Page 93 of The General's Gift
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Hawk had lived long enough to know the hollowness that followed every triumph. He’d ridden into cities with crowds hailing his name, had victories carved into medals and maps. But the glory never warmed him more than a hay fire.
Come the morrow, he would think of this night. He would feel the weight of her father’s ghost. He might damn himself fortaking what was never meant for him. But for once, he wanted a triumph that didn’t rob a piece of his soul.
He swept her against his chest and carried her through the corridors. Her hair brushed his jaw, and the scent of soap and candle smoke clung to her. When he shouldered the door to her chamber, she lifted her head, eyes sparking.
“If you brought me here to leave me in my room, I will—”
He silenced her protest with a kiss. She softened against him, clutching his coat. Once his decision was made, no power in Europe could move him.
He drove her back against the door, and he deepened the kiss, wedging his thigh between hers. Hawk devoured her mouth, drawing breath from her lungs into his own.
She gasped. He was being too rough, too fierce. He tore himself away, chest heaving.
“You mustn’t fear shocking me,” she whispered. “I’ve readThe Merchant of Venus. And…other novels.”
The thought of her in candlelight, cheeks flushed as she turned forbidden pages, stoked a dark fire in him.
“Did it make you ache for me?” The words came out as a growl.
He prowled around her, hands tightening on her waist as he pulled her close. The soft curve of her backside met his arousal, and he ground against her.
“Not for the men in the books. Only for you.”
Panting, he lowered his forehead to the curve of her neck. He wanted to consume her whole, but the tenderness clawing through his chest made his hunger ache all the worse.
“What do you think those men wanted to do with their women?”
Her swallow trembled beneath his lips. “To… make love to them.”
He splayed a hand over her belly, the other sliding up until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast.
“I want to devour you. I want to own your body, your sensuality, your soul. Do you think that compares?”
Her answering cry rippled through him, and she arched into his touch.
He tugged the chemise from her shoulders, and the linen slid down until nothing shielded her from him. Fair skin gleamed in the firelight, pale as moonstone. His gaze flicked to the thatch of red curls crowning her mound, the single color left to his ruined eyes. His cock jerked with violent need.
Hawk brushed his lips over the freckles scattered on her chest, then closed his mouth over her breast, sucking until her nipple hardened against his tongue. Her gasp shot through him like fire.
He reached for the pins in her hair. The curls tumbled down her back, down her breasts. He caught fistfuls of it, rubbed his face into the mass, breathing in all her colors.
“You, standing like this, cloaked in your hair… It will haunt me to my grave.”
“It’s only red hair. Nothing to it.”
He caught her wrists, kissed her palms. “It is the only color I see.” The words blurted out of him. If he voiced them, it had to be because she made herself so vulnerable to him, he wanted to bare himself as well.
Her brow furrowed, lips parting in confusion.
“Talavera. An explosion. Since that day…” His voice roughened. “The world’s been ash and shadow. Gray. All of it. The sky, the land, the faces of my men. But your hair—”
His hand closed around the fiery strands. “You. It’s the only color left.”
He had never spoken of the weakness aloud, not even to Graves. Now she would pity him.
Her eyes glimmered. Without a word, she slipped from his arms, crossed to the dresser, and snatched the scissors. His chest seized—he had driven her off.
