Free Savannah Heat by Kat Martin Page A

man that Silver had ever heard.
    “Thank you, Michael.” A little self-conscious, she tugged at the bodice of her dark green satin ball gown, exactly the color of the emeralds her father had insisted she wear. Though the dress was hardly daring, with Michael’s eyes fixed on the portion of her bosom swelling above the neckline, somehow it seemed so.
    “Only one thing could make this night more perfect,” he whispered.
    With that he leaned down to kiss her, and Silver decided to let him. She wanted to know what the mystery was, wanted to know what a man’s lips felt like. Michael’s arms went around her, pulling her against him. His mouth felt soft and warm; she could smell his musky cologne. Then her father’s voice, heavy with outrage, sliced through the damp summer air.
    “I should have known better than to trust you. The first time I take you somewhere, and you embarrass me in front of my friends.”
    In his fury he called her every vile name he could think of, ranting and raving until a terrified Michael Browning was nearly forced to call him out. Thank God he hadn’t. William Hardwick-Jones would have killed him.
    Instead her father dragged her home in disgrace, setting tongues wagging all over the island and all the way back to Katonga. She had never ventured into society again.
    Nor tried her feminine wiles on another man.
    Silver sank down on Morgan’s wide berth. All of asudden she really did feel tired. Tired and uncertain. She thought of the time she had spent at the tavern. At the White Horse Inn she had seen a far different approach to attracting a man. The lusty tavern wenches she had worked with were blatant and bold and shameless, urging their customers to take liberties Silver would never have dreamed of. More than once she’d come upon one of them in a darkened corner of the tavern, skirts hiked up, some man rutting drunkenly between the woman’s legs.
    If that was what it took to convince Morgan Trask to help her, he could go straight to hell!
    Still, there must be something she could do without degrading herself that way. If only she had one of the lovely silk gowns that hung in her carved rosewood armoire back home. At home she had hated to wear them. Here they would heighten her appearance and lull Morgan Trask into seeing her as a woman alone who desperately needed his help—which, in fact, she was.
    The evening went smoothly, though far from the way Silver had planned. Both Wilson Demming and Hamilton Riley were pleasant, but Morgan remained reserved. When the meal ended and she asked if one of the gentlemen might escort her up on deck, the major declined, saying he had some work to finish. He asked—no, ordered—Lieutenant Riley to go in his stead, which Riley seemed loath to do.
    Silver believed he was worried she might throw him overboard—or at least give it a try.
    Instead she smiled at him warmly, asked after his military career, asked after his family, and left him with a far different impression of her from the one he’d had before. Surprisingly she had gained a different impression of him as well. Riley was a dedicated officer and very much a gentleman. He waskind and considerate—nothing at all like Morgan. But Riley couldn’t help her. Only Trask could do that.
    The next night went no better. Trask assigned the job of watching over her to Wilson Demming, whose conversation was as dull as dishwater. He was a short, nondescript man with thinning brown hair whose looks matched his personality. Still, she smiled and feigned interest in his conservative political views, most of which she silently refuted. Eventually they hit on the subject of his travels, and Wilson surprised her with rousing tales of faraway lands. In the end they wound up friends, and she was sure he’d sing her praises to the major.
    It wasn’t what she had planned, but at least Trask could see she wasn’t quite the hoyden she appeared.
    And the days went somewhat better. Whenever she saw the major on