Under the Covers
it and turning it every which way.
    Her sentences were written by an expert in manipulation—the words were meant to be titillating. She wasn't saying them to him. And he hadn't been fantasizing about her.
    Muttering a loud curse, he headed to the bathroom to take a cold shower and forget the nonsense in the book—and the fact that as he'd read, he'd heard her seductive voice purring out every word.
    * * *
    Anger suddenly churned through Abby. She needed to be angry, she realized. Anger was better than hurt. "How dare Lenny Gulliver use me." Tears blinded her vision, but she blinked them away, fighting the heartache of her lost marriage. All she'd ever wanted was a nice, quiet, happy life: a fulfilling career, a stable family. The type of stable family she'd never had. The loving marriage...
    And I thought I had it all, but this past year's been a total lie.
    The beautiful rooms she'd wanted to decorate, to raise her kids in, closed around her, hot, stifling. She pressed the cold glass against her face, willing her heart to mend itself.
    "Lenny made a mockery out of our marriage because he was too chicken to admit he was gay. How could I have been so naive?"
    Chelsea refilled their drinks. "You want Victoria to sue him?"
    Abby shook her head. "For what? Humiliating me?" Tension hummed between them as Abby paced the room. She stared out the big picture window, replaying the last three weeks in her head. When she'd bought the house, she'd thought it would be a new beginning for her and Lenny. The flowers had been blooming, the grass green and lush. But the heat wave and drought this past week had parched the brilliant colors and turned everything brown. Left everything looking desolate.
    Just like she felt inside.
    Seconds later the phone trilled, sending her nerves into a dozen pieces. Both their gazes swung to the machine.
    "I can't deal with anything else today. If it's Victoria, please don't tell her yet. And if it's that reporter again..."
    "Why won't you give them an interview?" Chelsea asked. "In spite of what Lenny's done, you're a star, Ab."
    Abby hesitated. "Because I'm not comfortable with the slant they're giving the book. And you know how I feel about reporters."
    Chelsea nodded as if she too was remembering the embarrassing spread the local press had written about their mother's affair years ago. And then their father when he'd been arrested...
    The phone trilled again, and Chelsea checked the caller ID. "It's a New York number."
    Panic slammed into Abby. Rainey, her publicist.
    "Relax," Chelsea said. "They can't know about Lenny yet."
    Abby nodded, took a deep breath, and reached for the phone. Her sister was right. She had to calm down. Not give Lenny the power to destroy her.
    "Abby, hello, it's Rainey," her publicist said in a sharp New York accent. "I have good news."
    She could certainly use some of that.
    "Do you have any idea how well your book is doing?"
    "Pretty well, I think. I know some of the stores around here are selling out."
    "They're selling out everywhere! Congratulations! And that satin pillow idea was ingenious."
    Thanks to her mother's latest lover. Her mom who used to play two-bit parts in commercials as vegetables. She'd been a stalk of celery once, broccoli, a carrot....
    "We've decided to send you on a publicity tour," Rainey continued. "We'll have you visit bookstores, TV stations, a few radio shows. The way things are going Under the Covers will hit the New York Times list before week's end. We want to be ready to meet the public's demand."
    Abby clutched the phone cord, twisting it in her fingers. "Listen, Rainey, a tour's not a good idea right now."
    "Why not? Everyone wants to meet the genius behind this fascinating book."
    Abby's mind raced for excuses. How could she go out in public and promote a book about marriage therapy when she couldn't hold her own marriage together? And how could she tell this woman and her agent and editor and the whole world her marriage had been a total
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