“I like when you talk.” Her exhalation made a warm patch on his chest. “I heard you that night in the compound. When you told Aric you’d take me to the hospital. Would get me help.”
Huh. He’d always wondered how much she remembered. She’d been so fucking close to dying.
“To me, you sound like hope,” she whispered. “Like safety.”
Happiness unfurled inside him, but he knew no way to show her. He stroked a hand down her hair. Soft, silky.
He’d be content to simply hold her all night.
Pulling back slightly, she tilted her head up. “Can we…” Her tongue swept across her plump lower lip. There was desire in her eyes.
“Kiss?”
The dim lighting in the room didn’t conceal the way her cheeks darkened. Or her nod.
Setting one hand on the side of her face, he bent and brushed his mouth against hers. Her lips were so soft. Willing but tentative.
He was damned good at rough sex. The women he’d fucked—that was what they wanted.
She was the first to want him to be kind. Gentle.
With his lips, he coaxed, lured…
Giving a tiny sigh, she went up on tiptoes for more.
He gave her more.
How in the world had they ended up on Mako’s couch? Still fully clothed, Kit shook her head and almost laughed. Somehow, she was straddling Hawk’s hips as he reclined against the armrest. A large erection pressed against her buttocks.
Even better, it didn’t upset her to know he was aroused. Instead, the feeling was wonderful.
He wanted her.
Smiling, she pushed his shirt open and ran her hands over his hard muscles, enjoying the sensuous tickling of his chest hair. She traced the hollows above his collarbones, then the deeper one at the base of his throat.
As she leaned forward, he tangled his fingers in her loose hair and gave a small tug to pull her down for a kiss.
Everything inside her tightened, froze, and her mind blanked. Fear swept through her. Her arms went stiff, bracing against his chest to keep him from—
“Whoa, eaglet. Breathe.” His open hands ran up and down her arms.
It took long moments for his voice to penetrate the fog of fear, to realize he wasn’t gripping her. Not at all.
She pulled in a breath, concentrating on what she smelled. The lingering aroma of cookies, Hawk’s clean masculine scent, the faint lavender and vanilla from the lotion she’d used earlier.
Under her palms was warm skin.
Outside, an owl hooted. A response came from farther away.
She was at the Hermitage, not in the compound. This was Hawk. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. Things’ll set you off.” Very slowly, he ran his hand through her hair again—carefully not pulling. “We’ll avoid them. Or work through them.”
He wasn’t upset. Relief swept through her. “What did you call me—eaglet?”
“Your hair’s like a golden eagle’s.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But eaglet. Isn’t that like a baby?”
“Young.” His lips twitched. “Short flights. Crash and burn landings.”
She started to laugh. “Like now.”
“Nah, you just clipped a wing.” He stroked his knuckles over her cheek. “Keep flying.”
After more kisses and under his slow, patient hands, she managed to get her robe off. Then the shirt of her pajamas.
And then she had another “crash and burn”. Somehow, that sounded so much less fraught than calling it a panic attack.
But look at me.
She was half-stripped. Even if she was shaking and panting. His voice anchored her in safety, brought her back.
And they went back to kissing.
“You’re going to go crazy with this forward and backward, and—”
“Woman, I got you sitting on me, kissing me. I’m more than good.”
His gruff no-shit response made her glow inside. Because she felt the same way.
Oh, sure, her body wanted more, throbbed for some action down below, but this was simply amazing.
So was he.
None of the PZs let a woman be on top. “I kind of like sitting on you.” She bent to kiss him. His lips were firm, yet velvety soft, and his beard was soft too.
“Good.” Under her lips, his mouth curved up. “One day, you’ll sit on my face.”
On his what? A shocked gasp escaped her, and then she was laughing. And kissing him. And laughing some more because his rough words had sent heat through her whole body.
Not tonight. But…
Swallowing hard, she sat up, took his hands, and set them on her breasts, and pressed him to her.
At the feel of his warm palms, she sucked in a breath, and every nerve under his hands came to life.
Slowly, gently, he touched her, massaging lightly, kneading. His fingertips teased her nipples to hard aching peaks, then circled. Fondled.
It felt as if her insides were the epicenter of an earthquake, and she whimpered.
He stilled, studying her for a long minute. “We’ll go no further than this tonight.”
She managed a nod, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. Both, really.
“No further.” A glint of heat appeared in his eyes. “So I’ll enjoy the hell out of this much.”
His thumb slowly circled one nipple, sending a stream of molten heat to her pelvis.
Over the next hour, he played with her, simply and obviously enjoying himself. Over and over, she’d get so very aroused, and then her desire would fade as ugly memories surged up.
And he’d smile and change his technique and drive her up again. Gently, sweetly, and so very patiently.
Finally, he brushed the hair away from her face. “Time to stop. You need sleep.”
As if she’d sleep now, with her breasts swollen and her clit throbbing. At her snort of exasperation, his grin flashed.
He lifted her off of him and rose, then held her pajama shirt for her to put on. As he fastened button after button, his knuckles brushed the insides of her breasts.
She tried to suppress a moan and only half succeeded. The sound of his very male chuckle made her toes curl.
He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Come and lock the door.”
When he was on the deck, he turned and held her chin, bending to kiss her slowly. Tenderly. Pushing her back inside, he closed the door. She could see him through the small window, waiting, arms crossed, for her to engage the lock.
When she did, he nodded. His footsteps sounded firm and solid as he strode off the deck.
Hers didn’t. She was so full of happy bubbles, her feet might not have even touched the stairs. She simply floated up.
Chapter Twenty-One
Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family. ~ Paul Pearsall
The results were in, and even hours later, Audrey wanted to dance and shout…and then maybe hide for a while. Talk about erratic emotions.
Settle down, Audrey. She was good at appearing calm—she’d certainly had more than adequate practice as a child.
Tipping her head back, she enjoyed the feel of the sun on her face. After two days of rain, she was ready for warm and dry.
“We’re here,” Gabe called from in front of her. On the still-damp trail behind her, the others responded with cheers. Everyone at the Hermitage had decided the Sunday activity would be berry picking. But she hadn’t expected quite such a climb.