The Heart Breaker by Nicole Jordan Page B

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, envelopingthem 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