She bit her lower lip hard, holding back sudden tears, as he stood and crossed the car to his clothing. Feeling too vulnerable, too fragile to move, she remained silent as Sloan dressed with swift efficiency.

He gave her one final glance, his expression shuttered and enigmatic. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured before letting himself out of the car.

When he was gone, she lay there numb and bewildered by what had just transpired. Her husband—her lover—had walked out on her on this, her wedding night.

And Sloan McCord had called her cold.

He had a heart of ice, Heather thought bitterly.

She shut her eyes, willing herself not to cry. If not for his incredible tenderness and patience earlier, she would have called him cruel.

But he had been a considerate lover after all. Her initiation into lovemaking had been breathtaking. She was slightly shocked by the intimacies he’d insisted on, dazed by the strangeness of it all. The initial pain had given way to a sensation so intense she’d almost wept, a rapture so stunning she still trembled.

But it was Sloan’s remoteness afterward that had left her aching. She’d felt his withdrawal from her as if he’d physically raised a wall between them.

She didn’t know what she’d expected afterward. Perhaps for Sloan to hold her and cherish her and reassure her. To explain what had happened to her.

She hadn’t known her body could take control like that. Hadn’t known she could behave so wantonly, or feel such shameless joy. Hadn’t known she could come apart in his arms. The shattering experience had left her shaken … and filled with impossible longings for her new husband.

Heaven help her.

Heather drew the pillow to her body, breathing in his masculine scent and calling herself all kinds of fool. She had to resign herself to reality. Their marriage was a business arrangement, nothing more. She had to learn to still the wild pendulum of her emotions. Had to learn to guard her heart more closely. She had already exposed much more of her vulnerability to him than she could stand.

Hardening her jaw with determination, she rose from the bed. Dragging the sheet around her body, Heather went to the mirror which hung on one wall.

She didn’t look like a wife. She looked like a woman who’d just been pleasured—wanton and wild, with pale wisps of her hair escaping their pins, her mouth slightly swollen, her skin flushed.

Her fingers wandered to her lips, where Sloan’s kisses still burned like a brand. For a moment she closed her eyes and re-lived his taking of her, remembering the feel of his hard body against hers. Every line and plane of muscle had etched itself into her memory, never to be forgotten. His incredible tenderness had etched itself onto her heart.