Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(37)

And she was definitely happy.

The photo wasn’t posed. Abby, wearing a complicated but not overdone, strapless gown made, it appeared, entirely of lace, wasn’t smiling.

She was beaming.

Her head was tilted back and her arm was wrapped around a tall, brawny, good-looking blond man who was smiling down at her. She was curled into him, her arm around his back and Cash saw the man’s arm was around her waist. Her fingers were touching his face and – the photo was black and white, so colour was not discernible – but it looked like she was using her thumb to wipe lipstick from his mouth.

The intimacy of the gesture, their shamelessly unhidden joy, Abby glowing in a way she had not even come close to giving him, coupled with the memory of Abby wiping his own mouth the day he met her, all of this made Cash feel like he’d swallowed a mouthful of acid.

The intensity of his reaction vaguely disturbed him, but he resolutely set it aside, put the photo down and threw back the whisky. It took him two drinks to drain the glass.

He headed to the kitchen to refill it and was back in the front room standing at her window, sipping at his whisky, lost in thought (most of these thoughts centred around when he would find the time to purchase a dozen new dressing gowns for her), when she returned.

“I’m ready,” she announced and he turned to look at her.

She was wearing a body-hugging, jade green, jersey dress. It covered her completely from wrists to hem which touched her knees. Even if it covered her almost fully, it left nothing to the imagination. The only expanse of skin that was exposed, outside of her legs, was at the wide, low-cut, v-neck. She was wearing strappy stiletto sandals in patent-leather, a shade darker than the green of her dress. She had on a pair of gold hoop earrings, her hair down around her shoulders in a sleek fall, her makeup more dramatic than the night before but less than it had been the first night they went to dinner.

She wore no other adornment.

She looked, as ever, exquisite.

“I wasn’t sure what to wear to a dinner party at crazy Mrs. Truman’s. I’ve been thinking about it all day,” she told him as she walked into the room.

This was the wrong thing to say.

Except for his enjoyable conversation with his uncle and when work intruded, he’d thought about nothing but her all day.

“I was thinking armour but I’m not sure a suit of armour goes with these shoes,” she finished when she’d stopped in front of him, a small smile playing at her glossed lips, her head tilted back to look at him.

She meant to be amusing. For the first time, Cash didn’t laugh.

Her smile faltered and her head tilted to the side.

“Cash?” she called.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked to the window and caught their reflection in the glass.

She was standing close, head still tilted back to look at him but she wasn’t touching him.

Even in the indistinct reflection of the glass he could see they complimented each other. It wasn’t the first image he’d seen of them together and it wasn’t the first time he recognised they looked good.

He liked the look of them together. They matched. She looked like she belonged with him. She looked like she was the kind of woman that would belong to him. If he was honest with himself, it aroused him, thinking of her as his.

But she wasn’t his, no matter how much he paid for her.

She belonged to the man in that photo.

Her hand came to rest lightly on his arm, taking him out of his thoughts and she asked, “Cash? Is everything all right?”

He threw back the remainder of his whisky, looked down at her and replied, “Fine.”

“You’re behaving funny,” she told him.

“I have a lot on my mind,” he returned.

She regarded him a moment and then asked, “Do you,” she paused then went on, “want to talk about it?”

“No,” he answered truthfully.

She hesitated then went on quietly, “Is it me? Have I done something –?”

Cash cut her off with a lie, “It isn’t you.”

Her brows came together and she bit the side of her lip again. As Cash watched her teeth sink into the flesh, he realised just how much he enjoyed the endearing vision of Abby biting her lip and his hand tightened around the glass.

At her next words, his body went still.

“You’re lying,” she accused.

He stared at her.

He had lied many times in his life. Either no one had ever figured it out or they’d never had the courage to call him on it.

“I’m not lying,” he lied again.

She ignored his words, her hand moving away as she continued, “It’s what happened this morning.”

“Abby –” he started but she shook her head and took a step away.

“I freaked you out,” she informed him.

“You didn’t.”

Her arm came up and her fingers sifted through her hair in agitation. “I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know why I did what I –”

Cash cut her off. “I know why.”

She blinked before she breathed, “What?”

“I know why,” he repeated. “Your husband died in a car accident. This morning for whatever reason, you had a panic attack. It happens,” he dismissed it, not wanting to speak of it further, not wanting to speak of it ever.