Comanche Moon by Virginia Brown Read Free Book Online

intention of staying usúni —forever. He’d spent too long living a lie in the white man’s world, a world that he had tried to make his own. He’d never felt comfortable there, no more than he did here.
    There were too many slurs thrown at him, slurs that had made him too quick with a gun, too quick to retaliate. Maybe here, in his father’s camp, he could find the peace that had been denied him in his mother’s world. He’d walked a shaky line between them for so long it had begun to seem natural.
    The year he’d spent riding with the Pony Express had given him a keen instinct for survival and made him expert with a sidearm. He didn’t regret the experience, though it had left him with more scars and a healthy respect for the Apache and Comanche. That experience had been what prompted him to find his father, to seek acceptance.
    There would be no more living in two worlds. Not any longer. No, he would make this shivering girl understand him with actions, not familiar words.
    Hawk’s gaze shifted from the girl’s wide eyes and fear-stretched mouth to the soft mound of her breasts. They were warm, like heated velvet, a miracle of pink and ivory with only a suggestion of blue veins just beneath the translucent skin. Small rosy nipples hardened to tight buds when he pushed aside the torn material of her gown, and Hawk’s mouth curled in a faint smile.
    “No,” she whispered again, desperation making her voice thick when he reached out to cup a firm, round breast in his palm.
    Hawk ignored her. Soon he would make her want him as he wanted her, once he got past her initial resistance. It was inevitable that she feel resistance, just as it was inevitable she lie with some man. Being a captive entailed certain duties, and for a woman, lying with a man was one of them if she was comely.
    “Kima,” he said again, urging her toward the pallet on the floor of the tipi. She began to struggle, panic flaring in her eyes as he pushed her gently but firmly backward. With a show of strength he did not expect from so delicate a woman, Deborah fought him furiously. She kicked at him, making him grunt with irritation as her feet struck his shins. Fortunately, her long skirts hampered her movements, and he was able to shift her to one side, sliding an arm around her waist to hold her up against his hip and thigh. Her legs flailed harmlessly, occasionally brushing against the back of his leg but doing no damage.
    No novice at subduing an opponent, though admittedly it was usually an angry male, Hawk put a deft foot behind her ankle and jerked. Deborah sank rapidly backward, and he used his weight to carry her to the ground. His movement did not deter her in the least from her struggle; indeed, it grew more violent in intensity as he lay atop her.
    She began kicking again, her legs freed as her skirts were tossed up around her thighs. Panting with effort, she managed to land a blow to his inner thigh, and he grunted with pain this time.
    “Puaru . . .” he muttered harshly, not finishing his sentence as she managed to free one hand. It came up in a slashing blow that caught him on one cheek. His head snapped back with the force of it, and he caught her hand again in a cruel grip. Pulling her arms up, he pinned her to the floor.
    He glared down at her. Her hair was in wild tangles in her eyes and across the pallet of blankets and soft robes, a bright contrast against the dark fur. Her face was pale with fear and desperation, and her eyes blazed up at him with a look so condemning he was startled. Didn’t she understand that she would be taken by some man in the camp? It should make little difference to her who. At least he would be gentle with her, if she would allow it.
    She kicked and twisted beneath him, trying to get away. Hawk subdued her easily, with her hands pinned over her head and his body weighing her down. He shifted so that his legs controlled hers, his thighs clamping hers together. Then he waited for her to