1880, West Texas

Honey Cafferty lives a happy but precarious existence as a traveling saleswoman, searching for a sense of belonging. From her colorful wagon she brews decoctions to cure ennui, sleeplessness, hysteria—and after a visit from a mysterious Mexican curandera—she believes she’s found the way to improve a man’s libido. But how can she package her Elixir of Love without being run out on a rail from the nearest town for selling something that produces such carnal effects?

Sheriff Joe Tanner’s protective of his little town and downright hostile toward anyone who takes advantage of the fine folk in One-Mule, Texas. When sees the gypsy wagon roll into town, he’s ready to hurry the snake oil salesman on his way, but Honey isn’t what he expected. When the men of the town begin to plead exhaustion and place the blame for their state squarely on the pretty little blonde’s shoulders, he has to investigate.

Excerpt for Wild, Wild Women of the West **June 2007*** (A Taste of Honey):

Honey clung to Sheriff Tanner’s broad shoulders, afraid her knees would buckle if she let go. His kiss shocked her to her toes. His mouth devoured hers–hungry, openmouthed, drawing a deeply carnal response from her that had her trembling like a leaf in a breeze.

Ever since that first day when she’d entered his office to purchase her license, she’d imagined what his kiss would be like. When he’d looked up from the rough, deeply scratched desk with the latest telegraph messages and Wanted posters spread across the surface, he’d taken her breath away.

Even seated, she could tell he was a big man. Her gaze had followed his thickly muscled shoulders and neck to his large hands with their long, thick fingers, and she’d shivered at the thought of those hands gliding intimately over her flesh. Flustered by how quickly her thoughts had turned carnal in nature, she’d raised her glance.

The harsh, blunt angles of his jaw and nose had been strangely beautiful, well suited to his body. His dark eyes had glinted with interest for the barest moment, before he’d shuttered his expression and one dark brow had risen in a challenge that found an answer deep inside her core.

When her lips had opened to speak, his gaze had dipped and so had hers, until one side of his full lips had curved upward. He’d liked what he’d seen of her, and she’d thought…just maybe, she’d like to explore this attraction–to feel the pressure of his expressive mouth on hers.

In her romantic fantasies, she’d thought he’d gently mold her lips, slowly coaxing her to open for him before dipping inside to touch his tongue to hers. A gentleman’s sweet kiss.

Never would she have imagined the depth of passion he’d unleash. He’d appeared a self-possessed man, not one prone to losing his control.

But then again, she’d never dreamed she’d enter a shouting match with him. Never mind that his voice had remained even and his words clipped, and she’d done most of the shouting.

No wonder he’d lost his temper. It was all her fault. She’d driven the man to resort to kissing her to shut her up. Only once he’d accomplished his goal, he seemed in no hurry to stop.

Neither was she. She opened her mouth and accepted the thrust of his tongue, shivering as he invaded, moaning softly when he rimmed her teeth and the roof of her mouth and then stroked the length of her tongue in long, scorching laps as though he had to brand her, mark this territory as his own.

Lord, she wished he’d show the same possessive heat where the rest of her body was concerned. She strained against the strong hands that kept her from snuggling close. Her nipples grew tight, hard, and irritated by the soft cotton of her chemise, and the oddest quivering pulse began between her legs, swelling her outer feminine folds, moistening the thin inner lips, until she was squeezing her thighs together to relieve the ache.

She broke the kiss and opened her eyes.

His dark brown gaze was smoking-hot, searing. Did he think she’d draw away like a frightened virgin?

Well, literally, she still was, but that fact didn’t stop her from wanting more of his kisses and to press her body flush against his. If he was half as aroused as she was, she’d know the strength of his desire in the hardness of his cock and the fine tremors that would rack his body when she moved against him.

Could she tempt a man like this? Her pride had been wounded when he’d implied she was a whore. Had he meant it? Or was he just protecting himself from his own attraction? She wanted to know.

Not to throw his attraction back in his face because of her dented pride, but because he was the embodiment of her fantasies. Just once, she wanted to taste the desire of a decent man.

She bit her lip and watched, fascinated, as his gaze dropped to watch her mouth. Her tongue flicked out and wet her lips and his breath caught–she knew because his chest rose and lightly grazed hers. The sensation shocked her.

Slowly, she lifted on tiptoe to better align their faces, encouraged when he didn’t draw away. Yet he didn’t press closer either. How could she break his iron hold? She drew a ragged breath, felt the heat creep slowly over her cheeks, and trailed her fingertips up his inner thigh.

Copyright © 2006 Delilah Devlin. All Rights Reserved.