She had, she knew, no choice.
She couldn’t back out.
Her hands gentled on his chest but her body stayed tense.
“All right Cash,” she said softly, “but I want to know, in detail, what you feel you’ve paid for.”
She didn’t really want to know. But she knew she had to know.
He rolled to his back, taking her with him and reached out an arm to turn on the bedside lamp.
She blinked at the sudden brightness even muted by the black shade and as she was doing this he rolled back. This time into her so his body was mostly on top of hers, his weight settling into her but somehow not all of it.
Their position meant his strong, heavy legs tangled naturally with hers and the intimacy of this was not lost on Abby. It felt strange and wonderful at the same time it felt very wrong.
His hand came up to rest against the side of her head, the tips of his fingers sifting into her hair at the temple.
Lying atop her she saw his hair was messier than normal, his black eyes sexier than normal and his face held a frighteningly determined expression.
This, she knew, did not bode well.
“In detail,” his voice came at her quietly but his words were ruthless, “I’ve paid for the right to put my hands and mouth on you. To kiss you, taste you, touch you, anywhere I like, everywhere I want, and do whatever the fuck else I want with you.”
Abby stopped breathing.
Cash kept talking. “I’ve also paid for the right to expect that you’ll do the same to me.”
After he said that, Abby fought against hyperventilating.
Cash on the other hand was completely calm. “I’ve paid for the right to make you come with my hands and my mouth as often as I like, whenever I like, wherever I like, given reason. I’ve also paid for the right to expect you to return the favour.”
“Cash,” Abby breathed.
Cash ignored her. “I’ve paid for the right to be familiar with you when I want, where I want and I’ll give detail to that too.”
She decided she didn’t want any more detail.
She didn’t have a choice, Cash kept going. “I’ll be touching you, kissing you, holding you and whatever the hell else I want to do with you in private and in public.”
Abby was back to pressing against his chest.
Cash was back to resisting her efforts.
He went on. “If I ask you a question, you answer it honestly. You don’t hold back and you don’t evade. I’ve paid quite generously for you to play the part of the devoted, adoring girlfriend. I’ve paid for you to play it convincingly, when we’re alone and when we aren’t, in all that being my girlfriend entails in these modern times. I’ve paid for it and I expect to get it and it’s what you’re going to give me.”
Abby stopped fighting because she was concentrating on breathing.
“Do you have any questions?” Cash asked, his tone polite, the underlying firmness of it resolute.
Abby, no longer having a voice, shook her head.
He’d been, she thought, pretty thorough.
“I’m giving you the chance to back out now, transfer the thirty K back into my account by close of business today and you’ll never see me again,” he told her, paused for a second then continued. “If you don’t back out, that means you agree to these terms for the length of our arrangement and we’ll not discuss this again. Is that understood?”
Abby, still not having a voice, nodded her head.
Cash, still calm, his face still hard, watched her.
Then he asked, “What’s your decision?”
Abby found her voice and whispered, “I need some time.”
“You’ve got two minutes,” Cash returned.
Abby felt her eyes grow round.
“That isn’t time!” she cried idiotically, because it was, just not much of it.
A muscle in his jaw leapt and Abby watched it with concern because it was an indication that he was not at all happy and she had a feeling that an unhappy Cash was a very bad thing.
He spoke. “We’ve already set the plan in motion. You back out now, I’m fucked. I don’t have time.”
She had thought two days ago that she’d done something immensely stupid.
She’d been wrong.
It was catastrophically stupid.
But the truth of the matter was she needed the money. It meant security and freedom and it meant that she could keep hold of the only things left in her life, outside of Kieran and Jenny, that meant anything to her.
And if she backed out now, Cash was, indeed, fucked.
And for some bizarre reason she didn’t like that idea either.
She made her decision. It terrified her but it was the only choice she had.
She asked so quietly her voice was barely discernable, “Do we have to start right now?”
Something intense and unfathomably deep flashed in his eyes at her words and Abby felt a corresponding emotion in the region of her heart.
“Yes,” he replied, her heart sank and he dipped his head to touch her mouth with his. “And no,” he went on, speaking against her lips and her heart leapt.
“What does that mean?” she whispered.
“Put your arms around me,” he commanded, his throaty, deep voice had grown gruff.
She did as he asked, sliding her hands from his chest, around his sides to wrap them around his back.
“Now, Abby,” he started, “I’m going to kiss you and you’re going to kiss me back. Then you’re going to go back to sleep and I’m going to work. Then tonight, after you make me dinner again, we’ll begin.”
Without giving her a chance to reply, he did as he said he’d do, his head slanting and his mouth opening over hers.
The minute his tongue touched her own, her body liquefied and even though she didn’t will herself to do so, she kissed him back. One of her hands slid up his spine to plunge her fingers into his thick hair, the other arm wrapped tighter around his waist.
The kiss was shattering, tearing through her, hot, sweet and wet. It was long, it was hard and it was unbelievably, delectably thorough.
She’d never experienced anything like its fiery intensity.
Never.
Not with Ben.
Not in her dreams.
Not in her whole, damned life.
When his mouth disengaged the only thing Abby could think was that she wanted more.
A lot more.
Everything.
But she didn’t get it. Instead, his eyes moved over her face and they were blazing as fiery hot as his kiss. Something he found in her face made his expression shift to a soft satisfaction before his head bent and he kissed her neck below her ear.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmured there then without another word, he was gone, knifing away from her out of bed. He flicked the covers back over her, turned off the light and headed to the bathroom.
Abby lay in stunned silence, listening to the shower and knowing that there was a very good possibility that she’d never sleep again. She thought there was a slim chance she might spontaneously combust. And she realised with a flash of guilt that mixed with heady longing that she felt wetness between her legs and an arousal the intensity of which she’d never experienced in her life.
And if you told Abigail Butler that she would turn and curl her arms around Cash Fraser’s pillow, tucking it to her body and smelling his cologne combined with the scent that was all him, and she’d fall promptly to sleep after her latest drama, she would have laughed in your face.
But that was just what she did.
* * * * *
Dressed and ready for work, Cash walked into his dark bedroom, his eyes on Abby’s form in his bed.
He was very pleased to note that she’d not lied during the negotiations in the pub.
It was abundantly clear that Abigail Butler may sell her time and her presence but she most certainly never sold her body.
He sat on the bed in the crook of her lap, half-
hoping to wake her, half-glad he didn’t.
He bent low and kissed the skin of her exposed shoulder. Then he lifted his hand and slid the hair from her neck and he kissed her there.
She twisted her head in sleep, not to dislodge his touch but to deepen it.
He smiled against her skin.
He got to his feet, pulled the covers over her shoulder and left the room.
He didn’t give a fuck if that very day any of his clients’ entire multinational conglomerates were stolen out from under them.
Cash would not be late home that night.
Chapter Six
Mrs. Truman
Abby sat at the big battered farm table in her grandmother’s huge kitchen. The Aga stove, aided by a merry fire burning in the stone hearth of the fireplace, warmed the space so thoroughly, even the huge chunks of slate that formed the floor felt heated.
She was drinking coffee with Pete and listening to him tell her about plumbing, electricity, new boilers, chimney pots and so on down to re-plastering and paint, all of which her house needed to be put back to rights.
“That’s just what I see, love, but I’d get someone in to do a survey,” Pete advised, before draining his mug. His eyes came back to her as he put down his cup. “I know someone if you want me to set it up.”
Abby nodded. “I can’t do this anymore Pete. Every week it’s something new. I need to know what I’m up against.”
He grinned at her with approval. “Smart girl.”
She smiled back and grabbed his mug. “Another cuppa?”
“Supposed to be bringin’ the boys up in your bathroom one, so make it three,” Pete answered.
Abby stood and went to the kettle.
She’d decided on the way home from Cash’s that now the deed was irrevocably done, she was setting the plans in motion to get her life back in order.
She was not going to delay.
When her arrangement with Cash was over, she was going to begin anew and she was going to hit the ground running.
Over a year ago, Jenny had negotiated a good deal on the sale of Abby and Ben’s home. Selling her furniture, her car and their other belongings allowed Abby to pay off her mountain of debt and left her with enough to rest comfortably as she started her new life in England (or so she thought).
Abby had decided to take a month or two off before starting work. In hindsight, of course, this was not the most sterling idea. She already knew her grandmother’s home needed attention. Gram was a packrat, she kept everything. Abby had visions of spending her days sorting and tidying, maybe slapping some new coats of paint here and there, making Gram’s home her own.
However, a week after she’d moved in it had rained, as it had a way of doing in England, rather heavily outside.
Unfortunately, it had rained rather heavily inside too.
Abby had spent the night rushing around with pots, pans and bowls to place under the drips.
She’d spent the next day listening to Pete tell her she needed a new roof and that the leaks had been around awhile, there was water damage. Gram, who’d spend most of her time on the first floor, probably didn’t know it (or didn’t want to).
After paying the taxes, Gram’s inheritance didn’t come with a boatload of money. The roof and repair of the water damage dug deep into Abby’s reserves but she had no choice and even if it was expensive, it certainly didn’t bankrupt her.
She had time to make it up and get her life rolling.
At least that was what she thought.
Deep into December, about a month after she’d moved in, England was gripped by an arctic cold snap. Gram’s home was also gripped by it. The house was huge, big rooms, tall ceilings, wide stairways and lots of open space in the halls. The boilers were in overdrive and older than Mrs. Truman. Abby kept the fires in the rooms blazing with wood and coal and still could barely keep out the chill.
Unfortunately, some of the rooms had chimneys that needed work and Abby learned the hard way she should have had them looked at before she built fires in their grates.
Pete came after the smoke cleared (literally), telling her not only did she need her chimneys serviced, she needed new windows and insulation for her insulation had been installed during the Boer War (this was not Pete’s estimate, it was Abby’s).
She lived in a conservation area so she couldn’t buy cheap but effective windows. She had to buy expensive timber framed ones.
At the time Abby had found a job. She was working. She liked her job and the people there but her pay was a fraction of what it used to be. Since she didn’t have a mortgage (although her gas and electric bills were staggering), she thought this would be okay and she could live the standard of life she was used to.
Also, considering she had a goodly amount of money in the bank and not knowing what would soon befall her, she’d sold her Gram’s old estate car and bought herself a brand new, sporty BMW 118, not going over the top (she thought) but it suited her and Ben would have loved it.
This had dwindled her reserves further.
To pay for the chimneys, insulation and windows, she’d taken out a loan.
Then in a shocking turn of events, she and four of her colleagues had been made redundant. To their credit, her employers were nearly (but not quite) as upset as Abby and promised if things improved they’d call her (so far, obviously, they hadn’t).
Out of work and nearly out of money, Abby soldiered on.
She spent her days alternately working at high-paid but short-lived contracts or clearing out her Grandmother’s piles of magazines and newspapers, the plethora of books and knick knacks and a kitchen full of equipment that was broken, rusty or hadn’t been needed since cavemen were starting fires by striking together flint rocks.
Then one bathroom groaned to a halt, which Abby ignored (and shouldn’t have), then another one did (ditto the ignoring bit).
Then the window men found the damp, the fixing of which led to her second loan. And the insulation men found the dry rot, the fixing of which led to Abby being broke.
Kieran and Jenny had offered help on numerous occasions but Abby refused.
They’d done enough.
There were no jobs in sight, contracts were growing thin on the ground and Abby’s desperation was increasing.
It was the evening after the day Abby sold one of her brooches, a gold and pearl antique one that belonged to her great-grandmother that Jenny went to the party.
Jenny knew about the brooch, knew that Abby hated selling it and then she overheard James and Cash talking. She heard James’s suggestion of a discreet escort to deflect attention off some business Cash was involved with regarding his uncle (business Jenny didn’t hear) and further protect him against his uncle’s increasingly frustrating efforts to throw Cash in front of one of his three stepdaughters.
And Jenny came up with her idea. Then she talked Abby into it. Then Kieran.
That morning, showering in Cash’s bathroom and attempting to ignore the fact that Cash’s naked body had been in the same space but hours before (and also trying not to think about how much she liked his shower, it was lush), Abby thought instead about what her family would think of what she was doing.
The answer she came up with was not much. They wouldn’t like it, not one bit.
Then again, she couldn’t imagine Gram or her mother for that matter ever allowing anything to happen to the house or allowing it to go out of the family.
Desperate times, desperate measures.
She couldn’t think about what they’d think. She’d learned the hard way after Ben died and she tried to hold on to what they had that she had to live in the here and now, keep herself fed and keep her legacy safe.
The bell in the door clattered taking her out of her thoughts just as the kettle flipped off.
“Can you see to the drinks, Pete?” Abby asked as she headed out of the kitchen.
“Sure thing, love,” Pete replied.
Abby walked through the house, pulled open he
r huge front door and on the stoop stood Mrs. Truman with her three spaniels on leads.
Abby tried not to groan.
Instead, she greeted, “Mrs. Truman.”
“Well?” Mrs. Truman snapped.
“Well what?” Abby asked.
“Well, what was it like?” Mrs. Truman snapped again.
“What was what like?” Abby queried, confused and hiding impatience.
“Your date!” Mrs. Truman shrieked then shoved her way in, bringing her dogs with her, something that Zee would not like at all. “Making an old woman stand out in the cold,” she muttered. “What’s with young people these days?” Mrs. Truman went on to grouse, bending down to detach the leashes from her canines who scattered to the four winds upon release.
“Mrs. Truman, my cat –” Abby started.
“Pah! Your cat can take care of himself. Little Georgie learned that the hard way,” she announced as she unbuttoned the big, fabric-coated buttons of her granny coat. “I need tea,” she declared.
“I’m kind of –” Abby began again but Mrs. Truman had her coat off with a nimbleness of someone at least three hundred and forty-two years younger and threw it over the antique, oak, mirrored coat stand in Abby’s vestibule.
Abby heard her old lady shoes squelch on the tiled floors as Mrs. Truman headed toward the kitchen.
With no other choice, Abby closed her front door and followed but she did so after heaving a deep sigh.
By the time she’d made it to the kitchen Mrs. Truman was opening and closing cupboards, reaching high on her tiptoes to do so as she was about four foot tall and Pete was carrying three full coffee mugs with a packet of biscuits tucked under his arm.
Abby gave him a “save me” look but he was rushing toward the door however he had the decency to look sheepish about it.
“Did you see the papers, Peter?” Mrs. Truman called, finding herself one of Abby’s grandmother’s delicate and irreplaceable (thus never used) china teacups with saucer and the box of tea.
Pete, his escape foiled, turned to the older lady.