The Heart Breaker by Nicole Jordan

she caught the faint ghost of a grin. “I fail to understand why that should amuse you,” she retorted tersely.
    His expression sobered. “Believe me, duchess, nothing about this situation amuses me. I just find it hard to think of Winnie as an expert on carnal relations.”
    “Well, she seemed to know what she was talking about.”
    “And just how are you supposed to accomplish giving me pleasure?”
    “She said … that you would show me.”
    Heather heard Sloan take a deep, slow breath. Then he exhaled in a sigh. “Okay, duchess. Come here.”
    She eyed him warily. “Why?”
    “So we can get on with it. Unless you want this to take all night?”
    Rising from the table, Heather forced herself to cross the car and stand before him. She could feel the train’s vibration coming up from the floor, running through her limbs and heightening the sensation in all her nerve endings.
    “I think maybe you should have the honors.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You kiss me this time—unless you’re not woman enough after all.”
    He was taunting her, challenging her … intentionally, she suspected. He knew she would rise to the challenge. But at least it made her less afraid and gave her the courage to lift her mouth and press it to his.
    He tasted of whiskey and his own highly arousing, masculine flavor. When he made no move to help her, Heather drew back to eye him with annoyance.
    “I cannot manage it alone,” she said stiffly. “Perhaps you might condescend to instruct me.”
    “You’re doing all right.” His hard, sensual mouth curved in a half-smile. “Give it a chance.”
    This time she increased the pressure of her kiss and felt a feminine flood of heat shiver through her in response.
    Dazed at the pleasure she felt, Heather shut her eyes and savored the taste of him. How a man as cold as he could have such warm, enticing lips was beyond imagination. As the gentle kiss went on, she felt herself tremble. Her hands rose to his shoulders of their own accord, but then she hesitated, uncertain what to do next.
    When she faltered, he whispered against her lips, “Open your mouth this time. Use your tongue.”
    “I… don’t know how.”
    “Like this…”
    He proceeded to show her, the warm stroke of his tongue inside her mouth nearly making her melt.
    “This,” Sloan murmured, “is like what I’ll do to you when I have you in bed.”
    His demonstration was explicit enough that she couldn’t mistake his meaning. She could feel the hard bulge at his loins through their layers of clothing, could feel his hard belly and slim hips pressing against her. The rocking motion of the train only made it worse, for it rubbed their bodies together.
    Sloan was keenly aware of his physical condition as well. He drew back to stare reluctantly down at her. “Sure you don’t want to back out, duchess? If you mean to, now’s the time.”
    In response, she unconsciously moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.
    Desire hit him in the gut. Damn, he didn’t want this, Sloan thought defiantly. He wanted to remember Doe. Doe was the wife of his heart.
This
stranger could never take her place.
    Yet it had gone too far to stop. His late wife was merely a fading memory now. Painful, poignant, yet distant all the same. As insubstantial as a dream. This woman was flesh and blood, lush, warm, and very, very real. The fever in his blood needed appeasement
now.
    “No…” she said softly, echoing his thoughts. “I don’t want to back out.”
    His sigh was long and slow as desire warred with regret and won. “We’d best take off our clothes then.”
    She froze, staring at him.
    “Do you need help undressing?”
    “No. It’s just … the light …”
    He looked at her with something like tendernesssoftening his hard features. “You don’t have any charms I haven’t seen before on a woman, duchess, but if it’ll make you feel better…”
    Quietly he moved about the car snuffing the lamp wicks, banishing the