“Hell … why not?” he mumbled, the words slurred. He took the bottle she offered and tried to stand, but he had trouble getting his wobbly legs to support him. The blonde caught him when he staggered and wrapped a slender arm around him, pressing her beasts against his face. Laughing, she tried to turn him toward the back stairs.

Someone else blocked their way.

His head down, Sloan blinked at the female legs covered in black net wavering in his unsteady vision. He recognized those attractive legs.

Swaying, he raised his gaze to find Della Perkins standing in his path, a slight frown on her face.

“Lilly,” she said to the blonde, “why don’t you go see to Horace there? He wants some company, I’ll bet. I’ll take care of Sloan.”

Lilly shot Della a narrowed glance, but allowed her to take Sloan’s weight. Too far gone to stand on his own, he draped an arm heavily over Della’s shoulder and let her lead him.

“Where we goin’, Dell?” he murmured.

“Up to my room, so you can drown your sorrows in private.”

“You gonna take care of me?”

“Sure, honey. It’ll be like old times.”

“I got a bad ache.”

“I know, sugar.”

She led him upstairs to her bedchamber. The room was familiar to him; he’d known it well in his wilder days. It was plain but serviceable … a brass bed, a washstand, an oak rocking chair. The sheets on the bed were rumpled from recent use and probably smelled of stale sex.

Della helped him across the room to the bed and gently pushed him down. Yeah, stale sex. With a sound that was half groan, half sigh, Sloan lay back, cradling the bottle protectively in one arm.

He felt Della pull off his boots, but instead of taking off his pants and shirt, she drew a blanket up to cover him.

He opened one eye. “Why’d you stop?”

“I’m just gonna put you to bed.”

“I doan wanna go to bed. I wanna fuck.”

“You’re in no condition to fuck, me or anybody else, sugar. Besides, you don’t really want me. You got a real purty wife waitin’ for you at home.”

He reached up to snag an arm around her neck and drew her mouth down to his. “Make me forget her, Dell,” he murmured hoarsely against her lips.

She pulled back. “Forget who? You mean your wife?”

“Yeah … her.”

He tried to pull Della down with him, but she resisted. “You don’t want me, Sloan, honey,” she repeated, “now tell the truth.”

No, he didn’t want her… Didn’t want any woman but Heather. That was the hell of it. He wanted Heather too much.

Della seemed to understand his problem. As if she could read his mind, she sat beside him and patted his chest. “Why don’t you tell me about it? I reckon I’m a good listener.”