Hawk's Way Grooms: Hawk's Way: The Virgin Groom. Joan Johnston

thundering so loud he figured she could probably hear it.

      She pressed her breasts against his chest and said, “I want you to make love to me.”

      His heart pounded, and his shaft pulsed. In another moment, things would be out of hand. His eyes had adapted to the dark, and with the moonlight from the window he at last could see the feelings etched on her face. Not desire, but fear and vulnerability.

      “I want to feel like a woman,” she said in a halting voice. “I want to stop being afraid.”

      He couldn’t keep the dismay from his voice. “Aw, Jewel.”

      A cry of despair issued from her throat, and she made a frantic lurch toward the edge of the bed and escape.

      He grabbed for her, knowing she had misinterpreted his words. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her. He wanted her something fierce. He just wasn’t the experienced bed partner she thought he was. He caught her by the wrist and pulled her back into his arms and held her tight, biting back a groan at the exquisite feel of her breasts crushed against his chest with only the sheer cloth between them.

      “It’s all right, Mac,” she said in a brittle voice. “I made a mistake. Let me go, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

      She held herself stiff and unyielding in his arms. “Jewel—”

      “Don’t try to make me feel better. I deserve to feel like an idiot, throwing myself at you like this. I just thought…with all your experience…”

      This time he did groan.

      She tried to pull away, and he said, “You don’t understand.”

      “I understand you don’t find me attractive. I’m sorry for forcing myself on you like this.”

      “No!” Tell her the truth, Macready. She’s your friend. She’ll understand.

      But the words stuck in his throat. If he hadn’t cared for her, if he didn’t want her so badly, if things hadn’t changed between them like they had, maybe he could have confessed the truth.

      “It’s not that I’m not attracted to you,” he said.

      He saw the look on her face and realized she didn’t believe him. How could she not see the truth when it was throbbing like mad beneath the thin sheet that separated them?

      “Then why won’t you make love to me?” she challenged.

      “Because…”

      He couldn’t tell her the truth, and he saw she believed the worst—that she had imposed herself where she wasn’t wanted, and he was rejecting her as kindly as he could.

      “Aw, Jewel,” he said again. His voice was tender, as gentle as he wished he could be with her.

      She made a keening sound in her throat, a mournful sound that made him ache somewhere deep inside.

      He realized he had no choice. He had to try to make love to her. He couldn’t botch things much worse than he already had. He leaned over and pressed his mouth against hers, restraining the rush of passion he felt at the touch of her soft, damp lips.

      She moaned and arched her body against his. Her mouth clung to his, and he felt her need and her desire.

      Maybe it’s going to be all right. Maybe I can get us both through this.

      He tried to hold back, so he wouldn’t scare her. Yet when his tongue slipped into her mouth it found an eager welcome. He thrust deep, mimicking the sex act, and she riposted with her tongue in his mouth.

      He thought the top of his head was going to come off. He had never felt so out of control. His hands slid down her arms, feeling the goose bumps and her shiver of anticipation. She was as excited as he was. She wanted him, too.

      His lips started down her slender throat, across the silky flesh that led to her breastbone and downward, giving her plenty of warning where he was headed. She could have stopped him anytime she wanted. He wasn’t an animal. He had his desire on a firm leash.

      She cried out when his mouth latched onto her nipple, and he sucked hard through the cotton. Mac knew it wasn’t a cry of fear, because her hands grasped his hair and held him there.

      Her moan of pleasure urged him on. He released her breast momentarily and kissed her mouth again, an accolade for her trust in him. “I won’t hurt you, Jewel. I would never hurt you,” he murmured against her lips.

      “I know, Mac. I know,” she replied in gasping breaths.

      Their tongues dueled dangerously, inciting them both to greater passion. He clasped her shoulders, making himself go slow, telling himself Go Slow. He slid his hand across the damp cotton that covered her breasts all the way down to her belly, wishing the damned nightgown wasn’t between his palm and her flesh, but feeling the heat of her even through the thin shift.

      He grabbed the bottom edge of it, anxious to get it out of his way, and brushed her thigh with his fingertips. Just her thigh. She tensed slightly but didn’t pull away. He managed not to heave a sigh of relief.

      It’s going to be all right. I’ll be able to do this for her.

      But he was overeager and excited, worried about whether he would be able to satisfy her, and a moment later his hand accidentally brushed against the soft mound between her legs.

      She jerked away from him with a cry of alarm. But he still had hold of the nightgown, and the fragile material tore. He let go, but it was too late. She was already rolled up in a tight, fetal ball with her back to him.

      “Jewel—”

      “I can’t!” she cried. “I can’t.”

      He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she cringed away.

      “Please don’t touch me,” she whispered.

      He lay staring at her in shock. He should have known better than to try this. He should have known he didn’t have the experience to do it right. “What can I do?”

      She turned to him, her eyes awash in despair. “I’m sorry, Mac.”

      “Aw, Jewel.”

      “I thought it would be all right. Because it was you,” she sobbed. “Because you’re my friend.”

      He would have to confess the truth. He owed her that much. “It isn’t you, Jewel, it’s me,” he said flatly.

      “You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she said.

      “No. I’m not.” He forced himself to continue as she stared up at him. “You mustn’t be discouraged by what happened here tonight. I’m sure another man, a more experienced man, could have managed things better. I lost control and frightened you.”

      “But I trust you,” she protested.

      “All the more reason I should have kept my hands off of you.” He huffed out a breath of air and shoved a hand through his hair in agitation.

      “When you find a man you love,” he said earnestly, “a man who loves you enough to take his time and do things right, I’m sure you’ll be able to get past what happened to you.”

      She sat up slowly, her chin sunk to her chest, her hands knotted in front of her knees, which were clutched to her chest. She swallowed hard. “What you’re saying is that you’re not that man.”

      “No. I’m not.”

      “I see.”

      Evidently not. Evidently he hadn’t hinted broadly enough at his inexperience for her to realize the truth.

      Now it was too late. In the heat of the moment he might have confessed his virginity. But as his passion cooled, he felt appalled at how close he had come to exposing himself to her laughter.

      And she would laugh. It would be gentle laughter, kind laughter,