The need to reach out to him was strong. Kneeling beside him, she hesitantly raised a hand to his face, her fingertips brushing the shadow of stubble on his lean cheek. “I wish I could help.”

Wincing, he turned to look at her, his eyes dark and distrustful. He was too proud to accept pity, too bitter to accept compassion. She longed to rid him of that bitterness. She longed to offer him comfort. Her palm softly cradled his jaw.

Every muscle in his body tensed in rejection, the sinews cording his neck so rigid they stood out visibly.

A stillness came into the room as their gazes locked, a sense of breathless waiting.

Heather watched him, her urge for self-protection vanishing. This was a man in need.

To his dismay, Sloan couldn’t break the connection with her golden eyes, so warm with concern. He wanted to move away from her, away from the dangerous seduction of her compassion. He was too vulnerable just now. He felt so raw, so tired from the war he was waging. He couldn’t bear to have her this near.

“You’d best go,” he whispered, his voice raw and cracked.

She didn’t stir.

Nor did he. He couldn’t manage it. In his chest he felt that strange swelling, twisting sensation again. He didn’t like it. It hurt to feel. It was easier, safer, to keep himself isolated, remote, his rampaging emotions under tight control.

Yet he had no defense against her. He couldn’t save himself.

He remained perfectly still, a terrible tension vibrating through him. He didn’t want to acknowledge the need tightening in his belly and churning in his soul. Her feminine scent taunted him. His hands actually hurt from wanting to touch her.

Sloan swore a silent oath. He couldn’t stop himself from wanting her.

Raising his hand, he touched her face. That was all he meant to do, and yet … He found himself following the sensual line of her mouth with his fingers. She had the face of an angel but lush lips made for sinning.

They were parted now in unconscious invitation, so damned tempting….

He wanted to accept. God, how he wanted to.

Telling himself he just needed a taste of her, he bent his head. When their breaths mingled, though, he knew he was lost.

Closing his eyes, Sloan inhaled sharply at the powerful desire streaking through him. He wanted to pull her beneath him and drive himself into her body until he was mindless. He wanted to take until the ache in his soul had been eased.

This was what he needed tonight. A willing woman. This woman. The solace of her body.

“Warm me, Heather,” he whispered hoarsely before his lips covered hers.

Chapter 7

THE FIRE CRACKLED as he pressed her down upon the bearskin rug. Heather wrapped her arms around Sloan, sharing her body heat, pleading silently with him to take the comfort she longed to offer.