by Rita Herron
"You'd better be quiet and listen." Marci jabbed his chest with one of her spiked nails. "I'm going to say this once and once it is. You are a jerk."
He knew that, she didn't have to announce it. "But—"
"I said listen." Marci jammed her hands on her hips. "I know you were mad when you found out we'd switched on you, but it wasn't the first time—"
"You mean you do this stuff all the time?"
Marci waved him off. "Yes. I mean no. We've switched on dales before, but Kimberly's never gone off and married one of them."
"Well, that's a relief," he said, wiping his brow with a napkin. "At least she's not a bigamist."
"Don't you dare say anything rude about my sister." Marci gave him a look that was hot enough to fry an egg. "Kimberly is the sweetest, nicest, most sincere person I know. And I'm not saying that just because she's my sister. She's trustworthy and loyal to a fault. God knows she's bailed me out of trouble enough times. But that's my sister. When she loves someone she'd do anything for them."
Even forgive them for being a jerk?
Marci was on a roll. "She's worked day and night to get that daycare center going, sacrificing a better paying job just to help these needy folks, begging people to donate time and money to the center—"
"There really is a children's center?" he asked, his gut churning.
"Of course there is," Marci said in exasperation.
So that part of her story hadn't been a lie. Could her feelings for him be real, too?
"And you just ran off a guy who was going to give her a great deal on doing the renovation work she needed!"
His heart hammered. "That guy... he was... it was about work?"
"Well, what did you think?" Marci rolled her eyes, then paused and studied him. "You mean you thought..."
He squirmed under her indignant gaze, feeling naked and more exposed than he had when Kimberly had seen him in his flashy red underwear.
"You were jealous?" Marci slapped her thigh. "I get it now."
"I'm glad you think it's so funny," Austin said, his face burning.
"Nothing else has been funny the past few days," Marci assured him. "My sister has been absolutely miserable because of you." She paced in front of him, her high heels clicking. He winced as people started to stare. "You broke her heart, you know that?"
"What?"
She planted her pink fingernails on his chest, poking him to emphasize each word. "You. Broke. Her. Heart."
A pang of longing hit him in his chest as Kimberly's tear-streaked face flashed in his mind.
Marci narrowed her eyes. "You were obviously jealous when you saw her with Tate. Does that mean you really care about my sister? You didn't do that just to humiliate her?"
"God, no," he said, his breath whooshing out.
"No, what?" Marci jabbed his chest again with her nail.
"I'd never do anything to humiliate her," he said quietly. "I'm in love with her."
Marci's face burst into a bright smile. "Then what the heck are you doing sitting here talking to me? Go tell her, you idiot."
Chapter 12
Kimberly swiped at her tears, mortified Austin had embarrassed her in front of the contractor. They'd been close to negotiating a reasonable price when he'd embarrassed her by kissing her like that. Why had he done it?
She'd considered calling him a dozen times in the last two weeks, but every time she'd reached for the phone, she'd seen the look of disgust on his face when he'd handed her that check. Even if she apologized, he'd probably always feel he couldn't trust her, because she'd lied.
She traced her finger around her wedding band, telling herself she wasn't entitled to wear it. But she couldn't bear to remove it, she realized. Because then it would mean her marriage to Austin was really over.
It was never real.
Except in her heart.
Holding on to her last shreds of hope, she reached for the phone to call Marci to see if she'd been able to fix things with Tate. If her relationship with Austin wasn't salvageable, at least she could put her efforts into saving the center for the kids. She glanced through the glass window of her office and saw one of the teachers leading an afternoon session with parents and toddlers. No, she couldn't let these people down.
Some things were more important than her love life and her broken heart.
Thomas, a little boy who'd recently joined the center, poked his head in, his big dark eyes brimming with tears. "Ms. Kimmie?"
"Yes, pumpkin?"
"I don't feel like pwayin'."
Kimberly held out her arms and the toddler trotted over and climbed in her lap. She cuddled him close and began singing his favorite lullaby as she combed his dark hair away from his face. And as he snuggled contentedly in her arms, she let herself imagine she was holding her own little boy.
A son with dark hair and dark eyes just like his father—Austin.
* * *
Austin pulled his car in front of the KidsCare center, checking the address Marci had given him. This old house was the place where Kimberly had established her center? So this was the reason she'd gone along with her sister's scheme and switched places with her.
He raked his hand through his hair, knowing in his gut he'd misjudged Kimberly drastically. And he must have hurt her terribly when he'd tossed the money in her face and dismissed her without allowing her to explain. A woman who loved people enough to help them like this had not enjoyed deceiving him or his family. And she hadn't given herself to him without feeling something either.
A surge of determination filled him. His architect's eye quickly evaluated the house, noting where repairs might be needed, where additions could be made. He'd scared off the contractor, but Kimberly didn't need him. Austin would draw up plans for a new building and build it at cost.
He would help her the way she helped others.
It seemed he and Kimberly had more in common than he'd ever imagined.
Hope budding in his heart, he hopped out of his car and strode up the walkway, his gaze drawn to the decrepit playground and cluster of small children playing in the tire swings and on the monkey bars. A middle-aged woman and a young teen supervised the group, and he waved when they looked his way. Then he opened the paint-chipped wooden door and walked inside to search for his wife.
A small foyer housed wooden chairs, and bright children's paintings decorated the walls. Through the glass window, he immediately spotted Kimberly sitting at a large wooden desk, a small dark-haired little boy snuggled in her lap. She was singing softly to the child.
Austin's chest tightened, and shame for acting out of anger filled him. He'd been so caught up in his own hurt feelings to listen to Kimberly, he'd almost lost her.
It would never happen again. Obviously she always took care of everyone else, including her dizzy sister, but he'd change that.
From now on, he'd take care of her. If she'd let him.
Unsure how to approach her, he suddenly wished he had a white flag of surrender to wave. Then he spied a piece of paper and a box of broken crayons on the table by the door and quickly picked up a purple crayon and began to write.
* * *
A tapping sound jolted Kimberly from her singing, and she glanced up to see Austin rapping at her window. Disappointment washed over her when she noticed he was waving some kind of paper in his hand.
The divorce papers.
A slow ache throbbed in her chest. She might as well accept it. If he wanted the divorce, she’d give it to him.
Then he threw up a white handkerchief and waved it. Blinking back tears, she motioned tor him to come in, then took Thomas to the other room, lay him on a cot and covered him with a blanket.
As soon as she reentered her office, she fought the urge to throw herself at Austin and beg his forgiveness. Then she saw him waving the paper again and her heart sank. He handed it to her, and she gritted her teeth, trying to decipher the words.
Suddenly her eyes widened in shock. I love you, Kimberly.
/> "I love you, darlin'," he whispered out loud.
Kimberly lost her breath. Her gaze met his, and her heart did a crazy dance at the tenderness in his eyes. The anger she'd seen earlier had dissipated, and hunger darkened his expression.
"I love you, too," she whispered fiercely.
He rushed toward her, his intense look sending a tingle through her. "You mean that?"
"With all my heart," Kimberly whispered. She framed his face with her hands. "Austin, I'm so sorry, I promise I'll never lie—"
He pressed his finger to her lips. "I love you, Kimberly. Nothing else matters."
She kissed his chin. "But I want you to know why I didn't tell you the truth."
"I'm listening," he said, pulling her closer.
She stroked the hair at the base of his neck. "At first I wanted to, but then I thought you wanted Marci, that you were attracted to her."
His jaw went slack.
"Then when I started falling for you, I was afraid you wouldn't want me, not the real Kimberly. Marci's so flashy and sexy—"
"You are twice as sexy as your sister," he said, wondering where Kimberly had ever gotten the idea otherwise. "And I was never really attracted to Marci, not until I spent time with you." He threw his head back and laughed. "You nearly drove me crazy. I kept wondering how you could be so different from the waitress I'd seen at the restaurant."
"We're mirror images—I'm the exact opposite of Marci in every other way," Kimberly said.
"I know and that's why I love you," he nearly shouted.
Kimberly’s heart raced.
"I'm sorry about messing things up with that contractor," he said in a rough voice. "I thought he was hitting on you."
"It's all right," Kimberly said with a shrug. "I'll work out something."
He tipped her chin up and forced her to look into his eyes. "We'll work something out, darlin'. You know you happen to be married to an architect."
A smile curved her rosy lips. "Is that right?"
He kissed her soundly on the mouth. "That's right. I have a valid license to prove it."
Kimberly blinked back tears.
"Only promise me one thing," Austin said in a husky voice. "No more twin switches."
"I promise." Kimberly giggled mischievously. "Only if we have children—"
"If? You mean when."
"When we have children," she amended with a devilish smile, "we might have twins."
Austin rolled his eyes. "Double trouble forever. Heaven help me."
Kimberly laughed. "So you don't want that divorce after all?"
Austin shook his head, his dark gaze sweeping over her as he removed the plane tickets from his pocket. "Absolutely not. And I think we should take that honeymoon right away—seven days and seven nights of wonderful loving."
Kimberly curled into his arms and kissed him tenderly. "What do you mean, seven days and nights, sweetheart? We have the rest of our lives."
The End
Look for Marci's story in THERE GOES THE GROOM.
Under The Covers
by
Rita Herron
To Kate:
A great editor and friend;
thanks for everything
Chapter 1
The Faker
"No more faking orgasms, ladies and gentlemen," the newscaster's voice boomed from the television. "Not if you and your partner take advice from leading sex therapist Dr. Abigail Jensen in her new sex manual, Under the Covers. Just let me read you a short excerpt."
"It's not a sex guide and I'm not a sex therapist!" Abby waved a hand toward the announcer. "The book is for marriage therapy!"
Abby's twenty-one-year-old sister Chelsea rubbed her hands together in gleeful anticipation and plopped down on the sofa. "I can't wait to hear this."
"Dr. Jensen gives this advice in her chapter on erotic foreplay: Slowly massage his inner thigh with your finger. Trace a long, sensual path from the curve of his toe up his calf, then circle around to tease the thick muscle—"
Abby pressed her hands over her ears, her face burning as the reporter quoted several more passages out of context. "With chapter titles like 'The Orgasmic Kiss,' 'Fantastic Fantasies,' 'Most Passionate Positions,' and 'Naughty Seduction Games,' it's no wonder this book is flying off the shelves," the young newscaster continued. "In addition, this commercial has been running during daytime soap operas."
The picture changed to show a scantily clad, voluptuous redhead reclining on a bed of satin sheets with a copy of Abby's book resting between her parted knees. A brawny man with jet-black hair dressed in red silk boxers kissed his way from the woman's toes up to her knees, where he knocked the book aside with his head before engulfing the woman in a steamy kiss. Dubbed-in oohs and aahs echoed around the rocking couple.
"Oh, my God," Abby whispered.
Chelsea flicked up the volume on the remote, her charm bracelet jingling. "Cool, Mom's new boyfriend really came through for you with that ad, sis."
Yeah, it was a little over the top, just like her mother.
"With each purchase of Under the Covers, customers receive a free set of satin pillowcases to stimulate their own sensual pillow talk," the announcer explained. "And it certainly looks like Dr. Jensen's suggestions are working for this couple. They're hotter than the record temperatures outside."
"Man, I have to find out how to do that orgasmic kiss thing, Ab. Can I take a copy of the book home tonight?"
Abby rolled her eyes, grabbed a miniature Reese's peanut butter cup from the bag, and popped it into her mouth. The last thing her little sister needed was advice on sex; words of wisdom regarding a lasting relationship would be more pertinent.
Under the Covers had been out only two days, and Abby was grateful that it was selling. She hoped that couples would benefit from her years of experience as a marriage counselor, and the extra money she would earn from book sales couldn't hurt. She seemed to have an inordinate number of needy relatives who often turned to her for "loans."
But she hated the media attention. Reporters were always looking for the most scandalous, juiciest story, and they would exaggerate, embellish, even lie in their quest for sensational headlines. She'd learned that painful reality as a child. She grabbed another candy and devoured it—the chocolate treat was both her nemesis and her salvation. "You don't need to read my work. You're not married."
"You mean it's only for married couples?"
"Well, no, not exactly. It's supposed to help all couples improve intimacy in their relationships." Abby paced in front of the bay window, feeling exposed after the latest spotlight on her book, and even more so when she realized anyone on the street could see through her front window. She added curtains to the list of items she had to pick up for her new house.
"Then give me a copy, Abby. I have a new boyfriend."
Abby groaned in disbelief. "Boyfriend? You never see a guy more than twice."
Chelsea scratched her blond head in thought. "I went out with that carpenter three times."
"Great."
"Nah, he was kind of boring. But he did have a big tool—"
"Chelsea," Abby warned.
"...belt." Chelsea's green eyes twinkled. "Especially his hammer."
Abby threw up her hands. "You are incorrigible!"
Chelsea reached for the blender. "And you're awfully uptight for someone who wrote a sex guide."
"It is not a sex guide." Abby stopped abruptly, nearly tripping over the cluster of boxes in the corner. What in the world was she going to do with her baby sister?
Even worse, what if the press discovered the truth: that she'd been following her own advice and it hadn't been working? That she had faked a few orgasms herself?
And a lot of other things...
* * *
Hunter Stone situated himself in a metal chair in his boss's office and glared at the junior reporter, Addleton, the ass kisser, leaning against their boss's cluttered desk. Files, unedited copy, layouts, dirty coffee cups, and Twinkie
wrappers covered the once shiny black-lacquered surface. Shelves overflowed with old copies of the AJC—Atlanta Journal and Constitution—and the faded white walls held framed evidence of Emerson's writing credentials. Ralph Emerson, the chief editor of the Journal and Constitution, had nothing in common with the legendary Ralph Waldo Emerson, except that they both had male genes and two legs.
This Ralph Emerson scratched his protruding stomach, a copy of the morning edition in his hand, smoke stains yellowing his teeth. "Great story, Addleton. That piece on the bombing near the Fox Theater came in just in time for the front page. And it's spiked our website ratings."
Hunter frowned. So far Addleton, number one kiss-up reporter, had outscooped him on everything. But only because Hunter had a black streak on his file from his previous job, and Ralph hadn't unleashed him from the repercussions of it yet.
He'd been at the Chicago Tribune before the AJC, and one lousy error of judgment had flagged him as a man who would do anything for a story, including the unethical. Just because he had hidden in the senator's private bathroom and overheard confidential details about his affairs...
Well, when he'd moved to Atlanta his reputation had preceded him, and though he had managed to get a job at the AJC, he'd been given only piddly stories. After a month, he was damned tired of covering crappy pieces like the recent Maltese pageant and the pancake-eating contest at the local elementary school. Not that he hadn't enjoyed the pancakes...
"Hey, great piece on the hog-hollering contest in Gwinnett County," Addleton said as he loped past him, a cocky grin pasted on his conceited face.
Hunter glared at him, but ignored the barb. After all, the boss was watching.
As soon as Addleton cleared the door awning, Emerson handed him a list of assignments. Hunter thumbed through them in disgust. The local soup kitchen, the daisy festival... He'd missed his dinner with Lizzie twice last week covering some of the same kinds of stuff.