Looking for Love (Boxed set) (65 page)

"Hmm. Definitely."

"Well, good night. Call me if you wake up in the night and want to talk, okay?"

"Thanks. I will, Harry."

He hesitated, wishing he could say more. That he could be honest with her. Then again, she was lying to him. She was still married. He cleared his throat. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Harry."

He winced at the name.

"Oh, and Harry?"

He slunk down lower in the bed. In spite of the fact that so many lies stood between them, his body still thrummed from the sultry sound of her voice. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for being such a good friend."

His hand tightened around the phone. The sound of the click on the other end of the line jarred him almost as much as her thank you. Sure, she was deceiving him, and refused to tell him the truth about her husband.

But he'd gone into the deception knowing something was fishy. She had no idea he wasn't who he claimed to be. That he wasn't her friend at all. That he was the obnoxious Hunter Stone, the reporter who'd slandered her in his articles. The man she most despised.

Sweat beaded on his body as reality intervened. Abby Jensen was going to hate him when she discovered the truth about him.

And he couldn't blame her.

Chapter 18

The Tease

The next day Hunter tried to shake off the unsettling feeling that he might be falling for Abby, a married woman. He'd written up his articles for the day and driven to his ex's house to pick up his daughter for his weekend with her, his mind on overload. Lizzie was in the bathroom, and he was pacing the floor, trying to figure out how to get out of the interview scheduled for today, or explain the charade to his daughter without making himself look like a low-down, sneaky, conniving liar.

Which he was beginning to think described him pretty damn well.

"Daddy, is this a caterpillar?"

He pivoted in the hallway and silently groaned. Lizzie had found his fake mustache and hair along with the flowery dress he'd worn that day at the book signing. "Daddy, you been playing dress-up with my clothes?"

Hunter grimaced. "Lizzie, come here; let me explain something to you."

Lizzie's big eyes widened as she followed him to the den and climbed onto his lap. She wiggled the mustache in her hand. Angelica lay beside her, watching. "Look, it crawls like an inchworm."

Hunter grinned, lifted the strip of hair from her fingers, and placed it over his lip. "It's a mustache. See?"

Her blond eyebrows crinkled together. "You look furry, Daddy."

Hunter chuckled. "I know. Listen, I've told you about my job. How sometimes I have to pretend to be someone else to get information from people."

She bobbed her head up and down, blond pigtails flopping.

"Well, this is one of Daddy's props. I use it as a disguise when I play this guy Harry. And tonight you'll get to see me in action." If he couldn't get out of it.

She clapped her hands together. "Oh, boy, can I playact, too?"

Hunter nodded. "As a matter of fact, you can. You can keep my act a secret. Dr. Abby thinks my name is Harry."

Lizzie giggled and pulled at the mustache.

"And when I go on TV with Dr. Abby, I pretend to be Lenny, her husband. So, you have to play along."

Good Lord,
What was he doing? He clasped her hands in his and pressed them to his chest. "Do you think you can remember that? When we meet Abby, I'm Harry the actor. And when I go on TV with her, I'm her husband Lenny."

She scrunched her lips in thought. "Dr. Abby thinks you're an actor?"

Hunter nodded. "Yes, honey, she's paying me to act like her husband."

"Why, Daddy?"

Good question.
"Because her real husband couldn't come tonight."

"Oh." She wiggled in his lap.

"Understand, pumpkin?"

Her head bobbed up and down again. "Do actors get paid big money?"

He shrugged. "Some of them."

She released his hand and held out her small one, palm up. "Then pay up."

Hunter stared at her hand, realized he'd been conned by a five-year-old, and wondered at his own sanity.

He handed her a dollar anyway. Then she held out Angelica's hand for her payment, too. He groaned and forked it over.

* * *

Abby had been so busy all day she'd barely had time to think about Harry and the night before.

Well, almost.

One of her clients had confessed that her marriage was in trouble, that her husband's cell phone had become a permanent appendage, so Abby had suggested the wife shake him up by phoning him on his mobile and giving him a mental massage.

Harry's titillating voice the night before boomeranged in her mind. This flirting game had to stop. She absolutely could not get in the habit of indulging herself in such crazy, risqué behavior with strangers. Especially when she was supposed to be married to someone else.

How pathetic was she?

She needed distance between herself and Harry. It shouldn't be too hard tonight; after all, he had phoned to say he was bringing his daughter along. As much as she loved children, a child underfoot would undoubtedly throw cold water on the hot flame of passion. Most of her clients insisted children were the best form of birth control available. More effective than condoms any day.

The doorbell dinged, Butterball yelped, and Abby scooped up the puppy and hurried to answer the door. Tonight she would be safe with Harry.

And tonight there wouldn't be any late-night phone calls. When Harry left, she didn't intend for him to take her heart with him.

* * *

"Hi, Abby." Hunter squeezed his daughter's hand as she ducked behind his leg, a sudden shyness attacking her. He prayed she wouldn't give him away.

"Hey. Come on in." Abby gestured toward the foyer with a flick of her head. Her hands were busy petting the mop in her arms. And she didn't quite make eye contact, as if she was embarrassed about their intimate phone massage the night before. "You look nice and rested," he said, unable to keep from mentioning it.

A blush slid onto her cheeks. Just as quickly, her eyes flashed him a warning. "I slept very well. Thank you."

Lizzie's head reappeared at his hip when she noticed the puppy, and he stepped inside, dragging her with him. "This is my daughter, Lizzie."

Abby grinned and stooped down to Lizzie's level. "Hi, Lizzie. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meets you, too," Lizzie mumbled. She pushed Angelica in front of her. "This is my friend, Angelica."

"Hi, Angelica. I'm glad to finally meet you."

Lizzie giggled. "You're that sex lady, aren't you?"

Abby blushed again. "Not really, honey. You can call me Ms. Abby."

"Daddy says you're a doctor?"

"That's right."

"Are you gonna give me a shot?"

Hunter caught Abby's startled gaze and shrugged, enthralled with Abby's tenderness toward his daughter. "Honey, Dr. Abby isn't that kind of a doctor."

"What kind of doctor is she?"

"I listen to people's problems and try to help them," Abby explained softly.

Lizzie quirked her head in thought, her ponytail bobbing. "So if me and Angelica gots a problem we can come and tell you?"

Abby searched Hunter's face for an answer and he nodded. Better she explain than him.

"Sure, honey. You can call me anytime, night or day, to talk. Do you have a problem?"

"Nope, just wondering."

The puppy squirmed, raised its head, and perked up its ears, bright eyes shining beneath the fluff of hair. Lizzie giggled. "That your puppy?"

Abby nodded. "You want to pet him?"

Lizzie inched toward her, finally releasing his leg. "What's his name?" Lizzie looked up at him and winked. "He looks like a Harry, Daddy, don't he?"

Hunter's heart pounded. "Well, yes, sort of."

"That's a great name," Abby said softly. "But I've been calling him Butterball."

Lizzie giggled. " 'Cause he eats butter?"

Abby laughed. "I have a feeling he would eat anything. He's already chewed up my tennis shoes."

"You could call him Sneakers."

Abby laughed again. The puppy squirmed, and Lizzie stroked its head with a tentative hand.

"Come on in and you can hold him," Abby said.

Abby led them to the den. Several oversize throw pillows lay on the floor in front of the fireplace, and a chew toy in the shape of a tennis shoe had been tossed in the middle. The room looked lived-in, much cozier than his own dreary apartment.

He wondered what her bedroom looked like. If she had a brass bed or a four-poster one. If she had simple cotton sheets or satin. If she'd made up the bed since the night before...

Lizzie dropped to her knees, laid Angelica beside her, then took the teeny puppy in her arms and nuzzled it.

"Daddy, can we get a doggie like this?"

Hunter frowned. "He's not a real dog; he's a mutant throwback."

Lizzie wrinkled her nose. "A what?"

"Are you insulting my dog?" Abby asked.

Hunter shrugged. "No, but I want a man's dog. He's a sissy dog."

"He's beautiful," Abby argued. "I saw a whole pageant of them on TV—"

So had he. He'd had to cover the pageant for an article. Had Abby seen him there?

Surely not or she would have mentioned it by now.

"I seen it, too, Daddy, and I loves him," Lizzie whined. "I wants one, too. I could dress him up in my baby-doll clothes."

Hunter squelched the urge to groan.

"We'll get a real dog for you, honey," Hunter said.

"One like this?"

"Tell you what, sugar." He knelt and tweaked her ponytail. "We'll see what animals they have tomorrow at the Humane Society, and you can pick a dog. Okay?"

" 'Kay." She rocked the puppy in her arms as if it were a baby, then leaned over and whispered. "I loves you, Butterballs. And Daddy says I'm getting one just like you tomorrow."

Abby chuckled. "What should we tell the producer about Lizzie?"

"I'll tell them she's my niece."

"Are you okay with that, Lizzie?" Abby frowned, as if it bothered her to encourage the little girl to lie.

Lizzie revealed the space where a tooth would have been as she smiled. "Yep, Angelica and I are actors like daddy." She pulled out a dollar bill from her pocket. "See, I got big bucks for tonight. And Daddy paid Angelica, too."

Abby's skeptical look made Hunter feel about two feet tall. Some role model he was for his daughter.

If his ex found out he was paying Lizzie to lie, she'd probably banish him from seeing her.

* * *

The interview went off without a hitch. Abby shook the deejay's hand, grateful one of the staff had taken Lizzie on a tour of the radio station so she couldn't hear the adult topics they'd discussed.

Wiping a hand across her forehead, she sighed, realizing she'd been more than discombobulated by the way Harry had doted on her, too. She'd never had a man be so attentive and affectionate and downright blatantly sexual in the looks he cast her way.

He was teasing, flirtatious, and more macho than any man had a right to be.

During the show, they'd discussed everything from the woman who teased but never followed through to the foreplay that could make a marriage a minefield for orgasms. Through every word, every comment, Harry had watched her intently—playing the ultimate tease himself.

He pressed a protective hand to her lower back and guided her outside, his daughter's hand clasped firmly in his other one. The fading sun painted the sky with purples and oranges, the heat dropping off to a bearable eighty-five. But just as they opened the door to exit, a reporter and a cameraman accosted them.

"We're from the
AJC;
will you give us an interview, Dr. Jensen?" The rail-thin man pushed square glasses up his nose. "We heard the show and want you to comment."

The camera flashed, and Harry pushed Lizzie and Abby behind him. He tried to grab the camera, but the cameraman shoved him away. "Leave Dr. Jensen alone. You're not from the
AJC.
You're from that tabloid, the
Inquisitor."

Abby grimaced. Was he right?

The camera flashed again. Abby tried to shield Lizzie from the photos and hide her own face as well. "Daddy," Lizzie cried.

"Get out of here," Harry shouted. "Before I call the cops for harassment."

"It's a free country," the reporter yelled. The cameraman, a young guy who'd barely escaped adolescence and still harbored the pockmarks of pimples to prove it, ran toward a van.

Harry hurriedly ushered his daughter and Abby into the car, dove inside, and started the engine. Traffic was thick as he veered onto the busy street. Abby buckled her seat belt. "Thanks, Harry. I appreciate your taking up for me."

"No problem. That guy's bad news."

Abby tried to forget about the awkward encounter with the tabloid, but Harry's comment nagged at her subconscious.

"Harry?"

His jaw was clenched so tightly she could practically hear his teeth grinding. Lizzie had curled up and fallen asleep in the backseat. "What?"

"How did you know that reporter wasn't from the AJC?"