GABRIEL HAWK'S LADY

by Beverly Barton

  "What do you want me to do, give him a chance to attack us?"

  "Maybe he won't attack us. Maybe he's just curious. Or maybe he came to the pond for a drink."

  Hawk shrugged her hand off his back and aimed the rifle. Why should he listen to Rorie?

  "Please, give him a chance." She held her breath.

  As if considering his options, the big cat moved forward, looked around tentatively, then turned and ambled back into the jungle from which he'd come.

  Rorie let out the breath she'd been holding. Hawk lowered the rifle. Why did I hesitate? he wondered.

  Momentarily oblivious to his nakedness, Rorie whirled around Hawk, grabbed his face and kissed him squarely on the mouth. "Thank you for not shooting him. See? I was right. He was just curious."

  "Dammit, woman, I won't be able to sleep soundly tonight knowing that animal is out there. Just because he went away peacefully, doesn't mean he won't come back."

  "He won't be back. I think that mean look you gave him scared him away."

  "You're crazy, honey. One of these days, that soft heart of yours is going to be the death of me."

  Rorie suddenly realized that Hawk was stark naked. She glanced upward, trying to avoid taking an inventory of his physical assets.

  He slung the rifle strap over his shoulder, reached down and picked up his clothes, boots and shoulder holster and shoved them into Rorie's arms.

  "What—"

  Before she could finish her sentence, he swooped her up in his arms and silenced her with a kiss.

  When he ended the kiss, she looked straight into his eyes. Dark, smoldering eyes. "Hawk, what—what are you doing?"

  "I'm taking you back to the jeep." He carried her away from the pond and through the clearing he'd cut in the thicket.

  "Couldn't you put on your clothes first?"

  "I can do that later," he said.

  When they reached the jeep, he eased the rifle down on the open sleeping bag, then lifted Rorie onto the tailgate.

  "I feel very uncomfortable with you being undressed." She held out his clothes, boots and holster.

  "I'll remedy that problem right now."

  He accepted the items she offered him, then tossed his clothes into the jeep and laid the holster on the edge of the sleeping bag.

  Grasping her shirt, he undid the top button. She stared down at his hands, brown and rough against the smooth whiteness of her skin.

  "What—what are you—"

  "I'm going to make you more comfortable."

  "But I didn't mean for you to… I wanted you to put on your clothes, not take mine off."

  "Since I'm going to have to stay half-awake all night just in case our visitor returns, don't you think you owe me something for my trouble?"

  He undid another button. She slapped at his hand. He undid a third and then a fourth button. Rorie tensed. He jerked the shirt loose from her khaki pants and spread it open to expose her naked breasts. Her breathing quickened. She made tiny gasping noises as she sucked in quick gulps of air.

  Hawk let out a long, low sigh. "You don't know how much I've wanted to look at your breasts." He lifted them in his hands, weighing their fullness. "And how much I've wanted to touch them."

  His big hands encompassed her, kneading gently. His touch was hot, his palms sandpaper-coarse against her tender skin. She wanted to tell him to stop, that he shouldn't be touching her like this. But here in the forest, in an Eden unspoiled by civilization, Rorie felt the primitive urges of desire spring to life inside her.

  She sat perfectly still, except for the undulating movements of her chest as she struggled to breathe. She allowed Hawk to remove her shirt and toss it into the jeep. He spread his hands across the tops of her shoulders and shoved her backward. When her heels raked over the edge of the tailgate, he reached up and unfastened her pants.

  "Hawk, please…" Please what? Please, don't do this to me. Or please, don't stop. She was uncertain why she was pleading with him.

  "I'm going to please you. I promise."

  He unzipped her pants and tugged them down around her hips. Sliding his hand beneath her buttocks, he lifted her enough to free her pants and then pulled them down her legs and over her ankles. He tossed her pants on top of her shirt.

  When he crawled up in the jeep beside her, she backed away from him as far as she could. Fear of the unknown, no matter how tempting that unknown might be, claimed her completely.

  Sensing her fear, Hawk knew he had to soothe her before he could pleasure her. Before he could teach her to pleasure him. God knew, he had tried to keep his hands off her. He'd fought a valiant fight to preserve her innocence. But he couldn't fight both himself and the desire he saw in her eyes. She needed him just as much as he needed her, whether or not she realized what that need was.

  If he buried himself deep in her body, the way he longed to do, she would be his forever. But he couldn't offer her the "forever" she would expect. All he could give her was this one night. He could and would make love to her, but he wouldn't make her his completely. He would take what he needed and give her what she needed, but he would leave her her most prized possession.

  "I'm not going to hurt you," he promised. "I want to kiss you and touch you. That's all I'm asking. Just let me show you what it can be like to have a man worship every inch of your body."

  "Hawk, I—"

  He ran the tip of his finger from her chin to her navel. She shuddered. He ran his finger upward, then over her breast and flicked one beaded nipple. She drew in a raspy breath.

  "You like that, don't you? You like the way my touch sends quivers through your body."

  She reached out and circled his tiny male nipple with her index finger. Smiling, Hawk sighed.

  When he pulled her into his arms, she resisted momentarily, then succumbed to the seduction of desire the instant her aching breasts encountered his muscular chest.

  His mouth devoured hers as he pressed her down into the jeep's bed and straddled her hips. She tried to protest when she felt the heavy weight of his body, but he relieved some of the pressure by lifting his chest and placing his hands on either side of her shoulders. He lowered his sex until it nestled in the thatch of golden hair at the apex of her thighs. Instinct guided her movements as she lifted her hips to meet him.

  For a couple of seconds he felt as if he was going to explode. I can do this. I can do this. He silently repeated the phrase again and again, until the words became a litany.

  Easing his body alongside hers, he broke the kiss, then lowered his head to one breast and lifted his hand to the other. With gentle, repetitive strokes of his tongue, he laved one nipple, while he pinched the other between his thumb and forefinger. He alternated attentions from one breast to the other, until Rorie writhed beneath him, her body begging for release.

  "My breasts ache," she told him. "And I'm throbbing. I'm…"

  He grabbed her hand and dragged it down her body, pushing it against her mound. "Is this where you're throbbing, Rorie? Is this where you're hurting the most?"

  On a timid, hushed little breath, she mumbled, "Yes."

  "Then let me take away the hurt."

  Darkness surrounded them. The last glimmering glow of twilight silhouetted their faces as they gazed at each other.

  "Please," she whimpered. "Please."

  Hawk kissed and licked a hot, damp trail from her breasts to her navel. He spread her thighs apart, lifted her legs over his shoulders and kissed her inner thighs. When he nuzzled her intimately, she moaned. When his mouth covered her, she thrust her fist into her mouth to muffle her cry. She squirmed, trying to free herself, afraid of the way he made her feel. But he held her hips in his big hands and made love to her with his lips and tongue. Stroking. Sucking. Pressing.

  Rorie writhed under his masterful attentions, lost to reality; no longer thinking, only feeling. Ever so slowly, her body coiled tighter and tighter. Hawk increased the tempo and the pressure of his caresses as she dripped with passion. When he sensed
she was on the brink, he added just the right amount of quick, hard pressure, pushing her over the precipice and headlong into an earth-shattering release.

  When he pulled her trembling body into his arms, she clung to him, weeping as the last echoes of her fulfillment rippled over her nerve endings.

  "Gabriel." She whispered his name against his chest.

  He wanted to take her, thrust into her with powerful force and ease his agony.

  "It's all right, Rorie. It's all right." He petted her, rubbing her back, stroking her hair. "I wanted to be the first man to give you pleasure."

  "I never dreamed something like that could be so … so very wonderful." She wrapped her arm across his chest.

  "I'm glad I made it wonderful for you." He kissed the top of her head.

  She lifted her head from his chest and searched his face in the darkness. "But you didn't… I mean you must need—"

  He grabbed her hand and urged it down his body. She followed his lead as he guided her hand toward his arousal and began a slow, steady movement. When she picked up the rhythm, he removed his hand and allowed her to take over the task completely.

  "Am I doing it right?" she asked, knowing that if they hadn't been shrouded in darkness, she might not have been able to touch him so intimately.

  The growl started deep in his chest, rose up to his throat and then erupted from his mouth. "Yes!" His body jerked once, twice. He groaned louder, his cry the muted roar of a male animal in the throes of release.

  Hawk drew Rorie into his arms and kissed her, while the aftershocks of fulfillment spiraled through his body. He eased her onto the tailgate, then lifted the rifle and slipped the strap over his shoulder. He picked her up and took her back to the pond.

  Leaving the rifle within reach on the bank, he carried her into the water. He bathed her and then himself.

  She clung to him, feeling as if she were almost a part of him. "Oh, Gabriel. Gabriel!" She surrendered completely, giving herself over to him.

  And when he brought her back to the jeep, she cuddled in his arms, too happy and content to worry about what the morning would bring.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Rorie awoke alone in the jeep. She rubbed her eyes and stretched. Suddenly realizing she was naked, she crossed her arms over her breasts and clasped her elbows. Memories of last night flooded her mind. Gabriel's lips on hers. His hands and mouth on her body, giving her the ultimate pleasure. And her hand circling him.

  Sighing as she remembered the way his tender, intimate loving had made her feel, Rorie sat up quickly and looked for him. A hundred jumbled thoughts rioted in her mind. Emotions of various kinds warred within her. She had allowed Gabriel intimacies that should have been reserved for her husband. She had given herself over completely to his desires, letting him do with her as he wanted. If he had asked for more, she would have given it to him. She would have given him everything.

  She should feel remorse and shame. But she didn't. There had been nothing ugly or dirty or evil about what she and Gabriel had shared. The experience had been the most beautiful and profound moment of her life.

  But how did Gabriel Hawk feel about what had happened? Somehow she doubted that their lovemaking held the same significance for him as it did for her.

  Glancing around, Rorie noticed her boots sitting on the tailgate beside her folded clothes. Morning sunlight filtered through the forest's jade canopy. She checked her watch. Seven-thirty. Why had he let her sleep so late? They should have resumed their trek up the mountain at dawn.

  She dressed hurriedly, groaning when she discovered her bra and panties were still slightly damp. Just as she stuffed her shirt into her pants and pulled up the zipper, Hawk approached the jeep. He held two metal cups in his hands. Rorie slid off the open tailgate and met him.

  He offered her one of the cups. "Sorry it's not hot coffee. Fresh water will have to do."

  "Thanks. Fresh water sounds great." She took the cup from him, deliberately letting her fingers brush across his.

  When he looked at her, she smiled. He returned her smile. She had slept in his arms all night, her naked body nestled against his. He had rested in a semiawake-semiasleep state. His instincts had warned him to be on guard for the jaguar, for unexpected human intruders—and for a resurgence of passion. Realizing that she was his for the taking had made it all the more difficult not to make love to her again—fully and completely.

  No woman had ever held any power over him. No woman had ever been a fever in his blood. He sure as hell wasn't going to let some Goody-Two-Shoes virgin wrap him around her little finger and make him vulnerable.

  "Sleep well?" he asked.

  "Like a log." She took a sip of the cool water. "Why did you let me sleep so long? We should have gotten an earlier start."

  "We both needed the rest." He finished his cup of water. "There's one melon left. Want to split it for breakfast?"

  "Sure."

  Walking past her, he leaned over into the jeep, pulled out their ration bag and rummaged in it. He retrieved the lone melon and held it up as if it were a trophy.

  Rorie sensed the strain between them. She wondered if Gabriel felt as awkward as she did. Probably not. After all, what had happened last night was hardly a new experience for him, even if it had been for her. She didn't like to think about how many other women he had given the same shattering ecstasy. Or about how many women had given him far more than she had.

  Rorie heard the melon split open and turned to see Gabriel holding the machete in his hand and the ripe fruit lying on the ground. She stared at Hawk. He looked so big and powerful and almost savage in his wrinkled fatigues, with his long, black ponytail and his four days' growth of dark stubble.

  He cocked his head slightly, as if listening for the sound of predators. Dappled sunlight hit the gold ring in his left ear. When he lifted his ponytail and flung it over his shoulder, Rorie stared at the coiled-cobra tattoo on his left hand. Her stomach tightened into knots. Dear Lord, this savage-looking man was the real predator. Dangerous and deadly. And yet every instinct within her cried out that she could trust him. That he would never harm her. That to others he might be a predator, but to her he was a protector.

  Gabriel stuck the machete into a melon half, lifted it and held it out to her. She slid the fruit off the big knife and brought it to her mouth. While nibbling on the juicy flesh, she watched Gabriel as he speared the other melon half, lifted it to his mouth and bit into it hungrily. He threw the machete into the ground with the expert ease of a man accustomed to handling knives.

  Rorie shivered, remembering the vivid sensations of Gabriel feasting on her body. The moist sounds. The musky smells. Her own taste on his lips when he'd kissed her. And the hot, unbearable pleasure.

  Heat rose up her neck and flushed her face. She glanced away, not wanting him to realize what she was thinking. She nibbled on the melon, each bite lodging in her throat.

  Gabriel tossed the melon rind aside, wiped his hands on his pants and pulled the machete out of the ground. He slid the knife under his seat in the jeep, then turned and looked at Rorie.

  "As soon as you … uh … freshen up, we can leave," he said.

  She nodded her understanding, took a couple more bites out of the melon and then tossed it on the ground. Relieving herself in the seclusion of the nearby thicket and washing her hands and face in the pond took a quick five minutes. When she returned to the jeep, she found that Gabriel had cleared away the camouflage of limbs and was already behind the wheel. The minute she climbed into her seat, he started the engine, but didn't shift the gears.

  He glanced at her. She felt his heated gaze. Turn around and face him, she told herself. You can't pretend that what happened between the two of you last night didn't really happen. But she didn't want to face the truth, didn't want to accept the fact that, for him, last night had been nothing special. Instinctively, she knew he was going to say something that would break her heart.


  Taking a deep breath, she glanced at him. He reached out and clasped her chin, cradling it in the hollow between his thumb and forefinger.

  "There's no need to be embarrassed, honey."

  "I can't help the way I feel," she said. "I've never done anything like that before and … and I've never allowed anyone to … to do those things to me."

  He squeezed her chin. "Don't make a big deal out of this, okay? It all boils down to one simple thing—I'm a man and you're a woman. We both needed a little relief. So, I gave you pleasure, and you gave me pleasure. That's what happened. That's all that happened."

  "That's all that happened." She repeated his words like a trained parrot.

  "I admit that you might have lost a little of your innocence, but you didn't lose your virginity. You still have that to give to the lucky guy you marry."

  He released her chin, turned around and shifted the gears. When he pulled the jeep onto road, Rorie leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, covering her tears.

  He was right; she hadn't lost her precious virginity. What he didn't know—what he must never find out—was that she had lost something far more valuable. She had lost her heart.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes and only-God-knew-how-few miles later, they came to a crossroads—one path leading upward to the Blessed Virgin Mission, the other a wide, clear, dirt trail apparently running parallel to the old road, only farther east down the mountainside.

  Hawk pulled the jeep to a halt, removed Murdock's map and scanned the area where the two roads met. The cleared pathway led down the mountain to the heart of Santos's main camp, one of the first villages the renegade had conquered—the village where Peter and Cipriana Dean had been executed.

  "Where does that road lead?" Rorie asked. "It looks like someone has cleared it recently, doesn't it?"

  "It leads to a village about two miles from the limestone cliffs overlooking the southeastern shore of San Miguel. A little place called Mayari."

  "Why would anyone have cleared the road from Mayari to the mission?"

  "Look, Rorie, you might as well know that Mayari is Emilio Santos's stronghold. It's a remote little village that he secured years ago and has held on to. Besides this road up the mountain, which not too many people know about, there's only one other road into the village and it's guarded day and night."