The Heart Breaker by Nicole Jordan Page A

harsh, revealing light, leaving only the one beside the bed burning with a low flame. “That better?”
    “Yes.”
    “You don’t need to look so worried. I’m not about to murder you.”
    With a skeptical smile at his intended reassurance, Heather turned slowly and moved away from him. Keeping her back to Sloan, she carefully removed her bodice jacket and skirt and laid them on the chaise longue. Her shirtwaist followed, then petticoat and corset, half-boots and stockings. Finally her linen shift. She shivered as the cool air touched her bare skin.
    Gathering her nerve, she turned back to face Sloan. The remaining lamplight was still too bright to be merciful, and so were his eyes. They ruthlessly surveyed her as she stood naked before him. Every ounce of modesty she possessed was outraged, and yet she felt a strange excitement as well. The mere feel of his eyes on her naked breasts made her quiver with sensation, made her heart beat far too rapidly.
    This man was her husband, she had to remember that. He had a right to look at her if he wanted. To touch her. To have her body.
    He looked his fill, taking his time, while the silence stretched thickly between them, accentuated by the steady grinding throb of the train wheels.
    He seemed entirely dispassionate. Yet despite outward appearances, it was all Sloan could do to conceal his physical response to her beauty. Shehad a perfect body, he thought resentfully. More perfect than his dream.
    She was nothing like his late wife. With her ripe, white curves, her proud thrusting breasts, the pale curls at the vee of her silken thighs, his new bride was every inch a duchess, elegant and proper, ladylike and shy.
    But she had courage, he’d give her that. She was returning his gaze defiantly, her chin raised at an angle he was beginning to recognize. He reached for his belt buckle.
    He proceeded to undress slowly, first his frock coat, then his tie and starched linen shirt, and finally his trousers and long johns.
    Heather watched with bated breath. His potent masculinity was even more apparent as Sloan shed the last of his clothing. For all his leanness, he was unexpectedly muscular, his naked torso roped with long, smooth cords that rippled when he moved. His arms and back particularly were bronzed from the sun, while the center of his chest was covered with a triangle of silky dark-gold hair.
    She could not deny there was a wild, primitive beauty to his body. He had long, lean legs and a horseman’s powerful thighs and calves, his belly ridged with muscle....
    Heather drew a sharp breath. Her gaze locked on his loins, heavy and aroused. Rising there from the swirls of hair was that pulsing awesome maleness she’d felt burning through their clothing.
    A fine shaking seized her legs. Winnie had said a considerate lover would make the act enjoyable for a woman. But would Sloan McCord believe she deserved consideration?
    His expression was shuttered, no emotion showing in those bright, compelling eyes, the hard planes of his face. When he took a step toward her,a wild sensation fluttered in her middle, a deep primal fear.
    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