Looking for Love (Boxed set) (71 page)

Abby's eyes widened as the handsome African-American man pointed to her microphone.
Oh, God, oh, God,
she silently cried. Harry must have accidentally tripped her microphone on. She swung her gaze to the audience. The snickers and grins told her they had definitely overheard the escapade behind the curtain.

Including her orgasm.

She was never, ever, going to be able to show her face in public again.

What if Granny Pearl saw this episode? No, surely Granny wouldn't be watching a late-night men's show.

Harry suddenly squeezed her hand. "That's right, Chuck. Abby decided to act out a little scene offstage to introduce the subject for today's show. She wanted everyone to realize how hot it can be to slip away and make love on the spur of the moment." His fingers squeezed hers almost painfully, as if he were coaching her to play along. "Right, darling?"

Abby nodded like a marionette. "Right. What do men want?" She licked her lips, but her heart was beating so fast she thought it might explode. "They want sex anywhere, everywhere, and any time of the day."

The crowed applauded again, several men in the audience pumping their arms in a signal of masculine agreement. Harry and the host confirmed the male's exuberance, launching the show into an entirely different direction than Abby had expected. Suddenly Abby wasn't talking about men wanting to screw a woman without emotions or commitment, but rather how many ways and places a man could take a woman to be his lover. Finally the host decided to poll the audience, which consisted mostly of men.

"But why did she keep yelling, 'Harry'?" an elderly man asked. "Was she fantasizing about someone else?"

"She likes my hairy chest." Harry patted his chest for emphasis and the crowd laughed.

"My fantasy—fast and hard and whenever the mood strikes," one man said.

"Mine," a middle-aged man in a business suit said, "is to take her under the boardroom table with all my partners watching."

"I'd like to video her doing a striptease for me," a young college coed stated.

A bearded man in jeans and a flannel shirt stood up. "Two women at once."

"I want my woman to go down on me more," a black man said, flexing his muscles when the other men agreed.

Abby nodded and mentally took notes; then a dark-haired man in the back row caught her attention. "I want my woman to take control, put me in handcuffs."

"I just want to please my wife," Harry said. "Giving her pleasure is a turn-on to me."

But Abby didn't respond because she couldn't drag her gaze from the man in the back row. He was wearing a Dodgers baseball cap, a black jacket, a cream colored polo shirt, and khakis.

And he looked exactly like her real husband, or rather, the man she thought she had married—Lenny Gulliver.

Chapter 22

Menage a trios

Hunter had no idea what had upset Abby, but during the last five minutes of the show, her porcelain complexion had turned completely ashen. She had stared out into the blinding sea of lights and the enthusiastic crowd, and fixated on one point. And she'd never completely regained her composure.

Or had she fixated on one person? A man?

Jealousy snaked inside him like a slithering, poisonous reptile.

He had no right to be jealous of Abby.

Regardless, now that the show had ended, he had to force himself to focus on the host as he jabbered on and on about women, his own fantasies, and how his partner had misunderstood when he'd asked her to play sex games. How did Abby tolerate listening to people whine about their problems all day? She must be a saint.

He shifted, shoved his hands into his pockets, and reminded himself he was an actor, so he had to act interested—when he really wanted nothing more than to drag Abby outside and force her to tell him what had upset her.

But she'd disappeared offstage, and it was killing him not knowing where she'd gone.

"You're so lucky, man, to have a woman who will give in to your whims," one of the stagehands said. "Tell me the darkest fantasy you and your wife have acted out."

What was this guy, some kind of pervert? Did he think their entire marriage consisted of nothing but wild sex?

Hunter froze as the realization that he'd been thinking of his and Abby's marriage as real hit him. "A gentleman never tells," he said quietly, looking the man in the eye. "And besides, if I told you, it wouldn't be a private fantasy anymore. That's what makes fantasies exciting, isn't it? The secrecy?"

He didn't bother to wait for a reply. He hurried backstage to find Abby.

* * *

"I can't believe you're actually here." Abby stared in shock at her former husband, or the man she'd thought had been her husband, as he ducked into an unoccupied room in the back of the studio.

"You look great, Abby. I loved the show." Lenny rubbed his finger along his upper lip where his mustache used to be. The clean-shaven lip wasn't the only thing about him that had changed. He'd died his hair strawberry blond, wore green contact lenses, and must be wearing lifts in his shoes, because he was at least two inches taller than she remembered.

But his smile still radiated false charm, smooth as honey and sickeningly sweet.

And now, behind the charm, she saw the con man, the evil that he'd disguised so well. Why hadn't she seen it before?

Because she wore rose-tinted glasses. She was trusting and caring; she always looked for the good in people, not the bad. She had to wake up and not be so naive....

Folding her arms across her chest, she ignored the fresh wave of pain assaulting her. "What do you want, Lenny?"

"What? No kiss for your husband?"

She glared at him. "We're not married, remember? So technically you aren't my husband or anything else."
Except a living nightmare.

Lenny's shifty eyes traveled over her body from head to toe. "I heard you doing the actor guy before the show."

She wanted to kill him.

"I have to say I'm surprised, Ab. I didn't know you had it in you."

"To have sex with another man, or to get over you so quickly?"

He made a clicking sound with his teeth. "Both. And that guy... you really think he looks like me?"

"No, he's much more handsome."

That wiped the smug smile off his face.

"You changed your appearance."

His finger rubbed his bare lip again. "Yeah, well, that had to be done."

"So the police wouldn't find you." Abby sighed, her irritation mounting. "Aren't you afraid they'll look for you here, Lenny? Are you sure they're not watching me, waiting for you to contact me?"

He shrugged, drawing the black sport coat up his narrow waist. "I figure if you'd ratted on me, I'd have seen it in the papers. Instead, I've been reading how well your book's doing."

A bad premonition engulfed Abby.

"I bet you're pulling in a nice hunk of change."

The feeling grew stronger. "Is that why you're here? You expect me to give you money? Didn't you steal enough from me and those people you and Tony Milano scammed?"

"A guy can always use more cash," Lenny said. "Or I could walk out there and introduce myself to the host of the show. I'm sure he wouldn't mind doing a follow-up episode with your real husband."

Except we're not married.
Abby's temper flared. "And risk getting caught? I doubt you'll do that, Lenny."

Lenny threw his head back and laughed—a dirty laugh that crawled up Abby's spine like spiders in the dark. "Oh, Abby, you underestimate me."

The spiders picked at the back of her neck.

"I don't plan to expose myself." He held up an envelope and pulled out a photograph. "But I have a feeling everyone would be interested in these."

Abby legs wobbled as she realized what he held in his hand: the nude photos he'd taken of her on their honeymoon.

* * *

Hunter scoured the entire back area of the studio, the green room, and the curtained area where he and Abby had enjoyed their little romp earlier, but couldn't find Abby.

"Have you seen Dr. Jensen?" he asked the makeup artist.

"No. Maybe she's playing hide-and-seek with you."

Hunter mentally groaned and strode back down the hall to check the vacant studio rooms; then he saw Abby emerge from the back, a stricken look on her face. The overhead light caught her expression as she pivoted to say good-bye to the man she'd obviously been hiding out with, and he saw fury etched on her face as well as shock.

Relief that she hadn't been kidnapped by some maniac ballooned in his chest.

The man bent to kiss her cheek, and Abby stepped backward, her gaze lethal.

What the hell was going on?

Was the man a cop looking for her husband? Another tabloid reporter or PI?

No, a cop or reporter or PI wouldn't try to kiss her. Could it possibly be her husband? Had the real Lenny Gulliver resurfaced? And if so, what did he want?

Realizing Abby wouldn't appreciate his spying on her, he ducked back down the hall and into the green room to wait for her. The clicking of her shoes told him when she approached. A few seconds later she entered, her arms tight by her sides, her expression blank.

"I need to do some errands this afternoon," she said in a barely controlled voice. "You take the limo and I'll grab a cab."

He moved forward, worry pressing like a brick on his chest. "I'll go with you."

"No."

Hunter recognized the finality of her answer in her tone, and her panic-stricken look alarmed him. "What's wrong, Abby?"

He tried to take her hands in his, but she squared her shoulders and pulled away. "Nothing. I just have some things to do. And I need to do them alone."

He didn't like it one damn bit, but he nodded. "All right. I'll take the cab."

She barely spared him a glance as she headed toward the exit. "Just keep the receipt and we'll reimburse you when you're paid at the end of the week."

And just like that, she'd demoted him from the man who'd given her a behind-the-scenes orgasm to the hired help.

Because she was going to meet her real husband?

* * *

While the driver circled the interstate, Abby vented her fury on her fingernails, nearly ripping them to the quick. Unfortunately now she was getting carsick.

She'd thought Lenny couldn't get any lower on the food chain, but he had slunk down to the lowest form of life. A rat. No, a mole. No, a boll weevil.

Hell, she didn't technically know what the lowest form of life was, but she had a new name for it.

Lenny Gulliver.

The rat fink wanted money for the pictures. Money to keep his silence, to keep them from the tabloids and the television shows and her family. And the Internet.

That had been the clincher.

She didn't much care what her father thought, and her mother would probably just laugh about the pictures, but Granny Pearl... granted, her grandmother was a modern granny, but seeing erotic photos of her granddaughter plastered all over the tabloids and Internet might even push her limits. And what about her clients? And her sisters? Chelsea would weather it all right, but Victoria would be humiliated in front of her coworkers. She'd already worked hard enough to overcome the stigma of their father; she didn't deserve any more strife.

Harry's concerned face flashed into her mind, and she fisted her hands. What would Harry think? He was a father, for heaven's sake. And God forbid his little girl saw the pictures.

She buried her head in her hands. What was she going to do?

She hit the button and rolled down her window, inhaling the fresh air, although heat seared her face. Not knowing what to do, she phoned Victoria.

"Steedleman, Warscheiner, and Boles," the receptionist chirped. "How can I help you?"

"May I speak to Victoria Jensen?"

"I don't think she's taking calls right now. She's in a meeting."

Damn.
"Tell her it's her sister, Abby, that it's an emergency."

"Well," the woman said in a nasally voice, "all right."

Seconds later her sister's voice echoed over the line. "Abby, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Is it Chelsea?"

"No, no, I'm sorry, it's nothing like that."

"Then what is it? I'm in the middle of a meeting—"

"It's Lenny. He's here."

"What?"

Tears flooded Abby's eyes. "I'm sorry, I'll call—"

"No, wait." Victoria's voice softened. "Just give me a minute, okay? I have to give my client some good news. Now don't hang up."

"I won't." In spite of her strong resolve, Abby felt the emotional strain wear on her, and the tears began to fall. Her hands jerked around the phone.

A minute later, Victoria returned.

Abby had tried to collect herself. "I'm glad someone got good news."

"Yes, I told you I had a father who was being denied his rights."

"That man Marcus, the one who called me for counseling recommendations?"

"Yes, well, his ex is in jail for contempt of court and he finally got to see his kids." She paused. "Now, where is that cockroach, Gulliver?"

"He's... here."

"Tell me where you are, Abby."