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that were like turquoise before sun and time had mellowed the hue to green, he went for another spoonful of the fragrant stew, ate it himself, then blew to cool another. “You see, I, too, am a person of powerful hungers.”
    Before she accepted the offering, she asked, “Tell me, Hawk. Are you planning to rape me before you try to extort money from my family?”
    â€œEat your stew.”
    But the moment he placed the spoon at her lips, she turned not only her head but also a shoulder. The motion sent his arm on a downward path, the spoon falling to the pillow. His hand landed on her breast; his fingers curled around the heavy mound.
    It was soft, sweet. And he felt the nipple harden beneath the pad of his thumb. Charity clasped the bed rails even tighter. Scanning the conflict of emotions written across her face, he murmured her name as if in a chant.
    â€œYou are going to have your way with me,” she whispered.
    â€œDon’t you want me to?”
    Her eyes narrowed. “If I let you do your dirty deed, will you set me free?”
    â€œIt wouldn’t be a dirty deed.” He stroked the calico-covered, hardened crest. She squirmed on the bed. And he felt a quiver that he knew she was trying to hide. He moved closer, combing his fingers through the thick hair at her temples. “I think anything between the two of us would be nothing but good.”
    â€œI know your wife would be thrilled to hear that.”
    â€œI don’t have a wife.”
    Her lips parted, and he knew it was to make some scathing remark, but he angled his head, his mouth descending on hers to restrain the comment. She tasted the way he knew she would, warm and sweet, and his tongue worked its way inside.
    She could have bitten him, but she didn’t. She could have kicked him. She didn’t. There were a lot of ways Miss Charity McLoughlin could have fought him, and Hawk wondered why she didn’t. He didn’t mull over her lack of fight for long.
    His hands skimmed her arms, settling at the sides of her breasts, and his shaft throbbed in his britches. Wah’ Kon - Tah! The reality of Charity was sweeter than any youthful fantasy. His hunger surprised Hawk, and he realized no woman had ever excited him this way. Perhaps because she was so wild and untamed and unpredictable . . .
    Always he’d gotten a thrill from bringing down wild beasts, and this woman was the wildest and most beautiful of beasts. He meant to send the bow of lust straight into her.
    He whispered her name, once and then again. His fingers becoming acquainted with the feel of her throat, her earlobe, the rich texture of her hair, he murmured in his native language, “Maybe I’ll never take you home. Maybe I’ll keep you with me. Forever.”
    One of her legs moved across the back of his thigh as she whispered against the edge of his lips, “Hawk, won’t you let me put my arms around you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThat doesn’t seem fair.” Her voice, soaked in the richness of warm thick cream, spread through him. “Unbind me, Hawk.”
    â€œDon’t ask that of me. Don’t . . .”
    â€œI am asking.”
    Those huge blue eyes beseeched him; he felt his resolve weaken. He knew it was foolish. He shouldn’t trust her. Yet he wanted their lovemaking to be everything it ought to be.
    His fingers reached for the key.

Chapter Five
    â€œGotcha!”
    Charity’s unfettered fingers immediately went for the bowl of stew. Once more she had outwitted Hawk; the hot contents slashed his left cheek.
    He shouted something–probably some Indian curse–and grabbed his face. Charity put all her strength into a mighty heave that sent him tumbling to the hovel’s dirt floor. Despite her aches and pains of earlier that night, she bounded out of bed and was halfway to the door before he’d grabbed her waist and hauled her to his washboard stomach. Her shoulder blades thudded