She stalked over to the cabinet next to the stove and yanked out the coffee canister, then dumped twice as much coffee as she normally did into her automatic coffeemaker. God knew, she needed it. “I hope he pulls every hair out of his perfectly shaped chest ripping the rest of that tape off.” She poured the water into the machine, visualizing tearing the tape off for him. Really, really slowly. The smile this notion brought to her face quickly faded, and she fought the edges of fright ruffling her anger. Righteous anger, she told herself as she struggled to hold on to it. She knew the second she stopped focusing on the anger, the rest of it would cave in. She simply wasn’t up to dealing with such upheaval at—she glanced at the coffeemaker clock and sighed—five o’clock in the morning. Why had she fallen asleep in the hallway? And why oh why when she’d woken up, hadn’t she just crept down the hall and away from McCullough? She snorted under her breath. “Because you looked up and saw him standing in front of you,”
