Sweet Anger(32)
Down the hall, the Ship Tavern, with its rich maritime motif, was no ordinary bar. It was as cozy and gracious and intimate as the lobby.
It wasn’t crowded at that time of day. The lunch rush was over. Kari felt awkward going into a dimly lit downtown hotel bar in the middle of the afternoon. Only a few men, probably out-of-town businessmen, were loitering at the long polished bar. She had no trouble spotting Hunter at one of the scattered tables. She wended her way toward him, trying to ignore the knowing looks the other patrons gave one another.
Hunter stood and waited until she sat down across from him before he slid back into his chair. “Thank you for coming. Are you hungry?”
“No. Just something to drink, please.”
“What would you like?”
A waiter wearing an austere black suit had materialized from nowhere. “Perrier and lime, please,” Kari said to him, smiling.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Stewart,” he said formally.
“You know me?”
“From television. It’s a pleasure to serve you. May I say that you’re even more attractive in person than you are on TV?”
“You may, and thank you.”
He turned to Hunter, apparently expecting another celebrity. “I’m nobody,” Hunter said with a wide grin. “But I would like a black coffee.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hunter was still smiling when he turned back to Kari. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. She couldn’t help but notice that the lines forming sunbursts around his eyes squinted together when he smiled. So, he was good-looking. So what? “Why did you choose this place for our meeting?”
“I like it,” he said simply.
“I like it, too, but it isn’t exactly conducive to … to … Never mind.”
“Come on, what? Isn’t conducive to what?”
“Isn’t conducive to anything you and I might have to say to each other. Do you know what those men at the bar are thinking?”
He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back, leaning across the table in order to hear her. She was barely whispering. “Mind reading isn’t one of my strong points. What are they thinking?”
She didn’t like his mischievous, teasing manner. “They’re thinking that I’m either a call girl transacting the business part of our arrangement, or your illicit lover.”
Hunter’s eyes locked with hers a moment before he looked back at the men. “Is that so? Shame on them.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Wait.” His hand shot across the table to trap hers.
He was being charming and joking and affable. She didn’t want him to be charming and joking and affable with her. She didn’t want him to pretend to be anything but the calculating opportunist she knew him to be. “I’ve got work to do, Mr. McKee.”
“What are you thinking? That I deliberately chose this place to make you feel uncomfortable?”
“It crossed my mind,” she said tightly.
“Damn!” he said, lifting his hand off hers, but leaving the impression that he was flinging hers away. “There’s just no winning with you, is there? I asked you to meet me here because it is private. I didn’t think you’d want to be seen with me in any of the coffee shops closer to the courthouse. They’re always crowded with people we both know.”
She was free to stand up and walk out, but she remained in her chair and stared at him across the checked tablecloth. His exasperation was evident as his eyes bored into hers.
The waiter chose that tense moment to bring their drinks. He withdrew without speaking. She sipped her mineral water, wishing that she had heeded her instincts and never brought up the subject of their meeting place. Now, he was the injured party and she looked like a petulant brat. It seemed there was no common ground for them to meet on. She wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.
“What did you want to see me about?”
He had wanted to avoid the issue as long as he could. When would he have another opportunity to be alone with her, to sit and look at her? He had put her on the defensive again and now he had to change tactics before she bolted without hearing him out. “Are you all right?”
She responded with a soft, surprised laugh. “Of course I’m all right. What do you mean?”
“I can’t forget how ill you looked that night I came to your house. Are you fully recovered from your …”
“My miscarriage?” The bitterness behind the question was plain. “Yes. Physically, I’m recovered. Emotionally, I will take a long time to heal.”
Why should she be delicate about it and spare his feelings? He had contributed to her poor emotional and physical condition, though she couldn’t swear that he was the sole reason she had lost her baby.