He didn’t smile as he gave her a thorough inspection, with acutely masculine appraisal. She could feel his gaze like a tangible caress, drifting insolently over her breasts, her bare thighs, the pale curls between… Trying to quell the excitement flaring low in her belly, she resumed her brushing, determined not to lose this war of wills between them.

Sloan watched her as she drew the bristles through the long, glorious tresses. She was achingly beautiful, and as proud and regal as any queen.

“You look as untouchable as an ice princess,” he observed casually. “Seeing you now would dare any man to try melting you.”

“I feel like ice,” Heather retorted, ignoring his provocation. “The air in this room is chilly. No one in his right mind would sit naked like this.”

“That depends on how you were raised, I reckon. Doe never wore a wrapper, or a nightdress,” Sloan observed thoughtfully. “The Cheyenne are unashamed of their bodies, of sex.”

It stung her, his casual reference to his beloved wife. “I fail to see how it does either of us any good to make comparisons.”

It did him good. It made him remember where his loyalties lay. “The Cheyenne don’t wear corsets or drawers either. Maybe in the coldest weather they might wear buckskin leggings under their dresses, but that’s all.”

Heather turned to meet his gaze directly. “I was brought up differently—but I am not in competition with your first wife. Indeed, I’m certain no woman could ever measure up, so I won’t presume to try.”

He smiled and some of the chill was back between them. “No, you’re nothing like Doe. She was a proper wife.”

“Proper?”

“Accommodating and obedient. An obedient wife doesn’t hide her body from her husband. She would keep herself ready and waiting for him any time he wants her.”

“It is unfortunate then,” Heather replied with cool defiance at his taunting, “that I have never been considered particularly obedient.”

His return smile was lazy, although there was nothing casual about the glitter in his smoky eyes. “A proper wife isn’t cold to her husband, either. Then again, you weren’t cold last night. You were hot as a firecracker, out of control.”

Her cheeks warmed with color. “You are deliberately being crude.”

“What if I am? You could do with a little shaking up.” He was studying her intently, his heated eyes lingering on her naked breasts. “At least those prudish notions of yours disappear in bed.”

“I hardly think it prudish to be a bit shocked by your wickedness. Any lady would have been scandalized by the things you did last night.”

“You enjoyed the wicked things I did to you, admit it.” Sloan shifted on the mattress, wincing slightly. “I can feel the nail cuts you left all over my back and shoulders.”