Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(25)

“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 f**k 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.