Under the Covers (3 page)

The very reason he wanted to ruin the woman.

* * *

Shaken by all the publicity, Abby switched TV channels, but a faintly familiar face flashed onto the screen—the preacher who had married her and Lenny.

For a brief second the past year flitted through her mind. The good parts.

And bad.

A year ago, Lenny had convinced her to elope at a resort in the north Georgia mountains. The special honeymoon getaway came at a steal for only five hundred ninety-nine dollars and included the reverend, marriage certificate, witnesses, organ music, champagne, and a weekend at the resort called the Velvet Cloak Inn. Smitten with the man and not wanting to grapple over wedding plans with her unorthodox parents, who would have squabbled over every detail, she'd agreed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have another late-breaking story," the reporter announced. "Rev. Tony Milano, who has been marrying couples at the famous Velvet Cloak Inn in north Georgia, was arrested today for fraud."

Chelsea refilled their glasses with fresh margaritas. "Isn't that where you got married, Abby?"

Abby nodded and turned up the volume.

"Apparently Mr. Milano is not a real man of the cloth, as he professed, and is not legally qualified to perform marriage ceremonies. Therefore"—the announcer paused, letting the tension build—"if you and your spouse were married by Mr. Milano, your marriage is not legitimate."

Abby gasped.

Chelsea slapped her hand on her thigh. "Oh, my gosh."

"I have to find Lenny," Abby whispered in a weak voice.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. He left on a business trip three weeks ago and I haven't heard from him since."

Chelsea raised an eyebrow as the announcer gained speed. "Mr. Milano has also been accused of conning couples out of their retirement money by offering them vacation packages at another resort in Tennessee, a resort that sources have proven doesn't exist. Milano was released earlier on bail, but law-enforcement officials report that he has disappeared and may be headed out of the country. If you have any idea of his whereabouts, please contact your local police."

"I can't believe it," Abby whispered in shock. "Lenny and I are—"

"Living in sin," Chelsea chirped, twisting her crystal necklace between blue fingernails.

Abby's chest constricted. "We're: not married."

The doorbell rang and Abby shot off the sofa, sloshing the cold drink all over her bare thigh.

Chelsea dropped her fingers from the clear crystal. "You want me to get it?"

Tears threatening, Abby grabbed a napkin and swiped at her leg. "I... you don't suppose reporters have already found out that I was one of Milano's... his fakes?"

Chelsea shrugged. "So what if they did? You and Lenny can get married by a real preacher. Plus, it'll make great publicity."

Abby groaned in horror. "The last thing I want is more publicity about my personal life." Lenny's face dashed into her mind—had he heard the news? And if he had, what would he say?

Would he want to get remarried?

The doorbell rang again, the sound pealing through the room like fingernails on a chalkboard. Chelsea's gaze locked with hers.

"See who it is," Abby whispered.

She huddled behind her sister as they inched to the door. Chelsea peeked through the peephole. "It's a tall, skinny guy with glasses," Chelsea said as if she were suspicious. "Oh, and he's wearing a mailman's uniform."

"It is the mailman." Abby rolled her eyes and waved Chelsea aside, then opened the door.

"I have a certified letter here for Abby Jensen Gulliver." He held out an envelope and a clipboard for her to sign. "Are you the Dr. Abigail Jensen who wrote that book
Under the Covers?"

Abby nodded. "Gulliver's my married name."
Although Gullible should be.
"Jensen's my maiden name." She'd almost said her
real
name. Which it was, since she wasn't technically married.

The middle-aged postman beamed at her. "Wow, I can't believe it. My wife bought a copy of your book, and, man... it's hot."

"I hope you two enjoy some of the exercises." Abby signed for the letter.

"Oh, yes, ma'am, it's already doing wonders. My wife never would... Well, she didn't like to try different things until she read your advice. She especially liked that chapter on oral—"

"Great." Abby cut off what she thought might have been a long-winded personal confession, which didn't seem appropriate on her front porch. "Have a nice day and tell your wife hello for me."

She thanked the postman, then closed the door, but a bad premonition engulfed her as she walked back to the den. What if the letter was some form of notification from the police about her illegal marriage? Would they question all of the people involved with Tony Milano? Subpoena them to testify against him?

Chelsea sat cross-legged on the sofa with her drink, her gaze fastened on the TV. "They said that preacher married over a hundred couples last year. He made a killing off those phony resort investments."

"And I just happen to be one of the lucky ones who only fell for his romantic honeymoon haven." She narrowed her eyes, surprised there was no return address. "This is odd."

"What?"

"It's from Lenny. Why would he send me a certified letter?"

Chelsea shrugged. "Maybe he found out about the fake marriage and he's proposing again?"

Yeah, right.
He hadn't been so formal the first time. Her fingers trembled as she tore open the envelope and removed the plain white sheet of paper.

Dear Abby,

You have probably seen the news by now and know that our marriage was a sham.

When we married, Abby, I thought I needed a wife. I wasn't ready to admit a lot of things to myself, much less to the world. But time and circumstances have changed things. Since the police have found out about Tony, he has to leave the country.

I can't continue this farce of a marriage, not when I finally have the chance to be with Tony, the love of my life.

Good-bye, Abby.

Abby swayed and sank to the sofa in shock as the words swam in front of her eyes. "What is it, sis?"

The letter fluttered to the floor. "It's a Dear John letter," she said in a weak voice. "Lenny left me for..."

Outrage filled Chelsea's eyes. "He ran off with another woman?"

"No." Her gaze swung to Chelsea, her stomach plummeting. "He ran off with another
man."

Chapter 2

The Voice of a Vamp

Hunter tried to momentarily forget about the queen of sex, Dr. Jensen, when his five-year-old daughter's innocent voice called his name. She raced toward his SUV, her Angelica doll clutched in one hand, leaped into his arms, and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

"Hey, Daddy."

"Hey, pudding."

"You'll have her back by bedtime, won't you?" Shelly wiped a speck of dust from the door of her silver Mercedes sports car.

Hunter nodded tightly and ruffled Lizzie's blond curls as he buckled her into the front seat of his Explorer. "We're just going to dinner, Shelly."

"Good. Daryl says it's better for children to stick to a schedule."

Hunter circled around to his side of the car, his jaw aching from clenching it. For the past fifteen minutes his ex had lectured him on Daryl's idea of parenting. As if Hunter intended to take advice from the wife stealer on how to raise his own child.

Besides, a routine schedule was a sore subject between him and his ex. During their marriage he'd encouraged her to put Lizzie on a schedule when she was a baby, but Shelly's version of a schedule meant whatever tickled her fancy at the moment.

Or whatever sale hit the malls.

Maybe she'd changed. After all, she actually seemed concerned about Lizzie's diet. Yet he couldn't help but think Shelly had gone to the extreme the other way.

"Oh, and make sure she eats properly." Shelly pointed to the tofu-and-bean-sprout cafe beside them. Apparently her new husband was also a health fanatic, or maybe Shelly had taken up an alfalfa-sprout-and-seaweed diet. She'd always jumped from one diet to another. Flitted from one
man
to another, even after they were married... only he'd been too foolish to know it. She'd been young and beautiful and charming and had a great pair of legs....

And he'd been a fool for following after those legs and not looking to see if the woman had a brain on top of that body.

Shelly huffed. "Are you listening to me at all, Hunter?"

"I'll make sure she eats," he said, refusing to argue in front of Lizzie.

Shelly briefly touched Lizzie's forehead with a manicured hand. " 'Bye, sweetie. Have fun."

Hunter frowned and watched her climb into her car, adjusting her outfit to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in her linen skirt. He wondered if she ever hugged their daughter, ever cuddled or played with Lizzie.

"Daddy, what's this?"

His ex's Mercedes screeched as she peeled from the parking lot.

Hunter swung his gaze toward Lizzie and mentally groaned. "It's a book, honey."

Dr. Jensen's book. He'd finally gotten a copy at the fourth store he'd visited. Of course, he had a few scratches to show for it.

"What's the name of it?"

He climbed into his seat, took the book from her, then tossed it onto the backseat. "Uh...
Under the Covers."

Lizzie's big brown eyes looked up at him innocently. "Is it a bedtime story?"

"Sort of. For adults, I guess."

"Oh, I've seen it afore." Lizzie patted Angelica's head. "It's that sex book Mommy gots."

"What?"

"That sex book. Mommy readed it to Daryl."

"Really? What did she say about it?"

"She talked about doing the mattress mambo."

Mattress mambo?
He made a mental note to warn Shelly that Lizzie's ears were bigger than she might realize.

"What's mattress mambo, Daddy?"

"Uh, it's complicated, honey." Sweat dribbled down Hunter's neck. "Daddy's supposed to interview the author of the book and write a story about her for the paper."

He had to change the subject. "I heard your tummy growl. What do you want for dinner?"

Lizzie licked her lips. "French fries."

He laughed, then steered the car across the street to the nearest fast-food burger place and parked. "All right, but you have to eat some hamburger, too."

Lizzie frowned. "Icky Micky said hamburger comes from dead cows."

"Who's Icky Micky?"

"This boy at school that gots cooties. He throws dead bugs at the girls on the playground." She undid her seatbelt and crawled into his lap. "Do hamburgers really come from dead cows?"

Hunter swung her from the SUV onto the sidewalk. "Afraid so."

"Icky Micky said they grinded up their guts to make 'em."

"Well—"

"Are we're eatin' bloody guts and stomachs, Daddy?"

"Well..."

She clapped her hands over her ears. "Angelica and I don't want to eat bloody cow guts and ears, do we, Angelica?" Lizzie wiggled the doll's head back and forth as if it were saying no.

"You don't have to, honey. Let's have chicken fingers instead."

"Icky Micky said they cut-off chicken toes to make chicken fingers."

Hunter wanted to strangle Icky Micky. At this rate they'd be eating nothing but nuts and berries. "We'll just have french fries then."

Lizzie exhaled a big sigh of relief. "Good."

"By the way, where does Icky Micky get all his information?"

"From his number one stepdaddy." Lizzie held up three fingers. "He gots three daddies. And his mama gots the sex lady's book, too."

Hunter gritted his teeth. The book obviously hadn't helped her stay married any more than Dr. Jensen's advice to Shelly had.

Would he wind up as a number in a long string of fill-in fathers to Lizzie someday?

* * *

"What do you mean, he left you for a man?" Chelsea snatched the letter from Abby's hands and skimmed the contents. "What a cold and impersonal note. That slimy SOB."

"That slimy
gay
SOB," Abby clarified.

"Bi, not gay," Chelsea corrected. "I mean, you two did have sex... um, didn't you?"

Abby clenched her hands, battling tears. "Yes, Chelsea we were married almost a year. Of course we had sex." Not mindboggling sex, but okay sex, Abby thought, remembering Lenny's reluctance to please her in certain ways. In fact, he had been just as cold and impersonal as the letter the last few weeks of their marriage.

She dropped her head in her hands, a dozen memories suffusing her. A million telltale signs... God, she'd been such a fool.

Had Lenny known Tony was a fake all along? Had everything been a lie?

She'd thought she was in love with him, especially during those first few months. And even after the initial sizzling attraction had worn off, she'd tried to make things work. Her whole world revolved around family and commitment, and she refused to become another statistic on the dismal divorce charts, so she'd pulled from all her resources to spark their romance back to life.