“You’re very beautiful, and I can understand why any man would want to ravish you.”
“I think you’ve already done some ravishing tonight.”
“I thought you were doing the ravishing there.”
She smiled. A real smile, sweet and warm. She shrugged.
“I was so afraid that you were dead. And at the same time, I couldn’t believe that you could have possibly been killed.”
“If I’d been killed, you know, Mayfair would have been yours. And you would have been the widowed Lady Douglas.”
“I never wanted to take anything from your father—or you,” she told him. “And I?—”
“What?”
She shrugged. “I don’t want to be the widowed Lady Douglas.”
He smiled, nodding his head. “Do you know what?”
“What?”
“I’m actually rather glad to have a wife.”
“Are you?”
“Very much so at times like this.”
There was a definite insinuation in his voice. “I was frightened by what happened tonight,” she reminded him, “but you were injured. Your head?—”
“I had a headache, but it’s gone. Now that I have dutifully groveled, I could perhaps use a little gentle care myself.”
“Hawk, they knocked you out. You were hurt?—”
“Nothing that you can’t make better.”
“But—”
“Lady Douglas!” he groaned. “Must I state it plainly? You’ll not get me on my knees again, I’m not in any pain, and I want my wife. Come here, woman,” he demanded with a wry grin.
Skylar lowered her head, a half-smile playing upon her lips. She looked up at him. “I know that we’re in Sioux country, but could you possibly come here, man? Meet me in the middle?”
He arched a brow. “Hmm. What an invitation.”
Skylar took a step forward. She reached down for the hem of the buckskin dress and drew the garment over her head, tossing it carefully aside. She was smudged with dirt and dust, just as he was, but he just didn’t give a damn right now. Passion simmered slowly. Provocatively. He needed to hold her now. Touch her.
Shivering just slightly, she stared at him, waiting.
“What an invitation!” he repeated in a husky whisper.
Her smile deepened. Her eyes glittered, and she cocked her head just slightly.
“Want to bet I can’t get you on your knees again?” she teased him.
But then she gasped because he had moved so quickly, sweeping her up. Then she was on the ground, lying upon a bed of furs, his body on top of hers. What remained of the red blaze from the cooking fire warmed them, just as the silver fire that exuded from her eyes seared into him, building new heat, slow, simmering warmth. Everything slow, everything savored, so careful…
So tender.
She did get him on his knees again.
