Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(59)

It wasn’t like any kiss he’d given before. It was hot, demanding and very effective but it was also hard and claiming, taking everything but giving nothing in return.

It still, unfortunately, worked on Abby because it came with the scent of him, the feel of him and the memory of how good they could be.

When her arms went around his neck, signifying her not-very-hard-won capitulation, he shifted. They fell, him on his back, her on top of him, to the bed.

He rolled immediately, pinning her under him, not giving her a chance to think, only feel.

His mouth was on hers then it was on her neck just under and behind her ear, a sensitive spot that he manipulated ruthlessly.

His hands were all over her, smoothing over the wool at her side, her hip, up her midriff then his thumb caught against her hard nipple making sweet sensations shoot through her. At the feel of them, her neck arched as she gasped and his thumb stroked back then again, and again.

When she was trembling under him, his thigh went between her legs, his knee pulling up her dress as his hand went down her belly. His fingers took over for his knee and yanked the skirt of her dress up and then they were there, in her panties, she felt them sliding against her and his touch rocketed heat straight through her.

“Wet,” he murmured, his mouth touching hers, his word shivering through her.

Then his fingers moved and all she could think of was what they were doing, how they were making her feel, how delicious it felt and then one slid inside.

“Cash,” she gasped, pressing against him, her hands roaming his body urgently and then clutching at him as her h*ps bucked, riding his hand as his finger moved in and out, his thumb circling magnificently at the exact perfect spot.

Somewhere in the back of her head it registered that he was holding himself away even as he held her close, his hand between her legs, his other arm wrapped tight around her, his face buried in her neck.

But before this thought could intrude, Cash forced her response and it shot through her, her neck and back arching, her h*ps rearing against his hand. She heard the soft, low noises she made as if from far away as her body exhilarated in the glorious orgasm he’d given her.

And when she was done, breath coming fast, her hands still clenched in his suit jacket, his fingers left her and, she couldn’t help it, that felt good too and she let out a soft moan. His hand glided over her hip to her bottom, pressing her against him as he held her until her trembling stopped.

“Now, darling,” his voice rumbled roughly against her neck, “that was worth a diamond bracelet.”

Her body went still at his words but he didn’t notice, or worse, didn’t care.

He pulled away, exited the bed, leaned over and tugged her dress down. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet at the side of the bed.

Her legs were shaky, not only from her cl**ax but also her emotion. Her head tilted back to look at him and when her eyes caught his, his were still cold.

And that coldness froze the heat right out of her, chilling her to her core.

“Fix your hair,” he ordered. “I’ll meet you at the door.”

On that, without a word or touch, he turned and left.

Abby stared after him until he disappeared.

Then she stared some more.

Then she realised throughout the time they’d been together he’d never treated her like a whore. Not once. Not with the robes, not with the bracelet, not with all of his orders to be somewhere or do something.

She knew this because with what he’d just done, he treated her like a whore.

On unsteady legs, she went to her dressing table, smoothed back her hair and re-clipped the barrette firmly. She fixed her lip gloss, grabbed her bag and walked to the light switch. She flipped it off then walked down the hall, down the stairs to the front door where she saw Cash, standing, waiting, wearing his overcoat, ready to go.

Averting her eyes, she reached out to grab her mother’s deep taupe, long, wool winter coat.

Before she could swing it around, in one of his usual gallant gestures (this one, for obvious reasons, bittersweet), Cash took it from her hands and held it out for her.

She turned her back to him and slid her arms through as thoughts began to invade, feelings began to press in and Abby could feel the tears pooling in her eyes.

She took deep breaths to control them.

This effort failed.

Lifting her hand, she pulled the hair out of her collar after Cash settled the coat on her shoulders. In an effort to hide her face, she kept her gaze to the floor as she walked to the door, turned the latch and opened it.

“Abby,” Cash’s voice called.

Only her torso twisted toward him, her eyes, tears still shimmering and unshed, lifted to his.

When her gaze met his, Abby could swear she saw his nearly imperceptible flinch but this didn’t penetrate the aching fog that shrouded her.

“I’m ready,” she said softly, turned and walked out into the bitter cold.

She didn’t feel the chill.

Chapter Thirteen

Penmort Castle

Cash was furious.

He’d been furious all day.

No, strike that, he’d been furious that morning.

In the afternoon, after James spoke to him, he’d been livid.

But those feelings had been directed at Abby.

Driving his car down the dark motorway toward Penmort Castle, Abby at his side, silent and staring at nothing out the passenger window, Cash was, at present, furious with himself.