“It’ll probably be the best thing that could have happened to her.”
Somewhat mollified, he took another sip of the Scotch. “That’s what I told her. I also thought it best to disillusion her about her late husband.”
“You told her about his affairs?”
“I didn’t go quite that far. I just raised the question in her mind that McKee might have told her the truth.”
“How’d she take it?”
“How do you think? She thought the man was a saint.”
“Then it’s time she wised up. No man is a saint.”
That won her another baleful look before he went on. “She’s been irrational, blaming McKee for all this. She’s been eaten up with him way too long. It’s not natural.”
“Or maybe very natural,” Bonnie said cryptically.
“What does that mean?”
“I think there’s more going on than appears on the surface.”
He turned to her. “You know it really bugs the hell out of me to have to keep asking, ‘What does that mean?’ Why don’t you just come out and say what’s on your mind?”
“All right. Hate is sometimes as passionate an obsession as love. And vice versa. Often one can’t be distinguished from the other.”
His pale brows lowered over his eyes. “You think she acts like she hates him because she really loves him?” Pinkie showed the first trace of a smile. “I wouldn’t mention that hypothesis to her if I were you.”
“I don’t intend to. I intend to let her discover it herself. And if Hunter McKee is as determined a man as I think he is, he’ll help her discover it.”
“You think he’s got the hots for her?”
“Don’t you?”
Pinkie uttered a noncommittal grunt as he finished his drink.
“Another?” Bonnie asked.
“No, thanks.” He set his glass on the end table and stood. “I guess I’d better be going.” Taking up his coat and tie, he ambled toward the door.
“Pinkie.” He stopped and faced her. She was standing in front of the sofa. “Why did you come here tonight?”
He looked away, sullen and belligerent. “I felt like hell and needed a drink. Your place is on my way home. You’re a good drinking buddy.”
She smiled, but it wasn’t the smile of a buddy, drinking or otherwise. It was the smile of a clever woman. “I’m good for a lot of things.” She undid the tie at her waist and shrugged out of the robe, letting it fall to the sofa behind her.
The nightgown wasn’t one she would have worn had she known the final step of Pinkie’s seduction would take place tonight. But the baby pink color was flattering for a mature complexion already creamed free of makeup. The lace bodice cupped her generous breasts and gave her a slight advantage over gravity.
Pinkie’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. He dragged his eyes away from the large dark nipples that teased him from behind the lace screen. “Now look, Bonnie. Don’t go reading anything … into … uh …”
His voice dwindled to nothingness as she slipped the straps of her nightgown over her shoulders and let it slither down her body. She knew she wasn’t ready for the Playboy centerfold, but she knew she wasn’t a troll, either.
Pinkie’s failure to comment vexed her. He could have said something instead of standing there with that stupid gaping-mouthed expression on his face. Putting her hands on her hips, she walked toward him naked. “Well, I’ll bet you’re no great shakes without your clothes on, either. But I’m willing to take a chance if you are.”
She reached for the buttons of his shirt and within seconds they were undone. He wore an old-fashioned tank undershirt that made her smile, a smile she diplomatically hid as she eased his shirt off. His belt buckle didn’t intimidate her in the least. She shoved his trousers down.
She leaned forward and kissed his lips as she slid her hand down the front of his shorts. Again she smiled. It had worked!
She turned on her heel and started for the bedroom saying over her shoulder, “What are you going to do, come to bed with me, or stand there with your pants around your ankles?”
“Mr. Lewis? Pinkie?”
“Yeah?” He was mad as hell. He couldn’t find a photographer and there was some kook holed up in an apartment with a gun trained on three hostages not ten blocks away. He’d been trying to locate someone on the radio but so far had had no success.
Now, as he swung his head away from the radio panel, a cigarette ash fell to his shirtfront, burning a tiny hole in it before he could brush it away. He’d catch hell from Bonnie. She had ironed the shirt for him only that morning.