Sweet Anger(25)
He closed the door softly behind him and advanced into the room. She turned her head at the sound of his footsteps and opened her eyes. Immediately she sprang to a sitting position. “What are you doing here? How did you get in? Get out of here.”
She spoke in hoarse whispers and he thanked God for that. From her expression she could just as easily have been screaming bloody murder.
He patted the air in front of him in a calming gesture. “Please, Kari. Pinkie and Bonnie said I could come in. I want to apologize to you.”
“I don’t need your apology. I don’t want it. You could apologize from now till doomsday and it wouldn’t change my mind about you. Now please leave.”
He shook his head, and she saw the futility of arguing with such determination. She fell silent as he came forward and stood at her side. “These are for you,” he said, laying the roses on the bed and thinking what an ass he was to present her with flowers after all the antipathy between them.
“Thank you,” she said, thinking what an ass she was for accepting flowers from a man she loathed.
His eyes sought hers and when they captured them, refused to let them go. “I’m sorry about your baby.”
Those softly spoken words seemed to prick her like a needle deflating a balloon. She fell back against the pillows. “You can’t know what sorrow is, Mr. McKee.”
“I can’t know yours, no. But I’m very sorry I didn’t know about your miscarriage when I put you on the witness stand this morning.”
She looked at him then and her eyes belied the paleness of her complexion. They were smoldering with an inner fire. “Would it have made a difference if you had known?”
“You wouldn’t have been called to testify.”
“But then your case might have suffered, Mr. McKee,” she said with sarcastic sweetness.
He glanced down at the floor. “Perhaps. But not significantly.”
“You still think you’ll get a conviction?”
His eyes speared straight into hers through the dim light. “I’ll get a conviction.” It was a firm statement that left no room for doubt. Her chest began to heave with agitation. He recalled his promise to Bonnie Strand, but nothing could make him leave her now.
“If you were so sure of the outcome, why was it necessary to attack Thomas and me?”
“I wasn’t attacking you. Never you. I told you from the beginning that I didn’t want you to be hurt. I meant it.”
She threw back her head and laughed bitterly. “You don’t think your lying implications about Thomas hurt me?”
They weren’t lies! he wanted to shout back. But he held his tongue. Wynne had died her hero and her hero he would remain. He couldn’t hang Wynne without hanging himself, too. “I publicly humiliated you. I realize and admit that. I’m sorry I had to do it, but I did.”
As the memory of the morning assailed her she clamped her top teeth over her lower lip. Hunter swiftly moved closer. “Are you in pain?” he asked.
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head miserably. “Just leave me alone. I don’t want you here.”
Even twisted in anguish, her face was one of the prettiest he’d ever seen. He longed to lay his palms on her cheeks, to soothe away all her heartache. He wanted to touch his lips to hers once again. God, why had he kissed her? Not knowing what she tasted like had been hell, but now knowing and not being able to have it again was worse.
He straightened and moved away, cramming his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. She smelled delicious, like dusting powder. In the soft lamplight, her skin glowed with a pearly luminescence. Her hair looked alive and healthy enough to crackle. The bedcovers were pulled up only waist-high. Beneath the blanket he could see the outline of her thighs and the merest suggestion of the delta between them. The nightgown she had on was chaste, but soft and clinging. It molded to her shape. He couldn’t really see her breasts, but he could imagine them.
In fact, his vivid imagination was causing him a great deal of discomfort.
Damn, he cursed himself, ashamed of his arousal. She had belonged to another man. For all practical purposes, she still did. This was a hopeless infatuation. It was a dead end. She obviously couldn’t stand the sight of him; indeed, hated him.
What the hell was he doing here, making her more antagonistic with each passing second, and torturing himself? But he couldn’t leave without apologizing for one more thing.
So he could think more clearly, he put distance between them, going to stand in front of her dresser. He itemized the articles she used every day, the personal things she touched without thinking about them. A hairbrush. A gold wristwatch. A bottle of scent. He was tempted to lift the crystal bottle to his nose and breathe deeply of the perfume, but he didn’t dare.