“It wasn’t a surprise. She’d tried three times before,” Cash continued.
Her back straightened and she lifted a hand that Cash saw was shaking before she demanded in a voice as shaky as her hand, “Please, stop talking.”
“She wasn’t a well woman, Abby, it was the reason my father didn’t marry her,” Cash explained because she was looking pale and for some reason in pain.
Her look intrigued him.
Women looked at him in many different ways all of which he could read. Cash knew Abby was horrified by what he’d shared but he didn’t quite understand the pain.
“Still,” she whispered, breaking him out of his thoughts, “you found her?”
“It was expected. Every time I came home, I expected something. She was manic depressive, amongst other things, and refused to take meds. When she was high, she was brilliant, funny, beautiful, smart, full of energy. When she was down, she was suicidal. It’s not as tragic as it sounds if it’s your life. It’s only tragic when it’s not,” Cash stated calmly because he was calm. He’d long since learned this lesson and he’d learned it very well. “She was the one who called me Cash, came up with it during a high. I was very young and it stuck. I don’t remember ever answering to anything else.”
Latching onto a change of topic, Abby asked, “What’s your real name?”
“Conner.”
She observed him for a moment.
“Yeah,” she said softly, “that fits too.”
He moved toward her and stopped in front of her. He leaned in and put his hands on the counter at either side of her hips.
He watched as her body tensed and he ignored it.
“When I met you, I thought the name ‘Abby’ didn’t suit you,” he told her.
“Really?” she asked, leaning away from him but, he noted, trying to look like she wasn’t.
This nearly made him laugh.
“Really,” he replied and moved closer, “but tonight, you’re an Abby.”
“I’m always Abby,” she returned then, with her voice slightly breathy and higher than normal, she asked, “Do you want pears?”
“Not right now,” he answered.
“More whisky?” she queried.
Cash shook his head.
She bit the side of her lower lip just like she did the day he met her.
He’d been right, it was adorable.
With his eyes still on her mouth he said, “Right now, it’s time for bed.”
* * * * *
Abby opened her eyes to a feeling of warm unfamiliarity mingled with the realisation that it was early morning and dark.
For a moment she was pleasantly confused.
Then her brain woke, her senses cleared, her vision adjusted and panic ensued.
In the shadows she could see a wide expanse of chest and a bedside clock that said it was twenty past five.
Both the chest and the clock belonged to Cash.
Her body froze as she took in her position.
She was lying, tucked tight to his side, her thigh thrown over one of his. She was curled so deeply into him that her calf had fallen between his legs. Her head was resting heavily on his shoulder, a good deal of her body doing the same down the length of his and her arm was wrapped around his waist.
She found this position disturbing in a variety of ways.
Firstly, she had not slept in a bed with anyone other than Jenny since Ben died and she couldn’t believe she’d had any sleep at all beside Cash much less almost on top of him but it appeared she had.
Secondly, she’d never cuddled with Ben in sleep, not because she didn’t want to but because Ben didn’t like it. He’d gently told her early in their sexual relationship that he preferred to be unhindered while sleeping. This had always secretly disappointed her and after he’d died she yearned to go back in time with the knowledge of what would befall them and coax him into learning how to sleep with her pressed against him.
Lastly, she barely knew Cash Fraser. She’d been in his company only three times. Yet she felt comfortable and snugly warm cuddled up to Cash’s long, hard body in a way that wasn’t forbidden or wrong (as she thought it should feel) but instead in a way that seemed perfectly natural (as she thought it was not).
Last night, after he told her it was time for bed Abby had been close to hysteria.
It took all her energy and concentration not to let on this was the case.
Indeed, their very short evening together took a lot of energy and concentration.
There was something weirdly intimate passing between them regardless of the fact that they barely knew one another. She thought it had a lot to do with her being in his home, cooking for him and waiting for him to get home from work. These were things you didn’t do on a second date. These were things you did for someone you knew well and cared about.
She was also trying to be friendly without being too friendly and she thought this might be working though she found it immensely taxing. Cash made it harder by deciding, freakishly (to Abby’s way of thinking), to deepen their conversation past the trivial to the very personal. Pressing her for information and openly sharing the horror stories of his mother and father didn’t help. It was impossible to stay distant from someone who told you he didn’t know his father outside of the fact he was a “twat” and found his mother after she committed suicide.
In fact, any human with a modicum of compassion was forced by all the rules of being a human with a modicum of compassion not to stay distant when such a story was shared.
Even though nothing about him invited it, indeed he seemed entirely adjusted to his hideously sad history, Abby had wanted to put her arms around him. She found it almost painful not to give into this instinct.
But then he’d said they were going to bed and everything else flew out of her head.
He’d moved away from her on the counter (thankfully) and asked where her bag was. She told him, they went upstairs, he retrieved it from the lounge and took her to his bedroom. All the while, Abby’s sense of doom intensified.
He had an enormous master suite on the second floor, replete with a huge king-size bed covered in a deep grey comforter with six big, fluffy pillows stacked at the head, three to a side, two in black pillow cases, two in midnight blue and the top in a matching grey sham. The furniture in the room was heavy, dark and uber-masculine. The look, like everything else in his house (and everything about him) was powerfully male, sleek, expensive and modern.
He showed her to the adjoining bathroom. It was immaculate white, looked brand new and fitted with what appeared to be a top-of-the-line bathroom suite. It had grey accent tiles and thick, luxurious towels in the colours of his bed sheets.
He left her in the bathroom; she closed the door behind him and changed.
The search for a casual but classy outfit in which to cook dinner for Cash Fraser, International Spy Catcher, was nothing compared to the search for what to wear to his bed.
She didn’t want to give him any ideas by wearing anything alluring but she also didn’t want to step out of her role of Cool Paid Escort to the Rich and Famous by wearing what she’d normally wear (a pair of comfy PJs).
She and Jenny had settled on a dusty-blue nightgown made of super-soft, stretchy cotton that hugged her upper body and fell to a line of charcoal-grey lace at the hem just above her knees. Thin, grey, satin straps held the nightgown to her shoulders but there was no other adornment. It was fitted and graceful without being overtly sexy.
She donned the nightgown, brushed her teeth, washed her face, applied moisturiser, pulled out her ponytail and, taking a deep, calming breath (which didn’t work in any way, shape or form), she walked out to the bedroom.
Cash had turned on the overhead light to the room when they entered but now only a soft light shone from the sleekly lined lamp on the bedside table that had a black shade and a glass base. He was standing by the bed, his BlackBerry in hand, his thumb pressing buttons, wearing nothing but a pair of dark grey, cotto
n, drawstring pyjama bottoms, the quality of the material demonstrated by a low sheen.
His chest and feet were bare.
Abby (and her rapidly beating heart) noticed immediately that Cash’s clothing was not costly camouflage.
Cash Fraser had a great body.
His chest was all smooth muscle leading down to the planes and contours of strong abdominals. His collarbone and the tops of his hip bones stood out in sexy relief. His biceps and lower arms had well-defined muscles, his veins slightly jutting.
She found herself thinking (at that moment descending into a kind of dazed madness) that a man with a body like that could climb mountains, fight wars, battle opponents hand-to-hand in bloody combat and, no matter the challenge, always come away the victor.
This alarmed her.
Greatly.
Even as it captivated her.
Even more greatly.
“Abby?” he called and her body jerked at his deep brogue saying her name.
Her eyes flew from him to the bed and she stared at it in desperation like it was going to form a mouth and start telling her a fascinating tale.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “Tired,” she muttered again, not trusting her own voice.
“Which side?” Cash asked and as she was studiously regarding the bed at the same time trying to ignore her thoughts and feelings, she didn’t know what he was talking about.
Her eyes shifted to him.
It was a mistake.
He was too gorgeous for his own good (and hers).
“Pardon?” she enquired.
“Which side of the bed?” he asked and she started yet again.
She slept on the left with Ben. She’d taken to sleeping in the middle without him.
“The middle,” she blurted.
Another mistake. This made him smile.
He had a great smile.
Oh dear Lord, she thought.
He twisted his torso and placed the BlackBerry on the bedside table then strolled to her.
He got up close and his chin tipped down to look at her.
“Relax, darling,” his burr was a soft rumble, “I don’t bite.”
In desperation Abby tried to be flip. “That’s a relief.”
“Though, I don’t mind if you do,” he continued and she could do nothing but swallow.
He saw her nervous reaction and it made him grin.
Then he walked passed her to the bathroom.
She scrambled to the bed, getting in on the left side. She pulled the covers high and curled into herself, making her body as diminutive as she possibly could.
She didn’t know if she could do this. In fact, she was pretty certain she couldn’t. In fact, she was extremely certain she was giving it all away by acting like a frightened virgin.
She couldn’t give it all away. She’d dug this hole for herself, now she had to live in it until the time when she could dig her way back out.
She forced herself to relax, uncurl and assume a sleeping position that normal people might use, on her side, hands tucked under her face, knees crooked.
Minutes later, he came out of the bathroom.
She didn’t watch as he turned out the light and got into bed.
But her body was tense as he turned to her. She felt his hand come to rest on her hip and his mouth went to her ear.
“Good night, Abby,” he said softly.
“Good night,” she replied chirpily.
She could swear she heard him chuckle.
Normally this might annoy her. At the time, she was too flipped out to let it register.
He kept his hand where it was but settled behind her. She could feel his body, though he kept his distance.
She waited.
He didn’t move and he didn’t try anything.
She waited more.
He stayed where he was and she felt his hand get heavier as his breathing got steadier. Moments later, his hand slid away as he fell to his back.
She waited more, hoping he’d start snoring which would give her a valid reason to find somewhere else to sleep.
He didn’t.
Eventually her body relaxed and shortly after she fell asleep.
Now this.
How she’d snuggled into him, she had no idea. But she had to move and fast.
Carefully she rolled to her back. Unfortunately, Cash rolled with her.
His body was pressed to her side much like hers was to him moments before (except, of course, the head to the shoulder bit), and she felt his hand come to rest on her belly.
His voice was husky when she heard him ask quietly, “Abby, are you awake?”
She decided immediately to feign sleep.
Cash was not deceived.
“Abby,” he called.
“Mm,” she mumbled, hoping he would think she was mostly asleep.
Cash was still not deceived.
His hand slid across her belly to curl around the top of her hip and she felt his face in her neck before he murmured, “Darling, I know you’re awake.”
There was, she had to admit, something about him calling her “darling” that she liked way too damned much.
However, when he said it into her neck while they were in bed, she liked it a whole lot better which made it worse.
A lot worse.
“Not entirely,” she muttered her lie.
She was completely awake and totally panicked.
She felt his body laugh even though she didn’t hear it. His face came out of her neck and his fingers put pressure on her hip to roll her to her side and into him.
She lifted her hands and pressed them against his chest as his face went to the other side of her neck.
“Let’s see,” his voice rumbled against her skin, “you sleep like a dead weight pressed into me all night and all of a sudden your body jerks and freezes and you pull away. I’m thinking you’re pretty fucking awake.”
Abby was stunned and not about the fact that he knew she was lying. “I slept like that all night?”
“You rolled into me five minutes after you drifted off and stayed there.”
Abby was even more stunned. She was certain he fell asleep before her.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
His face went away and although she couldn’t see him she felt his eyes on her.
“Sorry about what?” he asked.
“Sorry if I bothered you while you were sleeping,” she told him. “And sorry if I woke you up.”
His mouth came to hers and he murmured, “Don’t be. I’m not.”
Then he brushed his lips against hers softly and after his mouth trailed down her cheek to her ear.
It occurred to Abby at that moment that something was not quite right.
Then she felt his tongue touch the skin under her ear.
Her belly dipped.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice breathy, her hands putting light pressure on his chest.
“Tasting you,” he whispered in her ear and she felt a happy tingle slide from her ear downward.
Her hands on his chest pressed harder. “Um, Cash, we have a deal,” she reminded him.
“Yes,” he murmured his mouth moving to trail along her jaw, “we do.”
She found breathing was becoming difficult. “Cash, stop it.”
“No,” was his surprising and terrifying answer.
She’d been correct, something was definitely not right.
“Cash!” she gave him a shove and his body stayed where it was but his head came up.
“Abby,” he returned patiently, his mouth had gone away but his face was close and his hand at her hip had somewhere along the line become an arm wrapped tightly around her waist.
“Are you reneging on the deal?” she asked, her voice sharp.
“No.”
She pushed at his chest again. “What do call this?”
At her push, his arm got tighter and his other hand forced itself under her, travelling up her back to sift into her hair and
cup the back of her head.
What Cash said next made all the breath force itself rather painfully out of Abby’s lungs.
“I agreed not to fuck you until we went to the castle. I didn’t agree not to do anything else.”
Abby thought immediately this was not a fortuitous turn of events.
“Well I didn’t agree to anything else,” she retorted angrily.
Anger, she hoped, would hide her fear.
“You didn’t stipulate against it either,” he replied.
This was true.
“Then I do now,” she told him.
His fingers twisted in her hair.
This was not painful. It was gentle and highly effective as it caused a pleasurable tremor to slide from her scalp all the way through her body.
“Abby,” he said softly, “so far I’ve paid nineteen thousand nine hundred and ninety nine pounds to spend approximately eleven hours with you, the majority of that sleeping. Do you honestly believe I’d pay that much to take you out to dinner and chat with you in my kitchen?”
She had to agree that sounded absurd.
Then again, everything about this situation was absurd.
“I’m not comfortable with this,” she declared even though she wasn’t entirely certain what “this” was. She was, however, relatively certain she was uncomfortable with it.
“Do you want to back out?” he asked even as his arms grew tighter.
“I think I do,” she responded, even though all of a sudden she wasn’t certain she did.
“Then you can pay me back thirty K and we’ll call it off.”
Her body seized and her mind flew through quick calculations of the money she’d already spent and the money she likely needed.
The original ten grand she’d asked for was the bare minimum of what she needed to take off the pressure of her debt and get current (and this was before she knew she needed major work done to the only usable bathroom in the house). She’d intended on selling some heirlooms, finding a job and hoping to stay on top of things.
The fifty thousand he’d already paid her would get her entirely out of debt as well as allow her to do some much needed updating to Gram’s house.
The two hundred thousand would allow her to fix up the house so it was thoroughly restored. It would allow her to keep Gram’s lovingly conserved collections of vintage clothing and priceless (to Abby) family heirlooms. And it would give her a generous nest egg allowing Abby time to decide what she wanted to be when she grew up.