Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(43)

She simply said, “Very well, Mrs. Truman. You get the English way in your house but when you come over to my house, you have to hug me good-bye.”

“I think not,” Mrs. Truman snapped.

“I think yes,” Abby retorted.

“No,” Mrs. Truman returned.

“We might hold hands too,” Abby threatened on a tease and Mrs. Truman made a “humph” sound but Abby was guessing there wasn’t a lot of feeling in that “humph”.

Abby smiled at her and said softly, “Good night, Mrs. Truman.”

Mrs. Truman’s face ever-so-slightly warmed. “Good night, Abigail.”

Cash settled his coat on her shoulders, more farewells were exchanged and she and Cash led the way, Kieran and Jenny following, out of the house.

On the pavement in front of Mrs. Truman’s house they said their good-byes with Jenny grasping Abby’s hand and whispering a firm, “We have to chat. Call me.”

Abby pulled away and with false brightness in the face of impending doom, declared, “Will do.”

Cash steered her to her house, took the keys from her, opened the latch and pressed her inside, following her.

He then closed the door behind them and took his coat from her shoulders, hooking it on her coat stand.

Abby watched him doing this.

Then it dawned on her drunken mind that the night was over.

Then it hit her that they were in her house. Something she didn’t want. Something she needed to protect herself from. Something which she could just come to terms with if he stayed in the hall, living room and kitchen, common areas that didn’t intrude too much on her precious memories.

However, Cash wasn’t staying in the vestibule. He snapped off the light switch and grabbed her hand.

Then he led her to the stairs.

Panic beginning to pierce her drunken state, she pulled at her hand (which didn’t stop him) while asking, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” he replied calmly, turning at the stairs and he had her up three of them when she came to a dead halt and he stopped with her.

“I can get to bed on my own,” she told him.

“You aren’t sleeping on your own,” he returned.

The breath squeezed out of Abby’s lungs and the beginning panic bloomed like a mushroom cloud.

She forced it back and said, “I thought we were going to your place.”

He was one step up and looking down at her. “We were, until you got drunk. But then you got drunk. Now we’re staying here.”

He turned away and started to move forward but she stayed where she was and declared, “I’d prefer to stay at your place.”

His torso twisted and he looked back down at her. “And I’d prefer to stay here.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice, she heard with irritation, sounding slightly shrill, hinting at the panic she felt.

With a firm tug on her hand, he forced her up to the step where he was standing. Then he dropped her hand and both of his came to rest on her neck.

“Because it’s late and you’re inebriated. You get in the car you’re likely to fall asleep. I don’t want you intoxicated, asleep and in a car. I want you intoxicated, awake and in a bed. This is the closest one available unless you’d like to ask Mrs. Truman if she has a guest bedroom.”

“Cash –” she started to protest but his thumb came to rest on her lips, effectively silencing her.

Once there, it slid across her lower one and she found she liked that so much she couldn’t speak much less protest.

“All day,” he said in that deeper, sexier, throatier burr that she liked so much, “I’ve been thinking about what I’d do to you tonight. All… f*cking… day.” His thumb disappeared from her lip, his fingers slid into her hair to cup the back of her head as he got closer at the same time her heart started beating faster. “And after our time in the kitchen,” he went on, “all night, I’ve been waiting to get you to bed.” The thumb of his hand still at her neck put pressure on her jaw to tip her head back further. “And I think you know how I feel about waiting.”

She couldn’t say anything; she’d lost the ability to speak. Even if she could, she still couldn’t.

Because he kissed her.

And it wasn’t like any of the times before. This one was different. She knew it immediately. This one was not in her control and neither was it in his. This one was sweltering from its start, burning through her.

This one was leading somewhere.

And Abby wanted to go there.

She felt a thrill race through her that was only partly fear (a small part) but mostly something else entirely.

Her mouth opened under his, his tongue slid inside and the minute it did she was lost.

She didn’t care they were in her house. She didn’t care that she didn’t want him there. She didn’t care that her feelings were confused. She didn’t care that losing control put her on even shakier ground. And lastly, she didn’t care that she was supposed to be keeping her head screwed on straight and she most assuredly was not.

She didn’t care about anything but his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth and the amazing things her body was feeling.

She melted into him, her arms going around his back, her body pressing against his.