Free Cowboy Heat by Delilah Devlin Page A

legs quivering with the effort to push the cowboy onto her mattress. Once she’d shouldered him up to sprawl belly-down over the saddle, she figured the toughest hurdle was crossed. But the well-muscled, dark-eyed man was heavier than she’d thought. She blew out a breath and yanked on the blanket she’d used to drag him into her cabin, releasing one edge to roll him onto the ticking.
    Her first sight of this handsome man at the waterfall sparked a plan. A woman who’d been held captive for a dozen years by Indians didn’t stand a chance at receiving a second look by a decent man. But this cowboy had shooed off those fools who wouldn’t know how to do anything but ogle her flesh. He’d honored her privacy and treated her with respect. He’d proven himself worthy.
    If she wasn’t so hellfire bent on having a man between her thighs, she might have felt a twinge of guilt about bashing himover the head. With quick moves, she stripped him of his boots and jeans and used rawhide thongs to tie his hands and feet to the bedposts. Only a few moments were spent on securing his horse in her lean-to outside, setting out a pan of grain and a bucket of water.
    Then she returned to the cabin to shed her dress and rub mint leaves over her body. Not like the French perfume her mama had used, but Meghan had adopted many of the Indian ways. A fact that probably kept her an outsider, even on this Colorado frontier.
    Two years had passed since an Army attack on Chief Rising Cloud’s tribe of Cheyenne released her from her capture. The soldiers had dumped her in the closest settlement of Ouray. Barely remembering how to speak English, she’d been at a disadvantage from the outset. Kindly church folks provided shelter and meals and refreshed her language skills. But after a few months, she’d relocated to an abandoned miner’s cabin to escape the distrust in the eyes of the townspeople, especially the women.
    Standing at the foot of the bed, she gazed upon the bulges and planes of Bo’s body. Dark hair contrasted with the skin of his calves and thighs—so different from the bare skin of the Indian brave, Bright Eagle, who’d claimed her as a wife. Curly hair on his groin cushioned the cock that lay broad and thick on his left thigh. As she watched, the shaft lengthened and rose away from his body. Amazing, even in his sleep.
    Her gaze snapped up to his face. His dark eyes glared from under scowling eyebrows.
    “What are you doing?”
    His raspy growl sent a shiver up her spine, and her nipples tightened into beads. Knowing he couldn’t fight his response to her nakedness, she felt emboldened. “Taking what I need.”To gain the most pleasure from an experience that may have to last her a long time, she started a slow caress of her own body. Trailing one hand over her belly and hips, she used the other to cup and mold her aching breasts. A sigh released through her lips, and she slid around to the far side of the bed.
    “This is wrong.” The muscles in his arms bunched as he struggled against the restraints.
    His words halted her movement, and she rested one knee on the bed frame. Wrong? This simple act could not compare. “Wrong was my kidnapping when I was a child. Wrong was stealing my innocence when I should have been stitching my first sampler. Wrong was taking away my—” Tears burned the backs of her eyes, and she sucked in a breath to combat the loss that had hardened a piece of her heart.
    Forcing a smile, she waved a hand at his erection that now stood stiff like the pole of a tepee. “Your interest is evident.” She slid beside his body, reveling in his heat. Her hands moved over taut skin, feeling the coiled strength of muscles that performed hard work. Hours in the saddle made strong thighs and rock-hard calves.
    “Can’t help my natural reaction.” His body tensed. “Don’t do this.”
    For a moment, her hand rested on his abdomen, feeling the bugles and valleys between each muscle. “Why not? I’ve been