Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(138)
“I like them,” he said into her neck and Abby lifted her hands to his upper arms and held on.
“You do?” she whispered.
He didn’t take his face from her neck but his arms tightened to the point he was squeezing the air out of her.
“Yes,” he replied, “I f**king well do.”
Okay, he was saying the f-word and she didn’t know if that was good or bad.
However she had a priority concern.
“Cash,” she wheezed, “I can’t breathe.”
He let her go instantly, took a step back and immediately exchanged his cufflinks for hers.
Abby watched this and no matter how stupid she knew it was, her careening thoughts shifted back to hope.
After he’d completed his task, without looking at her he went to his briefcase that was sitting beside one of the armchairs in the turret. He put the briefcase in the seat of the chair, bent to open it and came back to her, carrying his own small, black velvet box, this one tied with an ivory satin bow.
He again got close, leaned in, his fingers curling around her wrist, he lifted her hand palm up and deposited the box in it.
The whole while he did this, Abby stared up at him.
He let her wrist go and put a hand to her neck.
“I hesitate to give you a gift after the last time,” he murmured his voice low but teasing, “however, it is Valentine’s Day.”
She pulled herself out of her trance and looked down at the box. She lifted her other hand and yanked at the bow. She did as he’d done and tossed the ribbon to the bureau before opening it.
In it was a pair of extraordinary diamond chandelier earrings. A not-small-by-any-stretch-of-the-imagination diamond at the base led down to a complicated fall of diamonds set in platinum.
She stared at the earrings, frozen in shock not only at their beauty but at their obvious cost. She didn’t know what to do and had no clue what to say.
She lifted her eyes to his and stupidly whispered the first thought that came to her mind, “You one-upped my present.”
At her words he threw back his head and burst out laughing, his arms snaking around her to pull her again tightly to him.
She absorbed his laughter into her body and held onto his waist.
He pulled back slightly and touched a finger to her ear before saying softly, “As charming as those are, darling, I want you to wear my diamonds.”
“Cash,” Abby replied, her fingers curling around the box still in her hand as they went straight to her ears to take out the rubies, “you’d have to pay me not to wear your diamonds.”
He chuckled at her words and held her loosely as she switched her jewellery and then leaned into him to peer around and check herself in the mirror.
“They’re exquisite,” she breathed.
Cash’s arms flexed around her and she straightened to look up at him.
“Yes,” he murmured, his eyes on her face, “exquisite.”
Abby felt her body melt into his as her arms wrapped around his waist.
“I want to kiss you,” she told him, “but it’ll mess up my lip gloss.”
As his head descended, he muttered, “Fuck your lip gloss.”
In the end, not only did she have to repair her lip gloss, they had a post-gift-exchange, Valentine’s Day make out session that might have been so long and intense, Abby thought it should be entered into a record book.
Needless to say they were late descending the stairs to join the party.
* * * * *
“Jennifer, don’t get drunk,” Mrs. Truman snapped at Jenny.
“I’m not getting drunk,” Jenny snapped back.
“Pumpkin, you’re getting drunk,” Kieran put in on a smile.
Jenny shot a glare at her husband and then tipped back her champagne glass, draining it down her throat.
Abby pressed her lips together and her gaze locked with Cash’s. He was standing at her side holding a glass of champagne, looking cultured and amused and almost criminally attractive.
Abby tore her eyes away from Cash and studied her friends.
Jenny was wearing a fantastic champagne-coloured strapless silk dress with princess-seams, built-in boning and a mermaid-tail skirt. There was a tiny, chiffon ruffle along the bodice. Her hair was swept back in an elaborate up-do and she looked amazing.
Kieran wore a well-cut dinner jacket and was more than his usual handsome.
Mrs. Truman looked like The Queen times about five thousand. She was wearing a boxy grey gown. From enormous shoulder pads to h*ps and down the long sleeves the gown was elaborately sequined and beaded. The silvery-grey, chiffon skirt was gathered effusively at the bottom of the sequins at her hips, floating down to her stout-heeled, square-toed, dove-grey satin, granny pumps.
Three hours ago, when she and Cash finally drifted down to join the already-started proceedings, they were all there, drinking champagne, eating from the trays of hors d’ouevres that were being passed around and mingling with the guests.
The minute Abby’s eyes hit Mrs. Truman she thought the only thing missing was a priceless tiara extracted for the festivities from the Tower of London and a dozen bodyguards.
A waiter passed and Jenny expertly nabbed another glass of champagne like she’d attended champagne-glass-bearing-waitered-trayed-gala-affairs every weekend since birth.
Abby looked at Mrs. Truman and caught the woman’s eye roll as Trevor, Alistair and Nicola’s practically silent servant got close and said something in Cash’s ear.