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eagerly.
    “Sunflower,” she said, smiling at Deborah in triumph. A shy gleam lit her eyes, and she leaned close, her voice a soft whisper. “Haitsi.”
    “Haitsi— what does it mean?” Deborah asked, then said strongly when it became apparent that Sunflower was saying she was a friend, “Haitsi. Yes, we are friends.”
    Sunflower nodded wisely, and there was a gentleness in her that tugged at Deborah. “Friends, haa. Friends.” A harsh voice intruded suddenly, and both Deborah and Sunflower looked up in alarm as the flap to the tent was thrust aside. The blue-eyed Comanche was briefly outlined against the sunlight as he ducked in, and it was obvious he wasn’t pleased.
    “Miaru,” he said again, more harshly than before, and Sunflower looked unhappy as she scrambled to her feet. There was a brief exchange, in which it was apparent to Deborah that he was berating her for being too friendly with his captive, then Sunflower left without glancing back.
    Deborah’s hand clenched in her lap, and she sat in stiff, apprehensive silence as her new captor hunkered down on his heels next to her. His eyes were cold and hard, and she tried to study him without being obvious.
    His knee-high moccasins had long fringe hanging from the cuff and along the sides; the wide strip of cloth belted around his waist and hanging loose in the front and back looked clean. The bare expanse of his chest was smooth and dark, gleaming a dull bronze in the dim light, and his long legs were hard and muscled.
    He was much too briefly clad, and she looked away from him, feeling the heat rise to her face. She’d not been this close to a man so scantily clad before, except for the brief moments with her original captor. It was unnerving.
    Even more unnerving was the cold blue gaze directed at her, studying her closely. Deborah flushed as his gaze dropped to the expanse of skin visible beneath her torn bodice, and her hand rose involuntarily to cover her breast. He reached out with a leisurely motion and captured her wrist in his strong, hard fingers.
    “Keta.”
    When she stared at him uncomprehendingly, he met her eyes with the suggestion of a smile and released her arm. Then he reached behind him and lowered the flap to the opening. It fell in a soft rustle, blocking out bright light and the world, leaving them alone in the tent.
    Deborah stared at him with growing comprehension. When his gaze drifted down her body again, then back up to her face, she instantly knew what he intended.

Chapter 4

    “No!” Deborah tried to back away, but Hawk’s hands flashed out to grasp her wrists. He held them in one hand, slowly pulling her to him, enjoying the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers. She was so soft, her skin as smooth and rich as butter, gliding beneath his hand when he slid his palm up one arm.
    He could well understand the man who had taken her in a grape arbor, knew that a soft, lovely woman such as this one would tempt a man to impetuous action. Spotted Pony had told him how he’d found her in the arbor with a man, that they’d not heard his approach or understood the commotion because they were making love.
    Hawk also understood that this woman would not have instigated it.
    There was an innate dignity to her that would have submitted to a husband, but not initiated the act in so public a place.
    The tipi was private, and Hawk intended to take this woman, to taste her sweetness for himself. There would be no shame involved, only pleasure. He would treat her gently, but she would lie with him.
    “Kima habiki,” he murmured softly. He wanted her to lie down with him willingly, and his tone of voice was gentle. A faint tremor shook her, and he forced himself to go slowly.
    She was frightened, and he knew he should probably speak to her in the language she understood, but he didn’t. There was an unwillingness to admit to being anything but Comanche, even in this girl’s eyes. He had come back to his father’s camp with the