She felt her heart skip a beat. He was watching her. His gaze dropped to her breasts. His eyes were so intense, so hot, she felt their invading heat burn right through to bare flesh underneath.

They ascended the stairs and put Janna to bed together. When the young child’s eyelids grew heavy, Sloan turned down the lamp wick to a low glow.

Moments later Heather felt a shock of pleasure when his arms slid around her from behind. Her back arched involuntarily when his lean hands moved to cup her full breasts—those knowledgeable hands that knew a woman’s body so well. When his lips brushed the side of her throat, she felt the familiar treacherous warmth filling her.

“Let’s go to bed.”

His voice was husky and low as he turned her around. His blue eyes were narrowed in a look of sexual intent as old as time. Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t thought much beyond the simple, burning need to be close to him.

She glanced at his bed, the one he had shared with his beloved wife.

“Not here,” Sloan added in a low voice. “I don’t want to wake Janna.”

Heather disbelieved his explanation, but let it pass. She wanted him, wanted to comfort him and offer him something soft and gentle. She wanted to heal him.

Healing did not seem to be on Sloan’s mind as he led her to her bedchamber. He left the door partially open behind them as she turned to face him.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered quietly.

The room was dark but for the moonglow spilling through the open curtains. He didn’t light a lamp, but instead stood silent as she undressed, his features cast in a mix of silver light and black shadow, his expression hard and sensual as he watched her. Heather felt the rise of heat inside her, a coiling tension, a need so palpable it throbbed and pulsed with a life of its own.

He said not a word until her bodice and skirt fell to the floor. “Now the rest.”

With fumbling fingers she obeyed. When finally she stood naked before him, Sloan drank in his fill of her. He could feel the reckless hunger begin, slow and insidious, his loins growing heavy with desire.

She was a woman, lush and full, her body white and wanton, her skin smooth and flawless in the moonlight. Yet even nude she maintained that aura of elegance, of poise. He wanted her for that cool composure, wanted to shatter it with passion. He wanted her all soft and melted beneath him as he took her. He wanted to see wonder and blind pleasure in her eyes.

“Come here, duchess,” he murmured, “and take off my shirt.”