Free Gwyneth Atlee by Against the Odds Page A

understand there are places just as evil in the North, but I
must say I don’t condone it,” she told him honestly. When she’d
first read about the prison, she’d supposed the reports mere Yankee
propagandizing, gross exaggeration. But even the tamest version
was a shame unto the South. And Gabriel was right. The withered
bodies of so many men could not be faked.
“But you aren’t like those poor men,” she told him, her gaze sweeping
over him. He was quite thin, yes, but not emaciated.
“I wasn’t there as long as most,” he told her, “and then there were
my friends.”
Something changed in his expression at the mention of his friends.
A warmth stole over the cool blue of his eyes, which reminded her all
the more painfully of those she had been forced to leave behind. So
much so that she was grateful when he continued.
“They kept me alive in every sense of the word. I remember the day
I first came into camp. The smells, the sights—” He shook his head as
if to dispel the images. “But I’ve told you, I won’t describe it. At least
the other captives were too miserable on their own accounts to care
about the circumstances of my capture.”
His gaze, which had drifted off as he spoke, rose to meet hers,
then he glanced down in wonder at her hand, which she had placed
atop his.
“I’ve known cowards, Mr. Davis,” she said softly. “And I’d never
number you among them.”
She leaned forward, only half-realizing what she offered, only
half-guessing that this blond Northerner would lean forward as
well. Would raise his hands to grasp her arms gently. Would touch
his lips so warmly against hers.
She felt as if a candle flame had kissed her. Its heat seared her
without burning, singed her without pain. Instead, the warmth of it
coursed through her, pooling in her breasts, her belly, that tiny,
secret place that melted like wax heated by fire.
She moaned with the intensity of it. Never had she imagined that
any kiss could feel like this.
His hand rose to stroke her hair, to cup her cheek as though she
were something precious, and all the while, their kiss went on and on,
opening an aching need inside her, an unguessed, ancient want. She
felt the tip of his tongue taste her lips, felt them part, felt her whole
mouth opening to him. Felt how easily, how eagerly, the rest of her
would follow. And for the first time she understood how it was so
many women allowed men to compromise them, how even her proper
sister had opened herself up to this exquisite ruin.
She wondered, in her saner moments, how she would feel about it.
Surely there would be shame then, even if she felt nothing but bliss
now. Shame she had allowed this near-stranger, this ragged-looking
Yankee to—
He moved to pull her closer, and she regained her sanity. The passion
she had felt iced over, and her body splintered just a moment later,
jerking her back, away from him.
“Thank you.” He stood, and a wistful smile warmed the cool blue
of his eyes.
She jumped to her feet and felt a fierce blush rise to heat her cheeks.
Thank you? Was that how he saw her kiss—the first real kiss she’d
ever given—as no more than a favor?
“You’re very kind . . . and very lovely,” Gabriel said, his gaze so
intense she had to drop her own. “I’m much obliged to you for
helping me tonight. Too obliged to try to take advantage, tempting
as you are.”
Her efforts at thought felt like wading upstream against floodwaters.
Impossible as it seemed, she felt flattered and insulted all at once. She
needed time to sort out exactly how it was she felt about their kiss,
how she felt about this man, this enemy.
“I-I think you should leave now,” she stammered. “I will remember
you in my prayers. I-I’m not sorry that I helped you with those men.”
Before she could react, he leaned to kiss her. But, to her relief, it was
a chaste kiss on the top of her head, more like one of those her brothers
might bestow than the cataclysm that passed before. “I don’t