Savannah Heat Read Online Free Page A

beneath his arm, tried to pull her pistol, fought to kick and bite him—all to no avail.
    “Enjoy your bath, milady?” his deep voice mocked, but there wasn’t a trace of amusement in the unforgiving lines of his face.
    Silver lifted her chin. “I found it quite delightful.”
    “Good,” he said, jerking the pistol from her waist and stuffing it into the back of his breeches, “because you’re just about to have another.” With one quick move, he scooped her into his arms, carried her the few feet to the edge of the dock, and dumped her in.
    Bastard!
Silver swore as the icy water swept over her, knocking the air from her lungs and chilling her far worse than the rain. She broke the surface, sputtering, cursing, fighting the hair that covered her nose and mouth, and threatened to drown her. Morgan Trask stood on the dock, grinning, enjoying her torment, and stirring her anger to heights she had rarely known.
    Why, that arrogant, blackhearted—Grabbing a quick breath of air, Silver went under again.
    Morgan watched with satisfaction as she came up twice more, thrashing the surface and fighting to catch her breath. He’d let her get good and tired, then throw her a line. He’d been a bloody fool not to heed Pinkard’s warning. But she’d looked so damned pitiful—and far too exhausted to cause him any trouble.
    Now he had a pounding head and a bruise on hisshoulder to remind him not to make the same mistake again.
    Morgan glanced at the water. Only a few tiny bubbles arose where Silver had gone under the last time. She should have come up by now, he realized, and cursed himself again for a fool.
    Bloody hell! Calling her every vile name he could think of, Morgan pulled off his boots, shed his heavy blue uniform jacket and the pistol she had stolen, and dived into the water. When he found no trace of her, he began to worry in earnest. Just his luck the wench couldn’t stay afloat long enough to learn her lesson. Then a niggling suspicion crept into his mind. Morgan broke the surface just in time to see Silver grinning, climbing up on the pier some distance away.
    Damn her! Hauling himself up a rickety wooden ladder, he raced after her, catching up to her a block away, barreling into her, and knocking them both to the ground.
    “Lady, you are really pushing your luck,” he said through clenched teeth. His body pressed her hard against the rough wooden boards of the dock, making it difficult for her to breathe, but Morgan didn’t care. Dragging her to her feet, he forced one of her arms up behind her, brushing his palm across a taut wet nipple in the process. Her slender derriere pressed seductively against his lower body. Morgan felt a tightening in his loins and cursed the bitter fortune that had placed her in his care.
    “You’re going back to the ship one way or another,” he said, determined not to spend the next few weeks putting up with the hateful little wench. She’d learn to do as she was told or damn well regret it. “You might as well resign yourself.”
    Silver ignored him, struggling and squirming and trying to jerk free.
    “Stop it, Silver,” he warned, his voice so hard she finally quit fighting. Morgan pulled his soggy kerchief from around his neck and tied her arms behind her back. Shaking his head at the task he had set for himself, he made his way back to the ship, stopping only long enough to pick up his jacket, boots, and pistol.
    Jordy, Cookie, and Hamilton Riley stood at the rail when they arrived. Only Cookie had the courage to admire openly the curvaceous bit of baggage Morgan tugged along.
    “My, my,” the old cook said with a grin that split his weathered face from ear to ear. A short, stout gray-haired seaman, at sixty Grandison Aimes was still as tough as shoe leather.
    “I guess Mr. Pinkard had her tied up for good reason,” Hamilton Riley said, as if a light had just dawned.
    Morgan swept past without a word, hauling Silver down the ladder and across the salon. She