He slept very well that night.
Better than he had slept in a long, long time.
As he drifted into slumber, he imagined proving his power to her, taking his revenge.
He’d find her.
Oh, God, yes! He’d find her. And now he was close, so very damned close…
Bless her! She couldn’t begin to imagine how damned close!
Hawk didn’t seemto require very much sleep. When Skylar awoke, he was up, bathed and dressed, sipping coffee. Late last night, they’d drunk the champagne and eaten the fruit, cheese, and bread on their elegant platter. Skylar still felt exhausted.
Hawk, apparently, did not.
She saw that he was losing patience waiting for her to rise. He was coming toward her. She remembered the less than dignified rap she’d received upon her person the morning before and rolled swiftly away before he could manage a repeat.
“Ah, you are awake.”
“Is it really morning?”
“It was really morning when we actually went to sleep. Now it is really, really morning, and we have to get moving.”
“Yes,” she said. But she rolled again, closing her eyes. A big mistake. That less than gentle pat upon the rear came upon her, resounding in the quiet of the morning.
“Must you do that?” she demanded irately, springing up, clutching the pillow to her chest.
“Well, it does work.”
“Well, I imagine one day it will work equally as well on you.”
“I’m not terribly afraid of such a consequence, since it seems I’m the earlier riser. And I want to start on the way. Sloan and Willow will be anxious if we don’t catch up with them soon.”
“Now, why would they be worried when they might surely realize you spent a night in civilization?”
Something changed within his eyes. They glittered with a hard light once again when they had actually gazed at her with something akin to gentle amusement if not tenderness. In the pink filtering early morning light, his hair was very sleek and very black, his stance hard, his features chiseled. He appeared very much the Sioux, and one ready to do battle at the moment.
“We are leaving civilization now,” he said, his tone harsh. He came to her, his fingers threading through her hair. “At long last, into the heart of enemy territory!”
“Are these people your enemies?”
“They are yours, aren’t they?”
She lifted her chin, staring at him. “Do you immediately think the worst of every full-blooded white? Or is it just me?” she demanded.
He smiled slightly, as if he might almost appreciate the humor of his words.
“Things will change,” he assured her. “They will change. I don’t know where you’ve come from, other than that my father found you in Baltimore.” He plucked up one of her hands. “But you’ve never known much hardship.”
“Do you think the only hardship is to be found in the wilderness?” she demanded heatedly.
He arched a brow at her. “Want to tell me about it?”
“I can live with your hardships,” she informed him coolly.
“Ah. Well, then, though I greatly appreciate your present lack of apparel, I’m afraid I must suggest that you put clothing on. I’ll be in the dining room—I admit to liking morning coffee served to me with cream and breakfast. If you make it down soon enough, I’ll even let you have breakfast as well.”
“You are truly the finest of husbands.”
