Looking for Love (Boxed set) (50 page)

Abby squeezed her cup so hard, coffee sloshed out. She grabbed a napkin, wiping the whipped cream from her fingers. "I thought Chelsea probably explained."

His gaze trapped hers. "She said he was out of the country. So unless there's trouble in paradise, why didn't you just tell the director the truth?"

Abby's fingers tightened around her cup again. No trouble in paradise. There was trouble everywhere she turned. "I... I was going to, but Chelsea had this wild idea and hired you before I could stop her. In fact, I told her the other day I didn't want to do this."

"I still don't understand." He splayed his hands in a questioning gesture. "Why hire an actor? Why not wait until your real husband comes home?"

Abby grappled for a reply. She'd never been good at lying, but the entire truth was just too painful to share. "Because I'm not sure where Lenny is."

He waited, studying her. Was that sympathy in his eyes?

"He's been detained, and I need some time to figure out why and to help him before the press finds out."

"I see."

He did?

A slow smile curved his mouth. "Chelsea said he's in Brazil?"

Mexico. Brazil. Hell if she knew. "Yes." Desperate, she covered his hand with hers. "Please, Mr. Henderson. I need some time. I don't want to do anything that might endanger him."

She was surprised her nose hadn't grown with that whopper of a lie.

His long fingers curled around hers, enveloping her small hand. The touch set off a siren in her mind, warning her that Harry Henderson, apish though the name sounded, exuded sex in spades. He should come equipped with a warning label that read
Danger.

She slowly released his hand, well aware his dark gaze tracked her jittery fingers as she reached for her purse. "Well, thank you, Harry. Now, how much do I owe you?"

His dark eyebrow rose. "You don't owe me, Abby."

"But—"

"Your sister hired me; she'll take care of the bill through the arts center."

"Oh, right." She'd forgotten how the center worked. She'd just have to cover it with Chelsea.

"Are you sure you don't need me for other appearances?" A wicked grin teased the corners of his mouth. " 'Cause I'm available if you do."

She squirmed and sipped her mocha. "I don't plan any. Today was humiliating enough."

"I thought it went pretty well. The audience loved you."

"No, they loved you... I mean your act."

"They did enjoy that quick save with the panties."

She froze, remembering he'd stuck them in his pocket as they'd left.

"By the way, nice choice," he said in a gruff voice.

Abby avoided his gaze, but his husky tone washed over her like silk along her skin. "They got caught in the dryer with my blouse."

"Uh-huh."

"Really." Abby fanned her face. "I spilled something on my blouse this morning and had to rinse it and dry it before the show and..." His low chuckle forced her to let the sentence trail off. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

The devilish look remained. "It's hard to believe a woman who's written a sex guide could blush."

"It's not a sex guide."

"Call it what you want, but it is hot, Abby."

"I only wanted to help couples. The divorce rate is just so high these days—"

"Tell me about it."

She searched his face for the truth, seeing it in the sudden sadness in his eyes. "You're divorced."

"Yes."

Sympathy tugged at her. "I'm sorry."

"It's history." He shrugged again, although his expression seemed strained as his broad shoulders stretched along the back of the chair.

She clutched her purse, a case of nerves attacking her. As if the man's raw sexuality hadn't affected her enough, now she was beginning to like him.

Well, maybe not
like,
but at least see him as a real man, not just an actor.

An impossible situation.

He knew part of her secret, and she could not get tangled up with anyone right now. Besides, she was reacting this way only because Lenny had left her ego desperately in need of feeding. "I have to go." Gathering her courage, she squeezed his hand one more time. That electric touch zinged through her just as it had earlier. "And thanks for today. I hope you'll be discreet."

"Don't worry, Abby." He leaned closer again, this time so close he actually brushed a gentle kiss to her hair as he whispered, "Your secret's safe with me."

She sighed in relief and stood, legs wobbling like rubber bands. "Thank you so much. By the way, good luck with your acting. I'll look for you on the big screen." Then she turned and hurried away.

Thank heavens she would never see the man again.

Chapter 7

Panty Passions

Shaken from the interview, Abby drove toward home, storm clouds brewing above, the interlude with that actor Harry Henderson playing over and over in her head. Had she said too much? Given away too much? Would he keep her secret or would she get caught in her lies?

She had to extricate that man from her mind.

He had been sexy and powerful and too damn charismatic for her. Just as Lenny had been in the beginning. Only even more so...

But she'd remedied what little chemistry she and Lenny might have had, she thought with a rueful shake of her head. She'd been so stunning in bed, he had preferred
men.

Tears threatening, she flipped on the radio to try to calm herself; then the sky darkened to a fever pitch and rain clouds burst open. She cursed and turned on her wipers, and let the tears fall. Tears for the lies she'd told today. For the fool she'd been.

For ever thinking she'd fallen in love with Lenny.

For feeling an insane attraction to an actor her banana-sister had hired to play the husband who'd deserted her.

Traffic crawled to a stop; an emergency vehicle raced by with its lights flashing. The cars in front of her braked to a dead halt. Obviously there was an accident ahead. Traffic would probably be at a standstill for an hour or two while the police cleared it.

Realizing she was stuck, she decided to pull into the local superdiscount store to pick up some supplies. Tonight she would throw herself the mother of all pity parties and kiss her dreams of happily-ever-after good-bye.

Because once again, it was Saturday night and she was single and alone.

* * *

Hunter finished his latte with a grin. He knew exactly what Abby Jensen was thinking as she left the shop: she would never see him again.

A low chuckle rumbled from him as he tugged her thong from his pocket and gazed at the skimpy, silky fabric. But this time the good doctor would not have her way.

He would find out exactly why Chelsea had hired him to play Abby's husband.

He just couldn't let her get to him in the process. And for a minute she had....

Then he'd realized she was simply flirting with him because he was privy to part of her secret and she wanted to make certain he kept it. Which proved his original theory about her being manipulative, not the family-oriented martyr type she portrayed herself to be.

The scent of her delicate perfume lingered on his clothes as he left the coffee shop; he'd have to ditch these clothes so he could vanquish it. Just as he had to banish his memory of that erotic orgasmic kiss.

Dammit.
The woman was married.

Even if he wasn't working on a story and detested the marriage therapist, he did not, had not, would not ever mess around with a married woman. Not only did he value his own life too much to chance being murdered by an irate jealous husband, he did have some scruples.

Hunter peeled off the mustache and wig—okay, maybe not stringent scruples, but he had a bona fide reason for deceiving the woman, and the end justified the means. Cursing, he scrubbed his hands through his hair to spike the matted mess as he cranked his Explorer and wove through the heavy traffic and rain. Still, Abby Jensen remained a puzzle to solve.

One minute she was spouting off suggestions to improve intimacy and talking about passionate positions and orgasmic kisses, and the next she was blushing like a virgin.

And that story she'd invented about her husband—what kind of baloney was that?

She had actually looked vulnerable for a moment, sad, as if she were really concerned about the man. Had he been detained on business somewhere? Was he in trouble with the law?

She'd said she didn't want to endanger him. Could he be the victim of one of those business kidnappings he'd heard so much about in South America?

Hmm.
That might explain why she wanted to keep his disappearance quiet. And why she was worried about his safety.

Or had something else caused her sadness? Something more personal...? The obvious answer reared its ugly head.

Had her husband had an affair? Had he left her for another woman?

Rain splashed his windows, thunder rumbling overhead, cars slowing to a dead stop. He flipped on the radio to check the traffic reports.

"Folks, we have a nine-car pileup on Peachtree Street, no fatalities or serious injuries reported, but traffic will remain gridlocked for at least an hour while the police clear the scene. And now for the weather".

"The storm is passing through, folks. Believe it or not, it's headed south and will be gone in a couple of hours."

Hell.
He contemplated another route, but up ahead he spotted Abby's Toyota pulling into the big shopping complex. Maybe he'd follow the doctor, see what she was up to. He could pick up some supplies while he was here, maybe drop by Lizzie's later and see if she wanted to go camping, spend some quality time alone with her. If they headed north, they'd drive out of the bad weather.

A father-daughter camping trip, complete with a sleeping bag on the hard, uncomfortable ground, would be the perfect way to help him forget Abby Jensen and her nonsense about bedroom talk between the sheets.

And the fact that even though she wasn't his type, he wouldn't mind crawling under the covers into a nice, warm bed with her—naked, hot, and willing.

* * *

Abby fought with the umbrella, cursing in frustration as the wind sucked it upside down, lifted it from her hands, and flung it into the air. She jogged after it, but a runaway grocery cart full of disposable diapers suddenly flew out of nowhere and whacked into her stomach. Abby yelped, stumbled, fell against a Ford pickup, and broke the heel of one shoe.

A pregnant woman ran after the cart, her big belly leading. "I'm so sorry," the woman screeched over the downpour as she grabbed the cart.

"No problem." Abby pushed the buggy toward her, staggering on her broken shoe, then realized the woman was driving the pickup, so she moved away.

"Thanks." Rain splattered the woman's pale face, and she suddenly clutched her stomach in pain. "Oh, my God."

Abby froze. Was the lady going into labor?

"Get in," Abby said. "I'll put your things in the truck for you."

The woman offered a weak smile. "Thank you. I don't feel so good."

Abby's heart raced. "Can you drive yourself?"

The woman fought with the door against the wind, but eventually climbed inside the cab awkwardly. "I only have a block to go."

And where was her husband when she needed him?

Cursing men in general, Abby stuffed the diapers into the other side of the truck, slammed the passenger door, and waved. But suddenly the woman clutched the steering wheel, doubled over, rested her head on top of it, and let out a loud screech.

Abby shivered and ran around to the driver's side.
Dear heavens.
The woman was having her baby right here in the middle of the Wal-Mart parking lot.

"Help!" The woman turned a panicked look Abby's way, then pointed to her stomach. "It's coming!"

Abby swallowed, momentarily paralyzed. She didn't know anything about delivering a baby, but the woman swung open the truck door, bellowed again, and clawed at Abby's arm, jerking her out of her stupor. She jumped on the lower step of the cab and tried to calm the woman. "Are you sure?"

"My water just broke."

Abby glanced down at the seat and saw the evidence. "I'll get an ambulance."

"Don't leave me!" The young girl flopped backward, grabbed her belly, and howled. "I have to push!"

Sweet Jesus, no. Not yet.
Didn't deliveries take time, long hours of waiting at the hospital?

"Just hold on," Abby said. "I'm sure you've got—"

"It hurts!" The woman panted and heaved. "I feel the head!"

Abby grabbed her cell phone, punched in 911, and grimaced when the woman screamed again, scooted backward on the seat, and began shoving at her clothes. Abby told the dispatch officer where to come, then hung up and tried to think.

"I've got to push!"

She couldn't have the baby on the seat of the truck!

Frantic, Abby searched the woman's bags for something sterile to place under her. She certainly couldn't boil water! Toothpaste, cosmetics, a toilet brush, rubber gloves—she tore open the plastic gloves and pulled them onto her hands.

The lady bucked up off the seat with a yowl, grabbed the steering wheel, and hit the horn. It blared along with her howl.