Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts)

by Debra Webb

  Luke? Who the hell was Luke? She didn’t know anyone named Luke. Reluctantly, she did the only thing she could. She took the slip from him and began taking off her clothes, unbuttoning her jacket first. Apparently satisfied that she intended to obey, and displaying a single glimmer of compassion, her captor turned his back once more.

  Abby steeled herself against the suffocating panic that squeezed her chest. She refused to give in to the fear. She had to think rationally right now. But rational was the one thing she didn’t feel as she shrugged out of her linen suit jacket and dropped it to the floor.

  A stranger in town, she could be missing for weeks before anyone figured out what happened to her—if they figured it out at all. Her editor wouldn’t consider her missing in action for at least a week. And that was her own fault. She was notorious for taking off on assignment and not checking in regularly.

  She wriggled into the slip before the man turned around.

  She was doomed. Abigail Wade, up-and-coming reporter for Up Close magazine, was going to meet her untimely end at the age of twenty-six in the middle of nowhere. If by some act of Divine intervention she survived this close encounter of the backwoods kind, she was never going to speak to Jim Strickland, her editor and supposed friend, again as long as she lived.

  He had picked her for this assignment. This was entirely his fault.

  A long, low whistle jerked Abby’s attention back to the present. Facing her now, the man leered at her, from the top of her auburn curls to the toes of her bare feet. “Mm-hmm. That’ll do just fine.” He grinned wickedly, then pointed his gun in the direction of her discarded clothes. “Put the shoes back on and kick the rest over against the wall.”

  Abby obediently slid on her black high heels and shoved her rumpled traveling clothes toward the wall as he’d instructed. If she played along, he would let his guard down eventually. Then she’d make another move.

  “Hot damn,” he said, giving her body another survey. “You’re even prettier than Luke said.”

  Luke again. Who the hell was Luke? “I don’t know any Luke. You’ve made a mistake.” Why wouldn’t he listen to her?

  Car doors slammed outside, drawing his attention to the window. “They’re here!” He smiled conspiratorially at Abby. “We’re just about ready to get this show on the road.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and prayed for a miracle. A miracle with a badge and a much bigger gun than the one this creep held. Tears pricked her eyes. Her lips trembled and the rest of her body followed suit. Headlines flashed through her mind. Dead journalist found in wilderness wearing next to nothing—lingerie cult suspected. Oh, God, she’d never live down the publicity. Abby shook herself. What was she thinking? She wouldn’t have to live it down, she’d be dead! Nausea left a bitter taste in her mouth as the floor seemed to shift beneath her shaky legs.

  Suddenly seeing the entire situation with an eerie kind of clarity, hysteria bubbled into her throat. The whole thing would be almost funny—if it were happening in the movies or in a book. She stiffened her spin and lifted her chin. But it was happening to her and she damned well intended to do something. She would escape—somehow.

  Abby snapped to attention when the cowboy swung open the door and four more men entered, leading a fifth man who had been blindfolded.

  Was that man here against his will as well? What did this creep and his friends intend to do with him? A sick thought entered her mind, and Abby suppressed it before her too-vivid, scared-witless imagination could expand upon it. They would have to kill her before she would do anything with that man or any of the others. She surveyed the rakish group. All were dressed in western wear, even the one who’d been blindfolded. Spurs rattled and boot heels scraped across the hardwood floor toward the tables.

  “Where’s Luke?” her captor asked the new arrivals.

  “He’ll be here soon, we’re supposed to start without him,” one of the men replied.

  Her captor shrugged and walked past Abby to the kitchen. She shivered when the sleeve of his cotton shirt brushed her bare arm. She closed her eyes and told herself over and over that this couldn’t be real, but when she opened her eyes the reality of what was happening hit her hard.

  This was as real as it gets!

  Like a network channel news break, a dozen snippets of unspeakable crimes flashed through her mind in vivid 3D. Every unsolved kidnapping and murder she’d ever heard of came to mind, and fear tightened its mighty grip around her pounding heart.

  The man wearing the blindfold was lead to a table and ushered into a chair. The others took seats as well. Abby ignored the wolf calls and suggestive remarks tossed in her direction.

  Before she could think what to do next, music wafted from the kitchen, and the cowboy who’d yanked her kicking and screaming into this nightmare, returned with a six-pack of beer in each hand. He plunked the beer onto the table, sat down next to the blindfolded man and popped a top on a can. Abby swallowed against the harsh lump of dread that made breathing difficult. Her predicament only worsened with each passing moment.

  “Help yourselves, boys. The show’s about to begin.” He winked at Abby and turned the can up for a long drink.

  Abby trembled violently. Helpless, she watched as he removed the blindfold from the man sitting next to him. She stilled completely when piercing blue eyes tangled with hers. The newly unmasked man smiled hesitantly and somehow she felt oddly reassured. He wore his brown hair in that short almost spikey style associated with soldiers and cops. He looked fit and strong with broad shoulders. She would remember this guy and if she ever got out of this alive he would regret not using all that muscle to come to her rescue.

  “Okay, baby.” Abby jumped. Her kidnapper stood right next to her, speaking for her ears only. “I want you to dance like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”

  Abby’s pulse skittered and dizziness threatened her grasp on any semblance of control. The last thing she’d ever do.

  Oh, God.

  The cowboy gave her a curt nod and Abby willed her body into motion. The rowdy group roared into action, hooting and hollering what they no doubt considered encouragements. The man who had been led in by the others sat still as a statue, his eyes intent on her every move.

  This was bad. Really bad. Abby closed her eyes and forced herself to do as she had been told. And to think. There had to be a way out of this.

  There had to be.

  ~*~

  “Take it off, baby!” Roger shouted over the loud throb of the erotic music.

  Matthew shook his head at his buddy’s exuberance. Though he tried to pretend the woman moving so sensuously before him didn’t affect him, he couldn’t have been more affected. She was beautiful. Gorgeous, sun-kissed strawberry curls flowed over her slender shoulders. The skimpy black slip or dress she wore hardly left anything to the imagination. He couldn’t recall having ever seen legs that great. Her full breasts swayed beneath the silky fabric. Where on earth had Luke found this hot little number?

  As if reading Matthew’s mind, Roger leaned over and said, “Happy birthday, buddy.”

  “You guys are crazy,” Matthew told him without taking his eyes off the woman. But you’ve got damned good taste, he didn’t add. No sense in pumping up his friends’ already over-inflated egos.

  “Hey, Luke, ‘bout time you got here!” Roger shouted, announcing the arrival of the only missing member of their tight little group.

  Matthew reluctantly dragged his gaze from the breathtaking woman just long enough to acknowledge Luke’s presence. Luke stood stock-still, his gaze riveted to the lovely dancer.

  Frowning, Luke returned to Roger. “Who the hell is she?”

  “She’s the dancer you hired, who the hell do you think?” Roger shot back crossly.

  Luke snorted. “No, she isn’t. I’ve never seen that woman before in my life.”

  Roger’s exuberant expression fell. “I picked her up at Matthew’s just like you told me. I brought her here and had her
put on the outfit per your exact instructions.”

  Luke scrubbed a hand over his face and glared at Roger. “Not Matthew’s place, you idiot. You were supposed to pick her up at Matt Hugh’s,” he ground out. “Also known as Matt’s father, remember?”

  Matthew looked from Luke to Roger, then back at the woman in the enticing get-up. For the first time he noticed the slight tremble and jerky movements of the supposedly professional dancer. Why hadn’t he noticed her nervousness before? Because he’d been too busy admiring her numerous physical attributes, Matthew admitted with self-disgust.

  If she wasn’t the dancer, then who was she?

  A sick feeling abruptly hit Matthew low in the gut. “What day is it?” he blurted out, a sudden fear seizing his guts and twisting.

  Luke creased his brow. “Friday. Hell it’s your birthday, man. How could you forget that date? Friday, the thirteenth.”

  “Oh, my God,” Matthew muttered. He stood on rubbery legs, rounded the table and took the eight steps that separated him from the dancer. Bracing for all hell to break loose, he reached out and tapped her on the shoulder. Her green eyes widened, and she stared back at him in utter fear. Oh Jesus. “Abby Wade?”

  She hesitated, then nodded, her eyes growing suspiciously bright.

  “Oh, my God,” he repeated. Matthew rubbed a hand over his face, through his hair and down to massage his neck. He met the woman’s fearful gaze and wished he were anybody but who he was at the moment. “I’m Matthew Stone.”

  The music stopped abruptly and absolute silence filled the room.

  “You?” she croaked. She looked from him to the other men in the room, shock and outrage pushing aside all signs of fear and fragility.

  Matthew only nodded, no words could squeeze out around the lump in his throat. His well-meaning friends had physically restrained, and forced to perform in a near naked state, the journalist who had flown all the way from New York City to interview him for Up Close magazine.

  ~*~

  As Abby paced the gleaming hardwood floor of Matthew Stone’s parlor, she waffled between wanting to physically assault him, and wanting to call the police and have him and all his accomplices arrested. She glared at him each time she passed his position. He stood near a large wingback chair, concern marring his handsome features, tension stiffening his tall frame. He had apologized profusely, as had his friends.

  Alternately talking at once and finishing each other’s sentences, the group had explained that today was Matthew’s thirtieth birthday. They had orchestrated this little cowboy costume party, complete with a dancing girl, in celebration. Matthew had had nothing to do with planning any of it. A simple miscommunication had sent Roger to Matthew’s house to pick up the woman he assumed was the dancer, rather than to his father’s, Matt Hugh’s.

  What the hell was wrong with these people? Abby seethed. Did everyone below the Mason-Dixon Line feel some sort of warped compulsion to pass their own name or some variation thereof to their children?

  Abby stopped and glared at him. “Your pal Roger should have told me that the gun he kept sticking in my face wasn’t real! I don’t know about here, but where I come from guns are no laughing matter.”

  Matthew moistened his lips and smiled crookedly. Despite her anger, and to her complete chagrin, she found him wildly appealing. Immensely annoyed, she willed her runaway heart to slow. She never had reactions like this to cocky men—especially not when one was the subject of an interview.

  Especially this interview.

  “He thought you were playing up your part, so he got a little carried away with his.”

  “A little carried away?” Abby rolled her eyes and huffed her disbelief. “The man should win an award for his performance. And what about you, why did they blindfold you?”

  He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “It was just part of the joke, I guess.”

  “Joke?” She took a step in his direction and braced her hands on her hips for effect. “Don’t your friends know that kidnapping is a felony?”

  Obviously uncomfortable, Matthew shifted his weight to the other foot. “The real dancer Luke hired knew the drill. She has a reputation for being kind of kinky. She expected to”—he swallowed visibly—“role play.”

  Role play? His explanation only fanned the fire of outrage building inside Abby. Rage and humiliation battled it out, making her want to alternately scream and cry. But she wouldn’t cry. She never cried. Scream—well, she might. She averted her gaze from his contrite expression while she struggled to regain control of her churning emotions.

  Deep breath, she told herself. Calm and professional, that was her goal. Nobody is more professional than you, Abby, nobody.

  She could do this.

  Even if she had foolishly allowed Jim to talk her into staying at Matthew Stone’s house while she captured the up close and personal story on the hero of the moment. It was too late to change that little detail now. Particularly since the nearest hotel was twenty miles away.

  She had to do this.

  Regardless of the subject, her fellow reporters fought tooth and toenail for the opportunity to do the Up Close and Personal segment each month, Abby included. She blew out an exasperated breath as she reminded herself that six weeks from now she wouldn’t care what she’d had to go through to get this story. When her byline graced the magazine’s cover along with Stone’s handsome mug, all else would be forgotten.

  Reconciled to the task, she blatantly surveyed the man before her for marketability. Short, thick brown hair, that looked sexy as hell on him. A white shirt contrasted nicely with his bronzed skin. He evidently spent a great deal of time outside. And he obviously worked out. Well worn, faded jeans gloved his body in a way that made Abby feel oddly restless.

  When her attention returned to his face once more, those clear, almost reflective, blue eyes lit up with a dazzling smile that spread across full, perfectly shaped lips. Heat rushed through Abby, causing her heart to skip a beat. And for one insane instant she had the distinct impression that she’d just felt the earth move.

  Damn.

  The independent female in her stirred, triggering alarms. She suddenly tried to recall the last time she’d had sex. How long had it been? A year maybe?

  Longer, a lot longer.

  The collar of her blouse seemed to tighten around her neck as a sheen of perspiration dampened the skin beneath. God, she hated this interview already and it hadn’t even begun. Stone was going to be a pain in more ways than one.

  She had to get a grip. This was Matthew Stone. The man of the hour. The small town contractor who had saved the lives of half a dozen physically disabled children and Up Close had the exclusive. With the media focused on political intrigue and tumultuous foreign affairs, happy endings were few and far between.

  The world needed more Matthew Stone types right now, Abby reminded herself. She should be thankful that Jim had selected her to cover the story. Despite the unusual welcome party she’d received this evening, things could be worse.

  “It’s late and you’re probably tired. If you’re sure I can’t offer you something to eat, maybe we should call it a night,” Stone suggested with another of his arresting smiles. “Things will look better come morning.”

  His deep, sensual voice flowed over Abby like warm honey. She shivered at the slow, silky sound. How could a mere tone of voice affect her so strongly? Unsure of herself, she nodded her agreement.

  As she followed Matthew Stone across the entry hall and up the stairs of his two-story farmhouse, she couldn’t help but admire the way he filled out a pair of jeans from the backside. Nobody should look that good from behind. But he did. Sideways, front and back, the man was an outstanding specimen of the male species.

  Abby frowned.

  Why did she notice that?

  It wasn’t as if she made a habit of ogling men. Maybe she was just tired or still flustered from the events since her arrival. And he was going to be on the cover... that he looked exactly like
a cover model from a racy romance novel was a good thing. It was her job to consider that aspect of the story. Certainly that was the only reason she noticed.

  Otherwise, things may very well have just gotten worse.

  Chapter Two

  His firm lips moved sensuously over Abby’s. His fingers brushed across her sensitive skin, making her shiver. She moaned softly when his delicious tongue traced her lips, then dipped inside her waiting mouth...

  Her heart racing and warmth spreading through her body like a wildfire, Abby’s eyes fluttered open. She sighed sleepily and smiled. She’d never had a dream so breathtakingly real.

  Huge dark orbs surrounded by shaggy hair gazed expectantly at her. A long pink tongue lolled out and slathered her face before her brain kicked into gear.

  Dog.

  Big dog.

  She kicked off the covers and scrambled away from the gigantic beast poised at her bedside. The headboard halted her retreat. “G-good dog.” She tried without success to identify the breed. Multi-colored, shaggy, huge. She shuddered and scrubbed the back of her hand over her mouth. The taste of dog saliva made her stomach roil.

  The apparently friendly monster cocked his big brownish-black head, then made a throaty rumbling sound that might mean anything from “Scratch me behind my ears” to “I’m hungry.” Abby managed a smile.

  As if that would help.

  If she could just make it to the door, she thought as she gazed longingly at the open doorway on the other side of the room. Slowly, keeping her eyes on the beast, she eased toward the opposite side of the bed. When he made no move to attack, she edged over another inch or two.

  “Good dog,” she repeated.

  The dog suddenly reared and braced his front paws on the bed. Abby shrieked and clambered onto the headboard. The dog retaliated by erupting into thunderous barking.