No doubt her many beaus were at a severe disadvantage. Most normal men wouldn’t stand a chance against her. Hawk, however, was not normal. In his decade as a Guardian, he’d faced down numerous murderers, traitors, and other villains. Surely he could avoid being conquered by a delicate-looking enchantress who was doing her best to get under his skin.
Hawk rolled over on his side, facing away from her, and shut his eyes, knowing it would be a long night. He would likely dream of Skye, although his erotic fantasies were better by far than the haunted, twisted dreams he’d had since returning to England.
For that reason alone, he was glad for his decision to share a bed with her again. The physical pain of unremitting arousal was a small price to pay for such welcome release from his memories.
Sometime during the night, they moved closer to each other. As dawn broke, Skye came slowly awake to feel Hawkhurst’s arm encircling her waist, his face very near to hers. For a long moment she lay there luxuriating in his warmth. When she opened her eyes, she found him watching her.
In turn, her gaze lingered on his beautifully chiseled features. The proud bones and angles were softer now; the contentment in his eyes unmistakable.
She relished that peaceful look. He was a man who had been in pain far too long. Alone, isolated, severed from any sort of pleasure in life. He wasn’t alone any longer, though, and it was time she made him realize it. They had comforted each other through the night, but she yearned for so much more.
The nearness of his mouth made her long to thread her fingers in his hair and pull him close enough to kiss her, but she settled for reaching out silently to brush his bare chest with her fingertips, feeling sleek skin over hard muscle.
His body tightened at that simple contact.
Not letting his instinctive resistance deter her, Skye eased closer and lowered her lips to press a tender kiss on his breastbone, near his heart. His hand rose to cup her shoulder, keeping her at a distance.
Her gaze dropped down his body to his flat, hard abdomen. Below the waistband of his drawers was an enormous bulge. She knew what that swelling meant.
“You are in pain.”
Her voice was raspy with sleep, and his was just as low and husky when he replied: “A natural response to sleeping with a beautiful woman.”
He wanted her, Skye thought with satisfaction. Although she doubted his desire was any greater than hers. “I am in pain as well. I am aching for you.”
Taking a shallow breath, she grasped the arm that was curved around her waist and drew his palm to her breast. “I know a remedy for our pain.”
Heat flared in his eyes, but he tamped it down. “It is not a remedy I can permit.”
“Would it really be so wicked if we were to make love again?” Skye asked softly. “We have already been intimate, so there should be no moral dilemma.”
His reply was drol
l. “You are overlooking the practical dilemma. At present we are waiting to learn if you conceived the first time. If not, I am not about to risk getting you with child.”
“But I know how to prevent conception.”
His eyebrow rose a fraction. “How would you?”
“My Aunt Isabella told me of an old courtesan’s trick. A woman can use sponges inside her passage to prevent a man’s seed from taking root inside her. Have you never heard of it?”
His mouth curved subtly. “Yes, I have heard of it. I just can’t believe Bella corrupted you so thoroughly.”
“She did not corrupt me. She wanted to educate me. Isabella believes women should have a modicum of power over men. Knowledge is power, in her opinion.”
Her aunt had outlasted three husbands and knew a thing or two about passion. After much begging, she’d shared her secrets of seduction so Skye could arm herself for the battle ahead. She’d wanted to learn how to make Hawkhurst love her.
“We needn’t have a full consummation, do we?”
Hawkhurst momentarily shut his eyes, as if striving for control. “We needn’t have any consummation at all.”
“I would never have expected you to be so craven,” Skye complained lightly. “You are afraid even to kiss me.”
At the charge of cowardice, irritation crossed his features—until he caught on that she was deliberately provoking him again. Then he laughed softly. Something he didn’t do often, she knew.
“Take care, sweetheart. You are playing with fire.”
“What if I am?”