Penmort Castle (21 page)

She felt a
tremor slide through her body at his words and it wasn’t a tremor
of fear.

“Get used to
it?” she whispered, wondering what he meant.

His lips
touched hers then he said, “Yes. You’re going to have to get used
to it.” And he obviously wasn’t going to say any more, as in
explain what
on God’s green earth
he was talking about,
because he let her go and casually walked into the kitchen while
saying, “I’m getting a drink. You open your boxes.”

For what seemed
like years (but obviously wasn’t) she stared at his back as he
moved around the kitchen pouring himself a whisky.

Then she looked
at the bag with the boxes.

Then she looked
back to him.

“My boxes?” she
asked.

Back still to
her, he took a sip from his whisky while standing in front of an
attractive, modern, stainless steel wine rack, pulling out bottles
and inspecting them, before shoving them back and he said, “In the
bag. Those are for you.”

She sucked in
breath and her eyes went back to the boxes.

“For me?” she
whispered but he didn’t answer. He’d found what he was looking for
and went about the task of opening a bottle of red wine.

On legs that
felt like they were made of wood, Abby moved to the boxes and found
there were three. She pulled them out and, one-by-one, unveiled
three robes.

One was
tailored in a man’s style but it was made from a sumptuous pink
silk so pale it was almost, but not quite, colourless. The next was
a long, cream, cotton, waffle-weave but its lapel was smooth. The
last was also long but this one was made of the finest, dove grey
cashmere, luxuriously soft to the touch.

Abby stood
frozen, the lush cashmere in her hands, and she didn’t wonder why
Cash was giving her presents. She also didn’t wonder why those
presents were all robes.

All she could
think was that she’d always wanted a cashmere robe.

Always.

During the good
times with Ben in all her spending she’d never bought herself one.
She could explain away purchasing expensive shoes, handbags and
pieces of jewellery with a variety of womanly excuses but spending
hundreds of dollars on a robe you wouldn’t wear out of the house
seemed over the top.

And she knew
exactly how much it cost. She’d looked covetously at many of them
and not one had cost less than multiple hundreds.

And the one in
her hands was of a superior quality to any of the ones she’d
seen.

“Abby?” she
heard Cash call and her head shot up.

He was standing
at the end of the counter, his weight resting on one hand, the
fingers of his other hand curled around his whisky glass, his eyes
were on her.

“I –” she felt
her throat close which she thought at that moment was a good thing
as she had no idea what to say. She cleared her throat, the
pertinent question springing into her head and she asked,
“Why?”

His face went
hard and for one frightening second, she thought he was angry.

Then when he
spoke, she realised it wasn’t anger but a very scary resolve.

In a voice
harder than his face, he declared, “I take care of what’s
mine.”

Abby felt it
was safe to say that he hadn’t lost interest in her and instantly
she had something new to worry about.

She opened her
mouth to speak but he got there before her.

“Do you like
them?” he asked.

She blinked
then repeated, “Like them?”

His head moved
to indicate her presents and he prompted, “The dressing gowns.”

Still slightly
dazed, and certainly not thinking, she shook her head and said,
“No,” she watched as his face went blank, guarding his reaction but
she kept talking, “No, I don’t
like
them, Cash. Any woman in
her right mind doesn’t
like
cashmere.” As if unable to stop
herself, Abby babbled on, “Any woman in her right mind wants a
room
made out of cashmere with a bed made out of cashmere, a
bed with cashmere sheets and cashmere pillows and cashmere
blankets
. So she can
roll around
in cashmere. No,
Cash, I don’t
like
them. I love them,” she paused, “but
especially the cashmere.”

As she was
talking, for some bizarre reason sharing her honest reaction
instead of keeping it from him (as she should), his mouth went from
hard to soft, then his lips twitched, then he grinned.

When she
finished speaking, he was smiling while he commanded gently,
“Darling, come here. I want you to show me how much you love
cashmere.”

Without
hesitation, Abby did as he asked.

When they
surfaced from their mammoth-post-cashmere-robe make out session,
his arm still around her (propping her up as her legs had gone
weak), Cash poured her a glass of red wine.

He handed her
the glass while murmuring, “I don’t have pinot noir so you’ll have
to make do with a Bordeaux until I can get some in.”

And she sipped
her Bordeaux while thinking that Cash Fraser not only lit welcoming
lights and gave great presents, he also was thoughtful enough to
remember her preference in red wine even though she’d mentioned it
once, in passing, on their first meeting.

It was then
Abby knew she was seriously in trouble.

And it was then
that Abigail Butler went deep into denial.

Suffice it to
say the evening went downhill from there (one couldn’t top
cashmere), though it was still very nice with them eating dinner
while listening to Billie Holiday.

Then Cash took
her to bed and proved that the night before and that morning wasn’t
a fluke created by Abby ending a long, dry spell. But instead that
he was very good with his hands, phenomenally good with his mouth,
earth-shatteringly good with his tongue and she couldn’t even
describe how good other parts of him felt.

The next day
Abby discovered Cash had a different schedule for the weekends.

On Saturday, he
got up wickedly early (per usual), worked out in the room off the
dining area while Abby slept in and then he went into the
office.

He came home in
the early afternoon and told her he was taking her into Bath.

They meandered
amongst the tourists, poked around some of the more exclusive shops
and had a coffee before they went back to his house. There, Cash
guided her downstairs and made love to her slowly, thoroughly and
satisfyingly on the couch in the area off his kitchen after which,
in his arms, she fell asleep.

When she fell
asleep, she was tucked between the back of the couch and Cash. She
didn’t know Cash left her, covering her naked body with a throw,
until she woke to see him seated in the armchair across from her,
fully dressed, feet up on the table, his sexy glasses on, reading
through some papers.

Before he
noticed she was awake, she watched him for awhile, maybe moments
but it felt like hours.

She liked
watching him, the look of him, the way he seemed to emanate energy
even sitting and reading. Then, as if sensing her eyes on him, his
gaze moved to her and she saw his mouth move up slightly at the
ends.

She tried to
pretend he didn’t catch her watching him and busied herself getting
her clothes back on while still under the throw (and not doing a
very graceful job of it, she was sure).

While he
worked, she made them dinner.

After they ate,
Cash led her upstairs where he made love to her again (and again)
before Abby, exhausted even after her nap, fell into a deep,
blissful sleep.

Sunday, Cash
woke up, worked out, went into the office but got home late
morning. They didn’t meander around Bath. They didn’t even leave
his bed except for her to make them cheese on toast for lunch and
for Cash to go out and pick up their dinner of takeaway curry (both
of which they ate in bed).

They didn’t
talk very much, instead they learned about each other in nonverbal
ways.

All day they
touched and explored, getting to know each other’s bodies and Abby
really liked getting to know Cash’s. He had a great body and she
liked what she learned and the power she felt when he responded
which was a lot.

And she also
liked being with someone who could just be. Who didn’t talk all the
time and who didn’t expect the same from her.

And when they
weren’t exploring, they dozed, or Abby did, contentedly, like
wasting a day in bed was something everyone did.

Monday was back
to their “normal” schedule, with a twist. Cash woke at his usual
ungodly hour but this time he turned into Abby, waking her with his
hands and mouth, making love to her, leaving her smiling into his
pillow, worn out and sated, before he showered and came back to sit
on the bed. As he did every morning since she’d started spending
the night with him, he moved the hair from her neck to give her a
kiss and tell her he was going. Then he left.

It went bad
when he called late Monday morning.

She was at home
to find her bathroom was beginning to look like a bathroom again
(but just barely) and the surveyor Pete had brought in had sent his
forty-five page report.

She’d just
spoken to the plumber to get him to give her a quote on updating
her other two bathrooms while the boiler man who Pete had called
was assessing her heating system.

During the
call, Cash had informed her he had to fly to Brussels and he
wouldn’t be home until late that night. He also informed her that
when he came home, no matter how late, he wanted to find her in his
bed.

Lost in a world
that was not really hers, Abby agreed readily.

But Cash being
gone meant she had time to think.

Time she didn’t
have when he was around, his dominating charisma, gorgeous smile or
vigorous sexual appetite shoving any other thought from her
mind.

And time she
didn’t have when he was
going
to be around, which was time
she spent thinking about when he’d be back.

Time she now
had for thoughts to push through.

Thoughts about
the fact that her stupid, confused, screwed-up mind had tricked her
into thinking that
playing
Cash’s devoted girlfriend meant
she actually
was
Cash’s devoted girlfriend.

Thoughts about
the fact that he often told her what to do and where to be, which
should serve to remind her of what she truly was.

Thoughts about
the fact that she was not now the paid escort of a Totally Loaded,
Fabulous, International Hot Guy but she was something different.
Something worse. She was servicing him in bed and getting paid for
it, in money, food and now exorbitantly expensive clothes.

And lastly,
thoughts about the fact that since sometime mid-day Friday, all the
way to late morning that Monday, she hadn’t once thought about her
dead husband. The man she’d dedicated herself to on their wedding
day. Then she’d re-dedicated herself to him on the day she put him
in the ground. That day, she vowed she would always, but always,
forever and ever, be true to him, no matter what.

She’d never
gone a day without thinking of Ben and most days she thought of him
dozens of times.

And she’d just
gone three, almost three entire days of not thinking about Ben.

Worse, except
returning a few texts from Jenny (all of Abby’s responses vague),
she was not only avoiding her friend but keeping things from
her.

Which meant for
the first time in her life, Abby had no one to talk to about her
experiences, her troubles and, most importantly, her guilt.

She’d always
had Jenny, who as best girlfriends do either happily shared the
burden by just listening or gave good advice.

It was then,
Abby came to a conclusion.

That Monday
afternoon, Abby called Jenny and asked her to come over the next
day and help her find a Going-to-a-Haunted-Castle-Outfit. She also
promised her friend that they’d talk.

And, Abby
decided, they would because this business with Cash was done.

Over.

She would be
his pretend girlfriend and she’d be his whore. He’d paid for
both.

What she
wouldn’t do was forget what she was to him and allow herself to
enjoy it.

The first would
be even stupider than she normally was and the second made her feel
even worse about what she’d become.

So she’d admit
to her confused feelings to Jenny and Jenny would help her find
strength. Jenny always did.

And Abby would
somehow find a way to do what she was being paid to do for Cash but
keep herself firmly detached.

As ordered,
Abby had been in Cash’s bed that night when he got home late and
woke her briefly when he turned her drowsy, pliant body into his
warm, hard one.

“You’re home
safe,” she’d whispered, soft relief in her voice, not yet steeled
against him as she was mostly asleep.

“Yes, love,”
he’d murmured, “go back to sleep.”

Immediately
cuddling into him, she’d done as she was told.

It was the next
morning that they had their gargantuan, knock-down, drag-out,
fight.

Something made
her wake early. Earlier even than Cash who routinely woke at what
Abby considered alarming hours.

Upon waking she
realised she was, as she’d made a habit of doing, snuggled into
him. This time tucked into his side, head on his shoulder, arm
wrapped around his belly.

Unusually, her
brain started functioning instantly. She looked at the clock to see
it was just before five and she moved carefully away. She got up
and went to the bathroom, going about her morning business, even to
the point of brushing her teeth, washing her face and
showering.

She walked out
of the bathroom wearing her new cashmere robe, her wet hair combed
back. She was determined to make coffee and be in the kitchen when
he descended, ready to make him breakfast before he left for
work.