Looking for Love (Boxed set) (69 page)

"No, I'll talk; you listen." She averted her gaze from the dark hair tapering down his washboard stomach to his low-slung jeans. "How dare you make out to be my friend, rescue me and Chelsea like some knight in shining armor, kiss me till my toes curl, then go behind my back and interrogate my sister as if she were a criminal."

He folded muscular arms across his belly and simply watched her as she vented, his calm expression only fueling her temper.

"I never want to see you again."

He raised a brow, a spark of temper flashing in his nearly black eyes. "Are you finished?"

She recognized the barely checked anger in his voice and glanced at the door. Maybe she shouldn't have come.

"Don't even think about running until you hear me out." With a backward kick of his foot, he slammed the door behind him and glared at her, stalking toward her with the intensity of a lion after its prey. "First of all, I did not play nice to you to get you to reveal information about your sister. I played nice to you because I like you and want to be with you." He held up his fingers, using them to tick off his points. "And second, when I questioned your sister, I was simply doing my job. I'm a detective, Victoria. I told you I would do almost anything for you, but I won't compromise my professional reputation."

"So you admit—"

He silenced her with a slash of his hand. "No, I never used you. The precinct is investigating the Tony Milano scams; you've heard of them?"

Victoria gulped. "Yes."

"We found a bank account that connects him with Lenny Gulliver. That's the reason we went to talk to your sister."

So he was a man of conviction—she had to admire him for that. "Oh."

He stood within inches of her, the heat of his body and temper flaming her desire. "I do think your sister was an innocent victim of Gulliver's, but if she has information regarding his business with Milano—"

"She doesn't."

He raised a thick, dark brow. "You're sure?"

"We talked about it when the news about Milano first hit. She searched Lenny's belongings, but she couldn't find anything incriminating or we would have turned it over to the police."

His slight look of distrust rankled her. Even hurt.

"I wouldn't lie to the police, Stefan. Abby wouldn't either." She lowered her voice. "We just didn't want Abby's involvement plastered in the news. They haven't exactly been kind to us over the years."

"I can understand that."

"And Abby deserves better. She's sincere and works hard. She's always helping people, and God knows she was the calm one when we were growing up and my dad..." She hesitated, appalled at how much she was about to reveal.

"I know about your father," he said in a low voice. "And your mom."

Embarrassment heated her face. "I'd better go."

He caught her arm. "I don't care about your parents, Victoria." The sincerity in his husky words touched her. His voice turned low, intimate. "You have to believe that I would never hurt you. That I only want to help."

"I... I guess I'm just used to taking care of everything on my own." She had to glance away from the deep, knowing look in his eyes. How could this man see inside her, read her so well?

He tipped her chin up with his thumb and angled her face so she had to look at him. Had to face the volatile chemistry between them. "Just tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Did my kiss really make your toes curl, Victoria?" A heady sensation flitted through her. Damn, why had she admitted that about his kiss?

His cocky, satisfied grin told her he already knew the answer.

Oh, hell
. "Yes."

He swept big hands down her face, then onto her shoulders, and skimmed them to her waist. Then he pulled her to him, his whisper featherlight against her ear. "Then just think what making love will be like."

She tensed. "You scare me, Stefan. I don't want to think about making love with you."

"Then don't think, my sweetness." He kissed the soft shell of her ear. "Just feel."

For once in her life, Victoria took a chance. She reached up and spread her hands on his bare chest, released a shaky breath, then pulled his mouth to hers and let Suarez take it from there. She desperately wanted to understand the hoopla about all this "under the covers" talk.

And Stefan was just the man to help her do it.

* * *

Abby curled up with Butterball and pulled out her journal.

Day started off with bang. Cops showed up. Thought they might arrest me. Wanted to know where Lenny is. Wish I knew. Will strangle the man when see him.

Harry came by later with Lizzie and pathetic excuse he calls man's dog. Men really are from
Mars
.
Loves his little girl, though. Sweet nature makes up for idiot brain in picking mutt.

What does this woman want?

An honest man who isn't running from the law. Maybe someone like Harry.

She lay back on the pillows and sighed. Exhaustion weighed her down, and she closed her eyes, finally allowing herself the freedom to imagine her life the way she wanted it to be. A life spending her days working, her weekends with her children, and her nights making love to Harry.

No, not Harry. She couldn't be in love, not so soon after being hurt by Lenny.

She meant a man
like
Harry.

* * *

Hunter woke with the mutt dead-asleep on his face, his mind screaming with anxiety. First he'd dreamed that his ex had confronted Abby about the tabloid picture, then spilled the beans about his undercover job. When Abby discovered the truth, she was so mad, she joined forces with Shelly. The judge had ruled him an unsuitable father and had given Lizzie to Shelly permanently, denying him visitation rights.

He rolled to his side and pushed Snarts off of him, frowning as the dog cut one loose. He jackknifed up. His chest hurt, his insides ached, every part of him throbbed with tension.

He could not lose Lizzie.

No, he had to finish this job, and earn that promotion so he could have more time off to spend with Lizzie. That way he'd never have to take her along on an assignment again. But would he be able to keep that promise if he became a criminal investigative reporter? And what if he finally earned a position at a TV station where he traveled all the time?

He stared at the bare walls, at his grungy apartment, worry rolling through him.

He had two hours before he met Abby for their week-long trip. A week with Abby that could be heaven if not for the hellish situation he'd gotten himself into. He crawled from bed, walked the dog, then showered and dressed.

A half hour later, he'd called all the vets and found that the only place that could take Snarts on such short notice was a pet resort and spa that would cost him an arm and a leg. Knowing he'd exhausted his choices, he dragged the dog from his Explorer, cursing when Snarts sprawled onto the grass and refused to budge. The stubborn animal weighed a ton when he dropped down like a rock. Finally Hunter picked him up, grunting as his back almost gave way, and hauled him inside Precious Pets.

A cheery young redhead wearing a pink, heart-shaped smock checked off items on a clipboard as she questioned him. "Would you like to have him groomed while he's here?"

"Yeah, sure." A bath certainly couldn't hurt him. Get rid of those ticks and fleas Shelly was certain he had.

"How about dental work?"

"Is it necessary?"

"Unless you want your dog's teeth to fall out."

Then he couldn't chew his furniture. Still, that didn't seem fair. "Go ahead."

"How about his nails?"

Hunter frowned. "Clip 'em, I guess."

The girl smacked a wad of gum. "What about playtime?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want to schedule playtime with the other animals?" She flashed her braces at him. "We try to make the animals more social. If he has trouble—"

Hunter glanced at the snoring animal. "I don't think he needs it." Hunter didn't wait for more questions. He rolled his eyes and walked out the door, figuring the next thing they would have wanted to know was whether he needed a psychiatric exam.

The dog didn't, but after he'd paid two hundred and fifty dollars for a week's stay, he certainly did.

* * *

Abby feasted on Harry's good looks as they readied for the Monday show. They had flown to New York for two
days;
then they were on to California, making a brief stop in San Francisco before heading to LA. When they returned to Atlanta, they would end the tour with a spot on the
Good Day, Atlanta
show. Then Rainey had promised the charade would end as well.

Of course, so would her relationship with Harry.

But she would enjoy the next five days with him. Muscles rippled and bulged beneath the crisp blue shirt, the aroma of his cologne wafted around her like an aphrodisiac, and his blue eyes devoured her hungrily.

She was certain his devoted look was planned for the camera.

But she could fantasize otherwise.

Of course, an analyst might say she was riding a slippery slope, that her ego needed a boost after the fallout from Lenny.

"Let s talk about what women want," Monica, the anchorwoman of
Battle of the Sexes,
a slim, yuppie-looking, brassy blonde, said.

"That's a tough question, because every woman is an individual, so each woman has her own dreams, desires, secret fantasies."

"Give us some examples, Dr. Jensen."

Abby crossed her leg, aware Harry watched the movement, his breath hitching. Was he acting for the camera now? "Most women I work with want love, respect, and friendship from a partner."

Monica flitted her hand at Harry. "I suppose you two have that."

Harry gave her a sultry look. "We have it all, Monica."

Abby smiled, willing him not to pour it on too thick. He'd been doting on her ever since they'd arrived, touching and caressing her as though he'd never be able to get enough of her. His affection was almost unbelievable; no man was that devoted.

"And women want sincerity, love, romance," Abby explained. "All the old romantic clichés too, like flowers, candy. Some of them want to be wined and dined, while others prefer a wild ride on a Harley."

"We do have romantic dinner plans ourselves later," Harry interjected. "And then I'll take her on the Harley."

The audience laughed, falling right into the palm of Harry's hand.

"Varying the routine is important in keeping the romance alive, too," Abby said, attempting to stay on track, although now images of her and Harry on that Harley tortured her. Her legs straddling his, her arms around his hard middle, breathing in his manly scent with the wind in their faces.

"Many women complain about being taken for granted," she continued. "Their husbands or boyfriends take them to the same restaurants, the same movie theaters within a five-mile radius. Granted, they have legitimate reasons for staying close to home, but people can sink into a rut if they're not careful."

"I've been there," Monica agreed.

Several women in the audience clapped.

"Women want a man to be honest," Abby continued, barely able to drag her gaze from Harry. "To be loving and to take care of her. To encourage her to be herself and to pursue her dreams."

"What are the most common types of fantasies you hear about?"

"Many are romantic in nature. Making love on a moonlit beach. In the back of a horse and carriage. In various rooms of the house. Playing with food and spreading it on a lover. Having sex in the back of a limo with champagne and chocolate." Abby threaded her fingers together in her lap, maintaining a straight face. "Then some people entertain more daring fantasies."

"Such as?"

"Many women fantasize about having sex with a stranger. Some with multiple partners." She hesitated, her body heating up at the blatant raw look of sexuality in Harry's eyes. "Some fantasize about voyeurism—performing in front of the camera."

Harry's breathing grew shallow, his eyes smoky.

"Although many women might not want to engage in group sex in real life, fantasies are a safe way to play out those darkest, wildest urges."

"Any other common ones?" the host asked.

"Of course, some women fantasize about having sex with another woman."

"The lesbian-lover fantasy."

"Exactly. Actually," Abby said with a grin, "men often fantasize about watching their partner with another woman."

A bead of sweat burst out on Harry's forehead. Abby frowned as he wiped it away.

"Another common fantasy is relinquishing control. Women either dream of being dominated or of dominating their man."

"And how about you, Dr. Jensen? Tell us one of your fantasies."

"I..." Abby froze, uncomfortable sharing her fantasies on TV. Finally she improvised. She pulled Harry's tie, making him lean toward her. "That's actually easy. I fantasize about kissing my husband on television."

Laughter rippled through the audience. The heat of the moment swept her away, along with the burning look of lust in Harry's eyes. If he could act for the camera, so could she.

She jerked him to her and laid a lip lock on him. Only she wasn't acting.

* * *

Hunter had been hard and hurting all night.

Ever since Abby had walked onto that television show and talked about fantasies in that husky, low voice of hers—a voice that dripped with sultry undertones, arousing his darkest fantasies and unleashing beastly needs within him. And that kiss onstage...

How was he going to spend five more days with her and not have her?

She's married,
he told himself.
Even if her husband has temporarily run off, you don't know if he'll return one day. If they'll reconcile.

Although why would she reconcile with a con man who'd stolen her money?

The silent lecture did nothing to alleviate the burning ache in his body, though.

They finished their candlelight dinner and strolled through the city, finally giving in to exhaustion and returning to their room at the Plaza. Unfortunately, since the show had made the arrangements, they shared a suite with one bed and a plush sofa. Beautiful cherry wood furniture and fabrics in dark, rich tones gave the room an elegant ambiance, and the marble tubs and crystal wineglasses waiting with complimentary champagne set the stage for intimacy.