Page 63 of Wyoming Heart

“I really shouldn’t,” she told Cort.

“Food lessens the impact,” he repeated, grinning. “Live dangerously.”

“I’ve been doing that a lot,” she mused.

He laughed. How, he was wondering, by choosing a new knitting pattern or doing a new recipe in the kitchen? But he didn’t say it. He was enjoying her company too much.

SHEFINISHEDHERdrink along with a delicious slice of cheesecake. She’d noticed that Cort was having one as well. It was a dessert she liked.

They went into the casino afterward and she played one of the slot machines, at least until she started feeling dizzy. She dropped to the floor suddenly just after she’d started a new round.

Cort was concerned. He propped her against his knee. “What’s wrong?” he asked worriedly.

“Too many of those coconut thingies, I think,” she said, embarrassed that her voice was slurred. “You’re all blurry,” she added, trying to get his face to focus.

“Oh boy,” he said to himself. He motioned to one of the security people. “Can you stay with her for just a minute? I’m going to need to get a room so that she can lie down for a few minutes.”

“Of course,” the man replied.

SHEWASFLOATING. She felt lighter than air. She opened her eyes and Cort was sitting beside her on the biggest bed she’d ever been in.

“Did I pass out?” she asked. Her words were still slurred.

“Abundantly.” He brushed back her hair. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. I’m not sure I ever want to have rum again as long as I live, though.”

“It was my fault,” he said. “I’d forgotten that you aren’t used to alcohol.”

“I hated it. Henry was always drunk. Always trying to take my clothes off.” She stretched, her dark eyes on Cort’s face. “I’d let you take my clothes off, though,” she said, smiling a little hazily. “Gosh, you’re so handsome. I never thought a man who looked like you would ever want to take out somebody as homely as me!”

“You’re not homely,” he said, scowling. “You have a pretty face.” He looked down. “And beautiful little breasts. I get hungry just looking at them through fabric.”

“You do?”

He was shocked that he’d said such a thing. He shouldn’t have had so much alcohol, either. It had gone to his head. She was going to his head.

“I thought men liked women with big breas...breats...breasts,” she said, getting it right on the third try.

“I like small ones,” he replied. He moved onto the bed next to her. His lean hand went to the buttons on her blouse. “Don’t let me do this.”

She laid back with her arms beside her head. “Okay,” she agreed, smiling dizzily.

“That’s not helping.”

She moved lazily. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“I want you to stop me.”

She blinked as he got the blouse open and started on the front hook that held her lacy little brassiere together. “Stop you from doing what?”

“This,” he said, pulling the edges away. He caught his breath. She was beautiful. Her skin was silky, glowing, perfect. Firm little breasts with hard pink nipples. It was as if he’d never seen a woman before.

“I’m too little,” she began.

“Oh, baby, you’re not too little,” he whispered, bending toward her. “You’re just right...!”

His mouth settled right over her breast. And while his tongue worked on the nipple, he suckled her suddenly. She came right off the bed with a husky little cry and caught his head. But she was pulling, not pushing.

---