The Heart Breaker (6 page)

“And then, we haven’t even discussed the matter of carnal relations yet.” His tone held a faint hint of warning as he moved toward her.

His closeness brought with it the animal heat of his body. Heather froze, her senses assailed by his potent male presence.

When Sloan reached up to brush her lower lip again with his thumb, another strange, warm sensation jolted her. She had never had such a primal reaction to a man. He made her very aware of her femaleness. He made her feel as if her corset was laced too tight. As if she couldn’t take a deep breath. Sweet heaven, she was acting no better than
that foolish girl from the carriage—practically swooning at his feet.

“Are you afraid of me?” he demanded, his voice suddenly low and husky.

Perhaps a little,
Heather reflected silently.

“Aren’t you afraid I might hurt you?”

Slowly she shook her head. With an instinct as strong as it was inexplicable, she knew Sloan McCord wouldn’t harm her physically. Caitlin had said he was a good man, and although he looked dangerous, even a bit uncivilized, his violence was somehow leashed. No, she’d seen for herself his concern for others … that flash of tenderness in his eyes earlier when she’d stood trembling in fear from Evan’s assault, the protectiveness when he spoke of his daughter … “A … man who would risk his life to stop a runaway carriage does not seem the kind to harm women.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

Her spine stiffened at the threat in his tone. He was testing her, she suspected. Trying to get her to back down. But she would not be cowed. “That is
my
point precisely. You are judging me based solely on appearances.”

The sharp tension was back in the air between them. She could feel his intensity, the raw, powerful vitality that hummed around him.

His gaze bored into her, penetrating in a way that was disturbingly intimate. “Maybe you don’t understand. I’m not interested in merely a business arrangement. You wouldn’t be my wife in name only.”

“I … am aware of that.”

Sloan smiled. “Are you now? Are you aware that I’m a man of great carnal need?”

“What … do you mean?”

“Shall I be blunt, duchess? I’ll want sex with you.
Regularly and often. Do you know what sex is? You’ll share my bed, and give me your body whenever I want it.”

She flinched at his bluntness, Sloan saw with satisfaction. He no doubt had offended her ladylike sensibilities. Then she raised her eyes to meet his fearlessly. He liked that even more.

“I am prepared to do my duty as your wife.”

A hard smile touched his lips. “Duty? That’s precisely
my
point. I’m not interested in a cold-blooded mate. Colorado winters get frigid enough without having an icicle in my bed.”

The flush that tinged her cheeks told Sloan he’d struck a nerve. His ma, had she been alive, would have taken a strip off his hide for talking that way to a lady. But it wasn’t bad manners driving him to be so crude. He was fighting for his own survival.

He kept up the attack. “You didn’t appear to be enjoying Randolf’s attentions. What makes you think you would enjoy mine any better?”

Heather felt herself tense nervously as he took a step closer. She had no experience with a man like Sloan McCord. But she knew instinctively, with a woman’s elemental intuition, that she wouldn’t respond to his attentions the same way she had with Evan. This man made her feel hot and shivery inside, with his hard-eyed gaze and his vital maleness. Surrendering to him would be like getting swept up in a dust storm, all heat and power and compelling force.

Deliberately she tried to brace herself for the impact. Heather was aware he was trying to intimidate her. Yet rationally she could understand his actions. Any father worth his salt would be reluctant to entrust his daughter’s care and protection to
a woman who’d shown the inadequacy she’d shown today.

But Sloan McCord was wrong about her. And he would learn that attempts at coercion only roused her courage and made her rise to the challenge.

“What makes you think I
wouldn’t
enjoy them?” she retorted softly.

The taunting smile slipped from his features, and he stared at her hard.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” he said finally. His gaze never leaving hers, he tossed his hat on the settee.

His hands rose to grasp her shoulders then, holding her with a featherlight pressure. She could have pulled away had she wished to. Yet she didn’t wish it.

She stood helplessly in his power, transfixed by his mesmerizing eyes. There was something hot and dangerous in those intense depths, something that inexplicably thrilled and excited her.

He moved closer, letting his body touch hers.

The shock was stunning. She felt blistered by his sudden invading heat, by the hard, masculine contours that branded her.

Her heart beat in a wild pulse of alarm and need as he bent his head to her.

Through a daze she heard him whisper against her lips. “You really think you’re woman enough to handle me, duchess?”

She couldn’t answer that; her throat was too dry. Her eyes fluttered shut as his mouth lowered slowly to settle over hers.

His lips were warm and hard, like the man … threatening, dominating … yet somehow gentle. In response, something deep within her body quivered in purely sensual reaction.

His kiss deepened into a bold invasion, his
tongue parting her lips and thrusting inside. The intimate intrusion shocked her for an instant. She hadn’t known a man’s kiss could be so blatant, so devastating. Hadn’t known she could respond this way … that she could feel so weak and not… so wanton.

Heather shuddered helplessly against him as primal instinct took over. Her body was aching shamelessly for him. The warm thrust and stroke of his tongue against hers made her tighten inside, made her breasts throb, while hunger spread through her with unsettling speed.

She gasped softly when she felt his hand glide down to cover her left breast. An underlying fire that was totally foreign to her caught her by surprise, yet she didn’t want his tender assault to end. Her arms lifted weakly of their own accord to twine around his neck....

When he pulled back abruptly, she almost cried out. She opened her eyes, disoriented, bewildered, to stare at him. She was shaking, her breath coming in soft pants, yet he appeared totally unaffected. His face was set like granite. The fierce sensuality she’d glimpsed so briefly had evidently been her imagination.

Her heart sank with dismay. His kiss had shattered her, yet she had only disappointed him.

Sloan stared back at her, holding her at arm’s length. When she swayed, he tightened his grip to steady her. He cursed silently as desire twisted anew inside him. Her lips had been so damned soft and warm beneath his, the taste of her intoxicating, hot and sweet like wild honey.

Damn, but he hadn’t scared her off. He’d only made himself hungrier. The instant he’d touched his mouth to hers, he’d been wild to get inside her.

The duchess had felt the same passion, he was
certain. He recognized all the signs of an aroused woman. He could still feel her trembling. Inexperienced or not, she wanted him. Just as he wanted her.

His dream woman.

The thought of having all that cool beauty and inner heat beneath him, around him, made his cock cramp and throb with need.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

“You sure you won’t change your mind about marrying me?” he asked gruffly, his voice still husky with want.

Heather gazed up at him, not at all certain her knees wouldn’t give out. Could she go through with it?

This was nothing like the tender union she’d long ago envisioned when she’d contemplated marriage, nor was this man—this stranger with eyes as hard as ice and a take-no-prisoners bluntness. She had dreamed of a man she could love, but Sloan McCord didn’t want her love.

Despite his stark virility, he seemed emotionally untouchable. At least by her. His heart still belonged to his late wife, it seemed. She’d seen the flash of pain in his eyes, heard the rawness in his voice, when he spoke of his wife.

She, on the other hand, was merely a necessary complication in his life. He felt nothing for her other than perhaps irritation and disdain. He’d made it clear he wanted her only as a housekeeper and an asset to his political ambitions. And a carnal bed partner.

Heather took a step backward, where it was safer, clasping her fingers to quiet their trembling. She wanted to tell him to go to the devil, but she bit back the words. She had always possessed too much pride. Pride which she could no longer afford.
She had little choice now. She had given up her school, and in the conflict with Evan a short while ago, she had burned the last of her bridges.

Besides, she was offering Sloan McCord a fair bargain.

“No,” she said shakily. “I don’t intend to change my mind.”

His jaw hardened for a moment. Then he gave a sigh of resignation. “All right then. Where can I find Randolf?”

The unexpected question took her aback. “Why would you wish to find him?”

“To pay him the fifteen hundred dollars you owe him.”

She stared. “You can’t mean to pay the entire debt now.”

“Can’t I?” The blue of his eyes was almost chilling. “I won’t have my wife owing money to another man.”

“Mr. McCord…” She shrugged helplessly. “I wasn’t aware of your circumstances before, but now… I can’t allow you to be so generous. You just told me you couldn’t afford—”

“I said I’ll take care of it.”

His reply, low and grim, put an end to the debate.

Heather felt her cheeks flush with mortification. She didn’t like being in this man’s debt. It seemed worse somehow than owing Evan Randolf. But she would pay back every last penny, she vowed.

Pride kicking her like a hobnailed boot, she said with great reluctance, “Very well. But I intend to repay you someday.”

She was grateful when he didn’t ask her how she could possibly manage such a feat but instead repeated impatiently, “Where can I find Randolf?”

“He’s often at his bank on Tenth Street, or his house on Washington Avenue.”

Sloan nodded brusquely and turned to pick up his hat.

Just then Heather heard the front door open. She gave a start and moved away from her visitor, putting a safer distance between them. Self-consciously she reached up to smooth her disheveled hair as Winifred Truscott called out, “Heather?”

“I’m in the parlor, Winnie. We … have a guest.”

A moment later, a plump, gray-haired woman came bustling in, her cheeks flushed with cold as she removed her bonnet. Her eyes lit up when she saw Sloan. “You’ve finally come!”

The widow had met him on her visit to Colorado last summer, Heather remembered. Like Caitlin, Winnie had sung Sloan McCord’s praises and supported him staunchly while promoting the marriage. And like Caitlin, Winnie had neglected to mention the most vital details when Heather had questioned her intently about Sloan and pressed her for information.

“Welcome, dear,” Winnie told him warmly. “I’m delighted to see you at last.”

She gave Sloan a motherly hug and offered her cheek for him to kiss—which he did with surprising willingness.

“Mercy, I heard about your heroics this afternoon from a score of people, Sloan McCord. The handsome cowboy coming to the rescue of two helpless ladies. Well done! I declare, you’re just like your brother Jake, setting the town on its ear before you’ve been here two minutes. Speaking of your scapegrace brother… how is Caitlin and my grandnephew-to-be?”

The chiseled planes of Sloan’s face seemed to soften at the mention of his sister-in-law. “She’s
doing well, if you call being big and round as a pumpkin well. She swears the baby isn’t due for two more months, but she looks ready to drop any minute.”

“She’ll be fine, then. Ryan was a big baby, too.”

Heather felt herself flush at such plain speaking, but Winnie seemed to consider it natural.

The older lady went on blithely. “You don’t know how delighted I am about this match between you and Heather. We’ll be family twice over now. I suppose you two have been getting acquainted?”

At the ensuing silence, Winnie looked from one to the other, apparently catching the undercurrents between them. She cleared her throat. “I see Heather has offered you tea, Sloan. Would you care to sit down?”

Heather interrupted. “I believe Mr. McCord was just leaving.”

“Yes, I was,” he seconded.

A frown appeared between Winnie’s brows. “Is the wedding still set for tomorrow morning, then?”

Heather glanced hesitantly at Sloan, leaving the decision to him.

His jaw flexed for an instant, but then he forced a pained smile. “I suppose it is.”

Looking relieved, Winifred beamed. “Splendid! You just leave all the preparations to me.”

“I trust it’s nothing fancy, Winnie.”

“No, no. We’ll hold the ceremony here in the parlor, at ten o’clock. I’ve invited just a few friends, with a breakfast afterward. The train leaves tomorrow afternoon, I understand?”

“At one.”

“Do you have a place to stay, Sloan? You’re welcome here, of course, although it is bad luck for a groom to see his bride before the wedding.”

“I’m bunking not too far from the rail station. The Muleskinner Hotel.” He settled his Stetson on his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then,” he said, tipping his hat to Winifred yet scarcely glancing at his bride.

Heather politely accompanied him to the front door. She thought he might leave without a word, but he paused with his hand on the latch, looking down at her.

“I’ll be here tomorrow at eight sharp to collect your trunks and take them to the station.”

Her heart sank as she met his hard gaze. He was so cold… so businesslike. Far from the sensual man whose passionate kiss moments ago had set her head spinning and her body aching for some unnamed fulfillment.

“They will be ready.”

With no more than a brusque nod then, he left.

It took all Heather’s willpower not to slam the door behind him. She felt herself trembling, whether in outrage or nerves or self-disdain, she wasn’t certain. She couldn’t explain the effect Sloan McCord had on her, or why a man she barely knew had the power to rouse such fierce emotions in her.