A week passed, dragging dusty heels of time so slowly that Deborah despaired. Since the day she’d struck Hawk, he had not approached her again. He came to his tipi to eat, and to speak with his sister, but he said nothing to her.
She felt his gaze on her, though, even when he was a distance from her. It burned into her, hot and blue and searing, making her ache with some nameless emotion. Just when she thought it was fear, her feelings had turned into something entirely different.
When he was near, even ignoring her, she trembled. A hot flush rose inside her, and her legs grew weak. Hawk invaded her dreams more vividly now, and sometimes—God help her—when she dreamed, she dreamed that she was the woman beneath him on a grassy slope. The moans were hers, the soft cries and gasps came from her lips.
He had awakened something inside her, some demon that made her wonder what it would be like to be possessed by him.
Judith was appalled.
“You can’t mean it,” she whispered one morning when they were washing wooden bowls in the stream. Their watchers were not far away, and the noise of the rushing water caused their voices to rise a bit to be heard.
Deborah flushed. “But I do. He’s not as bad as I’d first thought.”
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish