The combs that held her heavy hair were the first casualty. Then Sloan bent his head, tangling his hands in her silver tresses and holding her mouth still for his kiss. It seemed foolish that a simple touch could give birth to intense need, intense hunger, yet just this small contact made him want her more.

Her quivering seemed to echo in him, sending tremors that shivered across his own skin. It brought him back to reality just a little.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured. “We have to get you out of these damp clothes.”

Tugging back the bedcovers, he pressed her down to sit on the edge of the mattress. Then Sloan knelt to unlace her half-boots and remove her wet stockings. Her feet were like ice. He wrapped his hands around one at a time, massaging gently, until she made a soft sound that was half pain, half relief.

Her underdrawers came first, then her gown. Finally her corset and chemise. Her skin gleamed like ivory, the ripe breasts tumbling forward, lushly made, the nipples tightened in automatic response.

The need that had gripped Sloan in its talons for days now tightened its hold ruthlessly. He was hard and throbbing with it. He wanted to fill his hands with her breasts, his mouth with her taste, wanted to feel her softness enveloping his man’s heat. He wanted to watch her when she went wild beneath him….

“Lie down,” he urged hoarsely, helping her into bed, the foot of which was warmed by hot, flannel-covered bricks. Pressing her back on the feather mattress, he drew the piles of covers over her naked body. Then swiftly he pulled off his own clothes, tossing them haphazardly on the floor.

Heather watched him wordlessly, bracing herself for what was to come. Sloan would hurt her, just as he had in the past. Not physically, of course. He wouldn’t be rough with her. But her wounded heart would be the worse for this night.

She tensed as he came toward her, one corner of her mind registering the sheer physical splendor of his naked body. Starkly masculine, he moved with athletic grace, his body rippling with fluid strength. Her gaze wandered lower, to the tempered-steel thighs and the thick erection rising from the dark curls at his groin. She drew a sharp breath as a hot shameless need filled her.

She fought against it for a moment, her heart slamming painfully against her rib cage.

Sloan stood over her, waiting. “Heather?”

Was she imagining that hoarseness in his voice that hinted of desire? That spoke of primal need, of want? That echoed the need inside her?

Could she deny him? Could she deny herself?

But no, Heather reflected with silent misery. She had only one choice. The time for self-protection was long past. She wanted his hands, his mouth, his hard body, wanted him with a raw, reckless hunger. He made her want him.