Nightway by Janet Dailey

flesh. It soon escaped his notice under the rhythmic urgency of her hips that invited savage thrusts. Deliberately, Hawk held off her moment of satisfaction, waiting until her nails were digging into the rippling muscles of his back in wild demand. Even as he heard her cry out, he was rocked by the raw explosion of desire that flamed through him. A series of aftershocksshuddered through him, leaving him momentarily spent.
    He rested on top of her; then gathering strength, he withdrew to stretch out beside her to let his heart stop its hammering and his lungs end their labored breathing. Carol rolled onto her side to curl against him, her hand gliding over his chest in silent ownership.
    “Say you love me, Hawk,” she commanded in a husky tremor.
    Her lips were still swollen from his kisses. Her flesh was still warm from his body heat. Now the sun’s rays continued to make it burn. Satisfaction had been mutual as it invariably was. Yet her question prompted a glint of amusement to enter his eyes.
    “What is love?” Hawk chided. “A Navaho does not believe in ‘romantic’ love, as the whites know it.”
    From all that Hawk had observed, the word was so loosely and freely used that it applied to a half a hundred things. Sexual desire was regarded as love. Liking someone was considered love. Caring for the well-being of another was love. Several times he had asked someone to define the word. Always it sounded like another emotion hidden under the guise of love.
    Whenever he had expressed his skepticism, the response was that something inside would tell a person when they had found the one they loved. Hawk thought it was wiser to look at a prospective mate with your eyes instead of waiting for some mysterious signal.
    This romantic love seemed forever elusive—intangible and indefinable. Hawk had concluded that it didn’t exist. The way of The People was much more sensible, he had decided after evaluating both.
    “How does a Navaho go about choosing a wife, then?” Carol laughed, not certain that he was serious.
    “By judging if she has the qualities he is seeking.Naturally, a wife should be able to cook and keep house. A man would want to enjoy having sex with her. She should be strong and healthy, capable of having his children and working at his side.”
    These were all qualities he saw in Carol. And there was the advantage that she knew who he was and what he was. They had known each other practically all their lives, which made a very stable foundation for the future. But this was not the time to make her his wife. Next year, after he had graduated from college, he would marry her.
    “How chauvinistic!” she declared on a thread of anger. “Cooking, cleaning, and having babies is certainly not my idea of married life. I want more out of it than that.”
    He read the look in her eyes and knew she was visualizing Katheryn Faulkner, slim and sophisticated, the matron of Phoenix society. It troubled him, but only briefly.
    “Chauvinistic? The Navaho is a very matriarchal society. A man owns nothing but his clothes and his saddle. Everything else—land, house, livestock—belong to his wife. He merely works for her,” Hawk explained with a lazy smile.
    “That sounds better.” She snuggled closer to him, but he became aware of the lengthening shadows cast by the sun, and he rolled to his feet, reaching for his breechcloth and pants.
    “I thought that might appeal to you.” He glanced over his shoulder. She was greedy and spoiled, always scheming to have her way. It didn’t worry him. He knew how to handle her. Carol was still lying on the blouse and shirt, stretching out like a smug white cat. “You’d better get dressed,” Hawk advised.
    “In a minute.” She slid him a provocative look.

Chapter VI
    “Now. I want my shirt.” He snapped the opening of his Levi’s shut and reached down to pull the plaid shirt from beneath her hips.
    But she deliberately flattened herself more fully onto his shirt,