Under the Covers (17 page)

Brown's eyes flared, and Hunter knew the PI had noticed Abby didn't use his real name. The sleezy PI opened his mouth, ready to give Hunter away, but Hunter shot him a warning look and loosened his grip. He hated to let the damn man go before squeezing some answers from him, but he had to keep his identity a secret.

Brown seized advantage of the moment, yanked his hand free, and ran down the street like a rooster after a hen. Abby backed toward the porch, still wary.

"What are you doing here, Harry?"

He brushed his hands down his shirt to rid himself of the stench of Brown's hands. "Your sister called me about another interview. I dropped by so we could firm up our schedule, but I heard this creep prowling around back. I didn't want him to bother you."

"Where's your car?"

He gestured down the street toward the Harley. "I'm on my bike."

Relief quickly surged through her, evident in the sharp release of a shaky breath. Without thinking about the consequences, he moved to her, took her in his arms, and offered her comfort.

"Thanks, Harry." Her sweet scent bathed his senses, sending a tingle down his spine. "I hate all these people invading my privacy."

She would hate
him,
too.

"You don't have any idea why a PI would be snooping around, do you?"

She stiffened, then shook her head no. He tightened his arms around her, knowing her fear was real, but that she was also harboring secrets.

Things just got more curious by the minute. Why would a PI who worked for the mob be interested in Abby Jensen?

Chapter 10

The Allure of the Forbidden

"Let's go inside," Hunter whispered.

Trying desperately to ignore his body's response to Abby's curves pressed against him, he forced himself to pull away slightly. She nodded and let him guide her back into the kitchen. Her satiny hair tickled his chin, her sweet fragrance made sweat break out on his brow, and the tender way she'd clutched the front of his shirt triggered his protective male instincts.

He'd read all about the forbidden fruit in her book and realized that he was experiencing the phenomenon every time he touched her. But the want and desire that surged through him was something he couldn't act on.

And didn't want to.

Did he?

Lying to someone to get a story had become second nature, so much that he barely questioned the ethics of it anymore. But he had been raised in the South, and sleeping with a woman for information was out of the question. Especially when he wanted the information to impugn her character.

No, having sex with Abby Jensen was forbidden. Not that she'd offered...

"Harry?"

He closed his eyes and grimaced, absentmindedly stroking her hair. The intoxicating scent of her shampoo mingled with her feminine scent, nearly driving him wild. God, he hated that name. Why hadn't he thought of something better in the first place?

"I'm okay." She gently pushed at his arm. "You can let me go now."

He chuckled and slowly released her, missing the warmth of her body against his. "Sorry. Guess I got carried away with how good you feel."

She backed away completely then, her big eyes cautious. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be forward. I'm m-married, remember?"

"Yes, I remember." But
happily
married? He didn't think so. She stumbled over the word as if it pained her. And where was her loving groom?

Perhaps he had hired Brown to dig up some dirt on Abby, evidence of betrayal for a divorce settlement? If so, her ruse with him would only add fuel to the flame.

"I guess that pervert out there upset me."

Hunter folded his arms, his gaze tracking her long, slender fingers as she wove them through the tresses of her tangled hair to smooth out the ends. His hands ached to take over the task. "Do you want me to call the police and report him?"

"No." Her reply came too quickly.

"Are you sure? You could arrest him for trespassing. Or harassment."

"Uh... no." She averted her eyes, fidgeting with the teacups on the counter, her hands trembling.

"So you can't think of any reason why a PI would be interested in you?"

"No. None at all." Panic momentarily flashed on her face. "I think I'll make some tea to relax me. Would you like some?"

He shook his head, allowing her a brief reprieve. Her jerky movements alarmed him as she filled a kettle with water, set it on the stove, and flicked on the burner. A bag of Reese's peanut butter cups lay open, spilling onto the counter, the only sign of disorder in the room. The last time he'd looked in her house, it had appeared to have been ransacked. Now the place seemed cozy, homey, as if she'd settled in. The pale yellow kitchen had accents of blue in the plates she'd hung on the wall and the placemats on the table. Thick sturdy blue-and-yellow ceramic mugs hung from a wooden dowel, while dainty teapots in various colors occupied a white shelf over the pine table.

Prim little teapots for a not very prim lady.

Who was running scared.

"My grandmother always played tea party with me and my sisters when we were little," she offered, obviously realizing he'd been studying them. A small shrug lifted her shoulders as if the story embarrassed her. "Those memories were the best part of my childhood."

He did not want to know about her sad childhood, or her grandmother, or the reason she collected teapots. Those personal things distracted him, evoked sympathetic feelings that would muddy the waters of his story. Just like the warmth of her body had evoked primal urges that held the same danger.

"Brown said he wanted to talk to you. Do you think he might know something about your husband?"

"What?" Her voice broke.

"You said you weren't sure where he is. I wondered if Brown does."

"I don't know." Abby shrugged and leaned against the counter. "Maybe he wanted to ask about my underwear."

Her attempt at humor failed.

"He did seem fascinated by it."

She pulled at a loose thread on the blue pot holder. "I just hope he leaves me alone." The newspaper lay on the counter, and she picked it up, crumbled it into a ball, then stuffed it in the trash. "Just like I wish that awful Hunter Stone who keeps writing derogatory things about me would leave me alone."

Hunter gritted his teeth.

"It doesn't matter what I do; if I don't give them some dirt on me, they'll go through my garbage and invent some."

He flinched. Unfortunately, she was right. And judging from the way she was acting, they weren't going to have to invent anything. They would find plenty of real dirt.

* * *

Abby mentally chastised herself for her display of emotion.

And for the erotic thoughts she'd let surface while Harry Henderson had held her. Not only had her body thrummed with desire and her heart pounded with excitement, but she had felt safe.

Something she hadn't felt in a long time. Not in the past few days anyway. Not even when she'd been with Lenny.

She couldn't lean on this man, though.

Hadn't she learned she had to fend for herself when her father went to prison?

Besides, Harry was an actor, not a friend. He'd come to her now to play her husband only because her real husband—no, the man she'd thought she'd married—had deserted her. And everyone still believed she was happily married.

Therefore, Harry Henderson was a piece of fruit dangling from the forbidden tree.

She couldn't allow her defenses to slip and reveal the truth about the scandalous turmoil in her life. Not just yet. If she even acted interested in him, he'd think she was an adulteress. And if that Hunter Stone got so much as a hint of such a rumor... She shuddered at the thought.

She'd devoted a full chapter to the allure of the forbidden fruit, but she'd never experienced the powerful and almost hypnotic draw of it before. Because Abigail Jensen had been the good girl who always played by the rules and minded her manners. The sister and daughter who'd taken care of everyone else.

At least she used to be.

But temptation had never rolled in with dark, mesmerizing eyes, broad shoulders, and a macho attitude, acting like a real-life hero—until now, until Harry.

Still, she had to guard her secrets until Lenny resurfaced. Then she could end the lies. A shiver rippled through her, reminding her of how violated she'd felt when she'd seen that PI snooping through her garbage, her underwear wrapped around his hands.

He rubbed her arms. "You're shivering. Are you cold?"

She frowned. He was watching her, his blue eyes hooded, his powerful presence as unsettling sexually as it had been comforting a few minutes earlier.

"Residual shock waves, I suppose."

"Tell me what I can do to help."

Hold me. Touch me. Make the pain go away.

She closed her eyes and inhaled his musky scent. Leather. Sex. Manly scents that pulled at her womb.

He gently removed her glasses and laid them on the counter. "Don't worry about that moron, Abby. I'll take care of him if he comes back."

Abby froze as reality intervened. Her book. The PI. Lenny.

Harry.

He was an actor playing a part, and she was a fool falling into his fickle hands.

She opened her eyes and saw the sultry invitation in his.

Her stomach knotted. How would a woman ever know the truth about a man who acted for a living? How would she recognize real desire from a one-man show? He probably seduced women all day long and bragged to his friends about it.

And she had worked too long and hard to earn her reputation to allow herself to be fooled by another man.

Especially one she was paying to pretend to be her husband.

"The only thing you can do for me is to play Lenny." She forced a coolness to her voice that she didn't feel. "And keep what we're doing confidential so no one finds out."

* * *

Hunter had played cards too many times in his life not to know when he'd lost a hand. He folded gracefully, though heat thrummed through his body like a brushfire out of control. "All right. I'll do my job." He lowered his hand, brushing her hip and thigh with the barest of touches before he jammed it in his pocket. The fact that she looked all sexy in a pair of white shorts and that slinky tank top didn't help. Her breasts might not be large, but they certainly had felt heavenly against him. "But if you need to talk sometime, I'll be glad to listen."

A slow smile played along the seam of her lips. "I thought I was the therapist."

He willed his body in check, but inhaled and nuzzled his cheek against her hair. "I wasn't offering therapy, sweetheart."

Her smile faded, the tension between them palpable. "Then I can't accept anything."

Regret laced her voice. Had her husband hurt her so badly? "So when do we start?"

The teakettle whistled, and she jumped. "Excuse me?"

"When do we make our next appearance?"

She removed the kettle and set it on the stove.

"I'm still trying to convince my publicist to call off the tour." Her eyes flickered away from him. "If she won't bend, we start this week." She removed a tea bag from the cabinet. No exotic flavor, just Earl Grey. "She and I need to iron out the details of the schedule. I want to make sure I still have time to see a few of my patients. Just give me your number, and I'll fax you the itinerary."

He hesitated, but scribbled his number on a pad. "Is there anything I should know before we go on air?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Details on how we met. Our relationship." He studied her. "Things that might come up in an interview."

She arched a brow.

"I wouldn't want to screw up in front of the camera."

She hesitated, her shoulders stiffening as if she might run any second. "I guess you're right. We should get our story straight."

He noticed a bottle of wine on the counter and gestured toward it. "Maybe we can have a drink while we talk. You seem awfully tense."

"I guess it might relax me." The tea forgotten, she removed two wineglasses from the tray on her counter, and he followed her into the den. So
far, so good.

By the end of the night, maybe she would reveal the trouble surrounding her husband. And why she didn't want anyone to know he was missing.

* * *

Abby played a soft jazz CD in the background, hoping the music would calm her raging nerves and drown out the quaver of her voice as she described the beginning of her relationship with Lenny. The first part, the truth poured out easily, although it hurt to think how he'd deceived her.

"Lenny and I actually met in Chattanooga," she said softly. "I visited the psychiatric hospital there to speak. Afterward, I went sight-seeing at the Chattanooga Choo-choo...." She hesitated and he nodded encouragement.

"It's nice. I've been there."

She smiled, remembering her first encounter with Lenny. "The weather was bad that day. Storm clouds opened up about the time I arrived and I got drenched. But I'd already spoken at the college, so I didn't care. It felt good to be in the mountains and out of the office for a day."