Sweet Anger Page 15

  She joined their ranks and answered his smile with one equally as dazzling. “Me, too.”

  He winked. “Got your list? Let’s go.”

  He had driven to Dillon. It was little more than a community of rental properties used by skiers during the season. The prices for life’s necessities were outrageous but somewhat more reasonable than those in Breckenridge.

  It was a new experience to stroll up and down the aisles of a grocery store with a man. Thomas’s house-keeper had done all the shopping when Kari had lived with him. Before and after her marriage, no man had ever accompanied her on her whirlwind expeditions through the market where she picked up only the essentials and rushed out.

  Hunter shopped impulsively. “Ever had any of this?”

  “What is it?”

  He studied the label on the can. It was printed in a foreign language. “I’m not sure.” He tossed the can into their basket.

  While she squeezed heads of lettuce, he peeled an orange and conscientiously put the peels in the nearest trash can. He fed Kari a wedge, then popped two in his mouth. “You do intend to pay for that, don’t you?” she asked, trying to keep the juice from drooling out the sides of her mouth.

  “Sure,” he said in the middle of chewing his own bite. Then he bent close to her ear and whispered. “If they catch me.”

  She coughed. “I thought you were always on the side of law and order, locking away the bad guys.”

  “But I’m on vacation.” He tweaked her nose.

  “Why did you choose prosecution over defense? As sharp as you are, wouldn’t you make more money as a defense lawyer?”

  “Thanks for the compliment.” He studied a bag of marshmallows, but returned them to the shelf. “And you’re right. I guess it would be more profitable to go into business for myself rather than to continue being a public servant.”

  “So why?” she persisted. If she got to the bottom of this, she felt that many of her ambiguities concerning him would be resolved.

  “I guess my parents taught me too well. It was ingrained in me from the cradle that there is a difference between right and wrong and that one must be held accountable for one’s actions. I don’t think I could defend someone I knew was guilty of committing a crime. Don’t’ get me wrong. I respect defense attorneys and the work they do. They’re necessary. The system can work. But that particular kind of law isn’t for me.”

  “You’re ambitious,” she said quietly. The grocery cart beside her came to a halt. He waited until she looked at him before he spoke.

  “Yes. I am. I don’t deny it. But I don’t consider it a fault, either.”

  “Even when it’s blown out of proportion?”

  “Do you think mine is?”

  She glanced away. “I did. Now”—she lifted her eyes back to his—“now I’m not sure. Do you have political aspirations?”

  His smile was mischievous and fleeting. “We’ll see. Right now, I want to be a good district attorney.”

  “You are.” She met his stare levelly. There was no guile in her eyes.

  Again Hunter felt that rush of passion and tenderness sweep through him. She wasn’t just a desirable woman, she was a person worth knowing. She was willing to admit her mistakes and to forgive. “Thank you,” he said.

  For a while their eyes held, then she took up pushing the cart. “Tell me about yourself.”

  He had grown up in Utah. His father had an insurance agency. Both parents were still alive. One of his sisters was married. The other was in school. “I’m the middle child. Very ornery and stubborn by nature.”

  “No comment.”

  He laughed. “I’d like you to meet my family.”

  “I’d like that, too.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Your family, childhood, etc.”

  They had paid for their groceries and driven to a fast-food restaurant to have lunch. The hamburgers were thin, the french fries were greasy and limp, the shakes were foamy. But they didn’t notice.

  She told him about losing her mother when she was ten and going through adolescence with only her father to keep things on an even keel. “I loved him desperately. He tried so hard to be both parents for me. It couldn’t have been easy for him.”

  “What did he do for a living?”

  “He was a newspaper journalist. That’s where I first got my love for a newsroom. I would meet him in the city room every day after school. It gave me a sense of superiority to be the first to read the news as it rolled off the presses. That thrill of being in on things as they happen has never left me.”

  “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 speaki
ng, 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.

  “Cheese, cold cuts, potato chips, candy bars.”

  He was finding the goodies as she enumerated them. He ate hungrily and she watched him. Her breath had almost stopped when she spotted him coming toward her front door that morning. He was dressed in shorts and hiking boots as she was. His calves and thighs were bunched with lean muscles and dusted with hair. He had on a blue chambray shirt. Now that he was hot from their hard climb and the sun, he had unbuttoned the shirt almost to his waist.

  His chest was matted with an intriguing network of dark crinkly hair. Each time she looked at it, her insides seemed to thicken and a heavy pulse began to beat shamefully between her thighs. It was embarrassing. It was thrilling. And she had a hard time deciding whether to quell it or cater to it and keep on looking at him.

  When sunlight caught on his hair, it burnished it with reddish highlights. His eyes, behind their thick screen of lashes, seemed a part of the woods around them, green with shadows of gray and flecks of brown.

  When they were finished eating, she leaned her back against a tree and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply of the clean air. The languorous motion stretched her shirt over her breasts and brought Hunter’s attention back to them.

  “You don’t wear a brassiere very often, do you?”

  Her eyes snapped open and focused immediately on his. “What?”

  He sat up slowly and inched across the ground on his bottom until he was close to her. Bracing his hand near her head on the tree, he leaned forward and came perilously close to bumping noses. “That day you fainted on the witness stand, you weren’t wearing a brassiere. It surprised me.”

  “It surprised me to wake up and find—” She broke off suddenly.

  “Find me kissing you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And find yourself kissing me back?”

  “I’m still not convinced I was.”

  “You were,” he said softly, his eyes dropping significantly to her mouth. “Do you know why I unbuttoned your blouse?”

  She made a soft moaning sound and turned her head. She pressed her forehead into the hollow of his elbow and squeezed her eyes shut. “You said it was to revive me.”

  “Partially.”

  “Then, you have lied to me on more than one occasion.”

  “Maybe that was a white lie,” he confessed softly. His hand fiddled with the collar of her shirt. “I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to look at you, Kari.” His hand closed around her neck and slid down the slender column. “I still want to.” His voice was as tantalizing as the breeze that whispered through the dense branches overhead.

  His fingers deftly unfastened the first button. “You’re not wearing anything underneath today either.”

  “No.”

  “Or last night.”

  She rolled her forehead against his arm. “No.”

  “That’s why I didn’t kiss you last night. If I had touched you, I wouldn’t have been able to stop. I would have had to touch your breasts. Kiss them. You know where it would have gone from there.”

  His fingers moved down to the next button. He toyed with it and when she made no move to halt him, he undid it. Then the next. The next.

  Her flowery scent wafted up to him as he pushed aside the fabric so his hand could slip inside. His eyes closed in an agony of pleasure as his palm found her skin as warm and smooth and alive as he had imagined it.

  He cupped the firm globe of her breast. It filled his hand. His fingers flexed in a gentle kneading motion. “Kari, Kari,” he groaned. “You feel beautiful.” His hand moved to her other breast and treated it to the same loving caress.

  His thumb tenderly finessed her nipple. It beaded in response and he murmured endearments against her neck. When the peak grew pebble-hard, he rolled it between his finger and thumb, then fanned it lightly with his fingertips.

  A small weeping sound brought his eyes open. He was alarmed to see a tear rolling down her cheek. His hand stilled instantly. “Kari? What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”

  “No,” she whispered, leaving her face buried in the crease of his elbow.

  “Are you insulted? I swear—”

  “No.”

  “Then, what is it? Why are you crying? Do you want me to stop?”

  She raised her head. Her eyes were luminous with tears. “That’s just it. I don’t want you to stop. It feels wonderful.” She shuddered. “And I don’t know what to think about that.”

  He moved like summer lightning. Kneeling before her, he caught her head between his hands and pulled her mouth to within a breath of his. “Then, don’t think about it. Don’t think at all.”

  Chapter Ten

  HIS MOUTH TOOK HERS HUNGRILY. THERE WAS NO PRELIMINARY persuasion to this kiss. It was rampant and wild from the beginning. Her lips didn’t hesitate to obey the probing of his tongue. It slid deeply into the sweet channel of her mouth.

  Kari’s senses had been awakened by his fondling. Now they responded to his unbridled passion. Guilt, reservations, and ambiguities were banished. They surrendered to the all-consuming heat of his kiss. Her mind no longer ruled; she was being governed solely by her senses.

  Hunter lowered them to the ground, his mouth never leaving hers. His arms went around her with such fierce possession, she doubted he would ever let her go. At the moment, she didn’t care if he ever did.

  He pressed her down into the thick carpet of grass, then, holding her tightly against him, rolled her on top of him. Her knee landed between his legs. His hard, lean thighs tightened around it and pressed it against his loins. She rubbed her knee against him.

  “Oh, God, Kari,” he hissed. “I’ve wanted you so long.”

  He turned them again until she was on her back and he was angled over half her body. The restraint he had imposed on himself for months was lifted. He had wanted her from the first time he saw her. Now he would have her.

  He lowered his head for another deep kiss. Her mouth gave and took as freely as his. Working his hand between their bodies, he untied the sleeves of the sweater from around her waist. After he had pulled her shirt from her waistband, he spread it open. He relinquished her lips to raise his head and gaze down at her.

  Dappled sunlight danced erotically across her breasts, highlighting and shadowing in playful patterns. She looked like a work of art, only better, because she was living and breathing, whispering his name, reaching for him.

  His eyes devoured her greedily. But he had to touch her or die. He laid his hands on her breasts. He marveled at the texture of her skin, the softness of the curves, the delicacy of her nipples. “Yo
u’re so beautiful.” He gathered the fullness of one breast in his hand and pushed it up. Gently he stroked the coral tip with his thumb, drawing slow, repetitive circles over it. Its response was beautiful to watch. “Ah, look at you.”

  With his free hand, he yanked his shirt from his waist-band and opened it. Gradually he lowered his bare chest over her, pressing her breast against him.

  “Hunter,” Kari groaned softly. “Oh, that feels good.”

  His chest hair felt crisp against her flushed nipples. She rubbed herself against the lush mat, reveling in a million sensations she had never known were available to her. She could feel the steely strength of his muscles beneath his warm, vibrant skin. Her hands closed around the back of his neck as he lifted himself over her, dipped his head, and kissed her breasts.

  At first his touch was tentative. His lips sipped at her skin. His tongue tasted. But it wasn’t nearly enough. He kissed her fervently, drawing more of her breast into his mouth and massaging the peak with his tongue. His head moved from side to side. Then down.

  With ardent lips, he tracked the shallow groove that divided her stomach. His lips were hot; his tongue was bold; together they left a damp trail along her skin that made her writhe in an orgy of sensations. Unsnapping her shorts, he found her navel and kissed it wantonly. He inched down her body until his shoulders were propped between her thighs, his legs stretched out between hers.

  Kari’s blood was thundering through her veins. All her senses were alive and tingling with discovery. The heat of Hunter’s body only made the ground beneath her seem cool in comparison. The smell of crushed summer grass filled her nose. The breeze blew over their bodies, lifting their hair, letting it fall. Sunlight flickered over her face, bathing it with warmth.

  Sensation after sensation washed through her as Hunter’s mouth continued its seduction of her navel. Her bare legs sawed restlessly against his. Mindlessly her hips began to lift and roll. His hand left her breast to venture down her abdomen where it pressed and rubbed in time to her movements.