Comanche Moon (17 page)

“Hawk, please,” she said through stiff lips, and he saw what it cost her to plead with him. “Is there nothing I can say that will convince you not to do this?” “No,
nu tue?tu.”
The endearment slipped out before he could stop it.
My
little one.
He hoped she didn’t understand it. Shifting position so that his weight didn’t hurt her, he brushed back a strand of her hair. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you standing there in the middle of camp as if you were a queen and we your subjects. You caught my eye with your dignity and courage.”

She swallowed heavily. “And you set about to destroy me.”

“Destroy you?” He shook his head. “No. I admire your courage. Just as I admire your beauty.”

“If you admire me, then why—?”

“Deborah, a man can admire a woman and still want to make love to her.” “Love!” Her eyes flashed angrily, the silky, gold-tipped brush of her lashes shadowing hot, angry sparks. “You don’t know anything about love.

All you have in mind is . . . is lust.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Hawk bent his head to brush her mouth with his lips, winding his fingers in her hair to hold her head still when she tried to avoid him. “Open for me,” he murmured huskily when she pressed her lips tightly together. “I want to taste you.”

“Leave me alone.” She tried to twist away, but Hawk held her fast. He kissed her long and hard, until he could feel the slightest trace of a response.

He lifted his head to gaze down at her flushed face and the hazy gleam of her eyes. Dust streaked her nose and cheeks, and coated the long sweep of her eyelashes. He felt the tremor of her muscles against him, and relented.

There was a trace of surprise in her face when he rose to his feet, pulling her with him. “You look as if you’ve been caught in a dust devil,” he observed.

“That’s hardly my fault!” His brow lifted. “No,” he agreed. “But it was your choice to leave our camp.”

“That has nothing to do with it.” He solemnly regarded her dusty dignity, and nodded acceptance. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered, but she stood in mute, shocked defiance.

A faint smile slanted his hard mouth. He hadn’t really expected her to comply. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” A flash of confusion shadowed her eyes, increasing when he untied the flap to the tipi and pulled her outside. It was apparent she thought he intended to publicly humiliate her. Dark had fallen, long shadows were being thrown by the campfires. Her face was half in shadow, half-illuminated, and he saw the agonized indecision in her eyes.

Hawk pulled her with him toward the stream glittering in the light of a nearly full moon. His strides were long and determined, and he ignored her resistance. She hung back as they neared it, perhaps sensing what he intended.

With a swift, merciless swing, Hawk scooped her into his arms and tossed her toward the water, all in the same, smooth motion. She let out a startled cry just before she hit the water. He felt the splash shower over him and moved forward.

“You were in need of a bath,” he said, adding when she sputtered furiously, “I did give you a choice, remember.”

“You never said it was for a bath.”

“You didn’t ask.”

She clawed at wet ropes of hair in her eyes, still spitting our water as she glared at him. Hawk felt an odd wave of tenderness for her. It left him feeling strangely uneasy, and his voice grew sharp.

“While you’re in the water, clean yourself.”

“I suppose you think you smell like a rose?” she shot back. Water splashed loudly, and he knelt to one knee to watch her. Her retort almost made him smile. It did make him think.

When he stood up and stripped out of his breechcloth and leggings, he heard Deborah’s soft scream and finally smiled.

“This was your idea,” he said coolly when he reached her side and found her frantically trying to get away from him.

“I never meant such a thing!”

“We both need a bath.” He caught her arm, hauling her back to him when she waded toward shore. She fell, and he pulled her up out of the water and set her on her feet.

“You’re not only cruel,” she managed to sputter, “but you’re crazy!” He was faintly relieved to find her more angry and outraged than afraid.

It was an uncomfortable feeling to have her shudder with fear at the sight of him. Holding her firmly, he began to strip away her clothes, the ragged cotton blouse first, then the equally ragged skirt. He felt his way down her legs in spite of her frantic struggle, and found that only one moccasin still clung to her foot.

Deborah’s fight had sparked an inevitable fire in him despite the cool water, and she must have felt it. She came to an abrupt halt when he pulled her close against him. His desire rode him hard, and the feel of her wet, slick skin beneath his palms only made it worse.

“Be still, little dove,” he whispered huskily, and felt her shiver in his arms. Night sounds were familiar and soft around them, the shrill of insects, the murmur of birds, and the rush of the water. There was a bittersweet edge to the night as he held her, knowing that there would be only this one night.

If he was to love her, he must love her well.

Sliding his hands up the lush curve of her hip, he let his palm rest on the swell in a gentle caress. She was still trembling, her eyes in the dappled moonlight a huge, shining gleam fixed on his face. Hawk realized suddenly that she had surrendered to what he wanted, whether she had admitted it to herself or not. The surrender was there, in her eyes, in the way she let her small hands rest atop the curve of his shoulders in a trusting hold.

Water lapped around her waist, and when he straightened to his full height, it tickled his upper thighs. Her skin glistened. Her hair looked almost black with the weight of the water and the shadows and framed the creamy porcelain of her face.

“Hawk . . .”

He shushed her with his mouth, kissing her, feeling her shivering body as light as a feather in his arms. He resisted the urge to crush her to him, to plunder her sweet mouth with his tongue. Instead, he went slowly, shifting to kiss the corners of her mouth, then her ear, and her throat.

She was a contradiction of heat and chill, her warm skin and the cool water combined in an enticing package. He ran a hand down the gentle curve of her back, his fingers skimming over the bump of her spine, then spreading to cup her buttocks and lift her up and closer to him. She gave a small cry against his mouth, and he kissed her lips again, muffling her cries to moans.

Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, the tight, pebbled surfaces of her nipples raking erotically and making his desire rise higher. Heat was rising in him, mounting so high and so hot he was shaking with the force of it. He was so close now, so close to making her yield, and he was amazed by the fierce need he felt for this one woman above all others. It was a driving ache that had brought him to this point, brought both of them to this trembling urgency.

Deborah rested her forehead against his chest just beneath his throat, her wet hair tickling the underside of his jaw. “Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve being raped.”

“It won’t be rape,” Hawk rasped. “You’ll see. I can feel your need. We want each other, and it’s time we eased that ache.” Her head lifted, and he saw the startled look in her huge hazel eyes.

“Ache? Yes. I do ache, but I don’t know why.” Her soft admission tore at him, and he had to wait a moment before he responded. “It’s natural, that feeling. It’s what a man and a woman are supposed to feel for one another.” 

“We’re not exactly your everyday couple.” Deborah said bitterly, and he felt her shiver.

“No. I don’t know why I want you and no other, but I do.”

“I seem to recall your being able to . . . function . . . with someone else.” Her stiff reminder made him smile against the top of her head. “1 found out that no one could replace you as I thought.”

“It certainly didn’t seem that way.”

“Deborah.”

She looked up at him, still shivering. There was a soft pleading in her eyes that she didn’t voice, and he felt a faint sense of chagrin. Her body wanted him. He just had to drown out her instinctive objections.

“Deborah, you’re going to realize how right it is for a man to be with a woman like this,” he murmured, caressing the smooth line of her cheek.

“No. We’re not married. It isn’t right.”

“A few words won’t make it right.” Hawk ignored the inner voice that echoed her words. His mother’s early training had left indelible marks, he supposed, but life had managed to blunt the edges. It wasn’t as if he was ruining her, not the way he saw it. She’d been married, however briefly, and he would be taking nothing away from her that her husband would not have done given a few more minutes in that arbor. And he would ease the burning fire in him that she’d ignited.

“Deborah,” he said roughly when she buried her face against his chest,

“You want to go back to your people. But I want this night.” There was a moment of silence, and he could feel her muscles tense.

Then she looked up at him again, searching his face in the moonlight.

“I see. What about Judith?” He hesitated. Judith wasn’t his to give, but he didn’t want to tell that to Deborah. There was too much hope in her eyes, though she could not know how much her cousin had been through. A rush of anger made him want to refuse, but he knew he could not. No matter what it cost him, he was too white to leave Judith to the fate she’d been suffering since her capture. His mouth thinned into a tight slash.

“Give me this night, and I will help your cousin too.” Maybe it wasn’t fair. He had to take them both back whether she yielded willingly or not. But right now, fair didn’t matter.

Inhaling deeply, Deborah said so softly the rush of water muffled her words, “All right. I’ll . . . lie with you.” 

She was shaking when Hawk
smoothed out his buffalo robes and turned to look at her. Her hair was still wet, her clothes clinging damply to her skin.

A fire burned in the ring of stones, but her shivering increased.

Hawk reached out a hand and took her gently by the wrist. “Come lie down with me. I’ll warm you.” Moving as if in a dream, Deborah took the two steps to his bed of furs and blankets, saw the fire reflected in the deep blue of his eyes, and almost retreated. She couldn’t. But she had to. Her freedom and Judith’s depended upon it.

And there was something, some nameless yearning inside her—the ache—that urged her forward.

She sank to her knees, unable to stand, and her face was almost level with his. He smiled at her, a quick, almost uncertain smile, and Deborah’s tension eased slightly.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said simply. He nodded.

“I know. We’ll do what comes naturally. You’ll see.” Could this be Hawk? This almost gentle man with promise burning in his eyes and a tender touch? This new perception of him battled with how she’d seen him previously, the fierce, brutal warrior filled with anger. For a moment, she wondered if she viewed him differently in light of knowing he was only half-Comanche.

Then there was no more time for abstract thought, because he was pulling her to him, his arms holding her in a tight, possessive embrace.

“Kiss me,” he coaxed, tilting her face with a finger beneath her chin. His voice lowered to a rasping whisper. “Kiss me.” As he set his mouth over hers, Deborah closed her eyes. The kiss was smothering, consuming, and she felt dizzy from it. Her hands moved to hold his upper arms to keep from falling, and she felt the smooth, powerful flex of his muscles beneath her fingers. A moan vibrated in the back of her throat, and when she opened her mouth to gasp for air, he took immediate advantage. His tongue slid inside in a smooth thrust that sent a shock wave to her toes.

In spite of her fear, Deborah couldn’t help a tremor of response. Hawk must have felt it. He gave a low growl of satisfaction, and deepened the kiss until she was weak and clinging to him with both hands.

Shuddering, her head fell back, and he ran his tongue over the exposed arch of her throat in a trail of sizzling fire that made her moan again. She felt as if she were moving through heated honey, warm and thick beneath his searching hands.

Hawk slid one hand to her buttocks to lift her up and against him, pressing her stomach against the hard bulge at his loins. She shivered again, fully aware of his arousal and frightened by it. And more frightened by the strange reactions taking place in her body. The ache was back, that insistent throbbing between her thighs and the heightened sensitivity of her breasts to his touch.

When he pulled away her blouse, then her skirt, Deborah felt hot instead of cold. She should be chilled, with her still damp hair brushing against her bare back and her clothes gone, but instead she felt that strange, deep heat permeate her entire body.

The strangeness catapulted her into restless motion, and she heard his deep groan when her hips grazed against the heat of his groin.

“You’re so sweet,” he muttered thickly. “As sweet as I knew you’d be.”

“Hawk . . .”

But he wasn’t listening. He pushed her gently back to the furs, and his eyes glittered in the dim light with a blue fire that made her breath catch.

Desire sharpened his features and made him look fierce and predatory. There was no hint of mercy, only a ruthless need that hurled her into resistance.

Fear overpowered her compliance, and she struggled when he stroked a hand down over her body to cup her breast in his palm. He looked faintly surprised.

“Easy, easy,” he muttered. “I won’t hurt you. You’ll see. Don’t fight me.

Not now. Just relax.”

His dark head lowered, the long swing of his hair brushing over her bare shoulder as he kissed her throat, the delicate curve of her collarbone, then lower. Deborah arched upward in mute protest, but his mouth moved to cover her nipple.

Her cry drifted upward, a cry of shock and reaction as his warm, wet mouth seared with exquisitely delicious sensations over her sensitive flesh.

The remembered ache intensified, and she half-sobbed. Her nipple felt afire, and his actions increased that sensation as he sucked strongly, his cheeks flexing with the motions. Oddly, there seemed to be a direct connection with what he was doing and that strange, fluttering ache between her thighs.