She should be grateful for that small victory. Sloan McCord was a hard man, brooding and remote and untouchable. A man who gave no hint of feeling anything for her beyond resentment and raw, male lust. Yet for a brief moment last night, she had broken through his granite shell.

He had wanted her, she was certain of it. The memory of how he had looked in the throes of passion, his hair damp with sweat, his eyes burning in his taut face, gave her reason to hope. The intimacy between them had been sexual, true, but it was still intimacy of a sort. Sloan had allowed her closer than he’d ever done in the past.

As Heather rose to wash and dress, her heart was lighter than at any time since her marriage. The weather matched her mood. The spring sun came out, bright and benevolent, warming the land and melting all traces of snow by noon. It was as if the late-winter storm had never blown through, endangering her life and her tenuous relationship with her husband.

She tackled her chores with renewed energy, wondering if Sloan would return home early, and if so, whether there would be a repeat of last night’s passion. As the day wore on, needles of anticipation and excitement pricked her nerve endings.

Sloan, however, was determined to delay the moment of his return as long as possible, at least until he got himself under control. After paying a visit to his brother and his new niece, he rode the range for hours, rounding up strays and moving one of his larger herds to lower pastures—all the while cursing for letting himself desire his new bride.

At the same time another part of his mind rationally argued with his tangled emotions. He had no reason to flay himself with guilt. Hell, Heather was his wife. He had the right to take her body if he wanted.

The trouble was, he was becoming obsessed with her. He couldn’t get enough of her, of the powerful, addictive pleasure that being inside her brought. His simple male hunger had become a restless, aching need—hurting and painful.

Denying himself wasn’t working, Sloan realized grimly. Maybe if he changed tactics, he could get Heather out of his blood. If he had her body over and over again, then maybe he could rid himself of these explosions of passion and craving and relief that were driving him crazy.

That would be the extent of their relationship. Carnal gratification. There would be no pretense of love or affection between them. Love wouldn’t enter into it. He wanted her body, not her heart. All he wanted was to get the ache in his groin taken care of.