Sweet Anger(55)
“It must have been a real blow when you lost him, too.”
“It was. I felt so alone, rootless, until I met Pinkie, then Thomas.”
The name slipped out before she could recall it. Her eyes flew to Hunter’s, but he only smiled at her. “Finished eating?” He escorted her to the car and drove back into the mountains toward Breckenridge.
They put the groceries away, then spent the rest of the afternoon on a driving excursion that took them every-where in general and nowhere in particular. When he pulled up outside her house, she asked, “Where are you staying?”
He motioned with his chin toward the western side of town. “In some condos over by Peak 8. You know the Four O’clock Run?”
“Yes. Is the apartment yours?”
“No. I rented it for the week. It’s not as fancy as your house. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“What are you doing?”
His grin was boyish and she thought his mother and sisters must have spoiled him terribly. “I was hoping you’d invite me over.”
“You’re invited,” she said as she got out of the car. “But you have to do the dishes.”
“Then, keep it simple,” he called as he put the car in gear and sped away.
She heated up a can of chili and fixed nachos. Just before he arrived she put on a long, flounced printed skirt and a blue peasant blouse. It was the only impractical outfit she had packed, but tonight was the occasion for it. How long had it been since she had entertained a man? Such feminine frivolity felt good. She even plucked a silk flower from one of the arrangements in the house and stuck it behind her ear.
His slow lecherous smile of appreciation as she opened the door told her her efforts hadn’t been wasted.
They ate, and after he dutifully stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, they worked on the jigsaw puzzle. She was miffed to find that he was better at it than she.
“Look, if you’re going to sulk every time I fit a piece—”
“I’m not sulking!”
He reached across the table and ran his finger over her lower lip. “It looks like it to me.”
His touch was like an electric shock. She clamped her teeth over her lip the moment his finger was withdrawn, as though she either wanted to capture the thrill of his touch or deflect it.
“How are you at mountain climbing?”
“Terrific,” she boasted. “Why?”
“That’s what I thought we’d do tomorrow if you’re game.”
He rose and pulled on his jacket. She felt a spasm of disappointment. After spending these weeks totally alone, the house seemed empty each time he left it. “I’m game. What time?”
“Sleep late. Say eleven o’clock?”
“Okay. I’ll even pack a lunch.”
“Great. Good night.”
They were at the door. He opened it, turned back to hug her quickly, then left. Deflated, she closed the door.
She plucked the flower from her hair and threw it on the floor, hating herself for caring that he hadn’t even kissed her good night.
“Are you all right?”
“Sure,” she panted. “Are you?”
“I’m fine. Say when.”
As though waiting for the slightest encouragement, she collapsed on the grass. “When,” she gasped.
He dropped down beside her. For several minutes, they rested without speaking, their breath soughing laboriously through their lungs. At last Hunter lifted his head from its bowed position and looked over at her.
She was sprawled on the slope, her arms flung over her head. One knee was raised. He had thought she looked adorable when he picked her up that morning. She had on shorts, knee socks, and hiking boots, with a plaid shirt and an oatmeal-colored cardigan sweater. Her hair had been left loose.
About halfway up their climb, she had taken off the sweater and tied the sleeves around her waist. Now he could see the swell of her breasts beneath the cotton shirt. A cooling mountain breeze flirted over her and the nipples contracted. Inwardly he groaned.
She opened one eye and looked at him. “Are you still alive?”
“Barely,” he confessed. “The air is thin at this altitude. How about a drink?”
She sat up as he fished in the picnic basket he’d been carrying. He popped the top off a can of soda and passed it to her. She took a long drink, then handed it back to him. He finished it in one swallow.
“When you say mountain climbing, that’s what you mean,” she said grudgingly, massaging her shins.
“Anything worth doing …” he said in a singsong voice as he rummaged through the basket. “What did you bring to eat?”
They were in the shelter of spruce trees but had kept one of the ski slopes in sight, knowing that they couldn’t get lost if they followed it back down.