by Rita Herron
"I heard someone say they think her husband, well"—she gave him a conspiratorial wink—"the man she thought she married, he was in cahoots with Tony Milano. Won't the shit hit the fan when all that gets out!"
Damn straight it will. "So Lenny Gulliver was involved with Milano? He might have been a party to Milano's entire scam?"
Edna scrunched her mouth and bobbed her head up and down as if she'd won the big jackpot.
Hunter gripped the wooden counter, the last pieces of the puzzle falling into place with an audible click. What if Abby had known about Lenny and his involvement with Milano? Could she possibly have been in on the deal?
She had told a lot of lies. What if she'd been covering up for Lenny? Was that the reason the police had been at her house?
Did they suspect that Abby was an accomplice? Had Lenny returned to reconcile with her and give her her cut—was that what that little meeting backstage had been about?
Or had he come to steal more money from her?
* * *
Sunday afternoon, Abby's breath hitched at the sound of the jangling phone. She'd half hoped—no, she'd wanted—Harry to call all weekend. To tell her they didn't need distance, that he didn't care if she'd lied to him about her husband, that he didn't want to go to LA to be an actor, that he wanted to stay in Atlanta and make a life with her.
Not that she couldn't move to LA, but the Hollywood life didn't appeal to her.
And she had to admit, after her last fiasco of a marriage, her ego couldn't survive the competition of the women who would play opposite Harry. Pathetic, but she realized most actors had to play nude scenes at some point in their careers. Granted, she was liberated and modern, but the idea of women touching and gawking at Harry's body just didn't sit right.
Plus, she wanted a family,—the whole nine yards, as old-fashioned as it might seem. The kids, the mini van, the PTA. The phone rang again and she grabbed it. "Hello?"
"Hey, baby, it's me."
The scoundrel. Anger replaced every emotion in her body. "What do you want, Lenny?"
"Did you get the money?"
"Yes."
"Good." His cocky tone irritated her even more. "I'll meet you after the show tomorrow."
The phone clicked, signifying the end of the conversation, and Abby slammed down the receiver, barely stifling a scream. She couldn't let Lenny get away with this.
She had to call that Detective Suarez and his partner, the Nazi, Barringer, and tell them to meet her at the show so they could arrest Lenny. Maybe if she explained her situation to Suarez, he'd understand and let her confiscate the pictures first.
The doorbell rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. What if it was Lenny? No, he wanted to meet her in public, banking on the fact that she wouldn't make a scene in front of a crowd. Must have been a tactic all crooks learned in Criminal Behavior 101. Figuring it was Victoria or Chelsea, she hurried to the door, ready to vent her hatred for Lenny, but Harry stood on her doorstep instead.
Handsome and sexy as ever.
An odd expression tightened his face, though. She couldn't quite put her finger on the difference in his mood, but his blue eyes were troubled, almost scrutinizing.
But she was too frustrated with Lenny to analyze the situation or what might be bothering him. Without waiting to ask why he'd come, she fell into his arms and kissed him. "I missed you, Harry."
He tore his mouth from hers and leaned his forehead against hers, his breath ragged. "Did you really, Abby?"
She cupped his face and looked into his eyes. She wasn't sure what was wrong, but she instinctively knew something had happened to upset him. And although she couldn't tell him the truth about everything, she could be honest about her feelings.
"Yes, Harry, I did. I... I think I'm falling in love with you."
* * *
Hunter trembled inside, his body a mass of hurt and anger and confusion. Still, he couldn't deny himself the sweet pleasure of holding Abby in his arms for a few more minutes, especially when she'd just made that heartfelt declaration of love.
Could he believe her?
Had she told the police the truth? Had she known what Lenny and Milano had been up to?
He didn't want to believe she had...
The entire way to her house, his temper had thundered at the realization that she might have been using him, that he'd almost given up the story, his career, that he might have lost Lizzie because he'd gotten involved with her, because he'd fallen for her.
It was disgusting, but even wondering about Abby's intentions didn't diminish the physical need to hold her that was pulsing through his veins. He walked her backward inside her house, not bothering to hide his intent as he reached for her T-shirt. He tore it over her head and stared at her blatantly, letting his gaze speak for itself.
"If you don't want me, tell me to stop now." His voice was so gruff, it was almost lost in the whir of the ceiling fan spinning above.
But she said nothing. She simply dropped her shorts to the floor and offered herself to him. Shadows from the window played along her skin, the moon highlighting her creamy skin. He accepted her invitation, his chest heaving with his fierce need.
There was no show of romance or flowery words or slow, titillating touches. He ripped off his clothes and pushed her to the floor, his hands hungrily seeking the thrill and comfort of her body, touching, teasing, drawing her into the web of desire he had been caught in ever since he had first kissed her. She arched and begged for him, spreading herself open in wild abandon, and he rolled her to her stomach, stretched his body over hers, and drove inside her, pushing her legs apart and thrusting inside her until she cried out and waves of pleasure rocked through her. He raised her arms above her head and rode her until she lay still, a supple whimper of spent need below him, and he could do nothing but collapse on top of her.
* * *
He took her again and again that night, the orgasms quaking through Abby more intense than any she'd ever experienced. At times he was tender, erotic, whispering all the naughty things he wanted to do to her, the places he wanted to touch her, the ways he wanted to possess her. And then he was savage and starved and full of raw passion, a beast crying out his need. And she always answered.
She always would.
Multiple orgasms—Harry had invented the term. Passionate positions—he invented a few of those as well.
Abby curled into his arms in the early hours of the morning, knowing she was in love. And knowing that today she would end this farce with her book and say goodbye to Lenny forever.
Then she could move on with her life.
She only hoped Harry would be a part of it.
"Harry?" She traced his jaw with her finger, studying him as he slowly opened his eyes.
"What?"
He sounded sweet and sexy and half-asleep. "What was bothering you when you came over last night?"
He lay so still she wondered if she'd made a mistake by probing. Finally he threw an arm over his face and cleared his throat. "When I got home Friday night..." He paused to clear his throat again, and Abby's chest squeezed at the emotions thickening his voice. "My ex-wife served me papers."
"What kind of papers?"
"She's suing for full custody of Lizzie."
Abby's throat closed. She reached for Harry to comfort him, but he jackknifed up and off the bed before she could. "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
He stopped and met her gaze, his blue eyes pools of anguish. This time she recognized the anger and hurt. His body was such a powerful masterwork of muscle and sinewy strength and masculine sexuality, yet his heart had a tender side and right now it was bleeding for his child.
She had never loved anyone the way she did this man.
Desperate for him to know that she was there for him, that she would testify on his behalf, she crossed the space to him. He was so stiff at first she wasn't sure he would accept her comfort.
"Harry." She pressed her hands to his jaw. "I'm here for you. I want you to
know that. I love you. Just tell me what you need and I'll do it."
He waited a painful heartbeat before he replied. "You can tell me the truth."
"I am." She struggled for control. "I told you I love you, and I meant it."
"Your husband—"
"Is past history. I swear."
He kissed her again, this time with such tenderness that tears filled her eyes.
And she had the oddest feeling as he dressed that she'd caused part of the anger and pain she'd seen in his eyes. She just didn't understand what she had done to hurt him.
* * *
Daylight dawned with an overcast sky, perfect for Hunter's mood. Turmoil tightened every muscle in his body as he and Abby entered the Atlanta TV station for their final interview. Had Abby told him the truth? Did she love him?
He wanted to believe her feelings for him were real, but how could he be sure?
If she had lied, both offstage and onstage, about her marriage to Lenny, could she be lying to him? Had he totally misread her? Could she have been involved with Milano's scam? Was she going to take that jerk Lenny back into her life? Into her bed?
He clenched his teeth, seeing red. Had he lost his mind? Taken a chance on losing his career, giving up a great story and his daughter for a woman who might be using him? For someone who might not even care for him?
Hell, he'd wanted to declare his love, but he hadn't been able to, not with secrets and lies still between them like a brick wall that he might not be able to scale afterward.
As soon as they arrived, the crew whisked them into the green room. Minutes later, they both stood outside the set, listening to last-minute preparations. An audience seating area sat to the right, where he noticed Abby's sisters, along with several other guests.
Abby turned to him and clenched his hands. "We have to talk after the show, Harry."
He nodded, knowing the day of reckoning had arrived. "Yes, we do."
She frowned, reached up and kissed him, then adjusted his mustache. It would be the last time he paraded as Lenny Gulliver. One thing he didn't understand—if the police had made the connection from Milano to Gulliver, why hadn't they already shown up to arrest him? And they hadn't arrested Abby, so they must believe her innocent...
"We're ready," the director announced.
"My knees are knocking." Abby clung to his hand as they walked onstage and settled into the set's love seat.
The host, an attractive African-American woman, Deborah Long, introduced the two of them.
Suddenly a voice shot out from the audience. "That man is an impostor. He's not Abby Jensen's husband."
Abby gasped and Hunter squinted through the blinding lights to see who had spoken.
"Excuse me." Ms. Long stood. Her gaze swung to Abby, then Hunter. "Is this true?"
"Er..." Hunter began.
Abby gaped at him.
Security started toward the woman, but the host held up a warning hand.
"I'm Trina Thomas from the National Wonderer," the woman said. "And that man is a reporter from the AJC."
Abby's sharp gasp echoed across the stage.
"His name is Hunter Stone."
Chapter 25
The Awkward Morning After
Shock waves trickled through Abby at an alarming speed.
This couldn't be happening.
The host's gaze swung to Abby, then Harry. "Is this true?"
"Uh, yes," Hunter said in a gravelly voice that knocked the wind from Abby. "But I can explain."
The pain that knifed through her was so intense she had to be visibly bleeding. She gaped at Harry, certain he'd instigated some kind of joke, but guilt riddled his face as clear and plain as the horror that was stealing through her, sucking the oxygen from her lungs.
"Abby, I can explain," Harry—no, Hunter—said in a low voice. "Just bear with me. Please."
Bear with him!
Good heavens, she had bared her body and her soul and heart to him.
She had told him she loved him.
And he was Hunter Stone—the man who had written the dreadful articles about her in the paper. The extent of his deceit slammed into her like a sledgehammer. He had not only written about her and hounded her for an interview, when she had refused it, he had invaded her personal life, seduced her with his charm and false concern, taken her to bed, and—even worse—made her fall in love with him. He had even used his child to help pull his scam. Nausea rose in her throat, nearly choking her.
To think she had imagined him her hero, rescuing her from the other nosy reporters, from that ghastly PI, when all along he had simply been keeping her to himself so he could get an exclusive. Why hadn't she seen through his act? For heaven's sake, he'd used that ridiculous name, Harry Henderson. Suspicion snaked through her as a flashback of those sunglasses shot through her mind, and she glanced at his hands.
The manly hands that had held her. The ones that had seemed too large for the cross-dresser in line at the book signing. The orange sunglasses Lizzie had worn that seemed so familiar...
She staggered backward. "You dressed like a woman to spy on me?"
Hunter reached out to console her, but she shook her head vehemently.
"Would someone like to explain what's going on here?" Deborah Long's voice broke into her pain-glazed subconscious. Hunter opened his mouth to respond, but Abby suddenly stood. Damn him. If anyone was going to tell her story, it would be her.
She was tired of being victimized, of hiding behind an act, of deceiving the people she cared about—her patients. Victoria and Chelsea both stood as if to rescue her, but she shook her head.
There were no heroes left in the world. If she wanted rescuing, she had to rescue herself.
"I'd like to say something," Abby said to Deborah.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry—Hunter—watching her every expression, but she steeled herself against her emotions, tucking them away until she could deal with them and have a full-blown meltdown later. In private.
Where she would probably hide for the rest of her life.
"Certainly, Dr. Jensen," Ms. Long said.
Abby faced the camera, inhaled a calming breath, and was surprised at how easily her confession came.
"It's true, this man is not really my husband," she said, her voice strong although her legs pinged back and forth like broken violin strings. "As I told the police"—Suarez gestured to her from the back while Barringer moved to cover the door—"I'm not sure where Lenny is at the moment," Abby finished. Although she suspected the weasel was somewhere in the crowd, slinking in a dark corner, waiting on his money.
Abby continued, her voice growing stronger. "A few weeks ago, the same day my book debuted, I received a Dear John letter from the man I thought was my husband. But it turned out that we hadn't been legally married at all. I was a victim of the Milano scam."
More gasps and oohs and ahhs filtered through the room, along with a few pitying looks. The host filled the audience in on the details of the scam, having recently interviewed a number of the victims on her show.
Abby tightened her hands by her side. "I've been a marriage counselor for several years, and I've heard people talk about the hurt and anger and shock they experience when a spouse indulges in an affair. I've listened to stories about depression and the sense of failure when a marriage ends. But I never understood those feelings the way I do now that I've experienced them myself."
She paused, sensing she had the crowd's full attention.
"I was in shock when I received the letter from Lenny. When my publicist called and wanted me to do this tour with my book, I didn't know what to do. I was afraid people wouldn't take me seriously if they thought I didn't have the perfect marriage myself." The crowd was so quiet she could hear her own breath quavering into the microphone. "I know now that was wrong. But at the time I felt humiliated and embarrassed. Despite my situation, deceiving the public was not right, but because I was in such a vulnerable emotional state, I allowed myself
to get swept up in a publicity stunt." She gestured toward Hunter without looking at him. "I let this man pretend to be my husband onstage."
"Unfortunately, I was conned again. I didn't realize the man I hired was the reporter who had been hounding me for a story." She turned to the female reporter from the National Wonderer. "Mr. Stone has his exclusive." She did look at him then, all the pain and anger she felt churning inside her. "He's certainly earned it."
He could have his story now. He had already taken her heart and broken it.
She clutched her hands together, barely holding on to her self-control. "I do hope that whether you buy my book or not—whether you decide it's worth it or not after this publicity stunt—that if you're in a relationship you'll take the advice offered in Under the Covers the way it was meant, to help open the doors of communication. And please remember that honesty is the best way to maintain a long-term relationship. Secrets and lies will only destroy you."
Abby turned and shook Ms. Long's hand. "Thanks for letting me be here today."
Then she turned and walked offstage, shoulders squared, head high. Surprisingly, the audience burst into applause, but she was too relieved to get away from the camera and Hunter to care.
Her sisters rushed to her. "Are you okay?" Chelsea asked. "I can't believe that actor was a rat."
"I'm so sorry," Victoria said, hugging her.
Abby embraced them both, searching the area for Lenny. She gripped Victoria's arms. "I'm going to hunt for Lenny."
"We'll go look, too." Her sisters scattered in opposite directions while Abby ducked backstage and worked her way through the vacant studio rooms. She hoped Detective Suarez had already caught him.
Near the back entrance, she froze in shock. Lenny was trying to sneak out the back door, but Hunter Stone snatched him and dragged him into a holding room.
She grabbed a folding chair for support. Apparently Hunter was going to get a quote. Damn him. He would probably also get the pictures to add to the story he had under wraps.
The panty-pervert PI darted into the room behind the two men. Had he been working with Hunter all along?
* * *