Looking for Love (Boxed set) (70 page)

"Thanks for helping me out, Harry," Abby said quietly.

He laced his fingers through hers. "You're worth it, Abby."

She turned to him then, a dozen different emotions in her eyes. Her perfume intoxicated him. The kiss they'd shared earlier still lay emblazoned on his lips like a fever. And now here they were in this romantic haven, all alone.

He poured them both a glass of champagne and toasted the success of her show. "Tell me one of your real fantasies," he whispered softly when she'd settled on the purple velvet sofa beside him.

Abby smiled and played with his fingers, rubbing the ends. "I'd be with a man who wanted me more than anything else," she whispered. "It wouldn't matter where we were, although sometimes I dream we're making love on the side of a mountain, in the bare grass, dandelions and wildflowers dotting the ground around us, the wind blowing cool air on our naked skin." She hesitated and lowered her head as if she'd said too much.

He lifted her chin with his fingers. "Go on."

She licked her lips, her tongue peeking out to torture him, then slipping back inside her mouth where he wanted to be. "We'd make love all night, teasing and loving each other with kisses, and then we'd stare at the stars and he'd take me to the moon again right before it disappeared in the early hours of dawn."

Her voice had faded to a soft whisper, a sound that sent blood racing through his body and caught him on fire. He couldn't fight his urges anymore. Rational thought fled as he pulled her into his arms.

Her mouth found his in a hungry frenzy, tasting of champagne and desire; his hands dragged her to him, lifting her body on top of him so she straddled him. She rocked forward on his aching erection and he groaned, plunging his tongue into her mouth and finally tasting the sweet heaven he knew he would find.

Their tongues mated, danced, sang a song of hunger that only they could hear. With a low growl, he found the buttons of her blouse and slid them open, then tore at her bra with his teeth, watching in awe as her glorious small breasts spilled from the lacy cups and beaded with delight in the dim light of the room.

Chapter 21

What Men Want

Abby's body tingled with erotic sensations, her heart pounding with excitement. Harry cupped her breast in his hands and stroked her bare skin, then lowered his head to lift a pert nipple to his mouth.

A sudden shriek broke into their hushed cries of pleasure.

Abby froze, pressing herself to Harry. An apologetic female voice filled the room.

"Oh, excuse me, folks." Out of the corner of her eye, Abby spotted the maid, a young Hispanic woman in her twenties, her eyes bulging.

Harry jerked Abby's blouse together, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close, peering over her head.

"I... I'm so sorry. I came to turn down your bedding." The maid backed away, her gaze still pinned on them. "I knocked but no one answered."

Because they'd been so involved they hadn't heard her...

The woman turned and fled, slamming the door behind her. Abby moaned in mortification and gathered her composure. Dear heavens, what had she been doing?

* * *

The next day Hunter dressed for the noon interview, his body a raging mass of unsatisfied need, all because of one sexy marriage therapist.

After the maid had fled, so had Abby. She'd refused to talk about the incident, so he'd left her alone and gone to the gym to work off his agitation. Then he'd slept on that damn purple sofa alone with her not more than a few feet away. Only he hadn't slept because the scent of her perfume had lingered on the sofa along with the scent of their desire.

The only thing that had stopped him from joining her in bed and pushing the subject was the fact that she was still married.

Well, and the lies.

And his guilt over deceiving her and writing those articles.

Shelly's threats still haunted him; he had to figure out a way to salvage this job and his relationship with Abby, and get Shelly off his back about this custody issue.

* * *

What men want.

Abby studied her notes, praying she didn't make a fool of herself onstage. She had no idea what men wanted anymore.

If she had to speak from her own experience, she'd say they wanted to screw you, steal your money and pride, then leave you to pick up the sorry pieces.

Not exactly what her audience expected to hear. And ironically, although Lenny had screwed her money-wise, he hadn't wanted to screw her in bed.

Squelching the bitterness didn't come easily, but she checked off the day on her calendar. In four days, this whole ridiculous charade would be over.

Her life would return to normal.

The police, hopefully, would find Lenny.

And Harry would move on to another acting gig. And probably to another woman.

Disappointment tightened her throat, but she swallowed it. He was only acting.

Only they hadn't been on camera the night before.

No performance. Just her throwing herself at Harry. What man would refuse?

And that, she thought, was the answer to her question. Men wanted exactly what she'd offered Harry.

Sex without ties or emotions or commitments.

* * *

As Hunter and Abby settled into the limo, he curved his arm around her and pressed her close. "Did you sleep well last night?" he murmured, although, judging from the dark shadows beneath her eyes, he suspected she hadn't.

Her nervous gaze flitted to him. "Uh, yes. How about you?"

"Actually I didn't," he admitted. "I kept fantasizing about you."

"Harry." Her voice softened, and she closed her eyes as if she could block him out and stop this crazy wanting. "That was a mistake. Like you said, we got carried away—"

"It wasn't a mistake, Abby," he said gently. "And I wasn't acting."

"Harry, please don't." She fidgeted, pulling at her black satiny skirt.

He placed his hands over hers to still them. "I can't help it, Abby. The more I'm with you, the more I want to be with you." He traced a finger over her cheek, his heart racing. "We could play out that fantasy in the limo."

"I... I can't do a one-night stand. That's just not me."

He brushed a kiss over her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of strawberries. "I'm not asking for a one-night stand."

She clutched his hand, squeezing his fingers. "Look, you're an actor, and you're just starting your career." Her voice quavered. "And I can't do a relationship right now. Not with... with everything in my life the way it is."

Not with her husband still missing.

He understood and knew she was right. But it didn't stop him from wanting her. Somehow he had to convince her that all men weren't like her bastard husband.

* * *

Abby paced the green room, her mind racing. The crew hadn't been too fussy: the makeup artist had covered the dark circles under her eyes and fluffed her hair, the sound guy had attached the mike to her clothes—after reassuring her it wasn't turned on yet—and then they had left her to prepare mentally for the show. But all she could think about was Harry. Why had Harry been so sweet in the limo? Was he serious about wanting a relationship with her?

If so, should she pursue it?

She certainly liked Harry a lot. She admired the way he handled and loved his daughter. Although his taste in dogs was atrocious, he did have good intentions in adopting a stray animal. And he must have a kind heart to take in a creature like Snarts.

He was sexy and strong, too, and he'd defended her with those pond-scum reporters. And his touch did feel heavenly. His lovemaking would probably send her over the top in seconds.

No.
A relationship would never work. Once his acting career took off, he'd move to LA or be traveling and... once this whole mess with Lenny was resolved, she'd return to her practice.

"Abby?"

She halted in front of the makeup chair. "Is it time?"

"No, we have a few minutes." Harry shifted on the balls of his feet. "Can I talk to you for a second before we go onstage?"

Abby nodded and he led her to a partitioned area filled with extra camera equipment. A canopy of curtains obliterated the harsh overhead lights and cocooned them in a cloak of darkness.

Harry's masculine scent filled the small space, making her dizzy.

"I want you to know I meant what I said in the limo on the way over."

"What—you want to play out a fantasy by making love in the limo?"

"No." He chuckled and moved closer to her, his knee brushing her thigh in the small space. "Well, yeah, I wouldn't mind doing that, too." He cupped her face with his hands. His breath bathed her face as he whispered in the dark, "I want us to really get to know each other."

Abby's heart slammed against her ribs. "Harry—"

"No, listen, I know you've been hurt before, and so have I, but we have a strong connection. I can feel it when you look at me, when I hear your soft, sultry voice, when I touch you."

His voice played along her nerve endings, winding them into taut strings of desire.

"I want you, Abby."

Did he have to sound so sincere?

He threaded his fingers through her hair and drew her face so close to him, she saw the pulse at the base of his throat beating, felt the whisper of his breath as he lowered his mouth to hers.

"I'm falling for you, Abby."

The softly spoken words severed her cords of resistance, and she melted into his arms again, the heat from the night before that had simmered between them erupting into flames.

His mouth tasted, feasted on, devoured her. She gave him the same, playing with his tongue in a teasing game of passion that surpassed her own fantasies. His hands covered her breasts, stroking and teasing through her silk blouse until she tossed the jacket aside and silently willed him to undress her. His gaze took in her sleek camisole, and he lowered his mouth to taste her, suckling her through the flimsy undergarment. Then he pushed that up, opened her bra, and filled his hands with her breasts, sucking and pulling her nipples until liquid heat pooled in Abby's womb.

"Oh, God, Harry." She moaned and tossed her head back, giving in to wild abandon as he slid his hand up her skirt and found her moist essence. With a low growl, he lifted the skirt to her waist, then pushed her panties aside and feathered his fingers over her sex tenderly. She sank her hands into his hair, flung her head back, and moaned.

"Harry, we have to stop—"

"Not now, baby. You feel like heaven."

Which was exactly where he took her.

"Oh, Harry, don't stop!" She clutched at his arms, her legs buckled, and she almost fell backward, but grabbed a lighting pole to steady herself. He drove her wild with his fingers, playing with the fire inside her, igniting it to a burning flame that threatened to consume her. Screeching his name, she rocked sideways and the pole rocked with her, back and forth, back and forth, until Hunter plunged two fingers deep inside her. The shock of the intimacy jerked her body into a wanton frenzy, and she dropped the pole. A loud crash reverberated through the tiny space, but a thousand sensations burst within her, and she couldn't catch the pole or stop the echo of metal boomeranging throughout the backstage area. Just as the height of pleasure reached a crescendo, applause broke out from the set up front.

Too late, she realized the host of the show was calling her name.

* * *

Hunter heard the announcer calling Abby's name and groaned. What the hell had come over him?

"Oh, my God!" Abby hurriedly tried to fasten her clothes, her hands shaking. Her normally pale complexion had metamorphosed into a bright crimson, her hair was tousled, and his beard stubble had left red scrapes on her face.

He smoothed down her skirt while she fumbled with her bra. But her hands were trembling so much, she couldn't work the clasp, so he took over the task. She closed her eyes, her breathing still labored, mortification mingling with panic.

"It'll be all right," Hunter whispered in a soothing voice. "Just relax. Take a deep breath."

The one she released sounded shaky and torn from her lungs. "I can't believe I forgot where we were and that people were waiting, and—Oh, heavens—"

"Shh." He handed her her jacket, brushed at a makeup smear gently, and kissed her forehead. "You're going to be dynamite. In fact, you
were
dynamite."

Her face brightened more. "What if they know what we were doing?"

"Don't be silly; how could anyone know?"

* * *

As soon as Abby and Hunter neared the stage, Abby caught a grin from two of the cameramen. The lady from the green room raced over, fluffed her hair, and reapplied lipstick, then brushed powder across her cheeks, all the while humming, "How Sweet It Is to Be Loved by You."

Abby's stomach curled.

They knew. She had no idea how, but she had a gut instinct that the backstage hands had heard them. Probably when she'd dropped that pole and it had crashed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our new late-night talk show,
Male Talk.
Here's Dr. Jensen to discuss what men want." The crowd roared, and the announcer waited several seconds while they settled, then added with a wink, "although I think Dr. Jensen and her newlywed husband just demonstrated to us what men want."