Read Online Comanche Moon by Virginia Brown - Free Book Online Page A

pine trees shading them. That brief hint that he might be human was heartening, though not very comforting.
    Tosa Nakaai knelt down beside her, and she felt his gaze burning into her. She felt unclothed without the armor of her undergarments, and briefly regretted their loss as much as she had recently enjoyed her new freedom. It felt as if he could see through the thin material covering her, and she resisted the impulse to rearrange her clothing.
    Deborah tried not to look at him, but the pull of his eyes finally drew her reluctant gaze. They were so blue, so cold and yet so warm, with the fire she’d seen before lighting them with a need so strong she almost felt it. Deborah swallowed her dismay. He seemed to sense her response, a quick flutter of her pulses when she met his eyes that she couldn’t explain.
    “Please,” she whispered when he reached out to touch her, one finger stroking along the sweep of her jaw, “don’t do this.” Ridiculous, of course, to bother pleading with him. Even if he could understand her, he would do what his nature dictated. He was a Comanche, and they were savages, were they not? She’d heard tales, but had not believed how true they were until lately.
    And now—now, the Comanche who’d bought her was stroking her face. His features were taut with purpose, his voice soft and raspy.
    “Keta? nu kuya?a-ku-tu.” His dark head slowly bent, and he kissed her above the bronze curve of his hand. His mouth was warm, soft, and she shook with reaction. When his lips grazed her own, barely brushing over them in a whisper as light as the touch of the wind, Deborah closed her eyes.
    He murmured something and tilted her head back. She opened her eyes to look at him.
    “Muhraipu,” he said softly. “Muhraipu.” Deborah stared at him. He wanted something; she saw the expectation in his eyes.
    “I don’t know what you want,” she began, but his fingers tightened slightly, not painfully, and he gave her head a slight shake.
    “Muhraipu.” He kissed her again, more firmly this time, his mouth lingering over her lips before he drew back. His voice was a husky whisper.
    “Muhraipu.”
    Deborah was shaking, but she thought she understood. “Kiss? Is that what you’re saying? Muhraipu. Kiss.” He smiled, a faint curving of his hard mouth that held a hint of good humor. “Haa. Muhraipu. Kiss.” His hand drifted down to cup her chin in his palm, and Deborah felt the subtle shift of his muscles as he leaned forward again, was not surprised when his other hand moved behind her to cradle her head. This kiss was different from the others; there was no driving passion, or hesitancy, but a gentleness that amazed her. So, this hard-faced savage with hostile eyes and harsh manners could be tender when he wished to be. It was a startling revelation to her.
    Deborah did not try to avoid his kiss, but she did not participate. Rather, she allowed him to tease her mouth with his tongue and lips, testing the limits of her endurance as if he knew how he made her pulse race. Surely, he couldn’t tell. Surely, this man could not sense that his touch destroyed many of her preconceptions about him. If he could be this tender, this kind, then perhaps he could not be the rough, fierce captor she’d thought him until now. And perhaps he would not make her ease that driving hunger that vibrated just below his surface.
    He broke off the kiss abruptly, his brick-brown chest moving in a brisk tempo as he stared at her, and Deborah saw the male hunger in his eyes again.
    Despite his gentleness, there was still that to contend with, that masculine need that stood between them as palpably as if it was carved in rock. She swallowed her dismay, her faint protest, and knew that it would do no good to protest against a force as strong as the desire of a man to mate with a woman.

    A drift of wind lifted a curl of her hair from her forehead so that it teased her nose, and she brushed it away. Tosa Nakaai watched, then took