He was standing at the end of the counter, his weight resting on one hand, the fingers of his other hand curled around his whisky glass, his eyes were on her.
“I –” she felt her throat close which she thought at that moment was a good thing as she had no idea what to say. She cleared her throat, the pertinent question springing into her head and she asked, “Why?”
His face went hard and for one frightening second, she thought he was angry.
Then when he spoke, she realised it wasn’t anger but a very scary resolve.
In a voice harder than his face, he declared, “I take care of what’s mine.”
Abby felt it was safe to say that he hadn’t lost interest in her and instantly she had something new to worry about.
She opened her mouth to speak but he got there before her.
“Do you like them?” he asked.
She blinked then repeated, “Like them?”
His head moved to indicate her presents and he prompted, “The dressing gowns.”
Still slightly dazed, and certainly not thinking, she shook her head and said, “No,” she watched as his face went blank, guarding his reaction but she kept talking, “No, I don’t like them, Cash. Any woman in her right mind doesn’t like cashmere.” As if unable to stop herself, Abby babbled on, “Any woman in her right mind wants a room made out of cashmere with a bed made out of cashmere, a bed with cashmere sheets and cashmere pillows and cashmere blankets. So she can roll around in cashmere. No, Cash, I don’t like them. I love them,” she paused, “but especially the cashmere.”
As she was talking, for some bizarre reason sharing her honest reaction instead of keeping it from him (as she should), his mouth went from hard to soft, then his lips twitched, then he grinned.
When she finished speaking, he was smiling while he commanded gently, “Darling, come here. I want you to show me how much you love cashmere.”
Without hesitation, Abby did as he asked.
When they surfaced from their mammoth-post-cashmere-robe make out session, his arm still around her (propping her up as her legs had gone weak), Cash poured her a glass of red wine.
He handed her the glass while murmuring, “I don’t have pinot noir so you’ll have to make do with a Bordeaux until I can get some in.”
And she sipped her Bordeaux while thinking that Cash Fraser not only lit welcoming lights and gave great presents, he also was thoughtful enough to remember her preference in red wine even though she’d mentioned it once, in passing, on their first meeting.
It was then Abby knew she was seriously in trouble.
And it was then that Abigail Butler went deep into denial.
Suffice it to say the evening went downhill from there (one couldn’t top cashmere), though it was still very nice with them eating dinner while listening to Billie Holiday.
Then Cash took her to bed and proved that the night before and that morning wasn’t a fluke created by Abby ending a long, dry spell. But instead that he was very good with his hands, phenomenally good with his mouth, earth-shatteringly good with his tongue and she couldn’t even describe how good other parts of him felt.
The next day Abby discovered Cash had a different schedule for the weekends.
On Saturday, he got up wickedly early (per usual), worked out in the room off the dining area while Abby slept in and then he went into the office.
He came home in the early afternoon and told her he was taking her into Bath.
They meandered amongst the tourists, poked around some of the more exclusive shops and had a coffee before they went back to his house. There, Cash guided her downstairs and made love to her slowly, thoroughly and satisfyingly on the couch in the area off his kitchen after which, in his arms, she fell asleep.
When she fell asleep, she was tucked between the back of the couch and Cash. She didn’t know Cash left her, covering her naked body with a throw, until she woke to see him seated in the armchair across from her, fully dressed, feet up on the table, his sexy glasses on, reading through some papers.
Before he noticed she was awake, she watched him for awhile, maybe moments but it felt like hours.
She liked watching him, the look of him, the way he seemed to emanate energy even sitting and reading. Then, as if sensing her eyes on him, his gaze moved to her and she saw his mouth move up slightly at the ends.
She tried to pretend he didn’t catch her watching him and busied herself getting her clothes back on while still under the throw (and not doing a very graceful job of it, she was sure).
While he worked, she made them dinner.
After they ate, Cash led her upstairs where he made love to her again (and again) before Abby, exhausted even after her nap, fell into a deep, blissful sleep.
Sunday, Cash woke up, worked out, went into the office but got home late morning. They didn’t meander around Bath. They didn’t even leave his bed except for her to make them cheese on toast for lunch and for Cash to go out and pick up their dinner of takeaway curry (both of which they ate in bed).
They didn’t talk very much, instead they learned about each other in nonverbal ways.
All day they touched and explored, getting to know each other’s bodies and Abby really liked getting to know Cash’s. He had a great body and she liked what she learned and the power she felt when he responded which was a lot.
And she also liked being with someone who could just be. Who didn’t talk all the time and who didn’t expect the same from her.
And when they weren’t exploring, they dozed, or Abby did, contentedly, like wasting a day in bed was something everyone did.
Monday was back to their “normal” schedule, with a twist. Cash woke at his usual ungodly hour but this time he turned into Abby, waking her with his hands and mouth, making love to her, leaving her smiling into his pillow, worn out and sated, before he showered and came back to sit on the bed. As he did every morning since she’d started spending the night with him, he moved the hair from her neck to give her a kiss and tell her he was going. Then he left.
It went bad when he called late Monday morning.
She was at home to find her bathroom was beginning to look like a bathroom again (but just barely) and the surveyor Pete had brought in had sent his forty-five page report.
She’d just spoken to the plumber to get him to give her a quote on updating her other two bathrooms while the boiler man who Pete had called was assessing her heating system.
During the call, Cash had informed her he had to fly to Brussels and he wouldn’t be home until late that night. He also informed her that when he came home, no matter how late, he wanted to find her in his bed.
Lost in a world that was not really hers, Abby agreed readily.
But Cash being gone meant she had time to think.
Time she didn’t have when he was around, his dominating charisma, gorgeous smile or vigorous sexual appetite shoving any other thought from her mind.
And time she didn’t have when he was going to be around, which was time she spent thinking about when he’d be back.
Time she now had for thoughts to push through.
Thoughts about the fact that her stupid, confused, screwed-up mind had tricked her into thinking that playing Cash’s devoted girlfriend meant she actually was Cash’s devoted girlfriend.
Thoughts about the fact that he often told her what to do and where to be, which should serve to remind her of what she truly was.
Thoughts about the fact that she was not now the paid escort of a Totally Loaded, Fabulous, International Hot Guy but she was something different. Something worse. She was servicing him in bed and getting paid for it, in money, food and now exorbitantly expensive clothes.
And lastly, thoughts about the fact that since sometime mid-day Friday, all the way to late morning that Monday, she hadn’t once thought about her dead husband. The man she’d dedicated herself to on their wedding day. Then she’d re-dedicated herself to him on the day she put him in the ground. That day, she vowed
she would always, but always, forever and ever, be true to him, no matter what.
She’d never gone a day without thinking of Ben and most days she thought of him dozens of times.
And she’d just gone three, almost three entire days of not thinking about Ben.
Worse, except returning a few texts from Jenny (all of Abby’s responses vague), she was not only avoiding her friend but keeping things from her.
Which meant for the first time in her life, Abby had no one to talk to about her experiences, her troubles and, most importantly, her guilt.
She’d always had Jenny, who as best girlfriends do either happily shared the burden by just listening or gave good advice.
It was then, Abby came to a conclusion.
That Monday afternoon, Abby called Jenny and asked her to come over the next day and help her find a Going-to-a-Haunted-Castle-Outfit. She also promised her friend that they’d talk.
And, Abby decided, they would because this business with Cash was done.
Over.
She would be his pretend girlfriend and she’d be his whore. He’d paid for both.
What she wouldn’t do was forget what she was to him and allow herself to enjoy it.
The first would be even stupider than she normally was and the second made her feel even worse about what she’d become.
So she’d admit to her confused feelings to Jenny and Jenny would help her find strength. Jenny always did.
And Abby would somehow find a way to do what she was being paid to do for Cash but keep herself firmly detached.
As ordered, Abby had been in Cash’s bed that night when he got home late and woke her briefly when he turned her drowsy, pliant body into his warm, hard one.
“You’re home safe,” she’d whispered, soft relief in her voice, not yet steeled against him as she was mostly asleep.
“Yes, love,” he’d murmured, “go back to sleep.”
Immediately cuddling into him, she’d done as she was told.
It was the next morning that they had their gargantuan, knock-down, drag-out, fight.
Something made her wake early. Earlier even than Cash who routinely woke at what Abby considered alarming hours.
Upon waking she realised she was, as she’d made a habit of doing, snuggled into him. This time tucked into his side, head on his shoulder, arm wrapped around his belly.
Unusually, her brain started functioning instantly. She looked at the clock to see it was just before five and she moved carefully away. She got up and went to the bathroom, going about her morning business, even to the point of brushing her teeth, washing her face and showering.
She walked out of the bathroom wearing her new cashmere robe, her wet hair combed back. She was determined to make coffee and be in the kitchen when he descended, ready to make him breakfast before he left for work.
Not be available to him for the activities in which he liked to engage when he woke. Activities she liked too. Activities that might weaken her resolve.
The problem was, when she came out of the bathroom, the light was on and Cash was awake, alert and lying on his side in the bed. He was up on elbow, head resting in his hand, covers down around his waist, his sleek chest in full view and, lastly, his dark eyes were on her. He had that warm, soft expression on his face that he’d shown her the night he’d given her the robes.
Her firm resolve to be Abigail Butler, Skilled but Detached Full-Time Escort and Part-Time Whore slipped a notch at the sight of him and she had to quickly fortify her defences.
“You’re awake,” she announced unnecessarily and he gave her a lazy smile.
At his smile, Abby’s puny defences crashed down in a humiliating heap and she was forced early on to dig into her reserves.
“It looks good on you,” he said instead of commenting on her inane remark.
Abby stopped at the foot of the bed and asked, “Pardon?”
His head dipped toward her but other than that he didn’t move.
However when he spoke, his voice was that deep, throaty, rich that she liked so very much. “The dressing gown, it looks good on you.”
Abby swallowed then replied, “Thank you.”
“Why are you up?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she lied.
“You should have woken me, we could have showered together,” he told her.
At the thought of showering with him (which they’d done on Sunday morning and she’d enjoyed it, like, a lot), she found herself digging even deeper into those reserves. She also found this a little concerning considering their conversation had lasted less than five minutes and she was already losing her willpower.
Before she could announce her intention to go make coffee and politely suggest she’d bring him a cup which she thought would be a nice touch, he pushed up from his elbow.
“Come here,” he said softly as he swung his legs around and got out of bed.
He walked to the armchair by the window, grabbed his suit jacket and when she got close he took her hand, led her back to the bed and seated himself on it, tugging her into his lap.
His lap was definitely not where she wanted to be if she wanted to keep herself distant from him but she also had to keep up the charade.
However, Abby’s brain decided it didn’t like the charade all that much and registered how nice it was to sit in his lap. Her brain also took that opportunity to remind her about other nice things about Cash that she liked.
She absently noted his hands were doing something with his suit jacket but she was deep in thought. She was digging way deep to harden herself against the fact that she liked sitting in his lap and all the other things she liked about him besides.
She came back to the room when he leaned into her and tossed his jacket so it landed back on the chair.
And she felt her eyes grow wide just as she felt her body go still when she saw the long, slim, royal-blue, velvet box in his hand.
An unmistakable kind of box.
The kind of box that held jewellery.
Expensive jewellery.
“Cash,” she whispered as he forced it to click open with his thumb and her breath lodged in her throat at what she saw.
He took out a delicate diamonds-in-platinum bracelet.
Not a tacky, ostentatious one but instead it was subtle and striking, with slim links separated by tasteful, not overly large (but not small by a long shot) diamonds.
He tossed the box carelessly on the bed and his fingers wrapped around her arm below the elbow, slowly drifting down to her wrist. He lifted it and placed the bracelet around her wrist as Abby stared at his hands, concentrating on breathing.
“We were going into the meeting,” he murmured while working the clasp, “I saw this in a window. It made me think of you so I sent Moira in to get it.”
Abby failed at concentrating on her breathing. Her lungs burned their demand for oxygen but she couldn’t for the life of her remember how to give it to them.
Cash finished fastening the bracelet on her wrist but he wasn’t done. He brought her wrist to his mouth and he kissed her gently, his lips brushing the sensitive skin on the inside.
For a moment Abby almost pressed her hand against his face. She almost leaned in to press her lips to his. She almost burst into tears.
His eyes came to her, they travelled over her face and he must have read her intent because his expression got soft before his arms went around her and he whispered, “You can thank me now.”
The breath came back to her lungs and with it came something she didn’t know she had in her.
It was something ugly but useful, if she intended to guard her thoughts, her emotions, and, if she was honest, her heart.
It was something that made her say, “And what form of gratitude does a diamond bracelet buy you?”
She watched his face go blank and his arms seemed to convulse around her.
Then she watched, with no small concern, as his eyes narrowed.
“I’m sorry?” he asked a
nd his voice had an edge, an edge that said quite clearly she should be very careful with her answer.
She wasn’t.
“The bracelet,” she replied, shaking her wrist as if to remind him, “I just want to be certain what I owe you for the bracelet.”
She watched a muscle jump in his jaw and it took everything she had not to jump off his lap.
Or worse, beg him to let her take it back.
“Would you care,” he said, very slowly and equally dangerously, “to tell me what the fuck you’re on about?”
Even sensing he was angrier than she’d ever seen him before, and it was not in doubt that Cash Fraser had a formidable temper, she kept playing her game. “I’m not on about anything. I just don’t want any surprises. I like to know what’s expected of me, you know that.”
He watched her for a moment before he stated, “Something’s changed.”
“Nothing’s changed,” Abby returned.
His arms got tighter on hearing her lie. “Something’s. Fucking. Changed.”
Oh dear Lord, Abby thought. He was saying “fuck”.
He didn’t shy away from using that word. Except when he was angry he used it a different way.
And he was using it that way now which Abby knew wasn’t good.
She ignored his ominous use of the f-word and repeated her bald-faced lie, “Nothing has changed.”
His eyes were still narrow, his brows were drawn and he watched her mouth while she was speaking as if it was fascinating in its hideousness.
“Yesterday,” he said, his words still slow and dangerous as he went on, “I left you sweet and smiling in my bed and now you’re acting like a common whore.”
That stung but Abby hid it and returned coldly, “I’m not a common whore, Cash. I’m an uncommon one. You know that too because you made it so.”
At that he moved swiftly. So swiftly, her breath flew from her lungs.
She was on her back on the bed, sucking in air and he was on his side looming over her threateningly when he clipped, “You opened your legs for me Abby, you begged me to come inside. I didn’t fucking make you a whore.”
“Really? Then why did you pay me after with hundreds of pounds worth of new robes?” she replied acidly.