The Heart Breaker (21 page)

She glanced at his bed, the one he had shared with his beloved wife.

“Not here,” Sloan added in a low voice. “I don’t want to wake Janna.”

Heather disbelieved his explanation, but let it pass. She wanted him, wanted to comfort him and offer him something soft and gentle. She wanted to heal him.

Healing did not seem to be on Sloan’s mind as he led her to her bedchamber. He left the door partially open behind them as she turned to face him.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered quietly.

The room was dark but for the moonglow spilling through the open curtains. He didn’t light a lamp, but instead stood silent as she undressed, his features cast in a mix of silver light and black shadow, his expression hard and sensual as he watched her. Heather felt the rise of heat inside her,
a coiling tension, a need so palpable it throbbed and pulsed with a life of its own.

He said not a word until her bodice and skirt fell to the floor. “Now the rest.”

With fumbling fingers she obeyed. When finally she stood naked before him, Sloan drank in his fill of her. He could feel the reckless hunger begin, slow and insidious, his loins growing heavy with desire.

She was a woman, lush and full, her body white and wanton, her skin smooth and flawless in the moonlight. Yet even nude she maintained that aura of elegance, of poise. He wanted her for that cool composure, wanted to shatter it with passion. He wanted her all soft and melted beneath him as he took her. He wanted to see wonder and blind pleasure in her eyes.

“Come here, duchess,” he murmured, “and take off my shirt.”

She hesitated only a moment before moving toward him, as if drawn by an invisible force, the same inexorable force that was driving him. She drew off his leather vest first, then his shirt and undershirt. Then she raised her face to his.

“Taste me…” he muttered thickly.

She came willingly into his arms. His fingers threading through her moon-silvered hair, he took her mouth, needing her taste, her touch. He craved the silky softness of her body. He wanted to stroke her, get her wet, make her want him. He wanted to set her afire, until she turned hot and wild in his arms, until she burned, until she couldn’t bear the fierce arousal any longer.

Deliberately clamping down on his male urges, Sloan pulled back. Her lips were wet from his kiss, her eyes dazed. Without giving her chance to protest, he lifted her in his arms and laid her on the
bed. Shadows danced across the tumbled sheets, caressing her lovely body. His breath came hard and heavy with the need to cover her with his own body. He could imagine himself thrusting inside her, could almost feel her tight, wet heat.

Desire knifed through him, but he held back, settling beside her on the mattress instead.

His thumb brushed across her nipples that budded hard and tight, reminding her of the pleasure he could give her. When she drew a sharp breath, he slowed his assault even more, caressing this time.

Heat flared inside her as his dark hands played over her white skin, his calloused thumbs teasing and tormenting by turns. Then he lowered his head to her breast, and Heather whimpered. When he sucked strongly, she shuddered at the blatant carnality of it, helpless with desire.

His lips moved relentlessly over her body. He was gentle but he wasn’t loving. His exploration was slow and ruthlessly thorough, his hot mouth raising chills wherever it grazed. Shameful pleasure flared wherever he touched her. She felt his mark everywhere. Only the shredded remains of her pride kept her from crying out in wild delight.

“Sloan…” Her back arched, her body begging for his conquest. It was unlike anything she had experienced, this feeling of intense excitement that grew like a whirling flame inside her.

When he lifted his head, his hard eyes were filled with masculine satisfaction, and there was a ghost of a smile on his mouth… that incredibly sensuous, beautifully carved mouth.

Shifting his body, he parted her thighs so that her slick, swollen folds were completely exposed to his gaze. When she felt his hot breath on her, she moaned, her body trying to twist away.

“Be still. I want to enjoy you.”

Kneeling, he lifted her legs onto his shoulders. Scandalized, Heather went rigid.

When his cheek brushed the inside of her thigh, her breath suddenly ceased. Then she felt the silken probe of his tongue parting her, and a strangled pleading sounded deep in her throat.

“No … don’t…” Yet she wanted him to kiss her there; her body was craving it, begging for it.

As if he understood her need, his hard hands cupped her soft, rounded cheeks, and he bent his mouth to her, his tongue dipping and circling.

A choked sob tore from her throat. “Oh, God, please … Sloan…” She was dimly appalled to realize she was begging.

He kissed her as though he were kissing her mouth, while her hips restlessly strained against the velvet torment. Heather quivered at the feel as his dazzling mouth branded her with his caresses. She couldn’t stand the fiery throbbing.

Desperately she dug her fingers into the tawny pelt of his hair. His hot, open mouth sank deeper and she cried out as he buried his face between her thighs.

His tongue savored her sweetness in long, hot strokes, probing, lapping, suckling. His mouth devoured her, taking her ever closer to the forbidden, throbbing pleasure he promised her, dredging another broken sob from deep within her as he held her surging hips down with his hands.

“Let it go, sweetheart.”

Her body aflame, she surrendered to his demands, yielding, exploding with a scream of pleasure. He drew back slowly, leaving her weak and trembling. With a final kiss to her dewy, throbbing center, he lifted his head.

Heather lay panting in shock, her tongue wetting
her dry lips, while Sloan shifted his weight to unbuckle his belt and free his erection.

Heather couldn’t find the energy to move … not until he eased between her thighs and positioned the thick head of his shaft at the entrance of her womanhood … not until his hard, hot sex slowly glided into her.

Another tremor shook her and Sloan bent to kiss her high brow beneath her wild hair, feeling her ripple and contract in latent ecstasy. One hard thrust and she would be twisting beneath him again, panting and mindless.

“Look at me, duchess.”

She obeyed. The expression in his eyes was suddenly shockingly intense; she felt she might melt from the blistering heat, from his smoldering sensuality. His face was so rigid he looked brutal. He sank in hard, filling her, his teeth clenched against the fierce storm that was sweeping them in its wake.

Suddenly he couldn’t hold back, and neither could she. Her body craving his heat and strength, she moved against him, with him, caught up in a spiraling hunger and desire that was out of control.

There was no tenderness. It was a savage reckless coupling, one of incredible urgency. There was a wildness about him as he drove hard into her fully aroused body. He made her shake inside as he hurtled her to the heavens. She clawed at his back, her cries melding with his raw moans as the violent, shattering release found them both.

The liquid tremors went on and on and on. In the harsh aftermath she lay struggling for breath in his arms. She could smell the hot musk of his arousal, feel the warm wetness of tears on her cheeks from the tumultuous force of their lovemaking.

When finally he raised his head to gaze down at her, Heather averted her face, unable to meet his gaze. More disturbing than the heat and intensity of those ice-blue eyes was the aching knowledge deep in her heart.

She could love this man, this moody, powerful man with his hard eyes and tender hands. But love was no part of their bargain. She would have to settle for hot, blinding pleasure, for that was all Sloan would give her.

He woke slowly, his body alive with desire. The bedroom was bright and warm with sunrise. Still sleeping, Heather was curled into the curve of his thighs, her warm, soft fanny pressed against his groin, making his morning erection that much harder.

He pressed his mouth against the pale mass of her burnished hair, his lungs filled with the rich, tormenting scent. His hand stole beneath the covers to cup a lush bare breast. A sensual sigh escaped her lips as she stirred, but she didn’t awaken.

Fierce impatience seized him. He was hard and ready for her. His blood surging thick and hot, Sloan caught her hips and eased between her thighs from behind, pushing inside her before she’d managed to come fully awake. She moaned helplessly and arched her back.

Driven by a savage, nameless hunger, he found his pleasure and took Heather along for the wild ride.

It was long moments later before she roused from the incredible dream she’d been having, feeling limp as if drugged, her limbs heavy, her body replete. Sloan was at her back. She lay unmoving, savoring his heat, the incredible lean toughness of
his body, the work-hardened hands that were still stroking her skin.

“Morning.” His early-morning voice was dark and rough as he whispered in her ear.

Her eyes opened slowly as awareness returned. Heather flushed, remembering the carnal excesses of last night. He’d made love to her over and over again, and each time the pleasure had intensified. Her own behavior was shameful. She’d rutted, lain beneath Sloan and begged him. And this morning, she’d let him....

She glanced in puzzlement at the bright sunshine streaming in the window. “It’s daylight.”

“So it is.”

She turned over to face him. Sloan felt his breath catch at her beauty. She looked soft and sleep-rumpled and sensual enough to eat.

“It’s late… Shouldn’t you be leaving for the range?”

He shrugged. “The boys won’t wait for me. I told them I’d be up at the house all day.”

“All day?” She flushed again. “They’ll know what… we … you …”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe they will. And they’ll likely be jealous as hell.”

Heather pulled the sheet over her breasts, a gesture that struck him as sweetly incongruous, considering everything they had done last night. He’d explored and savored every secret of her body, some more than once.

“There’s no need to be so modest, duchess.” Sloan caught her hand and turned her palm against his cheek, warm and beard-rough. “You’re my wife. You’ve committed no crime. It’s just sex.”

She turned her face away. She didn’t want him
to deny he’d felt all the things she had in their mating.

She rose from the bed and drew on a wrapper to fend off the morning chill. Catching a glance of her wanton image in the mirror, Heather sat at the small dressing table and picked up a brush in order to bring some semblance of order to her wild hair.

Sloan spoke lazily from the bed. “There’s no need for you to get dressed yet. We won’t be finished for a while.”

She glanced at the bed to find him watching her, his hands laced behind his head, the pale sheets barely covering his narrow hips. Her pulse leapt at the sight. He looked like a ruffian, his tawny hair tousled, jaw hardened by darker stubble—thoroughly disreputable and oh so sexually compelling. As tender as she felt in certain parts of her body, Heather could still feel herself growing warm and liquid as she looked at him. “But Janna … the chores.”

“The chores can wait. And I’ll take care of Janna when she wakes.”

“Sloan … it’s broad daylight,” she protested, half in dismay at his insatiable hunger, half at her own unassuaged arousal.

The tension suddenly returned between them.

“What if it is? I warned you before we married, I’m a man of great carnal need. You agreed to give me your body whenever and wherever I want you. You backing out on our bargain, duchess?”

Their gazes locked and warred, hers cool, his burning with intensity. “No, not at all.”

“Then take off your robe. I want to see you.”

His hard, raspy, early-morning voice was sensual enough to make her shiver, for it brought to mind the rawly sexual things he had murmured in her ear throughout the dark hours of the night.

Heather briefly shut her eyes. She was not about to back down, but there was only one way she could keep her composure—by pretending Sloan wasn’t watching her so brazenly, by acting as if they had never made love with frantic, explosive need.

Keeping her back rigid, she unfastened the clasps of her wrapper and let it fall off her shoulders. Then, squaring her shoulders, she faced him proudly, challenging him with her eyes.

He didn’t smile as he gave her a thorough inspection, with acutely masculine appraisal. She could feel his gaze like a tangible caress, drifting insolently over her breasts, her bare thighs, the pale curls between… Trying to quell the excitement flaring low in her belly, she resumed her brushing, determined not to lose this war of wills between them.

Sloan watched her as she drew the bristles through the long, glorious tresses. She was achingly beautiful, and as proud and regal as any queen.

“You look as untouchable as an ice princess,” he observed casually. “Seeing you now would dare any man to try melting you.”

“I feel like ice,” Heather retorted, ignoring his provocation. “The air in this room is chilly. No one in his right mind would sit naked like this.”

“That depends on how you were raised, I reckon. Doe never wore a wrapper, or a nightdress,” Sloan observed thoughtfully. “The Cheyenne are unashamed of their bodies, of sex.”

It stung her, his casual reference to his beloved wife. “I fail to see how it does either of us any good to make comparisons.”

It did
him
good. It made him remember where his loyalties lay. “The Cheyenne don’t wear corsets or drawers either. Maybe in the coldest weather
they might wear buckskin leggings under their dresses, but that’s all.”

Heather turned to meet his gaze directly. “I was brought up differently—but I am not in competition with your first wife. Indeed, I’m certain no woman could ever measure up, so I won’t presume to try.”

He smiled and some of the chill was back between them. “No, you’re nothing like Doe. She was a proper wife.”

“Proper?”

“Accommodating and obedient. An obedient wife doesn’t hide her body from her husband. She would keep herself ready and waiting for him any time he wants her.”