Fancy Turner knows it isn’t wise to hunger for the touch of the virile Comanche chief, Bull Elk. She should catch a husband from among the few men who returned to Texas after the Civil War. But tall, bronze Bull Elk, in his feathers and buckskin, is so handsome—and forbidden.

When Bull Elk charges onto the ranch one morning and catches Fancy up in his arms, he knows he risks the anger of his own braves and the fury of the long knives to have her. He’ll risk everything to twist her golden hair in his fist, to caress the pale swell of her breast as no man has before him. He’ll have Fancy as his wife even if he has to fight his own people to make it so.

Thrust into a world she doesn’t understand, Fancy expects Bull Elk to take her. But never in her darkest fantasies does she expect to enjoy it so much. Bull Elk’s touch is possession, his kiss a brand, and to her shock Fancy finds that the only future she wants is the one she imagines in his arms.

Copyright, Cerise DeLand 2013, All rights reserved.


The band rode on into the evening. Bull Elk led them at a trot, Fancy seated behind him, her arms around his chest, her wrists bound together with his rope. Every hour or so, they would stop for a few minutes to water and cool the horses. No one spoke. But Fancy could detect the sorrow for their dead friend, the brave who rode home, lashed to his horse. At dusk, Bull Elk called for them to rest beside the bank of a bubbling creek.

Bull Elk dismounted, unwound her ropes, then opened his arms to Fancy and let her fall into his embrace. He walked a ways away from his men into the cover of a thicket. There he set her down on a rock covered with moss, raised her hem and pointed to her swollen leg. Nodding, she knew how bad it was because it throbbed like the devil. Bull Elk pulled at her boot to no avail. Taking the knife he had used to stop her attacker, he sliced off the old leather. She groaned with delight at the release.

He pushed her backward, encouraging her to lie down. With a hand up, he told her not to move as he disappeared down the hill. She groaned, so happy to be off the jostling horse. Undulating on the warm surface, she put both her feet up on the stone.

Bull Elk was back within minutes, tearing huge swathes of cloth into strips with his bare hands. Dipping them into the rippling waters, he bathed her swollen foot and then wrapped it firmly in the cloth. The relief from pain was so wonderful Fancy drifted in a dreamy bliss. When he tried to lift her, she rebelled.

“No, no, please.” Her appeal meant nothing to him. He simply stared at her.

She rolled to one side and put her hand to her derriere and gave him an expression of pain. She wanted him to understand that she ached from riding his damn mustang with only a blanket under her poor abused flesh.

He nodded, rolled her over anyway and put both his big hands to her ass.

She gasped, wriggling away, but not getting very far.

He chuckled.

The cur.

She whirled to try to face him but the pain in her ankle knifed through her.

He yelled at her. “Stop that!”

She froze. Stunned that he spoke to her like that, she got hold of her tongue. If she angered him…

But she hadn’t.

He smiled, his deep brown crinkling in sympathy, as he pushed her fully to her stomach and kneaded her backside in the most astonishingly frank and appealing manner.

She gulped. This intimacy was outrageous. But oh, the feeling of his hands upon her aching ass had to be the most intoxicating sensation since she’d drunk her father’s moonshine last Christmas. Her eyes closed. Her blood raced. And her spirit soared. If she allowed him this, if she could experience this delight at his touch, what else might he show her?

Astonished at her outrageous thoughts, she opened her eyes wide.

If her exuberance was not appropriate, neither was her anticipation that he might give her more.


That swelling in my nether parts. That liquid that pooled there this afternoon when he gazed at me as if I were a morsel to nibble. The same kind of melting I experience whenever Wyatt or Cole MacRae spot me at church or at the dry goods store and tip their hats and I wonder…

Could Collette be right? I might die a wishy-washy prude who can’t enjoy my man. I’d hate that. Hate to take from a man and never give. Hate to think any man I wanted between my legs wouldn’t want to give me everything I might enjoy about loving him.

Sex, Collette had called it. She was the only one among the three sisters who knew what that meant. And if picky, persnickety Collette could like climbing into bed with a man and she called it wonderful, well, then so would she!

Fancy would like to have a man make this infernal ache go away. Collette said it did after a man put his prick inside and worked a woman good and proper. That if he did it right, then a woman broke apart, going all soft and tingly afterward. Fancy would love to have a man make her feel like that. Delicious and warm.

And from the sounds coming from Bull Elk’s mouth, he whispered how he might like that too.

She rolled over, out of his reach. He caught her by both wrists and held tight. His gaze was hot, lusty and wild. She did not mistake what he wanted from her.

Oh god. Would she die because she had denied him?

He wrapped an arm around her back, hauled her against him and with one hand holding her chin, kissed her as if she were glass and he were tempered bronze. His breath tasted of wild sage and rosemary. His lips pressed and molded, demanding she open her own to him. When she did, his tongue darted in. His strokes were languid, alluring. Her insides melted. Her pussy quivered and gushed with wet delight. Oh, heavens, where had he learned how to invade a woman like this? She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer. At once, she realized what she’d done and pushed at his chest. To no advantage. She tried to scoot back, but she slipped off the rock.

He caught her before she hit the ground and drew her up, up, up to him. Whispering Comanche words of comfort, he seized a length of her long hair, wound it around his wrist and pulled her against his chest. This time when his firm lips took hers, he sent endless ripples of excitement through her blood. He sought to taste all of her mouth, suck at both of her lips and tempt her to kiss him back. When she was so enraptured that she did, he tore away, gasped and spoke to her with fire burning in his gaze.

“Kiss me again, my Moon.”


Buy link HERE



What’s an East Coast gal to do to if she lives deep in the heart of Texas, travels often everywhere, and adores Paris, Florence, London, Tokyo and all points east and west?


She becomes an author who can write about those romantic places. With a passion for cowboys, spies, rakes, knights in shining armor and their gutsy women, Cerise DeLand is an author who adores an alpha male with a tender heart and a need for a smoldering erotic love affair with the right woman!

Cerise is a Top 20 Best Selling author on Amazon with more than three dozen works published in erotic romance, and she is the award-winning author of mystery, mainstream and romance with St. Martin’s Press, Pocket Books and Kensington. Her books are on numerous book clubs, including Featured Selections of The Mystery Guild, Doubleday and Rhapsody. And when she isn’t dreaming up fiction or traveling? Cerise is a fabulous cook and an avid history buff.

Busy lady. Happy writer.

Find her books at Ellora’s Cave, Resplendence Publishing, Wild Rose Press and Total-E-Bound!


Social / website links

Twitter @CeriseDeland


Web site:


Contest Information:

One winner will be chosen to pick an e-book from Cerise’s backlist. Just comment and fill out the rafflecopter below to win.

a Rafflecopter giveaway