Comanche Moon by Virginia Brown

wrong. All her long-held standards crumbled in the face of his desire and her response.
    Her only defense now was surrender.
    And it worked. Hawk held her gaze for a long time, his eyes shadowed by his lashes, his mouth a straight, harsh line. Then he rose in a lithe motion and gestured for her to dress.
    While she did, he walked a little away from her and stood with his back to her, as if he could not watch. She slid him a quick glance as she hurriedly dressed, and saw that his back was rigid, his muscles taut with strain. The black silk of his hair brushed against his broad shoulders in a light, swinging motion. She thought of the hawk she’d seen, and how its wings had swung in lazy motions as it flew overhead.
    She smoothed the folds of her skirt over her legs with trembling fingers, then cleared her throat. Hawk turned. His hard gaze swept over her, and a faint, sardonic smile curved the erotic line of his mouth.
    “Kima.”
    Come. Yes. She supposed she would have to follow him. She had no other choice. If not for his unexpected mercy, she might have much more to worry about than being commanded to follow like a pet dog. It would, Deborah thought as she picked her way down the grassy slope in Hawk’s footsteps, be unnerving to see how much longer she could hold off his determined assault on her senses.

Chapter 8

    A week passed, dragging dusty heels of time so slowly that Deborah despaired. Since the day she’d struck Hawk, he had not approached her again.
    He came to his tipi to eat, and to speak with his sister, but he said nothing to her. She felt his gaze on her, though, even when he was a distance from her.
    It burned into her, hot and blue and searing, making her ache with some nameless emotion. Just when she thought it was fear, her feelings had turned into something entirely different.
    When he was near, even ignoring her, she trembled. A hot flush rose inside her, and her legs grew weak. Hawk invaded her dreams more vividly now, and sometimes—God help her—when she dreamed, she dreamed that she was the woman beneath him on a grassy slope. The moans were hers, the soft cries and gasps came from her lips.
    He had awakened something inside her, some demon that made her wonder what it would be like to be possessed by him.
    Judith was appalled.
    “You can’t mean it,” she whispered one morning when they were washing wooden bowls in the stream. Their watchers were not far away, and the noise of the rushing water caused their voices to rise a bit to be heard.
    Deborah flushed. “But I do. He’s not as bad as I’d first thought.”
    “For God’s sake, Deborah! I admit he is handsome, as Indians go, but he’s a ruthless savage! How can you even think he might be gentle, or kind, or even decent? Haven’t you seen how many captives there are in this camp?
    And we’re part of them . . .”
    “Judith, he could have done to me what he wanted, yet he listened to me and did not.”
    “Listened to you!” Judith’s blue eyes were wide with amazement and shock. “How could he even understand you? None of these savages can understand English.”
    Deborah swished a wooden bowl through the water. “I wonder.
    Sometimes, I think they understand more than we guess. Yet, if they did, I suppose they would speak to us. It becomes quite inconvenient at times for them to try and give orders in a language we don’t understand.” Her smile was faintly wry. “Even Sunflower gets frustrated.” 

    “You’re very fond of that girl.” Judith’s voice was accusing, and Deborah forgot that she was supposed to be more discreet and looked up at her cousin. “Yes, I am. She’s sweet, and full of life and fun. If she were white, she—”
    “But she’s not white.” Judith’s motions were abrupt and irritated, and Deborah sighed.
    “No, she’s not.”
    “I hope you haven’t grown so enamored of your captors that you no longer want to escape,” Judith said a few moments later.
    “No. I haven’t. In fact, I