Free Wild Burn by Edie Harris

shifting impatiently, uncomfortable with her undeniable awareness of him. Unable to help herself, she reached forward and brushed the hair away from his forehead, and his sweat dampened her fingertips from where she accidentally touched his skin. She heard him suck in a breath at the unintentional caress, but he did nothing to stop her from combing the strands back with her fingers. His hair was thick and surprisingly soft, for all that it was a tangled mess after being under his hat all day, and she did it. She actually did what she wanted to do, with no worry of repercussion or threat to her safety.
    She fisted her hand in the dark mass, fingers clenched at the back of his head, trapping his big, powerful self with a single hand.
    And he moaned .
    Oh, God, he moaned, and she could feel the shudder that rippled down his spine, originating from where she held him still. Without thinking, she took a step toward him, until the tips of her breasts brushed against his chest. With his every sharp inhalation, his torso met and melded with hers, only to dance teasingly away when he exhaled again. Touch, and release. Touch, and release. They stood together in silence as it grew ever darker around them, or so it seemed, their eyes locked and searching.
    Then, so tentatively it made her want to growl and groan simultaneously, he settled one wide palm at the small of her back and pressed. Pressed her closer. Pressed her into him. His legs tangled in her skirts, pushing her narrow hoops back and away slightly, but it allowed their hips to meet, and the tiny hairs on her neck stood on end.
    He was aroused. Prominently aroused.
    She waited for fear to suffuse her. The last time she’d been this close to an erection had not been a good night for her, and in the end was the impetus for her departure from Boston. The vow she’d made to herself on the coach traveling to Denver—the vow to never let a man touch her thusly again—was as serious as the vow she’d once made to the Church. Yet here she was, five months later, and she found it as easy to shed that promise as she had her veil. Did that make her flighty? Shallow? She wanted to take herself to task for her fickleness, but this was too wonderful, too hot and too unrelentingly necessary to forsake this physical contact with him.
    Perhaps she trusted him after all.
    Delaney Crawford didn’t scare her. He didn’t scare her in the least. The only fear she felt was a simple one—where would this attraction take her? And would he come along for the ride?
    She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as her gaze flicked over his stark features. Sweaty, shadowed, browned by the sun and weathered by the elements. And still dripping blood from the gash next to his left eye, which also appeared to be quickly darkening with a nasty purple bruise. “Make a decision,” she whispered.
    He blinked. “What?” His hoarse voice carried a hint of confusion, having lost the thread of their quiet conversation.
    Knowing it was this, between them, that had his brain scrambled, she felt powerful. In control. It was a delicious sensation, and she had to fight a self-satisfied smile as she loosened her grip on his hair.
    Immediately, his other hand was there, manacling her wrist and holding her in place. “Don’t.” His fingers slid up to curve over hers, insisting they curl into his hair once more.
    Instead, she stroked her fingertips into the dip at the base of his skull, soothing him, softening him. “We can’t stay in front of the Ruby Saloon all night.” Any second now they were going to attract some unwanted attention, though Moira was beginning to wonder if she cared.
    Crawford did care, evidently, as his hands fell to his sides and he stepped away from her. “Apologies, Miss Tully. I… Thank you for offering to…to…”
    “Tend your wounds,” she filled in solicitously, her jaw clenched against the stricken tension that invaded her body the moment she lost his touch.
    “Tend my