Authors: Carol Finch
But Rozalyn had informed him in no uncertain terms that she expected him to seek his pleasure elsewhere, that she had no intention of accommodating him. He was miserable, where once he had been happy and carefree, flitting from one maid to another, until this raven-haired minx with lively blue eyes blew into his life and tilted his world sideways. Hawk could endure no more of the tempting sight of her. He turned his back before his failing will power abandoned him entirely. This was no time for distractions and Rozalyn was that and more!
When Hawk threw one leg over the log and presented his back to her, Rozalyn frowned in disappointment. She had hoped to tempt him, to torment him, to make him regret the way he had used her to get at her father. But obviously he was no longer interested in her. She had been an easy conquest, and now he had tired of her. Disheartened, she shrugged on her buckskins and ambled toward the horses, hurt because she'd been unable to attract him. God help her, she wanted this green-eyed devil who had already forsaken the love she had freely offered. He doesn't have to love me, Rozalyn told herself. She had learned to accept the fact that Hawk had no place in his life for love, but for him to ignore her, as her father always had, was almost too much to bear. If she couldn't win Hawk's heart, was it asking too much to want his respect, his friendship? But she wasn't helping matters by taunting him with her body. That was a spiteful thing to do. Maybe Hawk had been right about her. Perhaps she was too temperamental and spoiled to deserve any man's affection. But could she give more than her heart? She had confessed her true feeling for Dominic Baudelair a lifetime ago. Then she had been at ease with him. She had been herself, but obviously Dominic had not been impressed.
When Hawk heard Rozalyn's footsteps behind him, he glanced back to punish his senses once again. God, he had been an idiot to think buckskins could conceal this vixen's shapely physique. The garments clung to her damp skin, hugging each curve and swell as he ached to do, and lustrous strands of ebony swirled about her face and flowed down her back like a dark, shiny waterfall. How he longed to run his fingers through those silky strands, to inhale the fresh scent of her.
Rozalyn could not decode the expression in Hawk's glazed eyes, but it disturbed her to see his powerful shoulders slump dejectedly. She had never seen this mountain lion look defeated, not once in their brief, unusual acquaintance. Hawk had always appeared invincible, strong, and determined, as if he had no qualms about taking on whatever trouble came his way. But now he seemed listless. There was no recklessness in his smile, no fiery sparkle in his eyes.
After extracting one of the flintlocks from his belt, Hawk thrust the weapon at Rozalyn. "Keep this with you. I have no doubt that you can use it as efficiently as I can.
Her jaw sagged and she stared incredulously at him. Hawk was offering her a pistol after he had kept her bound and gagged, after he had left her unarmed for fear she would turn his own weapon on him. Why?
"Is something wrong?" she queried.
Hawk cast Rozalyn a withering glance, careful not to allow his eyes to linger overly long on the titillating cleavage that lay exposed between the loose laces of her shirt. How could she ask such a preposterous question? What is right? he asked himself tiredly.
"Only everything," he grumbled. "My life expectancy has been shortened considerably since you and I crossed paths. Your father and Half-Head thirst for my blood. You would see me chopped into bite-size pieces and fed to a pack of wolves." His breath came out in a rush. "I am contemplating turning my pistol on myself and ending the suspense of wondering how it will end."
When Rozalyn offered him back the flintlock, Hawk laughed bitterly at her insinuation. "
Merci
. You are too generous. It's nice to know you can be so compassionate. I'm sure you would delight in watching me dispose of myself before someone else has the opportunity."
Rozalyn wasn't at all certain Hawk needed compassion. He didn't need to wallow in self-pity when he faced a man who was itching to dispose of him. On the other hand, anger would sustain him until they were safe. With that in mind, she faced Hawk, determined to add fuel to his dim flame.
"Do you truly expect sympathy?" She sniffed caustically and then smiled to herself when Hawk came to immediate attention. "You have made me your pawn in a dangerous game. Do not expect me to praise you for it. If you decide to kill yourself, I will be left to defend myself against a man you have described as a vicious beast. My future appears as grim as yours, Hawk. Believe me, I have enjoyed better days. But I do not intend to lie down and surrender just because trouble lurks in the shadows. If I followed that policy, I would have thrown myself off a cliff long ago."
The faintest hint of a smile pursed Hawk's lips as he watched Rozalyn tuck the flintlock in her belt, straighten her shirt, and flounce toward the horses. He had needed a lecture and Rozalyn had given him one. Hawk would have thanked her for those much-needed insults, but then she would have known that he'd realized he had been subtly maneuvered. Let her gloat, he told himself. He rose and ambled up behind Rozalyn. She needed to feed her spirits, just as he did.
"If Half-Head does catch up with us and ..." Hawk paused to consider the worst and then he carefully chose his words. "If something happens to me, save the pistol for your own defense. You will have only time for one shot. Take deadly aim on the white man and remember he has as many lives as a cat. Make your shot count for you may not have the chance to reload."
Rozalyn swallowed hard, silently chiding herself for making the foolish mistake of calling to the merciless bounty hunter. Several times during the past week she had spitefully wished harm to befall Hawk, hut it was to be by her own hand, not by the hand of a half-crazed, half-scalped maniac. Revenge was her right. That big brute, Half-Head, would not deprive her of it, she promised herself.
An exasperated sigh escaped her lips, and restlessly, she strode over to busy herself by unstrapping the pallets from the pack horses. Had she become so vindictive that she would actually enjoy seeing Hawk die a painful death? She had been humiliated by his rejection, but was she so vain and heartless she wanted his life sacrificed to satisfy her taste for revenge? Was she as harsh and vengeful as her father? If so, it was no wonder Hawk had never fallen in love with her. Who would want a spoiled, selfish, spiteful woman as a wife? What had she done to deserve Hawk's devotion? How could he respect her when she had complained every step of the way, spiting him and making their journey as intolerable as possible. Rozalyn had even mocked him for furnishing her with rations unfit for human consumption. She had ridiculed him for forcing her to sleep on the cold, hard ground. Sweet merciful heavens! She had even accused him of brewing a thunderstorm to drench her! Was it surprising that he had little use for her?
"Roz?"
Hawk's low voice filtered into her troubled contemplations, and she turned back to see him flinging arm over his horse's back for support. An apologetic smile flitted across his lips and then vanished when his eyes bored into hers.
"I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess. If I had it to do over again, I would have left you safely tucked away in St. Lo
ui
s." His silent footsteps brought him forward until he stood gazing down into Rozalyn's lovely face. Gently, he reached out to comb the unruly ebony strands away from her shoulders. "I know I deserve your wrath, but when this ordeal is over, I hope we can begin again . . . without pretense. It might be different, much different."
As he bent to offer a repentant kiss, Hawk's warm breath whispered across her lips, and Rozalyn's wounded heart responded, despite her attempt to feel nothing. She had despised Hawk and the bittersweet memories he had created. But the heartache of one-sided love was fading, to be replaced by feelings of warmth and admiration. At least Hawk was not throwing her stupidity in her face, even when she justly deserved it. Rozalyn was beginning to get over hating this raven-haired rogue who had turned her wrong-side out, exposing her carefully guarded emotions. But she still wondered if she would ever get over loving him. He had stirred so many emotions, touched so many parts of her, arousing anger and resentment but also passion too fierce and overwhelming to forget. Rozalyn feared the sweet memories he'd created would never die, no matter how deeply she buried them. She could pretend he meant nothing to her. She could hurl cutting remarks at him to ease her wounded pride, but she couldn't keep herself from loving this resourceful woodsman who had become all things to her. Time could ease the hurting, but it could not erase the love. To forget Hawk, Rozalyn would have to stop breathing, and even in death she wondered if her restless soul would still be plagued with torturous memories of what might have been.
A turmoil of emotions erupted deep inside her, and Rozalyn reached out to trace the rugged lines of Hawk's face. There was a strange sort of peacefulness between them now. Their anger had faded, giving way to a silent understanding. Rozalyn was stung by the insane impulse to press her lips to his, to mold her body to the sinewy length of him. She wanted to forget everything that had any semblance to reality, even if Hawk mocked her because she'd vowed never to go near him.
"Make it like it was for that short time in space," she murmured. Her body moved instinctively toward him until she was flush against him. "Kiss me, Hawk. Make me forget where I am and why."
Flaming green eyes focused intently on her quivering lips, and ever so slowly his head came toward hers. Rozalyn died with pleasure at his gentle touch. Then his full lips rolled over hers, caressing, savoring, creating a need that unfurled in every part of her being. As his arms slid about her waist, cradling her against his hard chest, Rozalyn swore she would melt into a pool of liquid desire if it were not for his supporting embrace. The musky fragrance of him clung to her, intoxicated her, as did his kiss. The world was tilting sideways. She wound her arms around his neck to press her body even closer, feeling the fire kindle, knowing it would burn out of control, not caring if it did.
Sweet agony pulsed through her when his kiss became more demanding, and she held him even closer. Fire consumed her, and she became part of the blaze. When Hawk's roaming hand wandered over her and then tunneled beneath her buckskin shirt to knead her breast, Rozalyn voiced no protest. Indeed, she welcomed the sensations he aroused. She craved his touch, even when she'd sworn she would never again grant him privileges with her body.
"God, woman, the feel of you drives me mad," Hawk rasped, his voice heavily laden with desire. And when her adventurous hand dipped beneath the band of his breeches, he sucked in his breath. "Don't do that. I won't be able to think at all."
But Rozalyn could not help herself. She ached to feel his hard flesh, hungered to map the muscular contours that tensed and relaxed beneath her inquiring touch. "You need not think?" she whispered as she nibbled at the pulsations along his neck. "Just hold me close for a time. I—"
When a hissing arrow sailed past her ear, Rozalyn screamed. It lodged in Hawk's shoulder and terror filled Rozalyn's eyes. Wheeling around, she saw two Blackfoot warriors and their hideous leader spring from the underbrush. How had these men managed to catch up with them? she wondered bewilderedly. Hawk had kept a fast pace, pausing only when she . . . Rozalyn groaned, knowing her presence must have slowed Hawk's flight. If he hadn't been dragging her along with him, he would have had no difficulty in eluding Half-Head and his renegade friends.
Feeling personally responsible for this ambush, Rozalyn looked back at Hawk who had dived for his rifle without taking the time to yank the arrow from his shoulder. As he rolled to his feet, his rifle exploded and one attacking brave fell before he could launch the hatchet he was preparing to hurl. Before Hawk could grasp his pistol, the other savage was upon him and Hawk was forced to the ground. He growled like a wounded panther when the arrow was rammed deeper into his bleeding shoulder, but the pain only served to infuriate him.
Rozalyn detected the deadly gleam in Hawk's eyes, that same savage flicker she had noticed the night he had lunged at Jeffrey and had then left the scrawny blond in a crumpled heap. She had seen that ominous sparkle again when Harvey and his men had surrounded Hawk. But now Hawk's enemies hungered for more than coins. The muscular savage was fierce competition, and he was as adept in battle as Hawk was. Powerful bodies strained as the pair rolled through the grass in an attempt to gain the advantageous position.
The moment Hawk managed to knock the knife from his opponent's hand the huge white man was upon him. Half-Head sneered maliciously, and slammed the butt of his rifle against Hawk's wounded shoulder, causing more blood to stain the buckskin shirt. Hawk hissed as searing pain shot through his chest, but he was only distracted for a moment. Agilely, he spun away from Half-Head's fist, and positioning the brave between them, he made the warrior take the brunt of the blow.
The color seeped from Rozalyn's features when she saw the venomous snarl that etched Half-Head's ghastly face. A jagged scar stretched from his left eye, across his temple, and around the bald side of his head. His face bore evidence of more than one battle, and Rozalyn cringed at the sight of him, knowing his ugly face would reappear in her nightmares.