Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(16)

The preliminary deal was, she pretended to be his girlfriend including sleeping in the same bed with him. The point was that she’d share a room with him at the castle, thus proving to his uncle that she was, indeed, his very attached and devoted girlfriend.

However, there were no restrictions noted on that and she’d stupid, stupid, stupidly not made any.

He’d amended the deal with the sex part, which she’d only restricted to after they went to the castle, not getting into the sleeping-in-the-same-bed-with-him part.

Which meant, yet again, he was right.

But why would he want to sleep with her?

What, she asked herself again, was with this guy?

“Bring a bag,” he repeated.

“Fine,” she snapped.

“Enough to leave things you may need there,” he demanded.

Oh dear Lord in heaven above, she cried in her head.

“Fine,” through her teeth she gritted out loud.

“Moira will give you my address and make sure you get in,” he told her.

“Who’s Moira?” she clipped.

“My assistant,” he answered.

For some reason, that took the wind out of her sails.

“Oh,” she said softly.

More silence, then she heard his voice, far less authoritarian, much gentler and definitely sexy, say, “What are you making me for dinner?”

“Fillet steak marinated in arsenic,” she returned acidly.

She heard his quick bark of laughter, it was nearly as delicious as his soft burr sounding in her ear and she knew she’d done it again. Unconsciously, she meant to make him laugh.

“Are you done with me?” she continued, far angrier with herself than she was with him and wondering if she could find a hypnotist who could stop her from being funny and charming.

While she was contemplating her first move of the morning (directly to the phonebook to look up hypnotists), the soft burr was back, trilling lushly through the phone and throughout her system, when he answered, “Not even close.”

Then she heard the disconnect and he was gone.

Zee stared at her, likely wondering about breakfast.

Abby stared back and muttered, “Bloody, bloody hell.”

* * * * *

“What is with this guy?” Jenny exclaimed as she snapped hangers across the rails of a clothing display at Harvey Nichols.

It was early afternoon, they were shopping and Abby had shared her plans for the evening.

“I’m learning that during negotiations I should be very detailed in what I will, and will not, do as an escort,” Abby replied, snapping her own hangers.

Jenny stopped snapping hangers and stared in disbelief at Abby.

“What?” Abby asked her friend on raised brows.

“Do not even joke about the possibility that this will become your profession,” Jenny hissed.

“That’s not what I meant,” Abby replied, and it wasn’t.

“Well, it sounded that way,” Jenny went back to snapping. “This whole situation is flipping me out. I’ve got a perpetual headache. Kieran’s not getting his usual servicing, which is flipping him out and pissing him off. I’m not sleeping, I’m on edge, I hate this and I hate it more because it was my idea in the first place.”

“Jenny –” Abby started, her heart going out to her friend, the depths of her guilty feelings digging to new lows.

Abby had a lot of friends, a lot of very good friends, but Jenny was the best by a mile.

Jenny had been there when Abby’s Mom got cancer. Even though she and Kieran lived in Amsterdam at the time, until the bitter end (and it was bitter, ugly and painful for everyone, especially Abby’s Mom), Jenny came to Virginia every few months and stayed weeks, not only for Abby but for Abby’s Mom who was known as “Mom Deux” to Jenny.

Two years later, when Abby’s Dad had the heart attack that killed him, she and Kieran (living in California then), had dropped everything and flown to DC.

Abby had been inconsolable and Ben had all he could do to take care of her, cope with his own grief and deal with a situation at work that was demanding his attention. Jenny and Kieran had arranged everything, the funeral, the memorial service, the food and drink for the gathering at Ben and Abby’s afterward.

A year after that, one minute after Abby woodenly closed the door on the police officer who stood in her foyer telling her that Ben had been killed instantly “at the scene” of a car crash, she’d picked up the phone and called Jenny.

Again, Jenny had dropped everything, flew out and stayed with Abby for two months, even going so far as sitting on her knees beside Abby in the bath and washing her hair when Abby was too exhausted from grief to bathe herself. Jenny cooked and she cleaned. Jenny held her when Abby sobbed. She poured the tequila when they sat around and got drunk while remembering all the many, wonderful things about Ben. In the middle of the night, she crawled into Ben and Abby’s big bed and held Abby tightly while she rocked, trying to get to sleep without her husband at her side. And before she left, she helped Abby pack up his belongings, tucking away the precious mementos and sending away the things she didn’t need.

When Kieran and Jenny moved to England, Kieran’s promotion and transfer took him to Bristol, a city close to Gram. Gram had grown a bit unsteady on her feet, far weaker and definitely in need of routine visits. So Jenny and Kieran bought a house in the same seaside town so Jenny could look after her grandmother.