rise. His arm came around her. She jabbed an elbow into his rib, heard him grunt and groan. She tried again to jackknife to her feet, only to find him catching her, spinning her down again, and this time, straddling her, capturing her viciously flailing fists, and pinning them to her sides.
    “All right, madam, who are you, and what is your game?” he demanded.
    She drew in a ragged breath, staring up at the man, seeing him in truth for the first time. He was perhaps twenty-five to thirty years old, with striking hazel eyes that seemed to hold her with a greater force than the powerful hands that had pinned her wrists to the ground. His hair was dark, rich, and certainly askew at the moment, nearly as tangled as her own. His features were haunting ... handsome features, a face well defined with clean lines, broad cheekbones, squared jaw, ample brow, and a dead straight nose. Yet the years had woven a tension into those features, and he might have been younger than he appeared. Fine lines teased around his eyes, and his mouth; she had never felt such a sheer force of will in a man. He seemed furious, and exceptionally contemptuous, as if her behavior were a personal assault and not the result of her stupidity. His hardened, rough-edged anger—along with the fact that she was in an entirely untenable position—brought back her own bravado. When all was lost and panic threatened, there was nothing left to do but keep fighting.
    “Who the hell are you and what is your game, sir? Though you are no ‘sir,’ no gentleman, ah! But then again, you’re a Yankee in a Southern state, are you not?”
    “Who are you ?” he repeated, snapping out the words.
    Her name? Good God, she should die rather than give her name! What if he knew Ian? There were tens of thousands of troops, of course, but this fellow was cavalry, like her oldest brother. And he was in Florida, where Ian was sent often enough. And even if he didn’t know Ian, Lord! He could give out her name and ...
    “Who do you think?” she spat out, bitter, furiously aware now that she had been caught—and far more than a little afraid, no matter how hard she fought to remain calm and seek any advantage for escape. “I’m Lady Godiva, of course.”
    That, at least, seemed to amuse him a bit. The smallest hint of a smile teased his lips.
    “Then what, my dear lady, is your game?”
    Her game ...
    She was pinned to the ground, stark naked, by a stranger. A young, powerful stranger with arms of steel and eyes that belonged to a cheetah. She was humiliatingly aware of the rough feel of his clothing against her bare flesh. Her hair ... yes, her hair was still her cloak, yet it left so very much to be desired. Indeed, what was her game?
    “No game, sir. You scared me, I ran ... leaving my clothing, I’m afraid.”
    “What a liar you are!” he said smoothly, the gold cheetah eyes seeming to burn into her.
    “I beg your pardon, but I am telling you the truth! Your arrival on the south side of the river kept me from my clothing—”
    “And you just happened to be way out here, a good Southern lass, stripped bare and bathing in a little tributary far, far from the nearest civilization?”
    “I was simply out riding, sir.”
    “From where?”
    “From where? Well, from ... um, my home, of course.”
    “And where is that?”
    “Oh, well, I come from ...”
    “Yes?”
    “I won’t give away the location of my home to the enemy, sir. Suffice it to say that I live near, that I was out riding.”
    “No, you weren’t.”
    She was alarmed to see that no argument on her part would change him. Again, the seriousness and foolishness of her situation struck her, and she started to shake. He was all too aware of her distress as well, which naturally brought her temper rising again, even while her better senses warned her that she might well be in danger of both rape and murder, and there would be those wretches who might think she had brought about such a horror by