Captive Bride (32 page)

 
One dark eyebrow shot straight up when Rozalyn grasped the hem of her shirt and lifted the garment over her head. The sight of her naked flesh and the provocative smile playing on her lips provoked a suspicious frown. "If I had demanded that you strip, you would have slapped my face," he grumbled, his eyes roaming over her ivory skin.

 
Rozalyn slid her arms around his shoulders, careful not to brush against his tender wound, and an impish smile pursed her lips as she leaned against him, her breasts brushing wantonly against his chest. "I am always more agreeable when the idea is my own," she murmured. Her warm kisses feathered along the taut tendon on his neck. "I require a certain fee for nursing you back to life."

 
Hawk knew damned well she wanted to keep him tucked in the cave until she decided that he was healthy enough to travel. But it was her method that waylaid him. He had never been able to refuse this desirable nymph, nor could he now. His good arm slid about her waist to caress her hips, and desire crowded the pain of his wound to a far corner of his mind. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to delay their journey a few hours, he decided.

 
Rozalyn had only intended to distract Hawk until he realized he was too weary to leave his pallet, but when the spark of passion leaped between them her body caught fire and began to burn. As her wayward hands flowed over his hair-roughened flesh, Hawk swore she possessed the power to heal. Her caresses massaged away the ache in his muscles and spun his nerves into tangled twine. Then her soft lips skittered across his laboring chest, leaving him relaxed and pliant beneath their arousing touch.

 
Rozalyn urged him onto his back, and she curled up beside him, her hands and lips continuing to work their subtle magic. Lord, how she loved touching this powerful mass of brawn and muscle. She marveled at his potential strength now in repose. Hawk was a lion. Although weak and wounded, he was still awesome. Lovingly, her fingertips trailed over his muscular thighs, sketching their hard contours, deriving pleasure from merely touching him, watching him, inhaling the manly scent of him.

 
"I know your purpose, vixen," Hawk assured her, his voice husky with desire. "You plan to take advantage of me in my weakened condition." His lips glided across her velvety skin, finding the rosy peak of her breast, and his hand followed to gently knead the soft mound that was pressed to his cheek. "Do you intend to drain the last of my strength so I will be unable to move from my spot?"'

 
A faint smile pursed Rozalyn's lips. Then her seeking hand trailed beneath the band of his breeches to travel over the hard muscles of his hip. "You are very perceptive, mountain man," she whispered as she twisted away, letting her moist kisses roam across his ribs. "You are the one who taught me the meaning of passion and you are going nowhere until you have appeased the craving you have instilled in me. If you think you are strong enough to ride, then you are strong enough to make love to me,"

 
"In this dark, musty cave?" Hawk chortled at the brazen minx who had stripped him of his breeches, leaving his entire body susceptible to her tantalizing kisses and caresses.

 
"Would you prefer to go outside?" A teasing grin lifted one corner of her mouth. She rose and slowly pushed the buckskin breeches from her hips. Then she shook out her hair, sending a waterfall of ebony tendrils spilling over her shoulders.

 
Hawk groaned in torment. His all-consuming gaze drank in her exquisite body, lingering on the dark curls that partially concealed the swells of her breasts; then his eyes wandered lower, to sketch the trim curve of her waist and the slope of her hips. Rozalyn was so breath-takingly lovely that Hawk could not drag his gaze from her. He knew she was only toying with him, taunting him. She feared he could provide no protection if they ventured into the wild while he was still recuperating from his injury so she was offering her delicious body as a temptation to keep him from making the rugged journey before he'd fully regained his strength. And although Hawk knew she was prepared to give her body to him without offering her heart, he could not resist the temptation. Rozalyn was a wild, beautiful bird who thrived on freedom. A man could never truly make her his captive, but Hawk was prepared to settle for whatever she was offering, if it were only for a moment. In time she would return to the world from which she had come and he I
           
would remain in the wilderness where he belonged. But, for now . . .
           
"Come here, woman," he growled huskily. Their eyes met, and Kozalyn knelt before Hawk, he could see flames of passion in her eyes. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing wantonly against the solid wall of his chest. It was the slightest breath of a touch, a whisper of warm flesh. Then her hands ascended to cup his face, and her soft lips barely skimmed his mouth, gently offering pleasure before slowly withdrawing.

Her tender seduction blocked out memory and logic.

Hawk could no longer think. His brain had ceased to function the moment her satiny skin had come into contact with his flesh, making him sharply aware of the contrast between his well-muscled body and her softness. Only Rozalyn felt so good in his arms.

 
Her touch was deliberate, stirring him with the faintest strokes, and his pain became sheer pleasure. Hawk was oblivious to all except his maddening need. His hand tunneled through her tangled hair to tip her head back, and his kiss lost its gentleness as passion raged within him. The probing insistence of his tongue forced her lips apart; he molded her body closer, and closer still. His mouth explored and Rozalyn eagerly responded. His hand caressed and she moaned in soft surrender.

 
As they lay side by side, their bodies touching, their hearts beating as one, the raging fire between them became the vital flame of love. Rozalyn took him to her, reveling in the sweet splendor of possessing, of being possessed. She was vividly aware of the sinewed columns of his body straining against hers. Hawk was masculinity in its raw, pure state and she drew strength from him, feeding on the churning emotions that engulfed her.

 
She answered his hard, demanding thrusts, her body moving in perfect rhythm with his. He was taking her higher, allowing her to glimpse the glorious horizon that awaited them on the far side of the sun. She was soaring on golden wings, flying beyond the perimeters of reality, caught in a current of ecstasy that lifted her and then flung her to dizzying heights of pleasure.

 
Suddenly the sun exploded, and her emotions diverged in a thousand different directions. Her need for this reckless mountain man was maddening—a craving that defied reason, a fierce, compulsive hunger. The rapture of his lovemaking was wild, sweet torment, and Rozalyn clung to him as incredible sensations converged within her, driving her onward to that timeless moment of sublime ecstasy.

 
When the soul-shattering sensation came, time stood still, and for what seemed forever Rozalyn was shaken by wave upon wave of ineffable pleasure. Her nails dug into the rippling muscles of Hawk's back. She was afraid to let go, afraid to learn this had all been a fantastic dream. Slowly the sensations ebbed, taking her strength with them. A tremulous sigh escaped her lips as she cuddled against Hawk's warm body. No words passed between them. There was no need for speech. Their sweet, companionable silence said it all.

For a time they slept, a peaceful, relaxed sleep filled with contented dreams. When Hawk's lashes fluttered up, he smiled at the shapely beauty beside him. Stunned by her loveliness, he reached out to comb his fingers through her ebony strands. This tempting sprite had shown Hawk many faces, but the one he viewed now tugged at his heart. Her flawless features were soft in repose, her skin, like satin, brushed lightly against his. She deserves better than this, he scolded himself. How could he have snatched her from her secure world and forced her into the wilderness? Troubled by his thoughts, Hawk inched away to pull on his breeches.

 
Once Hawk had staggered to his feet and donned his shirt, he nudged Rozalyn awake. Her eyes drifted up to see
 
the
 
awesome
 
mountain
 
man poised before her.

Where had he gotten the strength to rise was beyond her.

She would have been content to sleep until dawn, but Hawk was dressed and she was immediately aware of his intention. "Can't we delay until morning?" She accepted the clothing Hawk thrust at her, but not without frowning her disappointment. "I still contend that you are not healthy enough to travel."

"I have to be," Hawk muttered, turning away before Rozalyn could protest the idiocy of his plan.

 
Rozalyn's breath came out in a rush. Grumbling, she climbed to her feet and reluctantly followed in Hawk's wake. He was not strong enough to ride, for heaven's sake! If the ride didn't kill him the infection would. All the protests she intended to voice when she marched outside died on her lips.

 
Hawk flung his left arm over the saddle, preparing to swing onto his horse. "Thank you for saving my life, wanyecha," he murmured. When he graced her with a boyish smile that cut deep lines through his bronzed features, Rozalyn melted in her moccasins. "If I felt I had the choice, I would be content to spend the night in your arms. But I cannot breathe easily until we put more distance between ourselves and Half-Head." His smile faded and a hauntingly rueful expression appeared in his eyes. "I know you gave yourself to me because you thought it would keep me here for a time. But even passion cannot disguise the fact that you would truly prefer not to be housed in such close quarters with your worst enemy."

 
"Better you than Half-Head." Rozalyn picked up the horse's reins and then turned back to Hawk who was struggling into the saddle. "You are not my worst enemy, Hawk," she told him quietly. "If I could be granted one wish it would be that the two of us become friends."

 
"Friends?" Hawk chuckled, but carefully. Laughter jarred his wound. Again the smile evaporated from his ashen lips. "This thing between us can be only fire or ice, Roz," he told her soberly. "There is no room for any emotion in between. We hurt each other and we grow cold and insensitive for a time, but when we dare to touch it ignites a blaze that neither of us can control." Hawk touched his heels to the stallion's ribs, urging him toward the rocky path. "Friendship? Ah ... if only it were that simple. . . ."

A disheartened frown etched Rozalyn's features while she stared at Hawk's departing back. Did he dislike her so much, except when he was satisfying his lusts? Why could he not look upon her as his friend? The man could use at least one since he seemed to be surrounded by enemies. Heaving a discouraged sigh, Rozalyn followed Hawk along the winding path that led down from the bluffs. Her gaze swung back to the cavern where they had made wild, sweet love. She must leave those tender memories behind, just as Hawk had; she was a fool for falling in love with him again. Hawk offered her passion, nothing more. How many more of these lectures would she have to deliver to herself before she accepted the truth? she wondered, then she realized they would become a daily ritual. The strong affection she felt for this powerfully built mountain man would be with her forever—and Hawk didn't want forever. Although she knew in her heart that they had no future together, Rozalyn could not stop wanting what she knew she could never have.

Chapter 16

 
Relief flooded over Hawk's pallid features when he saw the silhouette of Fort William on the western horizon. The log stockade established four years earlier for trade with the Indians, was located near the junction of the North Platte and Laramie Rivers. Around it, rich, lush grass, thick groves of cottonwood trees, and sparkling water made a peaceful picture in the waning sunlight. While inside, the fort contained living quarters for weary travelers, warehouses, and trading posts. Never had Hawk been so anxious to reach this sanctuary.

 
His eyes drifted to the enticing beauty who rode silently at his side, and a sense of pride swelled within him as he remembered how Rozalyn had handled herself in the face of catastrophe. He had put her through hell, but she had emerged with no more than a scratch. A lesser woman would have perished, but not Rozalyn. After her frightening trials, she deserved to be in the care of those who were able to keep a watchful eye on her.

 
Hawk had pushed himself to near collapse, but he was certain Half-Head was still forging his way north. Hawk's only chance was to leave Rozalyn in capable hands while he led Aubrey's ruthless henchman in circles. Then Half-Head would find himself ambushed. The bastard deserves no better, Hawk told himself bitterly.

 
A wry smile skittered across Hawk's lips when he spied a trading party of Sioux emerging from the stockade. It was Rozalyn's misfortune to glance in Hawk's direction at that moment. She frowned warily when she noticed the calculating look in his eyes. It spelled trouble. Rozalyn would have given anything to have been able to read his mind.

 
Her gaze narrowed on the small group of Indians who moved toward them. Each brave was dressed in bright, colorful garments and was heavily strapped with symbolic weapons. Their paint ponies were adorned with bells, feathers, and ribbons that the Indians had gotten at the fort in exchange for furs and blankets. The Sioux had painted their faces and chests with yellow-moss pigment and ashes before attending the trade ceremony. Why all this pomp and circumstance? Rozalyn wondered. And why was Hawk grinning at the decorated braves who approached them in their proud, aloof manner?