He moved to her, placed the bottle gingerly on her desk then pushed her roughly back into the chair, shoving his face close to hers. His hot breath was within inches of her nose, and she could smell the whiskey.
His voice held a sneer. “Ah, the great writer, telling the wondrous story of Arizona.”
She opened her mouth but said nothing, fearing a response would only make him angrier.
“You’re here in this room all day, and you accomplish nothing of value as far as I can see. Why can’t you be like my friends’ wives and act more social? I need you out in the community, representing me in this land deal; you should be working in the thrift shop or serving on the board of the library. But no! The intellectual Kathleen is above all of that!”
She made no movement, hoping his anger would subside. He shifted his body slightly away from her, and she, in turn, wrongly judged he was going to drop the subject. She tried again to get out of the chair, but his anger exploded. A big man whose excesses in food and drink had caused him to develop a protruding stomach, Scott reach over and ripped open the front of her cotton blouse, his eyes moving to her breasts, showing white through her lace bra.
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