Under the Covers

by Rita Herron

  Abby sighed, blew her nose on a tissue, wadded it up, and grabbed another. "I don't think those are going to help now." Still, she dove into the bag with one hand.

  What difference did it make if her thighs were thirty inches or nineteen? No one was here to see them but Butterball. And he liked her, fat hips and all.

  * * *

  Hunter couldn't say exactly what bothered him about seeing Abby's father on her front porch, but something about the scenario hadn't felt quite right. Before his own father died, he had shared a special father-son rapport with him. Granted, his father had been military and strict, but he'd taken care of Hunter.

  He'd always thought fathers and daughters shared a unique bond, too. But Abby's father had obviously let her down.

  Weary from the long night, he finished the articles on the two Milano victims he'd interviewed earlier that morning, then faxed them to the paper. One couple who had wed at the Velvet Cloak Inn had been upset over the fraudulent preacher, but they were coping. Since their families had been upset over missing their nuptials, they had decided to have a big wedding and do it right this time. The second couple decided that the fact that they weren't legally married merely saved them from the hassle of a divorce. Ironically Milano had done them a favor. He laughed at the odd way life had of turning things around.

  Satisfied with the piece, he dug through the file of names and picked three more people to interview. How many people had Milano swindled who weren't on the list?

  Too distracted by the memory of Abby looking lost and small beside her father to pursue the question, he started to punch in her number, but realized she might have caller ID, so he used his cell phone instead. He had it programmed not to show up on caller ID. She answered on the third ring, but a wail punctuated the silence.

  The faint sound of an echoing howl followed. Her dog?

  "Hel... lo?"

  "Hey, Abby, it's me. Hu... Harry."

  "Oh..." More wailing in the background. "Hi."

  A sniffle followed, twisting Hunter's gut. God, she'd been crying. "Are you okay?"

  "Fine." A short pause. "Shh, Butterball, stop that now."

  She didn't sound fine. She sounded miserable. "Is your father still there?"

  "No, he left a little while ago."

  "Abby, what's wrong?"

  She didn't answer.

  "He didn't hurt you, did he?" If he had, Hunter would kill him.

  "No, nothing like that."

  "Then tell me what's wrong or I'm coming over there."

  "Harry, you're not getting paid to listen to my personal problems."

  His jaw tightened. "I'm not asking to be paid. I'm just trying to be your friend."

  "Well..."

  "You do have friends, don't you?"

  "Yes. My sisters mostly."

  "Now you have me."

  Her soft sigh lingered in the air between them. Hunter stretched out on his bed with a beer and relaxed. "Now talk to me, Abby."

  As she began to talk, Hunter closed his eyes and listened to her husky voice. And he silently vowed that tomorrow he would change the slant of his story about her.

  He no longer wanted revenge or to hurt Abby; he would be satisfied to print the truth. It was about time someone took care of Abby instead of the other way around.

  * * *

  "I'm sorry, Harry," Abby murmured, "I guess I'm just overwhelmed with things. My life seems to have gone crazy lately. I feel completely out of control."

  "You like control?"

  "I didn't say that. I said I don't like being out of control."

  "That's an odd comment for a sex therapist."

  "I'm not a sex therapist. I'm a marriage counselor," Abby said in a hiss. "And this isn't about my book or sex."

  "Okay, then what is it about?"

  The concern in his voice sounded so sincere, Abby felt a new wave of tears rushing to the surface. "First, this book getting so much attention. I never intended that. I only wanted to help people."

  "Go on," he said softly.

  "I grew up in a very nontraditional family, and I always dreamed that I'd have the perfect marriage and home when I grew up. That as long as I gave it my heart and soul, my life would be just as I planned."

  "Yeah," Harry said. "Life sometimes gives you a curveball and you strike out right when you think you're ready to hit a homer."

  "I know I encourage great sexual relations, Harry, but I'm actually pretty private myself."

  "Private is good."

  His voice wrapped around her, intoxicating in its softness. "And my family. Normally I don't mind taking care of everyone, but right now..."

  "Now, what?"

  "Right now I don't have the energy."

  "They should understand that." Was that anger in his voice?

  She heard the sound of movement, as if he had stretched out on his bed, and heat stirred within her. Was he getting undressed?

  "What are you doing now, Abby?"

  "I'm in bed." Although she knew he couldn't see her, a blush heated her cheeks.

  "So am I."

  Was he naked? Or maybe he was wearing a pair of those minibriefs. Or maybe he was a boxer man? Abby stared at her unpainted toenails beneath her oversize T-shirt. Thank goodness he couldn't see her unsexy attire.

  "Maybe someone should take care of you for a while."

  Abby glanced at the snoring puppy. "I have Butterball here."

  "I was talking about more than a dog." His breath feathered out. "Why don't you lie back and relax?"

  "I don't know, Harry."

  "Come on, Abby. It's just you and me right now. Friends having a little conversation. Late at night." His whisper was so soothing. "We can talk each other to sleep."

  Or something else. Abby shoved the mounds of tissue off the bed with her foot, her misery waning as the lull of his voice washed over her. "All right."

  "Pretend I'm lying beside you."

  "Okay." She could see his dark eyes studying her, raking over her body.

  "You're naked, lying under the cool sheet."

  Abby slipped off her T-shirt and crawled beneath the sheets. "I am now."

  His breathing rasped out. "I'm pouring massage oil into my hand. Close your eyes and smell the scent of jasmine."

  A love scent.

  "Now, feel my hands as they slowly stroke your neck. I'm brushing away that gorgeous hair of yours, closing my hands around the indentation of your shoulders. You hunch them when you're tense, don't you, Abby?"

  God, his voice was deep. "Yes."

  "But I'm rubbing the tension away. Kneading the muscles until you're so relaxed your limbs feel languid. Now stretch your arms above you. I'm crawling over you so I can sit astride you." His voice softened another decibel. "Now I'm reaching my hands up to massage your arms. I start with your palms and move up to your shoulders. Now my hands are moving lower. Rubbing your back, caressing. Now my hands are stroking lower. I can feel your body start to warm beneath me...."

  Warm? Her body was on fire.

  Harry's handsome face flashed into her mind. There was no way she could get involved with Harry Henderson. She should hang up now. Tell him to stop.

  But he did have a wonderful, sultry voice. And he gave a great phone massage.

  A little more bedtime conversation wouldn't hurt anything, would it? She just couldn't let it go too far....

  * * *

  Hunter had no idea how it had happened. One minute he and Abby had been simply talking and he had been worried about her, so he'd tried to lull her into relaxing by envisioning a massage. The next minute he had stripped off his clothes, and they were whispering erotic words and massaging each other with mental images that seemed completely real.

  He had never indulged in anything so sensual in his life.

  He might have to try it again—just to make sure he'd done it right the first time, of course. Knowing he had helped her relax had spiked a fever in his body that had only begun to be quenched. He wanted Abby in the flesh
.

  But that was impossible.

  "Abby?"

  Her response was so low he could barely discern it.

  "Do you think you can sleep now?"

  "Hmm. Definitely."

  "Well, good night. Call me if you wake up in the night and want to talk, okay?"

  "Thanks. I will, Harry."

  He hesitated, wishing he could say more. That he could be honest with her. Then again, she was lying to him. She was still married. He cleared his throat. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Good night, Harry."

  He winced at the name.

  "Oh, and Harry?"

  He slunk down lower in the bed. In spite of the fact that so many lies stood between them, his body still thrummed from the sultry sound of her voice. "Yeah?"

  "Thanks for being such a good friend."

  His hand tightened around the phone. The sound of the click on the other end of the line jarred him almost as much as her thank you. Sure, she was deceiving him, and refused to tell him the truth about her husband.

  But he'd gone into the deception knowing something was fishy. She had no idea he wasn't who he claimed to be. That he wasn't her friend at all. That he was the obnoxious Hunter Stone, the reporter who'd slandered her in his articles. The man she most despised.

  Sweat beaded on his body as reality intervened. Abby Jensen was going to hate him when she discovered the truth about him.

  And he couldn't blame her.

  Chapter 18

  The Tease

  The next day Hunter tried to shake off the unsettling feeling that he might be falling for Abby, a married woman. He'd written up his articles for the day and driven to his ex's house to pick up his daughter for his weekend with her, his mind on overload. Lizzie was in the bathroom, and he was pacing the floor, trying to figure out how to get out of the interview scheduled for today, or explain the charade to his daughter without making himself look like a low-down, sneaky, conniving liar.

  Which he was beginning to think described him pretty damn well.

  "Daddy, is this a caterpillar?"

  He pivoted in the hallway and silently groaned. Lizzie had found his fake mustache and hair along with the flowery dress he'd worn that day at the book signing. "Daddy, you been playing dress-up with my clothes?"

  Hunter grimaced. "Lizzie, come here; let me explain something to you."

  Lizzie's big eyes widened as she followed him to the den and climbed onto his lap. She wiggled the mustache in her hand. Angelica lay beside her, watching. "Look, it crawls like an inchworm."

  Hunter grinned, lifted the strip of hair from her fingers, and placed it over his lip. "It's a mustache. See?"

  Her blond eyebrows crinkled together. "You look furry, Daddy."

  Hunter chuckled. "I know. Listen, I've told you about my job. How sometimes I have to pretend to be someone else to get information from people."

  She bobbed her head up and down, blond pigtails flopping.

  "Well, this is one of Daddy's props. I use it as a disguise when I play this guy Harry. And tonight you'll get to see me in action." If he couldn't get out of it.

  She clapped her hands together. "Oh, boy, can I playact, too?"

  Hunter nodded. "As a matter of fact, you can. You can keep my act a secret. Dr. Abby thinks my name is Harry."

  Lizzie giggled and pulled at the mustache.

  "And when I go on TV with Dr. Abby, I pretend to be Lenny, her husband. So, you have to play along."

  Good Lord, What was he doing? He clasped her hands in his and pressed them to his chest. "Do you think you can remember that? When we meet Abby, I'm Harry the actor. And when I go on TV with her, I'm her husband Lenny."

  She scrunched her lips in thought. "Dr. Abby thinks you're an actor?"

  Hunter nodded. "Yes, honey, she's paying me to act like her husband."

  "Why, Daddy?"

  Good question. "Because her real husband couldn't come tonight."

  "Oh." She wiggled in his lap.

  "Understand, pumpkin?"

  Her head bobbed up and down again. "Do actors get paid big money?"

  He shrugged. "Some of them."

  She released his hand and held out her small one, palm up. "Then pay up."

  Hunter stared at her hand, realized he'd been conned by a five-year-old, and wondered at his own sanity.

  He handed her a dollar anyway. Then she held out Angelica's hand for her payment, too. He groaned and forked it over.

  * * *

  Abby had been so busy all day she'd barely had time to think about Harry and the night before.

  Well, almost.

  One of her clients had confessed that her marriage was in trouble, that her husband's cell phone had become a permanent appendage, so Abby had suggested the wife shake him up by phoning him on his mobile and giving him a mental massage.

  Harry's titillating voice the night before boomeranged in her mind. This flirting game had to stop. She absolutely could not get in the habit of indulging herself in such crazy, risqué behavior with strangers. Especially when she was supposed to be married to someone else.

  How pathetic was she?

  She needed distance between herself and Harry. It shouldn't be too hard tonight; after all, he had phoned to say he was bringing his daughter along. As much as she loved children, a child underfoot would undoubtedly throw cold water on the hot flame of passion. Most of her clients insisted children were the best form of birth control available. More effective than condoms any day.

  The doorbell dinged, Butterball yelped, and Abby scooped up the puppy and hurried to answer the door. Tonight she would be safe with Harry.

  And tonight there wouldn't be any late-night phone calls. When Harry left, she didn't intend for him to take her heart with him.

  * * *

  "Hi, Abby." Hunter squeezed his daughter's hand as she ducked behind his leg, a sudden shyness attacking her. He prayed she wouldn't give him away.

  "Hey. Come on in." Abby gestured toward the foyer with a flick of her head. Her hands were busy petting the mop in her arms. And she didn't quite make eye contact, as if she was embarrassed about their intimate phone massage the night before. "You look nice and rested," he said, unable to keep from mentioning it.

  A blush slid onto her cheeks. Just as quickly, her eyes flashed him a warning. "I slept very well. Thank you."

  Lizzie's head reappeared at his hip when she noticed the puppy, and he stepped inside, dragging her with him. "This is my daughter, Lizzie."

  Abby grinned and stooped down to Lizzie's level. "Hi, Lizzie. It's nice to meet you."

  "Nice to meets you, too," Lizzie mumbled. She pushed Angelica in front of her. "This is my friend, Angelica."

  "Hi, Angelica. I'm glad to finally meet you."

  Lizzie giggled. "You're that sex lady, aren't you?"

  Abby blushed again. "Not really, honey. You can call me Ms. Abby."

  "Daddy says you're a doctor?"

  "That's right."

  "Are you gonna give me a shot?"

  Hunter caught Abby's startled gaze and shrugged, enthralled with Abby's tenderness toward his daughter. "Honey, Dr. Abby isn't that kind of a doctor."

  "What kind of doctor is she?"

  "I listen to people's problems and try to help them," Abby explained softly.

  Lizzie quirked her head in thought, her ponytail bobbing. "So if me and Angelica gots a problem we can come and tell you?"

  Abby searched Hunter's face for an answer and he nodded. Better she explain than him.

  "Sure, honey. You can call me anytime, night or day, to talk. Do you have a problem?"

  "Nope, just wondering."

  The puppy squirmed, raised its head, and perked up its ears, bright eyes shining beneath the fluff of hair. Lizzie giggled. "That your puppy?"

  Abby nodded. "You want to pet him?"

  Lizzie inched toward her, finally releasing his leg. "What's his name?" Lizzie looked up at him and winked. "He looks like a Harry, Daddy, don't he?"
/>   Hunter's heart pounded. "Well, yes, sort of."

  "That's a great name," Abby said softly. "But I've been calling him Butterball."

  Lizzie giggled. " 'Cause he eats butter?"

  Abby laughed. "I have a feeling he would eat anything. He's already chewed up my tennis shoes."

  "You could call him Sneakers."

  Abby laughed again. The puppy squirmed, and Lizzie stroked its head with a tentative hand.

  "Come on in and you can hold him," Abby said.

  Abby led them to the den. Several oversize throw pillows lay on the floor in front of the fireplace, and a chew toy in the shape of a tennis shoe had been tossed in the middle. The room looked lived-in, much cozier than his own dreary apartment.

  He wondered what her bedroom looked like. If she had a brass bed or a four-poster one. If she had simple cotton sheets or satin. If she'd made up the bed since the night before...

  Lizzie dropped to her knees, laid Angelica beside her, then took the teeny puppy in her arms and nuzzled it.

  "Daddy, can we get a doggie like this?"

  Hunter frowned. "He's not a real dog; he's a mutant throwback."

  Lizzie wrinkled her nose. "A what?"

  "Are you insulting my dog?" Abby asked.

  Hunter shrugged. "No, but I want a man's dog. He's a sissy dog."

  "He's beautiful," Abby argued. "I saw a whole pageant of them on TV—"

  So had he. He'd had to cover the pageant for an article. Had Abby seen him there?

  Surely not or she would have mentioned it by now.

  "I seen it, too, Daddy, and I loves him," Lizzie whined. "I wants one, too. I could dress him up in my baby-doll clothes."

  Hunter squelched the urge to groan.

  "We'll get a real dog for you, honey," Hunter said.

  "One like this?"

  "Tell you what, sugar." He knelt and tweaked her ponytail. "We'll see what animals they have tomorrow at the Humane Society, and you can pick a dog. Okay?"

  " 'Kay." She rocked the puppy in her arms as if it were a baby, then leaned over and whispered. "I loves you, Butterballs. And Daddy says I'm getting one just like you tomorrow."

  Abby chuckled. "What should we tell the producer about Lizzie?"

  "I'll tell them she's my niece."