Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(49)

Abby reviewed her situation.

On a Sunday, she’d met him at the pub to negotiate “the arrangement”.

Their first “date” was on a Monday.

And they’d made love on Thursday night.

Then on Friday, after she’d stupid, stupid, stupidly had sex with him, breaking her own rule and altering their arrangement, everything changed.

It changed for Abby and she was relatively certain it also changed for Cash.

Friday, his assistant Moira had called and said he’d be working late but home by eight. Moira told Abby that Cash wanted dinner in. Moira also informed her that Abby would be spending the weekend at Cash’s.

Abby didn’t like Moira calling her instead of Cash. It scared her, especially having her “orders” come from Moira right after Abby had (stupidly) allowed their relationship to get intimate.

Abby worried about it all day while the bathroom fitters were banging away and she was wandering the rooms with little paint pots, painting patches on the walls so she’d know what shades she wanted when the time came to decorate.

While slapping paint on the walls, she worried that now that he had her, the challenge had been won and he’d lost interest.

He was Cash Fraser, she reminded herself. He could have anyone, undoubtedly very easily, even her as he’d proved.

She worried, as it was the best sex she ever had (okay, so it was the best three sexual experiences she’d ever had), both in the pleasure-sense and in a way that seemed weirdly more profound, a way Abby refused, in her current state of turmoil, to fully explore, that Cash hadn’t felt the same.

Further, she worried that it was the best sex she’d ever had and what that said about her and also what that said about how she felt about Ben.

Ben and Abby had had a full, satisfying and happy sex life. Ben had been a very good lover, at the time Abby thought he was great.

But what she had with Cash transcended great, going straight to amazing.

Further to that, she worried about worrying about Cash not thinking it was amazing and what that said.

Friday night, she made sure she was at his house in plenty of time to make him dinner. She was careful to make something nice, better than pasta shells, but not too nice which would say she was trying too hard. She also went back to her Dinner at Cash’s House Look, jeans, a nice sweater and for courage, her makeup was done in “Carefree Splendour” (casual with a hint of glamour).

She heard the door open upstairs at ten past eight and she found to her agony that she was nervous as a teenager on her first date.

She was listening to Billie Holiday turned down low and freaking out about her decision to buy, and bring, a few scented candles which she had lit.

His home, although gorgeous, had zero personal touches and she thought it could use some. Furthermore, she liked candles and knew the scent would soothe her.

But as she heard Cash approach, she looked around and it seemed like she was both being way too familiar in adding anything to his house when this was not her place and that she looked like she was trying to strike a mood.

Before she could dash through the room, blow them out, toss them in the rubbish and turn off Billie singing the blues, she saw his legs on the stairs.

Bloody hell, she thought as he came into view, wearing a charcoal grey suit, a forest green shirt and a great tie which made her wonder (somewhat frantically but also not for the first time) if he just had good taste in clothing or if he had a personal shopper.

He was carrying a large, glossy bag containing various-sized, thin but wide, boxes.

She didn’t think about the bag, she thought instead about how to stop herself from fainting.

He stepped off the last stair and, eyes on her, walked to the comfy seating area off the kitchen and put the bag on a chair. Then he shrugged off his suit jacket and that joined it. Then he tugged off his tie and that joined it as well.

He was turned to her and in the process of unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt, he spoke.

“What’s the matter?” he asked and her body jerked when his deep voice hit the room.

“What?” she queried, her mind blank.

His hands, finished with his buttons, went to rest on his hips.

“What’s the matter?” he repeated.

Her brain decided to function and, trying to sound calm (and fearing it didn’t work), she replied, “Nothing’s the matter.”

“Then why are you standing across the room staring at me like I’m a dread serial killer and you’re in my clutches?” His voice was bland, his words filled with dry humour.

Abby, however, didn’t laugh.

“I am not,” Abby returned but his words told her that she’d failed at sounding or appearing calm.

She watched in fascination as his face took on a warm, soft look.

Normally, he looked amazing.

When he smiled, he was breath-takingly handsome.

When he laughed, the world seemed to stop.

That look beat all of them.

“Abby, come here,” he said gently.

On shaking legs she did as he commanded.

When she got close enough, his arms went around her loosely and he held her close but not too close.

In his deeper, throatier, sexier brogue, he demanded, “Now, tell me, what’s the matter?”

And for some unhinged reason, Abby blurted, “You had Moira call me.”