Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(83)

They didn’t disappoint, sending Cash’s request by same-day courier as they did with the dressing gowns, each one was perfect and Abby had loved them. Not as much as cashmere but, she’d informed him, silk and satin (“the real kind”) were close seconds.

The nightgowns were an answer to Abby’s pyjamas which she’d unveiled Sunday night after he’d forced her, and her cat, to move in with him. Although he had to admit she looked cute in the striped, drawstring bottoms and fitted t-shirt, Cash found later when they were in bed he didn’t like the obstacles they presented.

Unlike getting her presents, it was safe to say she hadn’t been pleased at his demand to move in even though she didn’t utter a word. Cash had felt actual physical pain at his effort not to laugh in the face of Abby’s obvious struggle against her desire to argue.

However, Simon’s full report, e-mailed to Cash while they were in Germany, stated that Abby’s house was what, after close scrutiny of the report, Cash considered a health hazard. It needed new wiring, new plumbing, new appliances and new bathrooms. The carpeting was frayed in places, making it easy to trip, especially if one insisted on wearing high heels as Abby did, and needed to be replaced.

The list went on.

Simon had noted that a good deal of work had already been done, the roof, windows, chimneys and repairs to damp and dry rot. But there was still a good deal left to do to make it, what Cash would deem, habitable.

About five seconds after the lights failed Saturday night, Abby, Cash decided, was definitely not going to live there while he saw to restoring it.

She was going to live with him and therefore, likely, not return home for some time.

On that thought, he buried his face in her hair and fitted his body to the length of hers, breathing in the scent of her.

Last Wednesday Cash had discovered Abby’s secret.

She was not, as she wished him to believe, an escort for hire.

She was, instead, a woman who desperately needed money.

The day after they had dinner with his uncle, he’d investigated this himself and within hours put the pieces together.

Until he transferred the money into her account, her balance was naught. She was overdrawn and had substantial credit and loan debt. Her banking history exposed enormous expenditures which were likely repairs on her home. She’d had a job at one point but her salary was unbelievably low and that regular deposit had stopped some time ago. This indicated she’d lost her job and hadn’t had steady employment for some time, although she’d taken intermittent contract work.

Further investigation uncovered the fact that she’d amassed considerable debt in DC. It didn’t take close scrutiny to see that she should have sold the house she shared with her husband and further she had continued a lifestyle she could no longer afford on her salary alone. This left her in relatively dire financial straits when she left that life behind, which meant she was ill-prepared to absorb the expenses she couldn’t know she’d face, from what he could tell, upon arrival in the UK.

Why she sold herself rather than some of the valuable pieces of furniture and art in her home, Cash had no idea.

But he intended to find out.

He felt her nestle deeper into him in her sleep and he smiled into her hair.

He enjoyed this time, early in the mornings, before he woke her. This was when he had her, when she was sleeping. He also knew he had her, all of her, when he was f**king her.

The rest of the time, she was on guard.

He’d had her once, their first weekend together.

And he fully intended to have that again.

Her being on guard started the day of their fight and he hadn’t done himself any favours by punishing her that evening. She’d forgiven him, this he knew, but something had changed, that was clear.

She was trying to hide this from him. What she didn’t know was there was a big difference between Abby being Abby and Abby being the Abby she wanted him to think she was.

There were times when she came through. For example, when she hilariously repacked her heels after he’d unpacked them; when she first laid eyes on her Bavarian torte; when she panicked at the thought of him entering her house when there was a possibility of intruders; and when she’d received the nightgowns the day before.

But mostly she maintained a cautious distance, erecting and consistently fortifying walls that kept him out.

Cash intended to break down those walls. He intended to force her to admit her secrets. He intended to find out why she’d sold herself to him. Lastly, he intended to have all of her again, no holding back.

And he didn’t care how long it took.

His strategy was to be patient until the time came when that was no longer working. She was coming out more and more, fitting naturally into his life, letting that guard down more frequently, and he was carefully pressing this advantage.

He knew his end game.

She would be moving with him to Penmort. He would take care of her, giving her the life he felt she should have. And he’d be certain to maintain that life for her even after it was time for him move on.

He would, when the time was right, explain all this to her.

But not before she let him in.

Completely.

Or, of course, if he lost patience.

His hand smoothed over her, sliding up her nightgown then running down her na**d hip. She hadn’t replaced her underwear after he’d taken her last night, demanding first that she stand beside the bed as he sat on its edge, his hands moving over the silk of her gown, pulling it up and then tugging down her panties until she stepped out of them. He hadn’t removed her nightgown when he’d f**ked her last night and he wouldn’t do it now. He liked the sleek feel of the expensive silk. It further aroused him that he’d given it to her.