Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts) (21 page)

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.

She clung to the bedpost and screamed bloody murder.

~*~

Barney’s booming bark coupled with Abby Wade’s chilling scream echoed through the house. Matthew swore and slammed his mug down on the counter, sloshing coffee on his hand. Ignoring the burn, he sprinted out of the kitchen, down the hall, then bounded up the stairs two at a time.

What the hell had happened now?

He skidded to a halt at the door to his guest’s room. Instantly his gaze sought the woman who had haunted his dreams all night long. Perched precariously on the headboard, Abby Wade was all but wrapped around a bedpost. The pale yellow nightshirt she wore displayed those gorgeous long legs he had admired during her brief stint as an exotic dancer. Her auburn tresses were tousled from sleep.

Barney broke into another round of raucous, indignant barking, evoking an earsplitting squeal from Abby. How could she be afraid of Barney? A tickle started in Matthew’s throat and mushroomed into such an overwhelming need to laugh out loud that he barely contained it.

“Do... something... about... the... dog,” she ground out slowly, hotly, anger suffusing every feature of her pretty face.

“Barney, down!” Matthew managed to command without bursting into laughter. He patted his thigh, an unspoken command for the dog to come. Relief flooded Abby’s face as Barney lumbered toward his master.

“You never mentioned having a
dog
,” she said accusingly.

Matthew flared his palms in a gesture of innocence. “You never asked. It didn’t occur to me when I let him in this morning that you would mind.” He glanced down at Barney who had stationed himself at Matthew’s feet. Convinced that he had nabbed an intruder, the dog gazed expectantly at his master, anticipating a reward. “Downstairs, boy,” he told him firmly. Giving Matthew one final somber look, the old dog reluctantly trudged out of the room. Poor fella. He was really getting on in years.

Abby scrambled off the bed and marched straight up to him. “I know I closed the door last night,” she declared, suspicion in her tone. “I know I did. And unless Barney has learned to open doors, I would like to know exactly how he got in this room.”

Matthew had the sneaking suspicion that he had just been accused of being a peeping Tom. One side of his mouth quirked at the prospect of catching Abby Wade off guard in a tangle of sheets. He blinked the image away and gestured toward the door. “I should have warned you that you have to slam it really hard.” He shrugged. “It’s an old house, what can I say?”

To his sheer amusement, the lady still hadn’t realized that she stood before him in only a thin nightshirt. With the morning sun streaming through the windows behind her, the luscious outline of her body showed up especially well. His lips twitched again with the need to smile.

“Do you find this situation amusing, Mr. Stone?” She tilted her head and all that silky, fiery hair tumbled over one delicate shoulder, but there was nothing at all delicate about her deadly glare.

He shook his head. “Call me Matthew. It’s just that...” The picture of her perched on his grandfather’s old oak headboard suddenly flashed through his mind. The grin won the battle and claimed his lips. “Sorry,” he sputtered as a full-blown laugh erupted from him.

“Look,” Abby hissed. Her gaze narrowed, she shook a finger at him. “
Up Close
has gone to a lot of trouble to accommodate you on this interview. I’ve traveled all the way from New York, and am prepared to give you my undivided,
professional
attention. But between your crazy friends and that ferocious animal, I’ve been kidnapped, humiliated...”

She hesitated, her face flushed, whether from anger or remembered emotion, Matthew didn’t know. But the deepening blush only served to enhance her porcelain skin. His body reacted, and he suddenly found himself mesmerized by her full, pouty lips. Lips so naturally red against her pale complexion they looked like berries fallen against winter’s first snow. The kind of lips a man wanted—needed—to kiss.

“What are you staring at?” she demanded crossly.

Matthew jerked his gaze back to hers. “I...ah...” He frowned, chastising himself for acting like a randy teenager who’d just realized how irresistible a woman could be. “Barney’s harmless,” he finished distractedly. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Abby arched one skeptical brow. “No animal that large could ever under any circumstances be considered harmless.”

“He doesn’t bite,” Matthew clarified.

She lifted her chin in challenge. “I saw those fangs. He could bite if the compulsion struck him.”

“Point taken. I’ll make sure he stays outside for the rest of your visit.” Matthew shoved his hands into his pockets, his amusement—as well as his awareness of her womanly attributes—turning to annoyance.

“Now,” she said triumphantly, obviously considering herself the winner of that round. “Are we going to do this interview, or not? I know you’re a busy man, but I have a deadline. I’d like to get started as soon as possible.”

“You know, this interview wasn’t my idea anyway,” Matthew said, more curtly than he’d intended. But, what the hell, the truth would come out sooner or later. “All this hoopla over my doing what anyone else would have done is a little ridiculous if you ask me. But then, no one asked me.”

Miss New York City folded her arms over her chest and shot his a defiant look. “Are you backing out?”

Matthew blew out a breath. As much as he’d love to, he couldn’t. His sister would kill him if he refused to do the interview. Owner of the local newspaper, Jenny had been thrilled beyond belief to have a reporter from a national magazine coming to town. If he were to hazard a guess, he would bet his last dime that Jenny had been instrumental in initiating all this publicity. Everybody knew the hometown hero-of-the-month for
Up Close
was selected from nominations. Jenny had probably been the one to encourage Salem’s mayor to nominate Matthew.

But he didn’t consider himself a hero. He was just a regular guy who’d done what he had to do. End of story.

“Are we going to do this interview or not?” she prodded, her foot tapping impatiently against the bare wood floor.

“Sure,” he relented. He didn’t miss the flash of relief in her eyes. Miss Wade might be a little ticked about all the mishaps since her arrival, but she wanted this interview. He’d pegged her for a hotshot hell bent on making it to the top the first time he’d spoken with her on the telephone. And now he knew he was right. “Right after the ball game,” he qualified before turning to leave.

“Ball game? What ball game?” Irritation marked her tone.

Matthew paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not only a hero, but I’m a coach as well.” Before she could rally a comeback, he gave her a slow, deliberate once-over. “By the way, most folks around here wear a little more than that to the Saturday morning games.”

Her gaze immediately dropped to the nightshirt. Deciding the mortified look on her face was revenge enough, Matthew strode out of the room. He would do the stupid interview, but it would be on his terms. If Miss Hotshot from New York City didn’t like it, she could pack up and catch the next flight back to the Big Apple. He didn’t care one way or another.

Well, maybe part of him cared.

But that part didn’t have a say in the matter.

~*~

July’s scorching midmorning sun beat down on the crowd in the weathered bleachers. Abby was enormously thankful for the small slice of shade she’d found at the end of one set of bleachers. It wouldn’t take long in this heat for her pale skin to burn. A lobster-colored complexion was less than attractive, especially on a redhead. Sunscreen hadn’t been on her packing list. Obviously it should have been.

She plucked the front of her T-shirt from her damp skin and shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden bleachers. Never in her life had she felt so ill at ease. Of course, being surrounded by screaming children and an army of doting mothers didn’t help. If she’d ever seen this many happy families and their rambunctious offspring in one place before, she had no memory of it. Zealous fathers were gathered in clutches around the fence, betting and bragging on whose child would hit a home run or strike out, then immediately blaming the umpire or pitcher if things didn’t go their way.