Dropping her hair, she fell back to the pillows and told him, “That would suck.”
He smiled at her quiet, amusing words and then asked, “Abby, what’s going on with your bathrooms?”
He felt rather than saw her body go still.
And he also thought this was an unusual reaction to a simple question.
Then her head turned on the pillow to look up at him. “I’m having a few problems with the plumbing.”
It would appear, even to someone who knew nothing about such things, with three bathrooms out of commission, she was having more than “a few problems”.
She was back to withholding from him and Cash didn’t like it.
“Do you need me to call someone to come and look at it?” Cash enquired, attempting patience in order to control his irritation that after all they’d shared last night she’d fallen back to earlier habits.
She got up on her elbow again and replied, “No, it’s under control.”
“Under control is having at least one working shower,” Cash returned. “Not under control in a house this size, or any house for that matter, is having only a working toilet.”
“It’s being taken care of,” she told him.
“When?” he pressed.
Abby sat up fully holding the covers to her naked body and replied, “They’re working on it.”
Cash was finished with the conversation. “I’ll make a call,” he declared. “I’ll send someone to have a look at what’s happening and keep them on target. You’ll have a working bathtub by tomorrow night.”
When she spoke again, her voice had lost that early morning sweetness and he knew she was getting angry. “Cash, I’m taking care of it.”
“No, you were taking care of it. Now, I’m taking care of it.”
“Cash!” she snapped.
“I’m not discussing this,” he finished.
“Well I bloody well am,” she retorted.
“Abby,” he stated in a way that made it clear this conversation was over.
“Cash,” she mimicked his tone.
At her words and her tone, Cash wanted to laugh at the same time he wanted to shout.
She was quite often unbelievably adorable, even when she was angry.
And there weren’t many people who would go head-to-head with him. In fact, at that moment he couldn’t think of a single soul who would be that stupid.
Or that brave.
Instead of laughing or shouting, he decided to try a different tack to get her to submit.
His hands went under her arms and he pulled her naked body out of the bed and across his lap. She pressed her palms against his chest and tried to pull away but his arms wrapped around her, crushing her to him, her hands caught between them.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped right before he kissed her.
At first she struggled. It took awhile for him to break through but finally she started melting. Her hand forced its way from between them up to his shoulder, his neck and into his hair, her other arm going down and around his back. She pressed her torso to him and kissed him back.
He reacted instantly to her capitulation, his body started to heat and he felt himself begin to get hard.
His lips slid from hers to the expanse of skin on her neck below and just behind her ear that he knew was highly sensitive. He wasn’t disappointed. She trembled in his arms and he liked the feel of it.
“Cash, please,” she whispered in his ear, her voice back to soft, sweet and effective as her hands moved on him and he felt another strong surge of desire.
“Abby,” he said against her skin.
Both her hands moved into his hair and she held it in gentle fists as her head twisted and her mouth moved to his.
“It’s my house,” she whispered there, “my responsibility, my mess. I have to take care of it on my own this time.”
The words “my mess” and “this time” registered in his brain for a brief moment before she kissed him, her tongue touching his and she moved in his lap to straddle him.
Then nothing was in his head but the scent of her.
She wanted him, he could smell it.
His mouth moved to her jaw, down her neck, to her chest and as he pressed his hands between her shoulder blades to arch her back, he found himself agreeing, “All right, darling.”
Then his lips closed around her nipple and he sucked in hard, hearing her soft moan as he did it.
Shortly after, when he had her on her back, him on top, his clothes were gone and his mouth was moving down her chest, between the valley of her breasts, down her belly, Cash dimly realised three things.
He was, for the first time he could remember, going to be late for a meeting.
And he had, for the first time he could remember, relented on something he fully intended to do.
And he didn’t give a fuck about either.
Then his hands spread her legs and he tasted her.
When his mouth touched her, he heard her gentle, rasping sigh, his mind erased and he thought about nothing except Abby.
Chapter Eleven
The Fight
Abigail Butler was in a tizzy.
No, that wasn’t correct, she was in three tizzies.
Firstly, and probably least importantly (but at that particular moment, it was the one that was most flipping her out), she had no clue what to wear to dinner with Cash’s family that night at Penmort Castle.
Abby’s Mom was English and growing up Abby had spent most of her vacations in England. After Abby married, she and Ben came to visit Gram as often as they could. There was also the fact that she’d lived there for over a year. And England, being England, had its fair share of castles.
Therefore Abby had seen a great number of them. She’d even visited several. Some of which had given tours.
She had, however, never eaten dinner in one of them.
And therefore she had no earthly clue what to wear.
The second tizzy was caused by the distressing phone call she’d received that day from a friend of hers in DC.
Abby, being tremendously stupid, hadn’t thought about what people she knew would think if they saw pictures of her and Cash in the press.
In fact, it hadn’t even crossed her mind.
But then Lori phoned from DC, breathless and excited to hear Abby’s spectacular news; news about the new man in her life; news about the new man in her life who happened to be a Famous, Super-Sexy, International Industrial Spy Hunter. And lastly, news that Lori felt entitled to seeing as she was Abby’s friend.
This distressing phone call had the disturbing information that Lori had seen a photo of Cash unsuccessfully shielding Abby from the camera while letting them into his house the night of their moonlit stroll in Bath.
Abby’s luck, indisputably bad, meant that Lori didn’t see a picture of them walking or talking or eating dinner.
No.
It had to be a photo of them at night, Cash protecting her gallantly from the camera’s glare while letting them into his home. It had to be a photo that served Cash’s purpose, showing the world that they’d already passed “the first part” (the casual-dating, getting-to-know-you part) and were well into “the second part” (the not-casual-at-all, spending-the-night, clearly-lovers part).
Lori had been in throes of ecstasy about the very idea of Abby with famous, wealthy, unbelievably gorgeous Cash Fraser. But what made matters worse was that she was beyond thrilled that Abby had “finally moved on” from Ben and was clearly starting the next, exciting chapter in her life.
Abby didn’t know what to say. In fact, she didn’t even know what to feel.
In a lucky twist, she didn’t have to say much of anything since Lori would not shut up.
Which brought Abby to her last tizzy.
The Tizzy to end all Tizzies.
That morning she and Cash had had a fight.
Not just a fight but a rip-roaring, voices-raised, unpleasant-words-spoken clash.
&
nbsp; She should not, she figured, be fighting with her client. She reckoned most experienced escorts avoided doing that.
But it had happened.
And now she was both angry and worried.
Angry at what Cash had said though, if she was honest with herself (which she found excruciatingly difficult to be at that juncture), none of it was untrue. And angry with herself for feeling anything at all.
And worried about so many things she couldn’t count them all.
She didn’t like to fight with anyone and she found that fighting with Cash hurt. It hurt a lot. And their fight had been ugly and she’d caused it, so that made it hurt more.
She also worried that they wouldn’t get passed this even though they had to carry on with their arrangement.
And she worried what it meant that she felt too much, way too much, for Cash.
Enough to get in a passionate verbal battle in the first place much less feel the hurt after it had happened and further to feel pain that the reason it happened was because she may have wounded him.
Abby reviewed her situation.
On a Sunday, she’d met him at the pub to negotiate “the arrangement”.
Their first “date” was on a Monday.
And they’d made love on Thursday night.
Then on Friday, after she’d stupid, stupid, stupidly had sex with him, breaking her own rule and altering their arrangement, everything changed.
It changed for Abby and she was relatively certain it also changed for Cash.
Friday, his assistant Moira had called and said he’d be working late but home by eight. Moira told Abby that Cash wanted dinner in. Moira also informed her that Abby would be spending the weekend at Cash’s.
Abby didn’t like Moira calling her instead of Cash. It scared her, especially having her “orders” come from Moira right after Abby had (stupidly) allowed their relationship to get intimate.
Abby worried about it all day while the bathroom fitters were banging away and she was wandering the rooms with little paint pots, painting patches on the walls so she’d know what shades she wanted when the time came to decorate.
While slapping paint on the walls, she worried that now that he had her, the challenge had been won and he’d lost interest.
He was Cash Fraser, she reminded herself. He could have anyone, undoubtedly very easily, even her as he’d proved.
She worried, as it was the best sex she ever had (okay, so it was the best three sexual experiences she’d ever had), both in the pleasure-sense and in a way that seemed weirdly more profound, a way Abby refused, in her current state of turmoil, to fully explore, that Cash hadn’t felt the same.
Further, she worried that it was the best sex she’d ever had and what that said about her and also what that said about how she felt about Ben.
Ben and Abby had had a full, satisfying and happy sex life. Ben had been a very good lover, at the time Abby thought he was great.
But what she had with Cash transcended great, going straight to amazing.
Further to that, she worried about worrying about Cash not thinking it was amazing and what that said.
Friday night, she made sure she was at his house in plenty of time to make him dinner. She was careful to make something nice, better than pasta shells, but not too nice which would say she was trying too hard. She also went back to her Dinner at Cash’s House Look, jeans, a nice sweater and for courage, her makeup was done in “Carefree Splendour” (casual with a hint of glamour).
She heard the door open upstairs at ten past eight and she found to her agony that she was nervous as a teenager on her first date.
She was listening to Billie Holiday turned down low and freaking out about her decision to buy, and bring, a few scented candles which she had lit.
His home, although gorgeous, had zero personal touches and she thought it could use some. Furthermore, she liked candles and knew the scent would soothe her.
But as she heard Cash approach, she looked around and it seemed like she was both being way too familiar in adding anything to his house when this was not her place and that she looked like she was trying to strike a mood.
Before she could dash through the room, blow them out, toss them in the rubbish and turn off Billie singing the blues, she saw his legs on the stairs.
Bloody hell, she thought as he came into view, wearing a charcoal grey suit, a forest green shirt and a great tie which made her wonder (somewhat frantically but also not for the first time) if he just had good taste in clothing or if he had a personal shopper.
He was carrying a large, glossy bag containing various-sized, thin but wide, boxes.
She didn’t think about the bag, she thought instead about how to stop herself from fainting.
He stepped off the last stair and, eyes on her, walked to the comfy seating area off the kitchen and put the bag on a chair. Then he shrugged off his suit jacket and that joined it. Then he tugged off his tie and that joined it as well.
He was turned to her and in the process of unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt, he spoke.
“What’s the matter?” he asked and her body jerked when his deep voice hit the room.
“What?” she queried, her mind blank.
His hands, finished with his buttons, went to rest on his hips.
“What’s the matter?” he repeated.
Her brain decided to function and, trying to sound calm (and fearing it didn’t work), she replied, “Nothing’s the matter.”
“Then why are you standing across the room staring at me like I’m a dread serial killer and you’re in my clutches?” His voice was bland, his words filled with dry humour.
Abby, however, didn’t laugh.
“I am not,” Abby returned but his words told her that she’d failed at sounding or appearing calm.
She watched in fascination as his face took on a warm, soft look.
Normally, he looked amazing.
When he smiled, he was breath-takingly handsome.
When he laughed, the world seemed to stop.
That look beat all of them.
“Abby, come here,” he said gently.
On shaking legs she did as he commanded.
When she got close enough, his arms went around her loosely and he held her close but not too close.
In his deeper, throatier, sexier brogue, he demanded, “Now, tell me, what’s the matter?”
And for some unhinged reason, Abby blurted, “You had Moira call me.”
His head gave a small jerk then tilted slightly to the side. “I’m sorry?”
“Moira, your assistant?” she said on a question as if he didn’t know his own assistant’s name. “She called me today,” she explained and went on, “you didn’t.”
Cash stared at her a moment and Abby held her breath.
Then she watched as he threw his head back and let out a deep, rich bark of laughter before his arms closed tightly around her, crushing her body to his. His head came down and he buried his face in her neck.
Still laughing against her neck, he muttered, “I see.”
She pushed her body back and twisted her head to look at him. “You see what?”
He was still smiling when his head came up and his eyes locked on hers. “I see you’re pissed off that I didn’t call.”
“No, I –” she started but his arms gave her a gentle squeeze, effectively silencing her.
“I was in meetings all day. Unfortunately what I do means I have a lot of meetings. Even though I’d vastly prefer to be on the phone talking to you, or listening to the crazy shit that goes on in your house, sometimes I won’t be able to call.” One of his hands came up and gave her neck that gentle squeeze she liked way too damned much. “Abby, you’re going to have to get used to that.”
She felt a tremor slide through her body at his words and it wasn’t a tremor of fear.
“Get used to it?” she whispered, wondering what he meant.
His lips touched hers then he said, “Ye
s. You’re going to have to get used to it.” And he obviously wasn’t going to say any more, as in explain what on God’s green earth he was talking about, because he let her go and casually walked into the kitchen while saying, “I’m getting a drink. You open your boxes.”
For what seemed like years (but obviously wasn’t) she stared at his back as he moved around the kitchen pouring himself a whisky.
Then she looked at the bag with the boxes.
Then she looked back to him.
“My boxes?” she asked.
Back still to her, he took a sip from his whisky while standing in front of an attractive, modern, stainless steel wine rack, pulling out bottles and inspecting them, before shoving them back and he said, “In the bag. Those are for you.”
She sucked in breath and her eyes went back to the boxes.
“For me?” she whispered but he didn’t answer. He’d found what he was looking for and went about the task of opening a bottle of red wine.
On legs that felt like they were made of wood, Abby moved to the boxes and found there were three. She pulled them out and, one-by-one, unveiled three robes.
One was tailored in a man’s style but it was made from a sumptuous pink silk so pale it was almost, but not quite, colourless. The next was a long, cream, cotton, waffle-weave but its lapel was smooth. The last was also long but this one was made of the finest, dove grey cashmere, luxuriously soft to the touch.
Abby stood frozen, the lush cashmere in her hands, and she didn’t wonder why Cash was giving her presents. She also didn’t wonder why those presents were all robes.
All she could think was that she’d always wanted a cashmere robe.
Always.
During the good times with Ben in all her spending she’d never bought herself one. She could explain away purchasing expensive shoes, handbags and pieces of jewellery with a variety of womanly excuses but spending hundreds of dollars on a robe you wouldn’t wear out of the house seemed over the top.
And she knew exactly how much it cost. She’d looked covetously at many of them and not one had cost less than multiple hundreds.
And the one in her hands was of a superior quality to any of the ones she’d seen.
“Abby?” she heard Cash call and her head shot up.