Penmort Castle (16 page)

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
.

“My husband?”
she whispered.

“Abby, let’s
move on from this,” he suggested but it wasn’t a suggestion as such
but a gently worded demand.

She wasn’t
listening. “What do you know of Ben?”

That was when
Cash lost his patience, when she said his name.

Therefore, when
he spoke again, his voice was abrupt to the point of being harsh.
“I know you married him in a lace dress. I know you loved him when
you married him. And I know he died in a car accident. That’s all I
want to know and, darling, this is the last time we’ll speak of
Ben
.”

She kept silent
and they stared at each other for a long time. Finally, her eyes
broke from his and she glanced away.

His desire to
arrive early and get to know her better had succeeded.

He just didn’t
like what he learned.

Cash looked at
his watch and saw they still had time before they had to be next
door.

Regardless of
the friction palpable in the room, he decided to make an effort to
salvage the night.

“We have time,”
he told her, “I’ll get you a drink.”

“I’ll get it,”
she replied and started to move to the door but Cash caught her
arm.

“Abby, I said
I’ll get it.”

She looked up
at him and took in a breath before saying, “Okay.”

It was then he
realised he had no idea, outside red wine and herbal tea, what she
drank.

To his
displeasure, his voice sounded as aggravated as he felt when he
asked, “What do you drink?”

Her eyes never
left his even as her lips twitched. Cash recognised the humour of
the situation and his body relaxed.

Slowly the
tension slid out of the room.

Abby leaned
into him, wrapping both hands around his upper arm.

“It’s
complicated. I’ll teach you,” she offered and led him to the
kitchen.

It
was
complicated, including hammering some ice between tea towels to
crush it (because she didn’t like “big ice”, whatever-the-hell that
was), using only
chilled
diet cola, a shot of amaretto, a
dash of cherry juice and three cherries.

The drink
itself sounded disgusting, the exacting way she desired it was
hilarious.

As she was
sipping, her hip against the counter, Cash got close to her.

“You’re
particular about a lot of things,” he remarked.

She awarded him
with one of her mischievous grins. “Is that a nice way of saying
I’m picky?”

Cash chuckled
but didn’t answer because she was right.

“That’s okay,”
she announced, “I
am
picky.”

This time, he
laughed and through his laughter he saw her grin turn into a smile.
Cash’s good mood returned once it became clear they were over their
current drama.

As she took
another sip, his arm slid around her waist and he brought her body
to his from belly to thigh.

“You didn’t
call today,” she told him as his hand slid from her waist, up her
back, pressing her closer to him.

“I’m sorry,
darling, I got busy,” he replied as his other hand took her drink
and placed it on the counter.

“That’s okay,”
she whispered, staring at her drink then her head turned and he
kissed her.

Immediately,
and rather gratifyingly, her body leaned into his, one of her arms
going around his waist, the other hand up his shoulder to slide
along his neck and into his hair.

As disgusting
as the drink sounded, on Abby, it
tasted
brilliant – fresh
and sweet.

He deepened the
kiss and she responded, pressing closer.

His body began
to react, he felt it, he liked it, his arms crushed her to him and
the kiss became even deeper, hotter and therefore less in his
control.

In an effort to
keep hold of his slipping control, his lips released hers and slid
across her cheek to her ear.

“You’re coming
home with me tonight,” he demanded and her neck twisted, turning to
face him at first, he thought, to say something. But when he lifted
his head to look at her, her face was flushed, her eyes were
half-closed and she sought his mouth with her own.

When his tongue
entered her mouth, he heard her low, soft moan.

Even though he
hadn’t asked her a question, he liked her answer.

They were,
incidentally, late to Mrs. Truman’s.

Dinner at Mrs.
Truman’s

Abby fixed her
lip gloss with a trembling hand in the vestibule while Cash waited
and watched.

Thoughts about
what happened that night were colliding in her head and her legs
were wobbly from the colossal (and very effective, Cash was a
really good kisser, as in
really
good) make out session in
the kitchen.

She didn’t know
which to focus on first so she decided to ignore both of them and
carry on with the evening. She’d think about it later. Much later.
When Cash was gone, her house was fixed up and she was back to her
normal existence.

Then she
thought she didn’t want to go back to her normal existence but she
didn’t want to focus on that either so she decided to ignore that
too.

She wrapped her
pashmina around her shoulders, tucked her bag under her arm,
grabbed the wine (Cash had the roses and chocolates, both of which
Abby bought from two different exclusive shops in Clevedon so as
not to put Mrs. Truman in a bad mood that they were trying to pass
off rinky-dink hostess gifts) and put her hand on the latch.

“Ready?” she
asked and Cash’s eyes narrowed on her.

She didn’t get
a good feeling from his narrow look. She also didn’t need another
reaction from Cash that would freak her out. In an effort to stop
him from giving into whatever-peeved-him-this-time, she turned the
latch and tugged open the door.

She’d barely
stepped over the threshold when she came to a jarring stop. Cash’s
hand was on her arm waylaying her.

She looked down
at his hand then up at him. “Cash, we’re already late.”

His hand went
away, he placed the hostess gifts on the seat of the coat stand and
he shrugged off his overcoat, murmuring, “It’s freezing out
there.”

She realised
his intent and her body got tense.

“We’re only
going next door,” she told him, hoping he wouldn’t put his overcoat
on her. She didn’t want him to keep being so sweet to her (when he
wasn’t angry at her that was).

She was pretty
sure that most paid escorts didn’t have intense conversations about
their dead husbands nor did they cuddle up to their clients in bed
late at night while their clients looked over papers.

She figured she
wasn’t doing her job very well. The problem was, Cash didn’t seem
to mind
at all
which, of course, made it all worse.

She noticed
with frustration that he wasn’t listening to her. He swung his coat
out and settled it on her shoulders.

“That’s really
unnecessary,” she finished.

“Abby, it’s
below freezing,” he told her.

She looked up
at him and exclaimed, “We’re walking next door!”

“And you’re not
going to get cold while we’re doing it,” he retorted.

“This is
ridiculous,” she grumbled, “What are
you
going to do? Now
you
don’t have a coat.”

“What I’m not
going to do is stand out in the cold arguing,” he declared with
annoying logic.

“All right,
fine,” she muttered and turned toward the steps but something made
her look to Mrs. Truman’s and she halted at what she saw.

Kieran and
Jenny were standing at the door, Mrs. Truman in the door, and they
were all watching her and Cash.

Illuminated by
Mrs. Truman’s light both Jenny and Kieran were wearing
comically-identical stunned expressions. Mrs. Truman was
scowling.

“It’s
seven-oh-seven,” Mrs. Truman announced loudly, “did I say dinner
was at seven-oh-seven? No, I did
not
. I said it was at seven
o’clock.” She paused and Abby saw her eyes snap to the bottle Abby
was carrying then Mrs. Truman demanded to know, “Is that wine
chilled?”

“Yes, Mrs.
Truman,” Abby called, deciding to ignore Kieran and Jenny’s stunned
looks as well as the fact that she was swimming in Cash’s warm,
heavy overcoat that smelled way too much like him.

With a hand at
the small of her back, Cash led her down the steps and to Mrs.
Truman’s house. Kieran and Jenny were inside by the time they got
there and Mrs. Truman slammed the door behind Cash.

“Cash this is
–” Abby started the introductions but Mrs. Truman interrupted
her.

“Take off your
coats. Give me that wine,” she ordered then, for some demented
reason, she shouted, “Marco!”

When everyone
stood around waiting and nothing happened for a few moments, Jenny
leaned toward Abby and asked under her breath, “Are we supposed to
say ‘Polo’?”

Abby felt a
hysterical giggle start welling up inside her that she managed to
tamp down when a young, dark-headed man wearing a white shirt and
black trousers appeared.

“This is
Marco,” Mrs. Truman proclaimed with a flick of her wrist in his
direction. “He’s seeing to us tonight.” Abby didn’t know what that
meant and didn’t have a chance to ask, Mrs. Truman continued
speaking. “Marco, take their coats. I’ll take the wine to the
kitchen. Then they need drinks.” When Marco didn’t move fast enough
(though, he did, somewhat immediately, move toward Jenny), Mrs.
Truman snapped, “Chop chop! I’m not paying you to stand around and
ogle pretty women!”

Marco took the
coats, divested them of their gifts and Mrs. Truman bustled them
into her front room then disappeared with her two bottles of
chilled
white wine.

Abby quickly
performed the introductions, feeling acutely self-conscious as Cash
shook Kieran’s hand and bent low for Jenny to touch his cheek with
hers.

Kieran Kane was
Abby’s height, thus shorter when she was wearing heels. He was
slim, straight and had blond hair that looked highlighted but was
actually his true colour, made thus by being streaked by the sun
while he jogged and cycled like a madman. He had a permanent tan
because when he wasn’t working he was always outdoors or taking his
wife on holidays where there were beaches.

Both Kieran and
Jenny were trying to study Cash without appearing as if they were
studying him (and, incidentally, they were failing).

For the first
time in her life, Abby was in a social situation where she had no
clue what to do.

How did one go
about making what amounted to her “john” and her two best friends
comfortable at a dinner party?

Luckily (or
unfortunately, depending how you looked at it), Mrs. Truman forged
into the breach.

She charged
into the room carrying a vase filled with Abby’s roses that had
been quickly yet artfully arranged. She placed it on a table and
demanded to know, “What are you doing standing up? Sit!”

They didn’t sit
because Marco followed Mrs. Truman and asked their drink
preferences. When he got to Abby and she slowly explained how she
wanted her amaretto and diet coke, Marco stared at her in horrified
confusion.

“Diet coke and
amaretto?” Mrs. Truman snapped. “What kind of drink is that? And
who
crushes
ice?”

Cash took pity
on Marco at the same time tactfully ignoring Mrs. Truman.

While sliding
his arm along Abby’s shoulders, he said, “I’m sure Abby will settle
for a glass of red wine.”

To which Mrs.
Truman retorted, “We’re having
fish
. You don’t drink red
wine with
fish.
” Then she turned to Marco. “Get her a white
wine. Go on, go.”

Marco quickly
left (or, more appropriately,
escaped
) and Mrs. Truman
settled them into her furniture.

Abby looked at
her surroundings and noted that Mrs. Truman was a packrat like her
grandmother. Although she didn’t have piles of books, newspapers
and magazines, she had an overabundance of knick knacks, toss
pillows and throws. This was all squeezed in between a crazy mix of
furniture that dwarfed the room (even though Mrs. Truman’s house
was the exact same as Abby’s and the room was huge).

The effect was
claustrophobic.