Page 14 of Wyoming Heart

“I imagine it helps pass the time while he’s waiting for a nice, big buck,” he teased. “You drive carefully.”

“I will. Thanks for seeing me home,” she added, trying not to picture Cort alone with that beautiful, clinging woman. It bothered her, and she didn’t know why. She didn’t want to be bothered by it.

“You’re more than welcome.”

She got into her car and drove away, with Bart right behind her.

CHAPTER THREE

CORTHADAnightcap with the merry divorcée, but he made no attempt at seduction once they were alone. He didn’t know why, which irritated him. Women were a permissible pleasure and he’d never refused the offer of a passionate night.

This woman was overly seductive, but there was a coldness in the eyes above that sweet smile that made him hesitate. It was like looking into his own eyes. He had a fine contempt for most women. They were willing to do almost anything for the perks he could provide. He was jaded. She seemed very much the same.

“I hear that you’ve divorced two husbands,” he said after a minute.

She shrugged, sliding into a chair near his with a snifter of brandy in her hands. She’d already given him one. “Yes. The first was gay, but I didn’t know it. He wanted to look conventional for the sake of his corporate image. The second was a closet sadist who made me believe I was the most beloved woman on earth. I married him and came face-to-face with horror when he got me alone. He crippled me emotionally and physically. I ran from him and had him arrested for assault and battery, and then divorced him. There was almost a third...” She smiled sadly. She took a drink from the snifter. “He was a journalist who liked dangerous places and risk.” She looked down at her shoes. “He was kind and considerate and I think I could have loved him. But I couldn’t live with the terror, so I never let him get close. I was a coward.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You loved him.”

“I could have, I think.” She looked up into pale brown eyes in a hard, uncompromising face. “But you’ve never loved anyone,” she said, reading him with textbook accuracy. “You love women, plural. You love the taste and feel and exhilaration of conquest. But the next day, you can walk away without being tempted to look behind you.”

Both eyebrows arched. “Damn,” he said softly.

She smiled knowingly, her pale eyes intent on his face. “You’re a sad, lonely, lost person.” She sighed. “Like me.”

What began as a potential one-night stand was quickly turning into something else, something totally unexpected.

“You see deep,” he replied after a minute, and with reserve.

She nodded. “I’ve been through a lot in my life. It’s taught me to live for the moment. I don’t look ahead, ever.”

He sipped brandy. He was the same. After his stint in the Middle East, after what he’d been through, he’d lived only in the present. He was damaged. Broken. He would never again be the idealistic, patriotic young man who donned a military uniform and went overseas into combat. His worldview had changed.

“You don’t even remember what they look like, do you?” she asked, bringing him out of his memories.

“What who look like?” he asked blankly.

“The women you’ve had,” she said simply. “They all blend together.”

He frowned. “Is it like that for you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t sleep around.”

His eyes widened. “Then what the hell am I doing here?”

She smiled. “Keeping up appearances. Living down to your cousin’s image of you. Discouraging that young woman in the plain dress.”

He pursed his lips and let out a whistle.

“I dress like a woman on the prowl for a man. I flirt. I seduce. They all think that I’m hot stuff, that I’ve seduced a dozen men for what they have.” She laughed. “I inherited from my first husband. He had millions and millions of dollars and no heir.”

“The one who was gay,” he recalled.

She nodded, her eyes sad. “His lover threw him over for a younger, more adventurous man. He went to see his attorney, made out a will that left me as sole beneficiary, made sure his employees were taken care of. A week later, he went up to the top floor of his corporation’s headquarters building in New York City and stepped out into space.” She drew in a long breath. “I didn’t know about the lover. He was quite discreet. Actually, I thought there was something very wrong with me, because he never wanted to touch me.” She laughed. “He left me a long letter, thanking me for marrying him, for being kind to him. He told me about the lover.” She pursed her lips. “After he died, the lover filed a lawsuit and tried to get ‘compensation’ for my husband’s attentions.”

His eyes twinkled. “What did you do?”

“I set our corporate attorneys on him. It was brutal. He ended up with what he deserved—nothing. And besides that, he even had to pay court costs.” Her eyes darkened. “I hear he went down to Acapulco to ply his trade and fell victim to a gangster. Poor little man.”

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