Looking for Love (Boxed set) (75 page)

Abby's heart pounded. Good grief, she was going to be robbed. Then she couldn't pay Lenny.

Victoria caught her elbow, sandwiching her closer as they slowly moved toward the door. Abby caught the reflection of a skinny guy in the glass, wearing a yellow-and-green-plaid coat and bowling shoes.

He wasn't a bank robber.

It was Mo Jo Brown, that perverted panty-thief who'd followed her once before and nearly scared the be-jesus out of her.

Where was her hero Harry when she needed him?

* * *

The mountain breeze blew the scents of freshly cut grass and honeysuckle toward Hunter, the wind a welcome distraction from the stifling heat.

But even the scenery and beautiful weather couldn't brighten his mood.

His phobia of heights kicked in, and he steered the bike as far from the ledge as possible, avoiding looking at the vast expanse of canyon below. The last time he'd ridden up here, he'd been planning the article, planning to use Abby to further his career. He'd been thinking about the one girl in the world who meant something to him: Lizzie.

Now Abby meant something to him, too. But he might lose them both.

The Velvet Cloak Inn peeked through the sea of greenery, and he decided to stop in and see if the owner had opened the place back up. He still had dozens of couples to interview for more articles. Maybe he could talk his boss into dropping the piece on Abby and focusing on the Milano victims. A long shot, but it might work—after all, the publicity on Abby should die down soon.

Steering onto the graveled road that led to the facility, he coached the bike uphill, then parked on the leveled-off area in front of the inn. A few other cars sat at various angles, and the sign on the door read
Open.
Tall elms and maples hugged the property. Weeping willows dotted the front, giant azaleas flanking a wide porch filled with rocking chairs for guests to enjoy the magnificent view of the valley.

He removed his helmet and strode up the steps, not surprised to find the same woman he'd spoken with before at the front desk, but this time instead of bawling her eyes out, she smiled brightly. A dozen yellow daisies filled a vase on the oak countertop, the red velvet carpet that covered the steps exemplifying the inviting atmosphere of the place. The lobby had undergone a face-lift, all signs advertising the chapel missing.

"Can I help you, sir? Do you need a room?"

He shook his head. "Edna, it's me, Hunter Stone from the AJC. I spoke with you a while back about the Milano mess."

Her smile wilted. "Oh, yes, I remember you." She leaned over the counter and spoke in a whisper, "We're trying to get past that now. Although I think some people have driven up here out of curiosity. I think your pieces on the victims really helped."

He dug his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. "I have a lot more people to interview. You haven't heard anything more from Milano, have you?"

"No." Her eyes flickered around like a nervous hen's. "But I did find a backup disk with a bunch more names of folks who had been married by Milano." She paused to pick at a cuticle. "Do you know what?"

"What?" He'd learned a long time ago to be patient, that some people told stories in their own good time.

"That sex therapist lady that's been on TV; why, she was one of them."

Hunter felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

He'd known all along that Abby had secrets. That she was lying to him. But he'd never imagined she'd actually been married by Milano.

"And you know what else?"

He swallowed, dread filling him.

"I heard someone say they think her husband, well"—she gave him a conspiratorial wink—"the man she
thought
she married, he was in cahoots with Tony Milano. Won't the shit hit the fan when all that gets out!"

Damn straight it will.
"So Lenny Gulliver was involved with Milano? He might have been a party to Milano's entire scam?"

Edna scrunched her mouth and bobbed her head up and down as if she'd won the big jackpot.

Hunter gripped the wooden counter, the last pieces of the puzzle falling into place with an audible click. What if Abby had known about Lenny and his involvement with Milano? Could she possibly have been in on the deal?

She had told a lot of lies. What if she'd been covering up for Lenny? Was that the reason the police had been at her house?

Did they suspect that Abby was an accomplice? Had Lenny returned to reconcile with her and give her her cut—was that what that little meeting backstage had been about?

Or had he come to steal more money from her?

* * *

Sunday afternoon, Abby's breath hitched at the sound of the jangling phone. She'd half hoped—no, she'd wanted—Harry to call all weekend. To tell her they didn't need distance, that he didn't care if she'd lied to him about her husband, that he didn't want to go to LA to be an actor, that he wanted to stay in Atlanta and make a life with her.

Not that she couldn't move to LA, but the Hollywood life didn't appeal to her.

And she had to admit, after her last fiasco of a marriage, her ego couldn't survive the competition of the women who would play opposite Harry. Pathetic, but she realized most actors had to play nude scenes at some point in their careers. Granted, she was liberated and modern, but the idea of women touching and gawking at Harry's body just didn't sit right.

Plus, she wanted a family,—the whole nine yards, as old-fashioned as it might seem. The kids, the mini van, the PTA. The phone rang again and she grabbed it. "Hello?"

"Hey, baby, it's me."

The scoundrel.
Anger replaced every emotion in her body. "What do you want, Lenny?"

"Did you get the money?"

"Yes."

"Good." His cocky tone irritated her even more. "I'll meet you after the show tomorrow."

The phone clicked, signifying the end of the conversation, and Abby slammed down the receiver, barely stifling a scream. She couldn't let Lenny get away with this.

She had to call that Detective Suarez and his partner, the Nazi, Barringer, and tell them to meet her at the show so they could arrest Lenny. Maybe if she explained her situation to Suarez, he'd understand and let her confiscate the pictures first.

The doorbell rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. What if it was Lenny? No, he wanted to meet her in public, banking on the fact that she wouldn't make a scene in front of a crowd. Must have been a tactic all crooks learned in Criminal Behavior 101. Figuring it was Victoria or Chelsea, she hurried to the door, ready to vent her hatred for Lenny, but Harry stood on her doorstep instead.

Handsome and sexy as ever.

An odd expression tightened his face, though. She couldn't quite put her finger on the difference in his mood, but his blue eyes were troubled, almost scrutinizing.

But she was too frustrated with Lenny to analyze the situation or what might be bothering him. Without waiting to ask why he'd come, she fell into his arms and kissed him. "I missed you, Harry."

He tore his mouth from hers and leaned his forehead against hers, his breath ragged. "Did you really, Abby?"

She cupped his face and looked into his eyes. She wasn't sure what was wrong, but she instinctively knew something had happened to upset him. And although she couldn't tell him the truth about everything, she could be honest about her feelings.

"Yes, Harry, I did. I... I think I'm falling in love with you."

* * *

Hunter trembled inside, his body a mass of hurt and anger and confusion. Still, he couldn't deny himself the sweet pleasure of holding Abby in his arms for a few more minutes, especially when she'd just made that heartfelt declaration of love.

Could he believe her?

Had she told the police the truth? Had she known what Lenny and Milano had been up to?

He didn't want to believe she had...

The entire way to her house, his temper had thundered at the realization that she might have been using him, that he'd almost given up the story, his career, that he might have lost Lizzie because he'd gotten involved with her, because he'd fallen for her.

It was disgusting, but even wondering about Abby's intentions didn't diminish the physical need to hold her that was pulsing through his veins. He walked her backward inside her house, not bothering to hide his intent as he reached for her T-shirt. He tore it over her head and stared at her blatantly, letting his gaze speak for itself.

"If you don't want me, tell me to stop now." His voice was so gruff, it was almost lost in the whir of the ceiling fan spinning above.

But she said nothing. She simply dropped her shorts to the floor and offered herself to him. Shadows from the window played along her skin, the moon highlighting her creamy skin. He accepted her invitation, his chest heaving with his fierce need.

There was no show of romance or flowery words or slow, titillating touches. He ripped off his clothes and pushed her to the floor, his hands hungrily seeking the thrill and comfort of her body, touching, teasing, drawing her into the web of desire he had been caught in ever since he had first kissed her. She arched and begged for him, spreading herself open in wild abandon, and he rolled her to her stomach, stretched his body over hers, and drove inside her, pushing her legs apart and thrusting inside her until she cried out and waves of pleasure rocked through her. He raised her arms above her head and rode her until she lay still, a supple whimper of spent need below him, and he could do nothing but collapse on top of her.

* * *

He took her again and again that night, the orgasms quaking through Abby more intense than any she'd ever experienced. At times he was tender, erotic, whispering all the naughty things he wanted to do to her, the places he wanted to touch her, the ways he wanted to possess her. And then he was savage and starved and full of raw passion, a beast crying out his need. And she always answered.

She always would.

Multiple orgasms—Harry had invented the term. Passionate positions—he invented a few of those as well.

Abby curled into his arms in the early hours of the morning, knowing she was in love. And knowing that today she would end this farce with her book and say goodbye to Lenny forever.

Then she could move on with her life.

She only hoped Harry would be a part of it.

"Harry?" She traced his jaw with her finger, studying him as he slowly opened his eyes.

"What?"

He sounded sweet and sexy and half-asleep. "What was bothering you when you came over last night?"

He lay so still she wondered if she'd made a mistake by probing. Finally he threw an arm over his face and cleared his throat. "When I got home Friday night..." He paused to clear his throat again, and Abby's chest squeezed at the emotions thickening his voice. "My ex-wife served me papers."

"What kind of papers?"

"She's suing for full custody of Lizzie."

Abby's throat closed. She reached for Harry to comfort him, but he jackknifed up and off the bed before she could. "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

He stopped and met her gaze, his blue eyes pools of anguish. This time she recognized the anger and hurt. His body was such a powerful masterwork of muscle and sinewy strength and masculine sexuality, yet his heart had a tender side and right now it was bleeding for his child.

She had never loved anyone the way she did this man.

Desperate for him to know that she was there for him, that she would testify on his behalf, she crossed the space to him. He was so stiff at first she wasn't sure he would accept her comfort.

"Harry." She pressed her hands to his jaw. "I'm here for you. I want you to know that. I love you. Just tell me what you need and I'll do it."

He waited a painful heartbeat before he replied. "You can tell me the truth."

"I am." She struggled for control. "I told you I love you, and I meant it."

"Your husband—"

"Is past history. I swear."

He kissed her again, this time with such tenderness that tears filled her eyes.

And she had the oddest feeling as he dressed that she'd caused part of the anger and pain she'd seen in his eyes. She just didn't understand what she had done to hurt him.

* * *

Daylight dawned with an overcast sky, perfect for Hunter's mood. Turmoil tightened every muscle in his body as he and Abby entered the Atlanta TV station for their final interview. Had Abby told him the truth? Did she love him?

He wanted to believe her feelings for him were real, but how could he be sure?

If she had lied, both offstage and onstage, about her marriage to Lenny, could she be lying to him? Had he totally misread her? Could she have been involved with Milano's scam? Was she going to take that jerk Lenny back into her life? Into her bed?

He clenched his teeth, seeing red. Had he lost his mind? Taken a chance on losing his career, giving up a great story
and
his daughter for a woman who might be using him? For someone who might not even care for him?

Hell, he'd wanted to declare his love, but he hadn't been able to, not with secrets and lies still between them like a brick wall that he might not be able to scale afterward.

As soon as they arrived, the crew whisked them into the green room. Minutes later, they both stood outside the set, listening to last-minute preparations. An audience seating area sat to the right, where he noticed Abby's sisters, along with several other guests.

Abby turned to him and clenched his hands. "We have to talk after the show, Harry."

He nodded, knowing the day of reckoning had arrived. "Yes, we do."

She frowned, reached up and kissed him, then adjusted his mustache. It would be the last time he paraded as Lenny Gulliver. One thing he didn't understand—if the police had made the connection from Milano to Gulliver, why hadn't they already shown up to arrest him? And they hadn't arrested Abby, so they must believe her innocent...

"We're ready," the director announced.

"My knees are knocking." Abby clung to his hand as they walked onstage and settled into the set's love seat.