The Heart Breaker

by Nicole Jordan

  “Would you care… for tea?” Heather asked, striving to conceal her distraction.

  His sensual mouth curled, whether in amusement or disdain she couldn’t tell. It had been the wrong thing to say, she concluded.

  “I think maybe this situation calls for something stronger than tea,” he said, his tone lightly mocking.

  “I… believe Winifred keeps some whiskey in the kitchen.”

  “Don’t bother. Ma’am,” he added almost as an afterthought. He made no move to sit down, although at least he had removed his hat. “You didn’t seem to be expecting me. Maybe you didn’t get my telegram?”

  “Yes… I received it yesterday.”

  McCord’s frost-filled gaze swept slowly over her again. “You don’t look ready.”

  “My belongings are packed. And I have closed my school.”

  “What about Randolf? That looked like unfinished business to me.”

  Heather took a shaky breath. “Evan labors under a mistaken assumption. He thinks that because I’m indebted to him, he owns me.” Her chin rose the slightest degree. “I happen to disagree.”

  McCord hesitated, as if debating what to say. Then he blew out a long breath and fixed her with those intense, ice-blue eyes. “Well, I’ve been thinking … I might have been rushing you. In fact… maybe this whole thing is a mistake.”

  “Mistake?”

  When he remained silent, Heather said awkwardly, “Forgive me, I am not usually so dull-witted. What is a mistake?”

  “Our getting married.”

  Her uncertain expression held a hint of distress. “Have your circumstances changed, then? Caitlin said you needed a mother for your daughter… and a political hostess for your campaign this summer.”

  “I do.”

  “Then you … find me … objectionable in some way?”

  Hell, yes, Sloan wanted to reply. “Let’s just say you aren’t what I expected.”

  “What… did you expect?”

  “Someone more suited to be a rancher’s wife. Someone less … helpless, less upper-crust.”

  The faintest glimmer of wounded vulnerability shone in her beautiful golden eyes. “I know what it must look like, Mr. McCord … but despite present appearances, I am not entirely helpless. For the past five years I’ve worked for my living, running my own school.”

  Sloan felt something twist in his chest and did his best to ignore it. Duchess Ashford did look helpless. That ebony silk gown made her seem fragile, in need of a man’s strength. She looked exquisitely delicate, like expensive crystal. And yet, unwillingly, he had to admire her aplomb, her dignified manner. She had recovered from an assault that would have had some ladies whimpering on the floor. And according to his sister-in-law, Heather Ashford was gamely scraping out an honest living—and repaying her father’s crushing debts to boot.

  Sloan slapped his hat impatiently against his thigh. “Sure, you’ve run a fancy finishing school. But knowing how to pour tea and play the pianoforte won’t get you very far out West.”

  Her chin lifted. “I can cook and sew and care for a child as well as hold teas.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m not the proper husband for you. I’m a cattle rancher. You’re a blue-blooded city woman. I don’t need a duchess for a wife.”

  “A … duchess? I am hardly that.”

  “Caitlin tells me you come from a wealthy family.”

  Heather pressed her lips together as he struck a nerve. “My mother’s family was well-to-do, but that has little to say to my present circumstances. I have been living quite meagerly since my father’s passing, I assure you. Most of my worldly possessions went to pay his debts.”

  Sloan frowned. “You say you still owe Randolf fifteen hundred dollars?”

  “Yes … or rather, his bank.”

  He winced at the reminder. He’d been forced to take out a mortgage on his ranch to raise the sum—an obligation that would put him in one hell of a precarious financial position until spring roundup when he could sell some of his beeves. But money, as big a problem as it was, wasn’t his prime worry regarding Heather Ashford. The chief problem was … her.

  He felt unaccountably vulnerable with her. He didn’t like the feelings she shook loose inside him, with her grace and beauty and touch-me-not air. He felt like the rawest cowhand around her. He had no right to be lusting after this satin-skinned duchess. He owed more to the memory of his late wife.

  His guard stayed up as he studied Miss Ashford closely. “You do realize that my daughter is half Cheyenne Indian?”

  “Yes. You made that clear in your letters.”

  “Her half-breed blood wouldn’t sit too well with most ladies.”

  “I assure you, it will hold no weight with me.”

  He made no reply, but one heavy, dark-gold eyebrow rose skeptically.

  “You don’t wish to marry me after all, is that what you are trying to tell me?”

  Sloan hesitated. As a gentleman, he couldn’t say such a thing. As a gentleman he wanted to take her in his arms and erase that wounded look in her eyes. As a man, he wanted to loosen that sleek knot and let her hair stream down all pale and silken, like it had in his dream. He wondered if she would clench and shiver around him in climax as she’d done in his dream… Sloan drew a sharp breath as fresh desire knifed through him.

  He cursed again, telling himself the ache in his groin would pass. What he felt for Miss Ashford was simply healthy lust, nothing more complex. She had a cool, untapped sensuality any man would find challenging. He just didn’t want the challenge.

  Hell, his mind was only playing tricks on him. Along with his body. The duchess was doubtless a missish prude, nothing like his dream. She wouldn’t possess the uninhibited passion of his late wife, either. Doe’s favorite place to make love was a grassy meadow under the hot sun. This crystal-and-lace figurine would probably cower under the covers.

  Yet he couldn’t honorably back out of the marriage now. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to convince Miss Ashford to turn him down.

  He took a deep breath. “What I’m saying is that maybe you should reconsider. A soft woman like you isn’t cut out for the kind of life I live. Working a ranch is tough on the hardest folks.”

  “I am stronger than I look,” Heather argued stubbornly. “And I am in excellent health.”

  His mouth twisted cynically. “Are you now?”

  “Would you care to inspect my teeth, sir?”

  He grinned unwillingly at the way she lifted her chin with evident pride. The impression he’d had of inner fragility was evidently misleading. The duchess had steel in her backbone. She was no shrinking violet. But that didn’t mean she was cut out to be a rancher’s wife, or the mother of his daughter. He felt a fierce, protective love for his child. He couldn’t entrust Janna to a woman who couldn’t even take of herself.

  Sloan shook his head. “Good health or not, in one day I’ve had to save you twice. What makes you think you can survive out West if you have trouble managing here in civilization? What makes you think you can look after my daughter? I won’t have time to devote to pulling you out of scrapes. I sure won’t be able to protect you every minute of the day.”

  “You won’t be required to.”

  “Look … Miss Ashford.” He took another tack. “I don’t believe you know the whole truth about me. Caitlin wasn’t completely forthright about my situation. I’m not wealthy like Randolf. I’m holding on to my ranch by my fingernails. I can’t afford to support a wife with fancy tastes.”

  Heather felt anger lap at her, driving away her nervousness. “I am not looking for wealth in marriage, Mr. McCord. If I were, I would have accepted Evan Randolf’s proposal long ago. Indeed, I fully intend to carry my own weight. I won’t be a burden to you.”

  “Just having to keep you decked out in silk gowns will be a burden.”

  His words slashed at her pride. “I assure you, I do not expect silk gowns—or anything else besides food and shelter.”r />
  When he remained silently doubtful, Heather asked tightly, “Once and for all, are you withdrawing your offer of marriage?”

  Feeling trapped, Sloan exhaled a breath of frustration. “No. I just want you to be damn sure about what you’re letting yourself in for. The work is not only backbreaking, but dangerous. There’s been a range war going on for decades.”

  “Caitlin told me something about the feud, but she said it had ended for the most part.”

  “Did she tell you about all the innocents who’ve died?”

  “She … told me about your wife.”

  The pain was swift and sharp. Sloan shut his eyes so that the duchess wouldn’t see his own private hell. He didn’t want another woman to get hurt the way Doe had been hurt. He couldn’t bear the guilt. Yet if Heather became his wife, the violence could touch her.

  She didn’t look the sort to cotton to violence—which might be an argument he could use in his favor.

  “I’m not blameless myself. I’ve killed when I had to, more men than I care to count. I have blood on my hands.”

  His frank admission disturbed her, yet she couldn’t believe he could kill indiscriminately. She looked down at his hands. They were not a gentleman’s hands. The hard fingers were work-roughened, the palms callused, injured— Heather winced as she saw the fresh blood welling there. The fingers of his left hand oozed red, while the palm was scraped raw.

  “You do indeed have blood on your hands,” she said somewhat tartly. “You must have hurt yourself when you climbed aboard that carriage. Those cuts should be dressed.”

  When she reached for his injured hand, though, Sloan pulled it back, keeping it out of reach. “I don’t need a nursemaid, any more than I need a duchess.”

  Her head snapped up at that, and he saw the flash of fire in her golden eyes. She looked as if she wanted to tell him to go to the devil but was too well-schooled in social niceties to be so blunt.

  Sloan pressed his argument. “You would do better with Randolf. He’s more your style.”

  “I believe,” she responded a bit testily, “that I am in a better position to decide what sort of husband Evan would make me.”

  Sloan shrugged his muscular shoulders. “Maybe so. But I know what sort I would make. You wouldn’t be happy with me.”

  Probably not, Heather thought, although she gritted her teeth and restrained herself from saying so. Happiness was a dream she could no longer afford. As long as her debts remained, she would be obliged to settle for a marriage of convenience, with the chance to do some good in her life.

  She would not beg Sloan McCord to take her, though. Nor would she be the one to back out. If he meant to withdraw his offer, he would have to do so without help from her.

  “I am sorry,” she replied coolly, “if you traveled all this way merely to dissuade me from marrying you, but I haven’t changed my mind. The advantages to us both outweigh the drawbacks. Indeed, I see no reason we cannot have a relationship based on mutual respect and shared goals.”

  That seemed to stop him momentarily, but then his hard mouth curled.

  “Some ladies have misguided notions about love.” His bright eyes pinned her, challenging her. “I loved my wife, duchess. I’m not looking for anyone to take her place.”

  Her chin lifted again. “I would not dream of trying.”

  “And then, we haven’t even discussed the matter of carnal relations yet.” His tone held a faint hint of warning as he moved toward her.

  His closeness brought with it the animal heat of his body. Heather froze, her senses assailed by his potent male presence.

  When Sloan reached up to brush her lower lip again with his thumb, another strange, warm sensation jolted her. She had never had such a primal reaction to a man. He made her very aware of her femaleness. He made her feel as if her corset was laced too tight. As if she couldn’t take a deep breath. Sweet heaven, she was acting no better than that foolish girl from the carriage—practically swooning at his feet.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he demanded, his voice suddenly low and husky.

  Perhaps a little, Heather reflected silently.

  “Aren’t you afraid I might hurt you?”

  Slowly she shook her head. With an instinct as strong as it was inexplicable, she knew Sloan McCord wouldn’t harm her physically. Caitlin had said he was a good man, and although he looked dangerous, even a bit uncivilized, his violence was somehow leashed. No, she’d seen for herself his concern for others … that flash of tenderness in his eyes earlier when she’d stood trembling in fear from Evan’s assault, the protectiveness when he spoke of his daughter … “A … man who would risk his life to stop a runaway carriage does not seem the kind to harm women.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  Her spine stiffened at the threat in his tone. He was testing her, she suspected. Trying to get her to back down. But she would not be cowed. “That is my point precisely. You are judging me based solely on appearances.”

  The sharp tension was back in the air between them. She could feel his intensity, the raw, powerful vitality that hummed around him.

  His gaze bored into her, penetrating in a way that was disturbingly intimate. “Maybe you don’t understand. I’m not interested in merely a business arrangement. You wouldn’t be my wife in name only.”

  “I … am aware of that.”

  Sloan smiled. “Are you now? Are you aware that I’m a man of great carnal need?”

  “What … do you mean?”

  “Shall I be blunt, duchess? I’ll want sex with you. Regularly and often. Do you know what sex is? You’ll share my bed, and give me your body whenever I want it.”

  She flinched at his bluntness, Sloan saw with satisfaction. He no doubt had offended her ladylike sensibilities. Then she raised her eyes to meet his fearlessly. He liked that even more.

  “I am prepared to do my duty as your wife.”

  A hard smile touched his lips. “Duty? That’s precisely my point. I’m not interested in a cold-blooded mate. Colorado winters get frigid enough without having an icicle in my bed.”

  The flush that tinged her cheeks told Sloan he’d struck a nerve. His ma, had she been alive, would have taken a strip off his hide for talking that way to a lady. But it wasn’t bad manners driving him to be so crude. He was fighting for his own survival.

  He kept up the attack. “You didn’t appear to be enjoying Randolf’s attentions. What makes you think you would enjoy mine any better?”

  Heather felt herself tense nervously as he took a step closer. She had no experience with a man like Sloan McCord. But she knew instinctively, with a woman’s elemental intuition, that she wouldn’t respond to his attentions the same way she had with Evan. This man made her feel hot and shivery inside, with his hard-eyed gaze and his vital maleness. Surrendering to him would be like getting swept up in a dust storm, all heat and power and compelling force.

  Deliberately she tried to brace herself for the impact. Heather was aware he was trying to intimidate her. Yet rationally she could understand his actions. Any father worth his salt would be reluctant to entrust his daughter’s care and protection to a woman who’d shown the inadequacy she’d shown today.

  But Sloan McCord was wrong about her. And he would learn that attempts at coercion only roused her courage and made her rise to the challenge.

  “What makes you think I wouldn’t enjoy them?” she retorted softly.

  The taunting smile slipped from his features, and he stared at her hard.

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” he said finally. His gaze never leaving hers, he tossed his hat on the settee.

  His hands rose to grasp her shoulders then, holding her with a featherlight pressure. She could have pulled away had she wished to. Yet she didn’t wish it.

  She stood helplessly in his power, transfixed by his mesmerizing eyes. There was something hot and dangerous in those intense depths, something that inexplicably thrilled and excited her.


  He moved closer, letting his body touch hers.

  The shock was stunning. She felt blistered by his sudden invading heat, by the hard, masculine contours that branded her.

  Her heart beat in a wild pulse of alarm and need as he bent his head to her.

  Through a daze she heard him whisper against her lips. “You really think you’re woman enough to handle me, duchess?”

  She couldn’t answer that; her throat was too dry. Her eyes fluttered shut as his mouth lowered slowly to settle over hers.

  His lips were warm and hard, like the man … threatening, dominating … yet somehow gentle. In response, something deep within her body quivered in purely sensual reaction.

  His kiss deepened into a bold invasion, his tongue parting her lips and thrusting inside. The intimate intrusion shocked her for an instant. She hadn’t known a man’s kiss could be so blatant, so devastating. Hadn’t known she could respond this way … that she could feel so weak and not… so wanton.

  Heather shuddered helplessly against him as primal instinct took over. Her body was aching shamelessly for him. The warm thrust and stroke of his tongue against hers made her tighten inside, made her breasts throb, while hunger spread through her with unsettling speed.

  She gasped softly when she felt his hand glide down to cover her left breast. An underlying fire that was totally foreign to her caught her by surprise, yet she didn’t want his tender assault to end. Her arms lifted weakly of their own accord to twine around his neck....

  When he pulled back abruptly, she almost cried out. She opened her eyes, disoriented, bewildered, to stare at him. She was shaking, her breath coming in soft pants, yet he appeared totally unaffected. His face was set like granite. The fierce sensuality she’d glimpsed so briefly had evidently been her imagination.

  Her heart sank with dismay. His kiss had shattered her, yet she had only disappointed him.

  Sloan stared back at her, holding her at arm’s length. When she swayed, he tightened his grip to steady her. He cursed silently as desire twisted anew inside him. Her lips had been so damned soft and warm beneath his, the taste of her intoxicating, hot and sweet like wild honey.