Read Just Once for Free Online Page B

rifle caught the lamplight as he cradled it with a practiced nonchalance.
    His entire being radiated adventure, daring, the call of the wilderness.
    Not so much as a flicker of emotion crossed the woodsman’s face. The crowd was nearly disbanded. Jemma realized her vulnerability. She ducked back into the shadows, unwilling to let the man in the tanned leather see her until she could formulate a plan. He turned and headed off alone in the direction of the cathedral.
    “Damn!” she whispered under her breath, dogging his steps while she hugged the buildings. Praying that Wheaton was well on the way to the Moreau plantation, Jemma took a chance and followed the backwoodsman down the street.
    She couldn’t help but notice how confidently he strode along, his shoulders as wide as a door, his back as straight as an oak. The people he passed paused to take a second glance at his imposing presence before they moved on. Everything about him appeared savage, from his dress to his unkempt hair and the long, lethal knife strapped to his thigh.
    Here was a man who laughed in the face of danger. Here was a man whose middle name was adventure.
    Here was a man of honor. She could tell by the way he’d refused to participate in a duel he obviously would have won, no matter what weapons were chosen. Here was a man who could get her out of New Orleans, a man she would feel safe with. All she had to do now was convince this savage-looking stranger that he wanted nothing more than to help save her from a fate worse than death.
    She had to find out where he was going and ask him to take her along. She needed to convince him that he was the only one who could help her.
    Jemma waited until they had traveled another block and were virtually alone on the street. No one else was moronic enough to stay out in the rain. As she hurried along, trying not to let the woodsman out of her sight, Jemma shoved her splayed fingers into her hair and tugged the wet curls in all directions until her hair stood out around her head like a madwoman’s.
    After loosening the string on the worn, sodden cape so that it hung limply off one shoulder, she took hold of the pale silk fabric of her gown at the shoulder and tugged until she heard the stitches pop. With one final jerk, she separated the shoulder seam until there was a wide tear. Her skin showed between the ragged edges.
    She gathered up her skirt and started running headlong down the street, her footsteps pounding against the wooden banquette. Launching herself at her objective, she grabbed hold of the stranger’s leather sleeve and tugged on his left arm.
    The instant she touched him, he somehow managed to whip out the knife that had been sheathed at his right side. The long rifle clattered against the boardwalk. He had grasped a hank of her hair and had whipped her around, effectively pinning her against him while he held the knife to her throat.
    Jemma gasped, afraid to move, yet afraid to hold her tongue and have him slit her throat before she could even utter an explanation.
    “I need help,” she whispered, holding her teeth clenched, afraid if she opened her mouth that the cold, Lethal steel at her throat would slide into her skin.
    She felt the pressure on the blade ease, but the giant continued to hold her clasped against him. He was glaring down at her, his eyes glittering like emerald shards in the lamplight.
    His image began to swim before her eyes. Rainwater dripped off the brim of his hat, down into her face. Jemma blinked rapidly. He let go of her long enough to drag her with him until they stood beneath an overhang.
    “What’s this all about?” he demanded.
    When he spoke, his voice was strong and deep, just as it had been when he apologized to the Creoles on the street. She forced herself to remember how he had offered those men an apology to avoid a confrontation. She prayed she had not been hasty. Surely such a man would not harm her.
    Wincing as his hand tightened on her hair, Jemma