The Heart Breaker (10 page)

Sloan came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes were clear and huge, her mouth soft and vulnerable. He cursed silently. He’d spent half the night dreaming about that mouth, that softness. He clenched his teeth at the heavy surge in his loins. He could simply take her, with no emotion, no tenderness, no passion. A brief, impersonal coupling, all business. Or he could make her first time good for her.

Damn, but he really had no choice. He didn’t want to hurt Heather. Didn’t want her to fear him.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he murmured, his voice hoarser than he liked.

He stood very still, letting her take in every detail of his body, giving her time to grow accustomed to the prospect of nudity between them, aware that she was getting her first eyeful of a naked man. And he was a highly sexed man at that. Desire pulsed in his groin with a sweet, almost unendurable ache, yet he tried to repress it. He would have to go slow with her. He couldn’t treat Duchess Ashford like a saloon whore. She was nothing like the experienced women he used to enjoy before his first marriage. She was nothing like the women of the Cheyenne, who found great pleasure in open, uninhibited sex, mating like wild animals.

Only when her look of alarm faded did he stir a muscle. Then silently Sloan drew down the brocade coverlet to expose ivory satin sheets. Then, without a word, he took her hand and led her to the bed.

She moved stiffly, and he could feel the tension in her slender fingers as she followed hesitantly. Yet she made no protest as he held the sheet for her to climb into bed.

Sliding in after her, Sloan untied the near sash of the bed hangings and let the curtain fall, enveloping
them in semidarkness. When he turned on his side, he could see the soft gold-red glow of her skin cast by the crimson brocade. She lay watching him, clutching the sheet to her breasts, her eyes wide, bottomless pools.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you, duchess?”

“Perhaps … just a little.”

“There’s no need to be. You were right. I’m not the sort to hurt women.”

“Not intentionally, I suppose.”

An unconsciously tender smile touched his mouth. “I promise, I’m not going to do anything you don’t ask me for. Now why don’t you relax and roll over.”

“What?”

“Turn over. Give me your back.”

She stared at him a moment, then warily did as she was bid. His arms came around her, drawing her close, into the warm curve of his body. Heather caught her breath at the stunning contact. She could feel Sloan’s muscled body at her back, sleek and hard. Could feel his heat, his heartbeat.

He held her that way for a long while, cradling her, silent in the darkness. Heather remained rigid, flinching when his hand moved ever so slowly beneath the sheet to cover her bare midriff.

“Does this hurt?”

“N-No.”

She remained tense under his hand as he began to caress her skin. He pressed closer to nuzzle the nape of her neck. “What about this?”

“No.”

His hand slid upward to cup her breast. “And this?”

She could feel her nipple throb against his palm. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Good. I don’t want it to hurt. I want it to feel good.”

He stroked her for a long time, until finally she started to relax. When he touched her shoulder, urging her onto her back, she obeyed helplessly, making no protest even when he drew the sheet down to bare her body.

Heather held her breath as he bent over her, as his lips found the soft underside of her throat. But when he moved lower to close his mouth over a tightly budded nipple, she gasped and clutched at his shoulders.

“I want you to see,” he murmured against the fullness of her breast, “just how much pleasure your body can give you.”

She was beginning to understand. She could scarcely bear the incredible sensations streaking through her at the feel of his hard, hot, arousing mouth softly sucking. She shifted restlessly at the vibrant heat that burned inside her. Never before had she realized how sensitive her woman’s breasts were. Never before had she felt this fierce, pulsing ache, deep in the pit of her stomach.

He drew back, his eyes touching her more intimately than his hands and mouth had done. She’d been wrong about his lack of emotion. It was there, fiery and intense, not so much banked as carefully hidden. His raw sensuality was a potent force. Yet there was gentleness in him after all. His hands were tender, delicate … deliberate, as they stroked her with skillful rhythm. The welcome warmth he was arousing in her began to blur the edges of her fear.

Her gaze locked with his as his mesmerizing caresses moved lower. Then slowly his fingers brushed the golden curls crowning her thighs. Her body shivered in a silken tremor.

He smiled as her frown reflected her need and confusion. Gently he parted her thighs. “Open for me, sweetheart…”

With his fingers he caressed her, stroking her to quiescence, till he felt her soft folds grow moist and slick, till her embarrassment gave way to a vibrating, throbbing sensation that grew and built.

When he settled his body between her parted thighs, though, Heather went rigid again.

“Easy now, easy…” He whispered gentle, calming words until she warmed and softened against him. All the while his manhood pulsed between her legs. He remained unmoving, letting her become accustomed to the feel of his rigid arousal, allowing her to respond at her own pace.

Heather quivered as the heat and power of his naked chest pressed down on her, his flesh smooth and hot. She wanted to escape the threat he posed, yet something deep and primal pulled her to him. Her woman’s body craved the maleness of him, his hard heaviness. Closing her eyes, she strained upward shamelessly, seeking his heat.

Sloan gritted his teeth, fighting the heavy throbbing sensation of his flesh. It had been so very long since he had touched a woman. Forcing himself to go slowly, he lowered his weight and arched his hips, pressing himself into her. Sweet Christ, she was tight.

Her eyes flew wide.

He saw the pain and panic in them, but he thrust inexorably, smothering her gasp of surprise with a deep kiss as he sheathed himself in her body. Then he held himself completely still, waiting for the pain to dissipate, waiting for her to feel the pleasure of a man’s fullness stretching her.

Her breath was coming in shallow pants, yet
gradually it slowed, while her rigid body relaxed somewhat.

“All right?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes,” Heather whispered, amazed that she could say so.

He was staring down at her, his eyes intensely blue, burning and tender.

She shifted her hips tentatively and saw him flinch. “I … don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

She did so tentatively.

“That’s right, honey, let me feel you move.” He arched over her, probing deep.

Heather moaned, clutching at him. The pain was gone now, leaving nothing but a dark, secret pleasure. He was taking her someplace she’d never been before, somewhere brilliant and terrifying.

“Don’t fight it,” he said in her ear as she arched against him. “Let it happen.”

Heather whimpered, colors and blinding light blurring before her eyes. It was like being swept up in a storm, unable to do anything but go along for the ride.

The first tiny convulsions swelled to shafts of fire. She strained against him, burning, pulsating, spinning away into a netherworld of shooting flames.

Her writhing frenzy nearly shattered Sloan’s tenuous control. He clenched his teeth at the powerful hunger streaking through him, while her frantic cries filled the air. When the woman beneath him splintered into ecstasy, he groaned with a savage need held barely in check. At the rhythmic clenching of her loins, desire shot through his groin, white-hot and explosive.

Unable to restrain his agonized arousal any longer, he surged into her, deep into the tight, wet
welcoming of her body. With a final groan, he thrust into her fiercely one last time, before shuddering and collapsing against her, his body pulsing inside hers.

For a long moment, while his ragged breathing slowed, he held her trembling form. Shutting his eyes, he inhaled her scent, silently cursing her for her desirability. Then he rolled away to lie on his back, staring up at the crimson canopy overhead.

The desire that had blazed between them had caught him off guard. Blood still surged thick and hot through his veins, while guilt knotted his chest.

He hadn’t once thought about his wife. When he closed his eyes now, he saw a ghost with dark liquid eyes and raven silk hair.
Forgive me, Doe.

Forcing his eyes open, he turned his head on the pillow, to face his new bride. She was watching him, her eyes large and questioning.

“Was that… usual?” Heather asked quietly.

“Usual?”

“That powerful…”

She couldn’t seem to find the words to describe the explosive fire that had ignited between them. Sloan shrugged, not wanting to acknowledge how unusual it had been.

“Did I do something wrong?” Her voice was soft, uncertain.

He cursed silently. What was
wrong
was him wanting this woman so much. He was grateful the shadows covered his reaction to her. “No. You did nothing wrong.”

“But I disappointed you.”

Disappointed him? Startled was a better word. The searing pleasure of their first joining had shocked him.

Sloan shook his head. There was a clear explanation for the passion that had ripped through him.
What he’d felt for Heather was carnal desire, plain and simple. A slaking of lust for a man who’d gone without for too long. Purely a physical reaction, nothing spiritual. It hadn’t touched his soul. There’d been none of the tender joy, none of the overwhelming love that had filled his heart when he’d made Doe his wife.

“You surprised me, that’s all. Ladies aren’t supposed to feel such pleasure.”

Her smile was soft, tentative. “But then, you are a great expert with ladies, I understand.”

Sloan felt a fresh stirring of desire and a dangerous tenderness. Damn, but he needed to get out of here before he lost his head and crawled back between her legs and spent the night ravishing her body.

“I guess you aren’t as cold and untouchable as you look,” he muttered. Sitting up, he pushed open the bed curtain and swung his legs over the side, giving her his back. “You won’t mind if I leave you now?”

His question had the effect he wanted; he could tell by her shocked silence. He inhaled sharply. “I’ve done my duty. And that poker game won’t wait.”

Heather flinched as if he’d struck her. Nothing he could have said could have hurt more.

She bit her lower lip hard, holding back sudden tears, as he stood and crossed the car to his clothing. Feeling too vulnerable, too fragile to move, she remained silent as Sloan dressed with swift efficiency.

He gave her one final glance, his expression shuttered and enigmatic. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured before letting himself out of the car.

When he was gone, she lay there numb and bewildered by what had just transpired. Her husband—her
lover—had walked out on her on this, her wedding night.

And Sloan McCord had called
her
cold.

He
had a heart of ice, Heather thought bitterly.

She shut her eyes, willing herself not to cry. If not for his incredible tenderness and patience earlier, she would have called him cruel.

But he
had
been a considerate lover after all. Her initiation into lovemaking had been breathtaking. She was slightly shocked by the intimacies he’d insisted on, dazed by the strangeness of it all. The initial pain had given way to a sensation so intense she’d almost wept, a rapture so stunning she still trembled.

But it was Sloan’s remoteness afterward that had left her aching. She’d felt his withdrawal from her as if he’d physically raised a wall between them.

She didn’t know what she’d expected afterward. Perhaps for Sloan to hold her and cherish her and reassure her. To explain what had happened to her.

She hadn’t known her body could take control like that. Hadn’t known she could behave so wantonly, or feel such shameless joy. Hadn’t known she could come apart in his arms. The shattering experience had left her shaken … and filled with impossible longings for her new husband.

Heaven help her.

Heather drew the pillow to her body, breathing in his masculine scent and calling herself all kinds of fool. She had to resign herself to reality. Their marriage was a business arrangement, nothing more. She had to learn to still the wild pendulum of her emotions. Had to learn to guard her heart more closely. She had already exposed much more of her vulnerability to him than she could stand.

Hardening her jaw with determination, she rose from the bed. Dragging the sheet around her body,
Heather went to the mirror which hung on one wall.

She didn’t look like a wife. She looked like a woman who’d just been pleasured—wanton and wild, with pale wisps of her hair escaping their pins, her mouth slightly swollen, her skin flushed.

Her fingers wandered to her lips, where Sloan’s kisses still burned like a brand. For a moment she closed her eyes and re-lived his taking of her, remembering the feel of his hard body against hers. Every line and plane of muscle had etched itself into her memory, never to be forgotten. His incredible tenderness had etched itself onto her heart.

The feverish madness that had seized them both had been remarkable; every womanly instinct she possessed told her so. She hadn’t been mistaken. The intimacy of their joining had gone beyond the physical. For the briefest moment she had felt so close to Sloan … as if she were a part of him, and he a part of her.

But he was determined to push her away, to keep his heart closed to her.

Heather let out her breath in a sigh. Sloan McCord didn’t want a true wife, she had to remember that. She had to crush the fledgling emotions she was beginning to feel for him and make the best of an awkward situation.

She had to uphold her end of the business arrangement—and protect herself from heartache, if she could.