As if she were Aric’s age, he pulled her sleeping bag up over her shoulders, tucked her in, and brushed her hair out of her face.

Without a word, he settled back into his own bag.

She closed her eyes, feeling the fabric warm around her.

As her muscles relaxed, she realized she wasn’t aching with unfulfilled arousal. Because she hadn’t wanted sex for her own pleasure, but because she felt as if she needed to thank him.

Old patterns of behavior could sneak right up on a girl, couldn’t they? She let out a sigh. “You’re right. Thank you, Hawk.”

“Never thought I’d be up for sainthood.” He huffed a laugh.

The man had no idea. Because he really was a saint.

And, huh, wasn’t it funny that now…now, she wanted him. That laugh, his scent, the way he’d tucked her in, his powerful hands so very gentle. Arousal simmered low in her belly.

No sex right now, but oh, she might see what happened when the moon rose.

A faint sound woke Hawk. Kit was sliding out of her sleeping bag. A latrine run, maybe? He waited, unmoving, eyes closed. Rather than unzipping the tent, she moved closer.

Her lips brushed his cheek. Tiny kisses covered his cheek, his jaw, then his mouth. Nibbles on his lips. A kiss—a serious fucking kiss that demanded participation—had his dick springing from a semi-chubby to a cat-couldn’t-scratch-it erection.

The light from the full moon lit the tent with a soft glow. Out of her sleeping bag, Kit knelt beside him with her hands on his shoulders.

Threading his fingers into her hair, he kept her still long enough to thoroughly plunder her mouth and—

What the fuck was he thinking? This was Kit.

He released her immediately.

She gave a husky laugh. “It’s okay. I thought you might react that way.” She kissed him again.

Mmm, he could do this all fucking night.

Although, yeah, one hand had already slid under her oversized T-shirt bunched up around her waist. Her skin was so damned smooth. Her breast fit in his hand just right—high and soft. The velvety nipple jutted into a hard peak under his fingers.

He’d learned how she liked to be touched. She wasn’t into pain, but firmness—definitely. When he found the right notes in the song of sex, he’d feel the tiny wiggle of her hips, hear how her breathing would pause.

She didn’t want to lead in bed, but she’d panic if he took over completely. That was fine. They’d find a good harmony.

He kissed and teased, feeding the flames, and grinned when she unzipped his sleeping bag, then pulled his shirt up and over his head.

Sliding a hand downward, he discovered her sweatpants were gone. He stroked over the warm curve of her hip. “Jesus, I like your ass.”