Dream of Me/Believe in Me

both hands, baring her neck as she stretched languorously. It was very hot in the room. She could scarcely bear even the light brush of her shift against her taut nipples. If only she could flee into deep, cool water, there would be some hope of taming the unruly impulses of her body. As it was, to stay longer was sheer folly. Not daring to look at him again, knowing that if she did she would have no prayer of caution, Krysta took one step from the bed. Her shift jerked taut and she could move no farther. Her eyes widened as she saw the hand twined around the delicate fabric, tethering her. Startled, her gaze flew to Hawk's face. A slumberous smile curved the mouth she knew too well.
    “Don't go,” he said, just that, no more. Yet he kept close hold of her as desire warred with prudence.
    “I should not have come …”
    He sat up slightly and her helpless gaze strayed down the length of his body. He was fully aroused, hard and thick.
    “You slept curled against me these past three nights. Why sleep alone now?”
    “You weren't supposed to know about that! I thought you asleep each morning when I woke—”
    “I sleep very lightly, the legacy of too many battles.” He let go of her shift and seized her hand instead. His conscience stirred one last time and was firmly pushed aside. Little experience that he had wooing women, somehow with her it did not seem so difficult. “Sweet Krysta, don't leave me now. Who knows how much time we may have together. The world is so uncertain, life itself but a moment.” He brushed a kiss over her fingers even as he wrapped an arm around her hips and drew her to him. Shepressed her hands to his broad shoulders in a halfhearted effort to break away but he was already pulling up her shift, baring her long, lithe legs, and she felt his mouth against her belly, his breath blowing softly, melting away all resistance.
    Time was fleeting; he was right about that. The past was gone, the future she yearned for could not be, nothing existed save the present. Was it so terribly wrong of her to seize just a small measure of happiness? She had a sudden flashing image of Lady Esa and her cool, disdainful beauty. Would she be the one Hawk married finally, the lady of true nobility and worth chosen to sit at his side? Perhaps, for she was very lovely and, even to Krysta's inexperienced eyes, very determined.
    If it came to that, one thing only she wanted so fiercely that it tore like barbs at her heart: Let him not forget her. When he was a very old man, as she prayed he would live to be, let him still remember the touch and taste, the sound and feel of her. Let the memory of what they shared make bright his dreams forever … and her own.
    He felt the moment when she yielded and the triumph of it was bittersweet. He had won unscrupulously to be sure but he could not, would not, let that matter. Swiftly, he stripped her shift over her head and tossed it to the floor. Her skin glowed like cool alabaster but her heat matched his own. He drew her down, draping her over him, stroking her slender back and firmly rounded bottom. His long fingers delved between her thighs as his mouth took hers in a searing kiss. Ravenously, he tasted her, his tongue stroking deep and hard, mating with her own. His need for her was insatiable, made all the more so by three days and nights of incessant, unsatisfied desire. He could think of nothing but to ease her beneath him and make her his when Krysta twisted suddenly in his arms. With the provocative smile of an innocent imp, shesat up, straddling him, and tossed the glorious riot of her hair over her shoulders, baring her breasts to his bedazzled gaze. Her eyes filled with tender yearning, she stroked her hands lightly down his chest. Her voice no more than a soft, embarrassed whisper, she murmured, “Please … I would so like to …”
    With a groan, Hawk fell back onto the bed. Already he was painfully aroused and if the look in her eyes was any indication, his torment had only just begun. Her innocent passion tantalized him even as he doubted how much more he could endure.
    Yet he tried as his heart hammered savagely in his chest and his blood ran thick and hot. She was an artless temptress, delighted by her own boldness, glorying in his response. She explored him with light, flickering touches of her hands and mouth, with leisurely caresses and hungry kisses, with every part of her body and every inch of her warm, silken skin. Nor was she silent. Soft