Under the Covers by Rita Herron Page A

the good doctor would not have her way.
    He would find out exactly why Chelsea had hired him to play Abby's husband.
    He just couldn't let her get to him in the process. And for a minute she had....
    Then he'd realized she was simply flirting with him because he was privy to part of her secret and she wanted to make certain he kept it. Which proved his original theory about her being manipulative, not the family-oriented martyr type she portrayed herself to be.
    The scent of her delicate perfume lingered on his clothes as he left the coffee shop; he'd have to ditch these clothes so he could vanquish it. Just as he had to banish his memory of that erotic orgasmic kiss.
    Dammit. The woman was married.
    Even if he wasn't working on a story and detested the marriage therapist, he did not, had not, would not ever mess around with a married woman. Not only did he value his own life too much to chance being murdered by an irate jealous husband, he did have some scruples.
    Hunter peeled off the mustache and wig—okay, maybe not stringent scruples, but he had a bona fide reason for deceiving the woman, and the end justified the means. Cursing, he scrubbed his hands through his hair to spike the matted mess as he cranked his Explorer and wove through the heavy traffic and rain. Still, Abby Jensen remained a puzzle to solve.
    One minute she was spouting off suggestions to improve intimacy and talking about passionate positions and orgasmic kisses, and the next she was blushing like a virgin.
    And that story she'd invented about her husband—what kind of baloney was that?
    She had actually looked vulnerable for a moment, sad, as if she were really concerned about the man. Had he been detained on business somewhere? Was he in trouble with the law?
    She'd said she didn't want to endanger him. Could he be the victim of one of those business kidnappings he'd heard so much about in South America?
    Hmm. That might explain why she wanted to keep his disappearance quiet. And why she was worried about his safety.
    Or had something else caused her sadness? Something more personal...? The obvious answer reared its ugly head.
    Had her husband had an affair? Had he left her for another woman?
    Rain splashed his windows, thunder rumbling overhead, cars slowing to a dead stop. He flipped on the radio to check the traffic reports.
    "Folks, we have a nine-car pileup on Peachtree Street, no fatalities or serious injuries reported, but traffic will remain gridlocked for at least an hour while the police clear the scene. And now for the weather".
    "The storm is passing through, folks. Believe it or not, it's headed south and will be gone in a couple of hours."
    Hell. He contemplated another route, but up ahead he spotted Abby's Toyota pulling into the big shopping complex. Maybe he'd follow the doctor, see what she was up to. He could pick up some supplies while he was here, maybe drop by Lizzie's later and see if she wanted to go camping, spend some quality time alone with her. If they headed north, they'd drive out of the bad weather.
    A father-daughter camping trip, complete with a sleeping bag on the hard, uncomfortable ground, would be the perfect way to help him forget Abby Jensen and her nonsense about bedroom talk between the sheets.
    And the fact that even though she wasn't his type, he wouldn't mind crawling under the covers into a nice, warm bed with her—naked, hot, and willing.
    * * *
    Abby fought with the umbrella, cursing in frustration as the wind sucked it upside down, lifted it from her hands, and flung it into the air. She jogged after it, but a runaway grocery cart full of disposable diapers suddenly flew out of nowhere and whacked into her stomach. Abby yelped, stumbled, fell against a Ford pickup, and broke the heel of one shoe.
    A pregnant woman ran after the cart, her big belly leading. "I'm so sorry," the woman screeched over the downpour as she grabbed the cart.
    "No problem." Abby pushed the buggy toward her, staggering on her