Ah, nei mah-tao-yo ,” he whispered. “You tremble.” His…

““Ah, nei mah-tao-yo ,” he whispered. “You tremble.” His mouth continued its downward path, lips like silk nibbling her collarbone. Acutely aware that the generous neckline of her shirt provided little barrier against him, she abandoned her hold on his wrist and caught his face between her hands. Forcing his head up, she met his gaze, disconcerted even more by the longing she saw in his eyes. “You’re frightening me.” “It is boisa , this fear.” Beneath her shirt, his warm hand stilled on her ribs. “You are my woman.” “And that’s exactly why you frighten me. You can’t buy a woman.” She twisted to one side, wedging one arm against his larynx. She had no delusions. If he pressed the issue, her strength was no match. “Why can’t you understand that? A woman must come freely.” Lowering his hand to her waist, he leaned away from her, his dark eyes searching, thoughtful. “And when you come freely, you will have no fear?” “I--” She stared at him. “I suppose if I--not that I ever would, mind you--but if I came to you freely, then, no, I probably wouldn’t.” Loretta knew she was babbling. He looked confused, and she didn’t blame him. She broke off, and her gaze chased away from his. “It’s so completely unlikely that I--but if I did, I don’t suppose I would be afraid. I wouldn’t come if I were.” His arm relaxed around her. After studying her for what seemed an eternity, he said, “Then this Comanche will wait. Until the Great Ones lead you in a great circle back to him.””

— Catherine Anderson