Times Change Read Online Free

the—”
    Before he could utter another word, his foot was kicked out from under him and he found himself flipped neatly and sprawled on his back. He stared up at a tall, slender woman with a shiny crop of blond hair and molten gray eyes. She was crouched, arms bent, hands flexed in an ancient fighting stance.
    “Don’t even think about it,” she warned, in a voice as smoky as her eyes. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, so get up slow. Then get yourself downstairs and out. You’ve got thirty seconds.”
    Keeping his eyes on hers, he braced himself on one elbow. When dealing with a member of a primitive culture it was wise to go slowly. “Excuse me?”
    “You heard me, pal. I’m a fourth-degree black belt. Mess with me and I’ll crush your skull like a walnut.”
    She smiled when she said it. Otherwise he might have offered her excuses and explanations then and there. But she smiled, and a challenge was a challenge.
    Without a word, he sprang up to land lightly on the balls of his feet in a stance that mirrored hers. He saw surprise in her eyes—not panic, surprise. He blocked her first blow, but he still felt it reverberate from his forearm to his shoulder. He shifted enough to prevent a well-aimed kick from connecting with his chin.
    She was fast, he noted, fast and agile. He parried her offensive moves, staying on the defensive as he judged her. Fearless, he thought with pure admiration. A warrior in a world that still required them. And if Jacob had a weakness he would admit to, it was the love of a good fight.
    He didn’t toy with her. If he did, he knew, he’d end up on the floor with her foot on his throat. The kick that shot past his guard and into his rib cage was proof of that. It was an even match, he decided after five sweaty minutes, except for the fact that he had the advantage in reach and weight.
    Deciding to put both to use, he feinted, blocked, then caught her in a throw that sent her flying onto the bed. Before she could recover, he spread himself over her, cautiously gripping her wrists over her head.
    She was out of breath, but she wasn’t out of fuel. Her eyes burning into his, she put all her strength into one last move. Just in time, he shifted his weight and avoided the knee to the groin.
    “Some things never change,” he muttered, and studied her while he waited for his labored breathing to slow.
    She was stunning—or perhaps it was the fight that made her seem so. Her skin was flushed now, a rosy pink that enhanced the sunlight color of her hair. Its short, almost severe cut played up the elegance of her bone structure. She had sharp cheekbones. Warriorlike, he thought again. Like a Viking, or a Celt. Large, long-lidded gray eyes smoldered in frustration but not in defeat. Her nose was small and sharp, and her mouth was full, with the lower lip slightly prominent in a pout. She smelled like the forest—cool, exotic and foreign.
    “You’re very good,” he said, and gave himself a moment to enjoy the way her body held firm and unyielding under his.
    “Thanks.” She bit the word off, but she didn’t struggle. She knew when to fight and when to plot. He outweighed her and he had outfought her, but she wasn’t ready to discuss terms of surrender. “I’d appreciate it if you got the hell off me.”
    “In a minute. Is it your custom to greet people by tossing them on the floor?”
    She arched one pale brow. “Is it yours to break into people’s homes and poke around in their bedrooms?”
    “The door was unlocked,” he pointed out. Then he frowned. He was certain he was in the right place, but this was not the woman called Libby. “This is your home?”
    “That’s right. It’s called private property.” She struggled not to fidget while he studied her as though she were a particularly interesting specimen in a petri dish. “I’ve already called the police,” she told him, though the closest telephone was ten miles away. “If I were you, I’d make tracks.”
    “If