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

her hand in his. It was dwarfed by his large hand, his long, blunt fingers and rough palm, and somehow made her feel more helpless than anything he had yet done. There was an odd expression on his austere face, a faint shifting of facial muscles that gave the impression he was remembering something or someone else. Perhaps it was the way he held her hand, cradling it gently in his broad palm as if he held a small, live creature. He began to stroke the heel of her palm in light touches, tracing along her slender fingers in feathery caresses that made Deborah catch her breath. She felt oddly drawn to him, although he was a Comanche, and he would very likely force her to do things she’d never dreamed existed until recently.
    Yet, somehow, she didn’t mind.
    He looked up at her, his gaze riveted on her face. What he saw there must have prompted him to action, because he took her hand and drew it to his face. She was trembling. Her fingers shook as he touched the tips to his mouth, and there was a soft huskiness in his voice.
    “Tuupe.” He dragged her fingertips over his mouth and repeated,
    “Tuupe.”
    “Tuupe.” Her voice shook slightly. “Mouth— tuupe .” He watched her as he slid her fingers up his face. “Koobe.” He raked her hand over his face. He was warm, his skin rough and soft at the same time.
    “Koobe,” she whispered. “Face.”
    “Pui.” He touched her hand to his eye. Ka-ibuhu was his eyebrow, puitusii his eyelashes. Muubi, his nose. He gave her a lesson in Comanche anatomy, and Deborah forgot to be afraid.
    Until he sat back on his heels, his eyes holding her smiling gaze, and reached out to put his hand on her breast.
    “Pitsii.”
    Paralyzed, Deborah could not force the echo past her lips. His palm felt suddenly too hot against her skin, and he caressed her breast while he watched her. When she sucked in a deep breath, the motion pushed her breast into his palm, and she saw the starburst of reaction in his eyes. There was a quick flare, like a shooting star, then his lashes lowered to hide his eyes.
    Quivering, Deborah felt trapped. The lowering sun took with it the warmth of earlier, and there was a loud, piercing cry overhead that drew Tosa Nakaai’s attention. He glanced up, then sat back on his heels.
    “Tosa Nakaai,” he said softly, and pointed.
    Deborah looked up and saw a huge hawk circling gracefully overhead.
    Its wings were outspread, and it seemed to just glide on the wind currents, almost as if suspended. The setting sun gilded the wingtips with lucid light.

    There was a lethal beauty to it that left her admiring and frightened at the same time, and she realized suddenly that this man had the same effect as the bird for which he had been named.
    “Tosa Nakaai,” she whispered, startling him. “Hawk. We call that a hawk in English. They’re lovely. And deadly, just like you are. Hawk. The name fits you. You’re a predator, just as that bird of prey is a predator, and I’m afraid of you.” He was looking at her coldly, and Deborah tried to speak but couldn’t.
    There was no anger in his eyes, but she was suddenly afraid she had said too much. Maybe he understood her tone, and she had somehow betrayed her fear and inexplicable longing. It was not a combination of emotions that would leave any woman comfortable, and the fact that she was this Comanche’s captive did not help.
    Tosa Nakaai—Hawk—looked away from her. His profile was etched against the fading light like a cameo, pristine, pure, sharply defined. Shining black hair framed his face. The single braid and dangling feather brushed the muscled curve of his shoulder when he finally turned back to face her, and Deborah was startled by his frustrated expression.
    “Kekunabeniitu,” he said in a growl that left her in no doubt that she’d somehow touched a nerve. He rose in a fluid motion that made her cringe back toward the rough trunk of the pine tree.
    He bent, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her to her feet