Sweet Anger(22)

She found handholds in his thick hair and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss by closing her mouth around his tongue. She wanted more, more. Plaintively she called the name of the only lover she had ever had. “Thomas, love me. Thomas, Thomas.”

Abruptly he left her. He shook free her shackling hands. The pleasure-giving lips were withdrawn, though their moisture lingered on hers. Reluctantly she opened her eyes.

Everything inside her went dangerously still. She wasn’t looking into the face of her beloved husband, but into the hated face of Hunter McKee.

It was too hideous to be believed. She dared not move. If she moved, if she felt anything, then she would know this wasn’t her imagination. It couldn’t be anything but a nightmare. She couldn’t countenance it as real. But it was.

He stood up, his eyes falling on her unbuttoned blouse. His guilt-ridden face was the giveaway. “I undid it while I was trying to revive you,” he said hoarsely, apologetically.

A small squeaking sound involuntarily escaped her lips as she looked down at her front. Her eyes swung back up to his. Her breath, so light before, now came in great gulps. Running a hand through his hair and whispering a heartfelt curse, he turned away.

She swung her feet to the floor and sat up dizzily. “You … you …” She couldn’t think of anything bad enough to call him. She grappled with the buttons on her blouse.

He faced her again. “Listen to me, Kari. I’m sorry. About everything. You fainted on the witness stand. I carried you in here. I … You …” He shrugged helplessly.

She tried to stand, but immediately her knees buckled beneath her. He lunged to catch her, but she jerked backward. “Don’t touch me,” she grated. “If you ever touch me again—”

“Kari, please. I know you thought I was someone else. I know I took advantage of the situation.”

“You’re damn right you did.” Her chest was now heaving with rage. “Aren’t you finished yet with humiliating me? You’re—”

The door opened and Pinkie barreled in, looking like either an avenging angel or the duped stooge in a farce. His hair was standing on end, like an electric halo around his head. “Kari, thank God!” he cried. “I couldn’t find you.”

“Close the door,” Hunter said with remarkable calm. “Does anyone else know where we are?”

“No. All hell broke loose. The defense declined to cross-examine Kari, making you look like a real sonofabitch, Mr. D.A.,” he said with undisguised satisfaction. “The judge called a recess. How are you, baby?” Pinkie bent down to examine Kari’s face. His hands wandered over her arms and shoulders as though searching for wounds.

“Just get me out of here. Please, Pinkie.” She leaned against him weakly as he helped her to her feet.

“Is he a friend of yours?” Hunter demanded. She only glared at him as she retrieved her suit jacket. He addressed Pinkie. “Ms. Stewart isn’t well.”

Pinkie looked from one to the other. Something was wrong here. He could smell it. He hadn’t liked the D.A.’s method of questioning. In fact he’d felt like killing him when he was firing those questions at Kari, questions that raised doubt as to Wynne’s moral character.

But he’d also seen the way the man had risked everything, including his own reputation, by carrying her from the courtroom and out of harm’s way. McKee couldn’t be all bad.

“Name’s Pinkie Lewis. I’m news director at WBTV. And Kari’s friend. Though lately I’ve felt more like her keeper.”

“I think she should see a doctor. She was unconscious for some time.”

“Let’s go, Pinkie,” she murmured.

“Yeah. I’ll see that her doctor’s called,” Pinkie said to Hunter. “I warned her against appearing in court so soon after—”

“Pinkie,” Kari said sharply, showing a spark of life even though she seemed on the verge of collapse.

“So soon after what?” Hunter stalked them as they made their slow progress toward the door.

Pinkie opened the door, but turned to eye the D.A. speculatively. He had put Kari through hell. But he looked like a guy with a conscience. Maybe he should get back some of what he had been dishing out. “So soon after her miscarriage,” Pinkie said over Kari’s protests. “She lost Thomas Wynne’s baby three days ago.”

Stunned into speechlessness, Hunter watched them go. Pinkie shot him a knowing look as he closed the door after them. Hunter wheeled around, digging the heels of his hands into his eyesockets. He uttered a foul expletive; repeated it with more emphasis. Then, bellowing in rage against fate, he slammed his fist into the nearest wall.