As she leaned forward, he tangled his fingers in her loose hair and gave a small tug to pull her down for a kiss.

Everything inside her tightened, froze, and her mind blanked. Fear swept through her. Her arms went stiff, bracing against his chest to keep him from—

“Whoa, eaglet. Breathe.” His open hands ran up and down her arms.

It took long moments for his voice to penetrate the fog of fear, to realize he wasn’t gripping her. Not at all.

She pulled in a breath, concentrating on what she smelled. The lingering aroma of cookies, Hawk’s clean masculine scent, the faint lavender and vanilla from the lotion she’d used earlier.

Under her palms was warm skin.

Outside, an owl hooted. A response came from farther away.

She was at the Hermitage, not in the compound. This was Hawk. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. Things’ll set you off.” Very slowly, he ran his hand through her hair again—carefully not pulling. “We’ll avoid them. Or work through them.”

He wasn’t upset. Relief swept through her. “What did you call me—eaglet?”

“Your hair’s like a golden eagle’s.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But eaglet. Isn’t that like a baby?”

“Young.” His lips twitched. “Short flights. Crash and burn landings.”

She started to laugh. “Like now.”

“Nah, you just clipped a wing.” He stroked his knuckles over her cheek. “Keep flying.”

After more kisses and under his slow, patient hands, she managed to get her robe off. Then the shirt of her pajamas.

And then she had another “crash and burn”. Somehow, that sounded so much less fraught than calling it a panic attack.

But look at me.

She was half-stripped. Even if she was shaking and panting. His voice anchored her in safety, brought her back.

And they went back to kissing.

“You’re going to go crazy with this forward and backward, and—”

“Woman, I got you sitting on me, kissing me. I’m more than good.”

His gruff no-shit response made her glow inside. Because she felt the same way.

Oh, sure, her body wanted more, throbbed for some action down below, but this was simply amazing.

So was he.

None of the PZs let a woman be on top. “I kind of like sitting on you.” She bent to kiss him. His lips were firm, yet velvety soft, and his beard was soft too.

“Good.” Under her lips, his mouth curved up. “One day, you’ll sit on my face.”

On his what? A shocked gasp escaped her, and then she was laughing. And kissing him. And laughing some more because his rough words had sent heat through her whole body.

Not tonight. But…

Swallowing hard, she sat up, took his hands, and set them on her breasts, and pressed him to her.

At the feel of his warm palms, she sucked in a breath, and every nerve under his hands came to life.