Under the Covers (31 page)

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.

"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.