by Rita Herron
"He broked it," Lizzie cried, horror-struck.
"It's okay, Lizzie," Abby said, hating the fear in the little girl's eyes.
Hunter consoled Lizzie, searching Abby's face. They knelt at the same time to clean up the glass before Lizzie cut herself. "We'll replace it," he said. Snarts disappeared under the table, his head ducked, his paw over his head.
"No, it's all right. The teapot wasn't expensive."
"I'm sorry," Lizzie cried again. "Don't hates me and Snarts, Ms. Abby."
"Her mother is pretty particular about her fancy things," Hunter explained in a low voice.
Abby's breath caught in her chest. She dropped the glass in the trash, then brushed Lizzie's bangs back and hugged her. "Honey, don't worry. I don't hate you or your doggie. It's just broken glass. I can buy another teapot."
Hunter gestured toward the collection on the shelf. "They must be special to you."
"Yes, but they're not expensive." Abby grabbed a tissue to dry Lizzie's eyes. "I collect them because my grandmother and I played tea party when I was small."
Lizzie's eyes widened. "Can we play tea party sometimes?"
"Sure."
"Right now, put Snarts out and let him walk, though," Hunter advised.
Lizzie plucked out a pair of sunglasses and settled them on the bridge of her nose. Abby frowned. Bright orange sunglasses with rhinestones. Wasn't that cross-dresser wearing a pair just like those at the bookstore? "Where did you get those, Lizzie?"
"I don't 'member," Lizzie said. "But aren't they cool?"
"They're a dime a dozen at the QT," Hunter said. "Now take Snarts outside, Lizzie."
Lizzie bounded out, and Abby grabbed the tabloid and used it as a dustpan.
His gaze fell to the headline. "You saw the paper?"
Abby hesitated, then scooped the glass on top. "Yes."
"I'm sorry, Abby." He placed a hand over hers. "I don't like the ugly things that tabloid guy implied."
Abby shrugged. "Neither do I. And I'm sorry they involved you and Lizzie."
His expression looked pained for a second.
"I'd really like to forget about it," Abby said.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Most people don't pay any attention to the junk the tabloids print anyway." They finished cleaning up the glass, then stood in awkward silence.
"So what are you and Lizzie up to today?"
"We planned to grab a picnic and take it to the park." His eyes searched her face. "Would you like to go?"
Abby hesitated, then smiled. "Sure, that sounds great." Finally, something normal to do for a day. Maybe a picnic would distract him from wondering why the police had been at her door.
* * *
"Daddy, did you gets the condoms?" Lizzie asked.
Hunter nearly tripped over a tree root on the way to the picnic site. He'd barely had time to recover from panic over the sunglasses, and now this.
Abby halted, clutching the blanket to her chest. "The what, Harry?"
"The ketchup and mustard," Lizzie said.
"Those are called condiments," Hunter clarified. "And yes, I got them."
Lizzie plopped down on the ground, Indian-style. "Mom gots other condoms. Not like mustard and ketchup. They looks like balloons."
Hunter and Abby exchanged raised brows. "Did she show these to you?" Hunter tried not to react as he helped Abby spread the blanket, yet his heart danced in his chest.
"No, I founded 'em and filled 'em with water." Lizzie tossed a stone into the creek and watched it splash. "But Mommy gots mad and said little girls aren't s'posed to play with them."
One thing he and Shelly agreed on. "Mom's right about that," Hunter said, catching the gleam in Abby's eyes. "Did she tell you what they were for?"
Lizzie tossed the stone and watched it ping off the tree. "No. She said we'd talks about it when I gets bigger."
A good plan, Hunter decided. He was grateful when the dogs dove toward the food and so did he and Abby, ending the discussion.
Two hours later Hunter stretched out on the blanket, exhausted from romping with Lizzie on the playground and coaching Snarts to get some exercise. It had been an incredible afternoon. Abby had been adorable, totally at ease goofing around with the dogs and Lizzie.
He'd had to reel his mind in from wandering down the wrong path. From thinking about what life with Abby and Lizzie and another child might be like. Snarts collapsed on the ground beside them, living up to his name as he sawed logs. Abby's puppy lay curled into a ball at her feet like a dainty lady waiting on a pedicure.
Abby plucked a strawberry from the container and popped it into her mouth. Lizzie lay on her stomach watching a caterpillar forage through the grass near the sandbox a few feet away.
"Abby, thanks for not yelling at Lizzie and the dog about the teapot." He snatched a strawberry for himself. "I'd like to buy you one to replace it."
"Harry, Lizzie's feelings are more important to me than some glass object. What kind of a person do you think I am?"
Harry studied her, his first impression totally dispelled. "I think you're pretty special."
"Thanks, Harry," Abby said softly. "This has been the nicest day I've had in a long time."
Hunter folded his hands behind his head and leaned back against the trunk of an oak tree, enjoying the shade. And the scenery. And the silky, satiny voice that belonged to Abby. "So the famous sex therapist doesn't mind a touch of normal life?"
"Normal life would be a welcome change." Her mouth closed around the strawberry, the red juice spilling down her lips. He swore silently, wishing he could lick off the juice and taste the sweetness of her mouth.
"Why were the cops at your house earlier?"
Abby hesitated, then picked at the fruit bowl. "They're looking for Lenny."
"I thought he was in Brazil."
"I don't know where he is," she admitted quietly.
"You want to tell me what he did to you, Abby?"
A canyon of silence yawned between them. She looked so vulnerable and lost and troubled, he couldn't resist covering her hand with his. "I'd like to help if I can." And this time he meant it.
"Thanks, Harry." Abby laced her fingers with his. "But I can't talk about it."
He scooted closer and brushed her hair back with his fingers. "I'm a good listener."
She met his gaze then, her eyes filled with sadness. "I appreciate that. After Lenny, and then that awful Hunter Stone, and now that tabloid guy who trashed me in the papers, I didn't think there were any decent men left."
She raised a hand and placed it on his jaw. "Thank God every man isn't like that. It's nice to be with someone who's honest."
Oh, God. If she only knew.
"Someone I can be myself with, someone who's not trying to get something from me. Someone I can talk to." She curled her feet beneath her, squeezed his hand, and brushed a gentle kiss on his cheek.
He swallowed.
"I know exactly what I want to say when I do Monday's interview."
"What's the topic?" he asked, emotion thickening his voice.
"What women want." The fading sunlight dappled rays of gold and red across her face. He ached to wipe the sadness from her eyes with a night of lovemaking. To erase all her problems. To wipe his own slate clean so she would never know his deception.
He would make it up to her when he wrote the final piece.
"What do women want?" he finally asked.
She traced a short fingernail up his shirt, making his nipple tighten. "They want love and romance and passion. They want friendly foreplay."
"Friendly foreplay?"
"Yes, being friends is important in maintaining a long-term relationship." Abby sighed and pressed her hand against his heart.
"Hmm, I never thought about it like that. What else do women want, Abby?"
She snuggled into his arms. "They want a nice man like you, Harry. Someone romantic."
Shelly hadn't thought so. But he could be romantic; Abby seemed to bring out that side
in him. "What else?"
Her voice grew soft. "They want someone they can trust."
Chapter 20
What Women Want
"What do men want, Harry?"
He caught her hand and dropped his head forward, an odd, almost pained look on his face, as if he was struggling with his answer.
"Harry, did I say something wrong?"
He closed his eyes and shook his head, then kissed her fingers, one by one. The simple gesture was so erotic that Abby wanted to throw herself at him right there in the middle of the park.
Shadows from the trees surrounded them, creating a private haven that evoked images of long, lusty afternoons lying in his arms, naked and affectionate, loving each other all day until the moon finally found its way into the sky.
But his daughter and their dogs lay a few feet away, a staunch reminder of reality.
"You're not going to answer me," Abby finally said, when he remained silent.
"Ahh, Abby," Harry finally murmured. "It's a tough question. A lot of men want sex, just fast, hard sex. Then others..."
"Others what?"
"Others want family, a woman they can rely on."
"Both in and out of the bedroom?" Abby said softly.
He nodded.
"What about you, Harry?" She was flirting with fire, but she didn't care. The day had been incredibly romantic, and he hadn't even tried to make it that way, which made him even more appealing. He was so damn sweet and protective and such a good father. "What do you want?"
"I..." He suddenly slid his hand beneath the back of her neck, lifted her hair, and pulled her toward him. "I want you, Abby."
Uttering a low growl full of desire mixed with frustration, he closed his mouth over hers and kissed her. Abby melted in his arms and clung to him, wishing the moment could last forever—but knowing their destiny was probably doomed.
"Daddy, why you kissin' Dr. Abby?"
She and Harry jerked apart, both stunned and shaken. Harry mumbled something about Abby having a boo-boo; then he quickly gathered the picnic supplies and led the way to the car. Abby scooped up Butterball to follow, and Lizzie struggled to drag Snarts out of his deep slumber, scrunching her nose when he let loose another big one.
* * *
Hunter flipped the radio to a soft-rock station while he drove Lizzie home, smiling at her sleeping form curled against his lap. The mutt lay sprawled at her feet, its tail twitching occasionally, the only sign of life the dog emitted, other than that occasional ripple of a snore.
What a dud of a dog.
He forced his gaze back to the road, but his mind wandered to Abby and their conversation. Guilt had attacked him like the plague when she'd said she trusted him.
But if she trusted him so much, why hadn't she confided the complete truth about her husband? And the reason the police were looking for Lenny?
Had his conversation with his cop buddy, Falcon, pointed the police in Abby's direction?
Another reason to feel guilty, he thought, wiping perspiration off his forehead.
The turn to his ex's mansion came just as automatically as the feeling of trepidation that engulfed him. A world of money and snobbery he'd never feel comfortable in surrounded his daughter's home. Why hadn't he seen what his wife really wanted when they were married?
Because they hadn't listened to each other, he realized, remembering Abby's book and advice. They'd each been traveling their own road, oblivious to the other's needs or wants. When they'd tried to ride together they'd actually collided, their cars a tangle of anger and differences. Finally, one day they'd reached a crossroads and parted.
But Lizzie was stuck in the middle.
She was all that mattered now.
Except for Abby, a little voice whispered.
The streetlights of Buckhead glittered like Christmas decorations around the mansion as he parked in the drive. Lizzie rubbed her eyes and peered at him while Snarts planted a paw over one eye and moaned, peeking out of the other as if to ask why he really had to move from his comfort zone.
Hunter hopped out, came around to Lizzie's side, and opened the door, then lifted her in his arms. To his surprise, the massive front door of the house burst open and out sauntered his ex-wife, jewels sparkling, her silk pantsuit shining like polished glass. The fury in her eyes stopped him cold.
"We have to talk, Hunter."
Lizzie squirmed and woke up. "Daddy, can I takes Snarts with me?"
He'd planned to keep the dog at home, but he was going to be out of town all week. "You have to ask Mommy."
His gaze pleaded with Shelly, but she took one look at the mutt, who chose that moment to scratch his ear as if he were a flea-infested mongrel, lifted her nose in disdain, and shrieked a no that he knew was final.
"Please," Lizzie begged. "He's homeless, Mommy."
"There is no way that sorry excuse for an animal is coming into my house." Shelly jabbed a finger toward the dog. "He'd probably urinate on the Persian rugs and chew up my Chippendale furniture."
Lizzie's lower lip trembled. "I know he don't look good, Mommy, but Daddy says he needs us."
"What that dog needs is to be put out of his misery."
Lizzie burst into tears and buried her head on his shoulder. "Don't get rid of Snarts, Daddy; please don't let her throw him away."
Anger flashed through Hunter like heat lightning. "Mommy's not going to do anything to hurt Snarts, sweetheart. I promise." He aimed a worried look at the dog, but Snarts had crawled onto the floor to hide. Maybe the dog had some sense after all.
"We have to talk," Shelly said. "Lizzie, go on inside."
Lizzie wiped at the tears streaming down her face and Hunter's gut clenched. "It's okay, baby. I promise I'll take good care of Snarts for you. You can play with him next time you visit."
"But he'll forgets me."
"Lizzie—"
"Shelly, give us a minute." Hunter barely controlled his anger. He brushed Lizzie's hair down. "He won't forget you; he loves you just like I do. I may not get to see you every day, Lizzie-bug, but I think about you every minute. I know Snarts will, too." He lowered her enough to pet Snarts good-night, then kissed her and watched her run inside, clutching Angelica as if she were her only friend.
Shelly stared at him with fury in her eyes. Because of the dog?
"Listen, Shelly, every kid needs a pet."
"And does every child need to be in the tabloids, Hunter?" She whacked him in the chest with the photograph, then launched into a tirade about him being a horrible father.
Hunter closed the SUV door so they wouldn't disturb Snarts, then waited silently until she'd vented her anger. Finally he sneaked a word in and explained about the article.
"I don't care about your crummy job, Hunter. But Lizzie looks like she's been rolling in the mud, she probably has ticks from that mongrel, and I know your apartment is unsanitary—"
"Unsanitary?"
"And if you expose my daughter—"
"Our daughter," he said through gritted teeth.
"If you expose our daughter to more tabloids or dangerous situations—"
"She wasn't in any danger."
"How do I know you aren't taking her along when you investigate criminals?"
Rage built inside him. "Because I wouldn't do that."
"But you let them hint that she was your illegitimate daughter. For God's sake, my parents saw this and have already called, hysterical."
He'd never liked her parents anyway. "Listen, I'm sorry, Shelly; it was a mistake."
"No, trusting you with Lizzie was a mistake."
"What?" The air in his lungs squeezed. "You can't mean that, Shelly."
She jabbed him in the arm. "I do. I'm warning you, Hunter, if you do anything like this again, I'll sue you for full custody and you'll never see Lizzie again."
* * *
Victoria pounded on the door to Stefan Suarez's apartment, furious and hurt. She had just spoken with Abby and learned he'd questioned her about Lenny.
The door swung open, surprise lighting Stefan's handsome face. "Victoria, how nice—"
"Nice?" Victoria pushed past his bare chest, ignoring her body's response to the sight of him half-naked. Damn the man; she had almost fallen for his charismatic manner. She whirled around, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. "I can't believe I ever trusted you."
"What?" He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the bristle of late-evening beard even darker in the shadows of his dimly lit apartment. "I don't know what's upset you, but let's talk—"
"No, I'll talk; you listen." She averted her gaze from the dark hair tapering down his washboard stomach to his low-slung jeans. "How dare you make out to be my friend, rescue me and Chelsea like some knight in shining armor, kiss me till my toes curl, then go behind my back and interrogate my sister as if she were a criminal."
He folded muscular arms across his belly and simply watched her as she vented, his calm expression only fueling her temper.
"I never want to see you again."
He raised a brow, a spark of temper flashing in his nearly black eyes. "Are you finished?"
She recognized the barely checked anger in his voice and glanced at the door. Maybe she shouldn't have come.
"Don't even think about running until you hear me out." With a backward kick of his foot, he slammed the door behind him and glared at her, stalking toward her with the intensity of a lion after its prey. "First of all, I did not play nice to you to get you to reveal information about your sister. I played nice to you because I like you and want to be with you." He held up his fingers, using them to tick off his points. "And second, when I questioned your sister, I was simply doing my job. I'm a detective, Victoria. I told you I would do almost anything for you, but I won't compromise my professional reputation."
"So you admit—"
He silenced her with a slash of his hand. "No, I never used you. The precinct is investigating the Tony Milano scams; you've heard of them?"
Victoria gulped. "Yes."
"We found a bank account that connects him with Lenny Gulliver. That's the reason we went to talk to your sister."
So he was a man of conviction—she had to admire him for that. "Oh."
