Abby looked around and realised he wasn’t wrong.
Not only were there candles burning, there were heavy scarves thrown over the shades of her lamps, muting their brightness so much Abby didn’t notice until then they were switched on. More scarves of velvet and silk festooned the table in front of the couch, on which there was a variety of paraphernalia, including burning incense, more candles (dripping onto the cloth, by the way), bowls filled with dark liquid, a huge, clear, round ball on a poofy, tasselled, velvet pillow and what looked, distressingly, like the bones of a small animal (or an infant and, even though neither choice was good, Abby was hoping for the former).
“You weren’t supposed to be home until later,” Mrs. Truman stuck with her earlier theme.
Cash rocked back on his heels and sucked breath in through his nose in an obvious attempt at patience.
Jenny looked at her watch and hesitantly entered the fray.
“Um, Mrs. Truman, I think it is later,” she said.
Mrs. Truman looked at her own watch then up to Jenny and remarked sedately, “Oh, so it is.”
“Time flies when the spirits aren’t talking,” the Gypsy Queen put in.
Cash spoke again and this time he had his anger in check but you could tell, just barely.
“Let’s start this again,” he suggested. “What are you doing here?”
“Séance,” Mrs. Truman instantly replied as if this was an entirely natural thing to be doing in someone else’s living room or at all.
Cash’s eyes narrowed and Jenny and Fenella both took steps back. The Gypsy Queen crossed her arms on her chest, a small smile playing at her mouth and Mrs. Truman went into stare down mode with Cash.
“You’re having a séance,” Cash repeated in a way that said he not only couldn’t believe his ears, he didn’t want to.
“Yes,” Mrs. Truman replied calmly.
“In Abby’s living room,” Cash went on.
Mrs. Truman glanced at Jenny then back at Cash and explained, “It would upset my dogs if we did it at my house.”
“Kieran would totally freak if we did it at ours,” Jenny threw in.
Cash’s eyes cut to her and he gave her a look that said without words, “no fucking kidding?” therefore Jenny took another step back.
Bravely, Fenella spoke up, “And you know Alistair would have a fit if we tried something like this at the castle.”
Cash pinned Fenella with a look. “Would you like to explain why you’re here?”
Fenella’s glance darted around the room then she took in a deep breath and tried but failed to perform a nonchalant shrug. “Well, see, I was in Clevedon the other day, um…” she glanced at Jenny and then said, “shopping. And I thought I’d pop by and say hi to Abby. She wasn’t here because, you know, she was with you.”
When she stopped speaking, Cash prompted, “Yes. I know. Continue.”
Fenella’s mouth moved around like it had forgotten how to form words before she plucked up the courage to go on. “I was knocking on the door and waiting and Mrs. Truman came out and asked who I was. Then we got to chatting then she invited me to tea then she told me about the séance and invited me to come. I’d never been to one and well,” she hesitated before throwing her hands out at the sides and finishing in a voice that was several octaves higher than normal, “I’m here.”
Cash stared at Fenella and it was clear even to someone who hadn’t spent nearly every single day of two weeks with him that he didn’t believe a word she said or at least not the important ones.
Surprisingly, he let it go and turned to The Gypsy Queen. “And you are?”
She lifted her chin while saying, “Cassandra McNabb. Clairvoyant and white witch, at your service.”
Cash watched her for a moment which slid into two which slid into three as all the women stood tense, waiting.
Then he muttered, “Fucking hell.”
“Obviously you’re tired and want a private moment to say goodnight to Abby before you go home,” Mrs. Truman said then continued pointedly, “to your own bed.”
This comment, Abby noted with alarm, made Cash, whose anger had partially cooled, look like he was going to explode.
“Actually –” he started with deadly calm but Abby jumped in front of him, pressed her back to his front and interrupted.
“Actually, why don’t you all just go on home? I’ll blow out the candles and clean up for you tomorrow.”
“Works for me,” Cassandra muttered, wandering toward a fringed bag that lay beside the hearth.
“I’m, um, staying with Mrs. Truman,” Fenella made this surprising announcement, her eyes on Abby looking weirdly like she was trying to communicate something she could not say out loud. “Maybe tomorrow you and I could have a cup of –”
Cash cut her off by saying, “No.”
Fenella’s eyes flitted to Cash and she uttered a strangled, “No?”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Abby’s mine,” Cash declared and when Fenella opened her mouth to speak, Cash went on, “all day.”
“But you just spent three days with her in Germany!” Mrs. Truman snapped.
“Three days where I was working. Tomorrow, I’m not working and Abby’s spending the day with me,” Cash returned.
“You don’t own her,” Mrs. Truman shot back and Jenny made a telltale choking noise which brought Cash’s newly-narrowed eyes to her face.
Bloody hell! Abby thought.
She sought to minimise any possible future damage by quickly announcing, “It’s late. You all get home.” She looked at Fenella. “I’ll call you. Does Cash have your number?”
Fenella nodded, eyes on Cash, and said, “I think so.”
“Good,” Abby smiled at Fenella and then turned to Cassandra. “Sorry this has been heated but I hope you understand we’re both kind of tired,” Cassandra made no reply so Abby went on in a desperate attempt to be polite. “Anyway, it’s nice meeting you.”
Cassandra’s dark brown eyes looked into Abby’s and Abby stood frozen, having the eerie but not entirely unpleasant feeling that Cassandra was reading the words written on Abby’s soul.
Then she broke her own spell by saying, “We’ll meet again.” She walked to the door, stopped, and looked back at Abby. “You’ve got a great cat.”
Then she was gone.
The others followed close on her heels.
Abby closed the door on them and met Cash in the hall, the faint light from the living room was gone indicating that Cash had blown out the candles and turned out the lights.
Abby flipped a switch that flooded the hall with light.
The minute Cash’s eyes focused on her, he remarked, “That woman is a nut.”
“Mrs. Truman?” Abby asked.
“Take your pick,” Cash answered dryly and Abby wanted to be detached and beyond finding Cash amusing but she couldn’t help but laugh.
While still laughing, she felt his arm slide around her shoulders and he started to lead her up the stairs.
“Do you know why Fenella would come visit you?” he asked and Abby could swear she read more than mild curiosity in his tone.
“No idea,” she replied with all honesty.
Fenella’s being there was, far and away, the weirdest part of a very weird night.
Cash may have wanted to say something else but while they were on the landing turning toward the next flight of steps the lights flickered then they did it again then the hall went black.
Cash stopped them dead on the landing and for a moment Abby feared an army of malevolent ghosts would descend.
Then she realised it was just her usual bad luck, bad timing and wiring that was likely laid during World War I.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Cash muttered angrily in the dark.
“It’s probably just a fuse,” Abby replied with more hope than certainty.
She felt rather than saw Cash turn to her. She did this because his arm never left her shoulders and she found herself pressed to him, bre
asts to chest.
“In all the shit we talked about in Germany, I forgot to ask about this fucking house,” he commented, his tone bland, his use of the f-word a huge, waving red flag.
“It’s just old,” Abby tried.
“It’s old,” he agreed and continued. “It’s also a money pit and likely a fire hazard.”
“It’s not a fire hazard!” Abby felt the need to defend even though the report the surveyor gave her indicated differently, mainly due to the wiring and, perhaps, some of her appliances. Then she went on to semi-lie, “It’s fine. Solid. It can just be cantankerous on occasion.”
Or, more to the point, weekly.
Cash moved into her, his hand curling her back to his side as he reversed directions.
“Where are we going?” Abby asked as he started to guide them back downstairs.
“My place,” Cash answered.
Abby halted, too tired to remember she didn’t want him in her house.
“But it’s late!” she exclaimed.
Cash pressed her to moving again. “It is, darling, but I’m not fucking around with a fuse box at midnight. Furthermore, I like you just the way you are. You’d be far less attractive burned to a cinder.”
“I’m not going to get burned to a cinder,” Abby declared crossly.
“No. You’re not,” he agreed and proved himself right by guiding her firmly to the entry, helping her on with her coat, grabbing his bag and using his other hand to propel her to his car.
Then he drove them to his house.
Chapter Seventeen
All the Time in the World
Cash woke on his back, his arm outstretched and Abby was in another unusual but exceptionally sweet position. The curve of her spine was pressed against his side, the heels of her feet against his leg and her temple was resting on the back of her hand, which was curled around his bicep.
He turned into her, sliding his hand along the silk at her waist.
She was wearing one of the nightgowns he bought her the day before, a sexy, short, revealing, grey-green silk that complimented her eyes. The clerk in the exclusive boutique in London where he’d ordered the dressing gowns and, on Monday, seven nightgowns, had done her job well. Cash had told Moira to describe Abby’s appearance and have them send nightgowns which would suit.
They didn’t disappoint, sending Cash’s request by same-day courier as they did with the dressing gowns, each one was perfect and Abby had loved them. Not as much as cashmere but, she’d informed him, silk and satin (“the real kind”) were close seconds.
The nightgowns were an answer to Abby’s pyjamas which she’d unveiled Sunday night after he’d forced her, and her cat, to move in with him. Although he had to admit she looked cute in the striped, drawstring bottoms and fitted t-shirt, Cash found later when they were in bed he didn’t like the obstacles they presented.
Unlike getting her presents, it was safe to say she hadn’t been pleased at his demand to move in even though she didn’t utter a word. Cash had felt actual physical pain at his effort not to laugh in the face of Abby’s obvious struggle against her desire to argue.
However, Simon’s full report, e-mailed to Cash while they were in Germany, stated that Abby’s house was what, after close scrutiny of the report, Cash considered a health hazard. It needed new wiring, new plumbing, new appliances and new bathrooms. The carpeting was frayed in places, making it easy to trip, especially if one insisted on wearing high heels as Abby did, and needed to be replaced.
The list went on.
Simon had noted that a good deal of work had already been done, the roof, windows, chimneys and repairs to damp and dry rot. But there was still a good deal left to do to make it, what Cash would deem, habitable.
About five seconds after the lights failed Saturday night, Abby, Cash decided, was definitely not going to live there while he saw to restoring it.
She was going to live with him and therefore, likely, not return home for some time.
On that thought, he buried his face in her hair and fitted his body to the length of hers, breathing in the scent of her.
Last Wednesday Cash had discovered Abby’s secret.
She was not, as she wished him to believe, an escort for hire.
She was, instead, a woman who desperately needed money.
The day after they had dinner with his uncle, he’d investigated this himself and within hours put the pieces together.
Until he transferred the money into her account, her balance was naught. She was overdrawn and had substantial credit and loan debt. Her banking history exposed enormous expenditures which were likely repairs on her home. She’d had a job at one point but her salary was unbelievably low and that regular deposit had stopped some time ago. This indicated she’d lost her job and hadn’t had steady employment for some time, although she’d taken intermittent contract work.
Further investigation uncovered the fact that she’d amassed considerable debt in DC. It didn’t take close scrutiny to see that she should have sold the house she shared with her husband and further she had continued a lifestyle she could no longer afford on her salary alone. This left her in relatively dire financial straits when she left that life behind, which meant she was ill-prepared to absorb the expenses she couldn’t know she’d face, from what he could tell, upon arrival in the UK.
Why she sold herself rather than some of the valuable pieces of furniture and art in her home, Cash had no idea.
But he intended to find out.
He felt her nestle deeper into him in her sleep and he smiled into her hair.
He enjoyed this time, early in the mornings, before he woke her. This was when he had her, when she was sleeping. He also knew he had her, all of her, when he was fucking her.
The rest of the time, she was on guard.
He’d had her once, their first weekend together.
And he fully intended to have that again.
Her being on guard started the day of their fight and he hadn’t done himself any favours by punishing her that evening. She’d forgiven him, this he knew, but something had changed, that was clear.
She was trying to hide this from him. What she didn’t know was there was a big difference between Abby being Abby and Abby being the Abby she wanted him to think she was.
There were times when she came through. For example, when she hilariously repacked her heels after he’d unpacked them; when she first laid eyes on her Bavarian torte; when she panicked at the thought of him entering her house when there was a possibility of intruders; and when she’d received the nightgowns the day before.
But mostly she maintained a cautious distance, erecting and consistently fortifying walls that kept him out.
Cash intended to break down those walls. He intended to force her to admit her secrets. He intended to find out why she’d sold herself to him. Lastly, he intended to have all of her again, no holding back.
And he didn’t care how long it took.
His strategy was to be patient until the time came when that was no longer working. She was coming out more and more, fitting naturally into his life, letting that guard down more frequently, and he was carefully pressing this advantage.
He knew his end game.
She would be moving with him to Penmort. He would take care of her, giving her the life he felt she should have. And he’d be certain to maintain that life for her even after it was time for him move on.
He would, when the time was right, explain all this to her.
But not before she let him in.
Completely.
Or, of course, if he lost patience.
His hand smoothed over her, sliding up her nightgown then running down her naked hip. She hadn’t replaced her underwear after he’d taken her last night, demanding first that she stand beside the bed as he sat on its edge, his hands moving over the silk of her gown, pulling it up and then tugging down her panties until she stepped out of them. He hadn’t removed her nightgown when he’d fucked her last n
ight and he wouldn’t do it now. He liked the sleek feel of the expensive silk. It further aroused him that he’d given it to her.
His hand moved over her belly, then down to the juncture between her legs and he found her.
She woke instantly, her soft, morning voice breathing his name.
At the sound and its effect on his body, Cash curled his other arm around her chest, holding her captive.
Then he listened, his body slowly, exquisitely tightening in response as he brought her to climax with his hand, all the while controlling her as she alternately pressed into his hand and struggled against his arm, trying to turn to him.
When he took her to the edge, her head twisted and only then did he lift his own to press his mouth against hers and absorb her moans.
But he wasn’t finished.
While she still trembled through her climax, he turned her to her back and kept at her with his hands, mouth and tongue until he could take no more and knew, from the urgency she was using her own hands, mouth and tongue, that she couldn’t either.
Only then did he enter her, his strokes fierce and uncontrolled, their mouths attached, tongues duelling alternating with teeth biting at each other’s lips. He knew he was close and it would be, as it always was with Abby, magnificent.
He listened to her sharp intake of breath. Her calf, with her thigh pressed into his side, curled around his back, her other leg wrapped around his thigh. He felt her convulse around him at the same instant his mind erased and his world centred on nothing but their sweet, tight, wet connection.
Then he came.
It was moments after, when Cash’s face was buried in her neck, his tongue tasting her that his world opened but only to allow all of Abby back in, her legs and arms tight around him, the feel of her breath against his neck, the scent of her sex in his nostrils.
It was then his life as he knew it shattered.