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Chapter Five
Unfaithful dirtbag. Cheating scum ball. Two-timing lowlife.
Idiot.
A slew of descriptive and mainly colorful phrases pinged through Sienna Pierce’s mind. That last word, though, she reserved for herself as she sped along the two-lane highway toward Crimson, Colorado. She’d left the ritzy mountain town of Aspen, and her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now—in her rearview mirror.
She was an idiot for not seeing the signs earlier. Kevin’s late nights at the office, the last-minute business trips, the fact that they hadn’t had sex in... Well, she should have guessed something was wrong between them.
But he fit her world—her mother’s world. Kevin was her stepfather’s heir apparent at the investment firm. She never thought he’d jeopardize his future this way. Although what did it say about their relationship that she’d believed their strongest bond was his career aspirations?
Another wave of humiliation washed over her, bringing with it a mix of sweat and nausea. Interesting that embarrassment and anger were the most prevalent emotions right now. Her stomach churned, but her heart remained relatively untouched.
Did that prove she deserved the ice princess accusations Kevin had hurled at her across the hotel room as he’d rushed to pull up his boxers, while the woman in his bed hid under the Egyptian cotton sheets at the five-star hotel?
She adjusted the temperature inside the Porsche, cold air blasting from the vents in the dash. Perspiration continued to bead all over her body, droplets snaking down her spine. Her long hair clung to her neck, and she pulled it over one shoulder.
The weather on this June morning was perfect, the sky overhead an expansively brilliant blue she rarely saw in downtown Chicago. Mountains rose up to meet the sky to the west, their massive rocky peaks reminding her that she was just a speck on the earth in comparison. Sunlight beat down on the cherry-red sports car, the glimmering reflection mocking both her mood and the fact that at twenty-seven years old, she seemed to be having a premature hot flash.
With one hand on the steering wheel, she tried to shrug out of her tailored Calvin Klein suit jacket, the one that had always made her feel both powerful and sexy, like she could handle anything. Until forty-five minutes ago, when her professional attire and meticulously straightened hair had somehow given the appearance that she was trying too hard compared to the effortlessly seductive woman she’d caught glimpses of in that hotel room.
Nothing in her life was right at the moment, especially when one of her arms got tangled between the jacket’s sleeve and the seat belt. The car swerved as she yanked her arm, and she forced a deep breath. Oncoming traffic was pretty much nonexistent between the two towns, which was a bonus since the last thing she needed was to cause an accident.
Pull it together, she told herself as she lifted her foot from the gas pedal. How fast had she been driving anyway?
The answer to that question came as she glanced into the rearview mirror and saw red and blue lights flashing behind her. She let out a little growl, the thought of a speeding ticket fueling her temper.
This was Kevin’s fault, too. At least Sienna blamed him. She blamed him for everything.
Dust billowed around the Porsche as she pulled onto the shoulder and parked. She unfastened the seat belt and shrugged out of her jacket. It felt like shedding a thousand-pound wool coat.
Knuckles rapped on the window, and she pressed the lever at the same time she leaned closer to the air vents.
“I’m sorry, officer,” she said automatically, fanning her hand in front of her face. “I was having a bit of trouble taking off my jacket around the seat belt. I’ll be more careful.”
“License and registration, ma’am.”
The rumbly voice gave her pause and she sat back, glancing up into the face of a man who could have been the direct descendent of some Wild West lawman. The firm set of his jaw and rugged good looks seemed like a throwback to the era of John Wayne, although he wore a modern law enforcement uniform of a beige button-down and black tie, khaki pants and a gun clearly tucked into the holster at his waist.
The button clipped above his shirt pocket read Sheriff. Okay then, the real deal.
And not feeling all that friendly, if the tight line of his mouth was any indication. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored aviator sunglasses but imagined he was glaring at her.
“Of course,” she said and pulled her wallet out of the Louis Vuitton purse on the passenger seat.
“You know texting and driving is against the law,” he said as she handed him her driver’s license.
“I
