They had dated for over a year. Bart was a powerful man in Houston, always keeping in the background, but brandishing a sharp sword in the business community. Few big business deals were made that Bart didn’t know about or participate in.
He was a favorite with newspaper and television reporters. He charmed them with his golly-gee, country boy, shy image. But beneath that head of curly dark hair operated a shrewd brain that could con a victim and wring him out before he realized that he had been had.
Being squired by Bart Stanton was no small victory, and Erin was envied for that rare privilege. When with him, she was treated like royalty, and it had been fun. But then she began to notice that Bart’s feelings were moving toward something stronger than affection, and she couldn’t reciprocate it. As much as she liked him, respected him for his business acumen, and enjoyed his company, she didn’t love him.
“I’ll wear the ring, Bart. But please understand that it’s not a binding commitment. I still don’t want to marry anytime soon. And this doesn’t mean that I’ll change my mind about… about…”
“Sleeping with me?” he asked in as soft a voice as Bart could manage.
She met his dark eyes levelly. “Yes.”
“Damned if you aren’t the stubbornest woman I’ve ever met,” he said with agitation. Then he chuckled. “Maybe that’s why I love you so much, baby.” He had enfolded her in a crushing embrace, and they had sealed their engagement with a kiss.
Oddly, he hadn’t asked her to sleep with him since. Until then, it had been a constant source of tension between them.
“It’s not as if you’re a virgin or something,” he had railed at her the first time she had refused his practiced invitation for her to stay the night at his sprawling Houston home. “You’ve been married, for God’s sake.”
She had been adamant then and continued to be. Apparently, since she had accepted the ring that branded her as his possession, he had found an outlet for his sexual frustration. Perversely, Erin was grateful to that anonymous woman—or women—who was supplying Bart with something she couldn’t give him.
The late afternoon San Francisco sun made rainbows on the facets of the diamond as she turned it on her finger. She sighed in resolution. As soon as she returned to Houston she would have to level with Bart. She had used the excuse of finding her brother for long enough. He would be expecting to proceed with wedding plans. If she had ever wavered in her decision before, after experiencing Lance Barrett’s kiss, Erin knew now for a certainty that she would never marry Bart Stanton.
Her reverie was interrupted when the door to the room opened, and she turned to see Melanie’s blond head peering around it.
“Miss O’Shea?” she asked timidly. “Mr. Barrett said you wanted to see me.”
Erin suppressed the strong urge to laugh. She was in this woman’s house, and yet the hostess was almost asking Erin’s permission to enter the room.
She crossed the room quickly and extended both hands to her sister-in-law. “Melanie.”
The young woman closed the door behind her and took both of Erin’s hands. They stared at each other for long moments, taking their measure of each other, and then it seemed the most natural thing in the world to come together in a sisterly embrace.
Erin’s heart constricted when she felt sobs wracking Melanie’s slender frame. Erin didn’t mind the tears that would stain her silk shirt as they fell on her shoulder. She stroked Melanie’s long, straight hair and shushed her, assuring her that everything would be well.
Tears were smarting in her own eyes by the time Melanie’s anguish had been spent and she pushed away from Erin. “We’re being terribly silly, aren’t we?” Erin said. “Let’s sit down over here and get better acquainted.”
“I’m sorry, Miss O’Shea,” Melanie sniffed. “I’ve needed to do that ever since Ken… ever since he… did what he did. I can’t understand it.” She shook her head sadly, staring bleakly into Erin’s face.
“Please call me Erin.”
“Are you really Ken’s sister?” the woman/child asked hopefully.
“As positive as I can be under the circumstances,” Erin answered honestly.
“You look like him,” Melanie said, looking closely at Erin’s face.
“Really?” Erin said with a laugh, delighted at the prospect. “Do you have any pictures of him?”
“Sure. Lots.” Melanie bounced off the couch, tears and remorse forgotten temporarily, and opened a drawer in the desk—the desk that Lance Barrett had so negligently leaned against, Erin thought inconsequentially, and hated herself for allowing thoughts of him to enter her mind.
“Here are our wedding pictures,” Melanie said.
“How long have you been married?” Hadn’t she asked Lance that question? He had given her an evasive answer.
“Four years,” Melanie replied as she flopped down beside Erin on the couch and opened a large white padded volume. “Here he is.”
Slowly Erin took the photograph album out of Melanie’s hands and lifted it toward her. She was unaccountably nervous as she lowered her eyes to the smiling man in the picture.
His image began to blur as her eyes filled with tears and impatiently she wiped them away in order to see him better. He was tall, towering over his bride who looked up at him with worshipful eyes. His hair was as dark as Erin’s, though it hadn’t been treated to the soft body permanent that hers had, and was combed back straight from his face. The eyes were an unmistakable family trait. His brows arched over his deep ebony eyes exactly as hers did. His mouth was less full, the lips more narrow, but the resemblance between them was striking.