The Renegade's Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

take her from me.
     
    Sally stepped back from the sensual assault Standing Bear was putting her mouth through, afraid if she gave in to him completely, she would lose all ability for thought and reason.
     
    "Please, wait. We need to talk about this. "
     
    She couldn't believe she was actually entertaining the notion of running off with a wild Arapaho Indian. Lord, she would probably be dead within a month, if not by the hand of his tribesmen, or a stray cavalry bullet, then from the weak, helpless state his carnal use would surely put her in.
     
    Not that that last part sounded so bad...
     
    "Come here. " Standing Bear knelt and poured icy water over her thighs with cupped hands. "I will wash you and then we will go. My companions--"
     
    His head jerked up at the sound of a distinctive bird call coming from deep within the forest. "We must hurry, " he said, and proceeded to cleanse her quickly but thoroughly.
     
    She blushed at the intimate caress of his fingers and shivered at the chilly water spilling over the sensitive area. But it felt so good, she sank to her knees, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Maybe there were other means to convince a man. One way or the other, she had to talk him into letting her go.
     
    She would be nobody's slave. Not in this lifetime. She'd seen enough slaves on the Virginia plantations surrounding her gramma's farm to know that was not what she wished from life. Her family had never believed in the horrible practice of owning other human beings. The war raging over this very issue was the reason she'd been forced to flee her Southern home.
     
    But she didn't want to leave Standing Bear without tasting him one last time.
     
    She parted her lips and teased him with her tongue until he made a strangled sound and opened to her. She led the kiss, showing him with her mouth how much she had savored his loving.
     
    The water swirled around them, the current rapid and cold. Sharp rocks jabbed into her knees, but she didn't care. She would miss this man with all her heart. If only he were white, one of the many single men on the wagon train heading for a new life out West, as she was. It was so unfair that the man she had given herself to, the man she found herself inexplicably drawn to, was forbidden to her. A man who would keep her as a slave.
     
    A second bird called out from the opposite side of the stream. Standing Bear broke the kiss, glancing around.
     
    "Get dressed, " he ordered abruptly and tugged her to her feet. "They are coming. "
     
    "Who?" she asked nervously, struggling to keep up with him as he strode up the bank.
     
    He cupped his hands to his mouth and the air was filled with the loud, shrill whistle of a third strange birdcall.
     
    "What was that for?" she said, plucking her clothes from the bush and feeling to see if they were dry. Satisfied they were, she slipped her camisole over her head.
     
    "I'm calling the others. " He'd pulled his leggings on, tucked in his loincloth, and was working on tying his chest plate. He eyed her.
     
    She glanced down. A mixture of embarrassment and illicit pleasure filled her at the sight of her own half-clothed body.
     
    There was something very sexy about standing in front of a man, her breasts covered in thin lawn but her curly intimate triangle exposed to his eyes. Standing Bear's reaction was powerful, immediately visible beneath the soft leather at his groin.
     
    With a choke, he turned determinedly and swiped up the knife from the ground, and the blanket as well. "Cover yourself. "
     
    Inordinately pleased, she nevertheless did as she was bid. She'd just finished fastening the top button of her dress when three Indian warriors galloped pell mell into the clearing, horses snorting and weapons flashing in the sun.
     
    They pulled to a stop, glanced at Standing Bear, then spurred toward her, circling her with rearing, outlandishly painted horses. Yelping war cries at the top of their lungs, they swung clubs