Penmort Castle (6 page)

And she was
going to satisfy him in bed as many times as he could manage in the
one week she was available to him.

And then she’d
be gone.

Dinner, it went
without saying, had not been enjoyable.

Not that the
food wasn’t delicious, because it was.

Not that her
company wasn’t enjoyable, because it was, both innately (she
continued to be a bundle of contradictions, cold and
unapproachable, mixed with warm and amusing), as well as
conversationally (she was clearly well-read and well-travelled with
a capacity to listen, actively, and share, if only
superficially).

Not that she
wasn’t earning her pay because no one in that restaurant,
witnessing her behaviour (her soft, enticing smiles; the times
she’d touch his hand while speaking; when she’d lean toward him
with avid attention as if his terse, impatient responses to her
soft conversation were utterly fascinating), would think she was
anything less than a woman clearly smitten with her dinner
partner.

He’d paid six
thousand, six hundred and sixty six pounds for that night with her
not including the exorbitant bill for dinner and she’d earned every
penny.

The waiter came
with their coats and Cash stood, relieving the waiter of his burden
and throwing his overcoat on his chair. He shook out Abby’s cape
and moved around her so she could remain where she was. Once behind
her, he positioned the heavy garment on her shoulders as she moved
slightly back into his body, getting closer to him. This was not to
make his task easier but a show to those watching, including the
three photographers he earlier saw positioning themselves outside,
that this was an act of intimacy between a man and his lover, not
one of chivalry.

She wasn’t just
good, Cash thought with growing disgust, she was superb.

And this made
Cash even angrier.

She fastened
the cape at her throat and put on her gloves while he donned his
overcoat then gripped her elbow, leading her out of the restaurant
with all eyes on them.

He could
visualise them together. Abby was blonde, tall and elegant but
tonight in that alluring dress that hinted at the body beneath it
rather than brazenly displaying it as her clothing did yesterday,
she showed she had a unique, individual style. Cash was dark and
much taller but not overpowering her with his height as he did with
most women, and men for that matter.

He knew they
made an exceptional-looking couple. It was part of the package he’d
paid for.

They were out
into the night and he was not looking forward to the drive to take
her home.

He would want
to come in and make two efforts. The first would be getting her to
open up to him. The second would be getting her to sleep with
him.

Neither, Cash
knew at this juncture, would succeed.

And Cash was
used to success, failure was not an option. But he knew that would
be what he’d face if he pressed her.

And he didn’t
like this either.

They’d only
taken two steps on the pavement when Abby, as if oblivious to the
now descending photographers, curled into him. She put her hand to
his stomach and he stopped at her bold touch, his head tilting down
toward her.

She was smiling
at him.

Not one of her
composed, controlled smiles. This one was radiant and lighting up
the night, as if she was happy, carefree and deeply in love.

At the sight
something in his gut clenched and it was a feeling he’d never felt
before in his entire life.

The feeling
wasn’t painful, instead it was supremely pleasant.

Unusually
caught off guard by her smile and his response to it, he didn’t
react as she came up to her toes, leaning into him, her breasts
pressing against his arm as she tipped her head back, her eyes
slightly closed, her lips lightly parted, her entire face an
invitation.

Without willing
himself to do it and completely unable to stop himself if he’d
tried (which he didn’t), his head bent and as she intended, doing
the job he’d paid her to do to put on a show to the photographers,
his mouth met hers.

The minute
their lips touched hers relaxed under his, her scent filled his
nostrils in an overwhelmingly intoxicating way and her body melted
into his, bestowing on him a goodly amount of her weight as if
she’d lost the ability to stand on her own two feet.

He accepted her
obvious if somewhat surprising invitation and deepened the kiss,
his hand moving from her elbow in order to wrap his arm tightly
around her waist, hauling her closer to him.

Her body went
rigid as his tongue touched hers.

She tasted, he
realised with acute clarity, as complex and exquisite as everything
else that was Abby and he felt his body begin to heat in
response.

His head came
up at her reaction and he belatedly saw the camera flashes around
them.

Her guard was
down and Cash could easily read the strange mix of wonder and alarm
on her face.

Instinctively
he recognised that something had changed. She might have begun this
show for the photographers but it didn’t end that way.

He attributed
this to the brief but remarkably affecting kiss and the cameras,
which she had to know where there.

The former of
the two reactions he saw on her face served to please him,
dissipate his anger and bring him to the swift decision that he
would not wait to have her. Instead, he’d coax her to break her own
rule and sleep with him before they reached the castle.

The latter
reaction was understandable, he knew the cameras could be
disconcerting if you weren’t used to them.

Cash gave a
glare to the photographers even though it was he who called them
there in the first place. They’d managed to interrupt something
that had turned into a moment Cash most definitely did
not
wish to be interrupted.

One called out
a question that Cash didn’t bother to hear. When he started leading
Abby to the car, his arm firmly around her waist rather than at her
elbow, he unconsciously moved his body to shield her from the
cameras. It was a natural instinct at complete odds to the whole
point of this exercise.

And he didn’t
give a good God damn.

For comfort’s
sake, her arm stole around his waist though her hand never left his
stomach. When he looked down at her again she was peering around
his body at the calling photographers.

Cash saw that
she had not managed to compose her expression. Her customary
aloofness had disappeared, the alarm was still there (the wonder,
unfortunately, gone), and Cash again found himself thinking she
looked rather adorable.

“It’ll be all
right,” he murmured his assurance.

Her eyes
shifted to him and, still unguarded, he read immediately that she
most definitely didn’t believe him.

And it was
right there for him to see, there was no thinking about it.

Abigail Butler,
the woman who very much wanted him to believe she was a remote,
impersonal, accomplished call girl was instead downright
adorable.

Taking in her
endearingly disgruntled look, Cash couldn’t, if under torture, have
stopped himself from throwing his head back to laugh.

* * * * *

And that was
one of the pictures printed the next day, along with one of the
kiss.

Abby with one
hand on Cash’s stomach, the other arm around him, her upper body
curled into his side but she was walking forward even as her head
was tilted back. She was regarding Cash with what looked like
loving irritation. Cash’s arm was around her waist, his head was
tipped back, his attractive face full of laughter.

* * * * *

Fifty miles
away, in a cold, sturdy, ancient castle situated on a steep cliff,
its parapets facing the waters of the Bristol Channel, Alistair
Beaumaris sat amongst the used china and silver of the breakfast
table, looked at the picture and it put him in a very bad mood.

Alistair was
brother to the true heir of Penmort, Anthony, who had, to
Alistair’s way of thinking, foolishly sired an illegitimate son to
a Scottish beauty but never wed her. Nevertheless, upon his
brother’s death, Anthony bestowed the Beaumaris fortune on her as
well as the castle.

After his
brother committed this heinous act, Alistair had spent thousands of
pounds in the attempt to convince the courts it was impossible to
bequeath “outside the family” as well as convincing them the
fortune went with the castle.

And,
fortunately, he’d succeeded in these endeavours.

Now,
unfortunately, Alistair Beaumaris needed Conner Ewan “Cash” Fraser.
He needed him to marry one of his stepdaughters.

Not that he
liked Cash Fraser. Indeed, he hated the man. In fact, his
preference would be to see him just as dead as his father and if he
didn’t need him he would make his preference a reality, just as
Alistair had done with Cash’s father.

Not even that
he liked his stepdaughters and wanted them to make an excellent
match. He didn’t hate them. They could be tolerable some of the
time. However most of the time they were wholly annoying and he had
no problems telling them so and explaining exactly and in some
detail how they were.

No, he needed
Fraser’s money.

And that
reminder put Alistair in an even worse mood.

* * * * *

The ghost of
Vivianna Wainwright floated two inches from the high ceiling
directly over the cluttered table, not, for now, allowing her
presence to be seen or felt.

She looked down
at the picture in the paper and her spectral eyes moved lovingly
over the tall, dark man.

They grew hard
as they shifted over the cool, blonde woman.

Vivianna’s mood
was not bad.

It was
murderous.

The Phone Call
and the Picture

Abby heard the
phone on her bedside table ring, ripping her from a deep, fitful
sleep and Zee made a mew of disapproval as he stretched his four
legs out, arching his back into Abby’s belly.

She peered at
the clock and saw it was just after eight in the morning.

Cash had her
home before ten with no necking, likely much to the disappointment
of Mrs. Truman who Abby saw peering through her draperies at them
when they arrived. Though he walked her to the door, he didn’t
attempt to come in, didn’t attempt to give her a goodnight kiss but
also didn’t leave until she’d made her way safely inside, closed
the door
and
had turned on the light in her bedroom.

Still, even
though she was in bed early, she didn’t get to sleep until the wee
hours.

This was
because she spent hours tossing and turning with the realisation
that she’d, again, done something thoroughly and completely
stupid.

Although there
were other stupid things she’d done in the last thirty hours (many,
many
of them), her Latest Stupid Abby Act Obsession
currently centred around that kiss.

When she’d
kissed him the day before at the pub it had been to make a point
and it was under her control.

However, wiping
her lip gloss from his mouth had been habitual. It was something
she’d done for Ben countless times. She was, of course, a girl who
liked her lip gloss.

She didn’t know
why she did it to Cash. She just had and she’d kicked herself for
it before burying the memory deep in the recesses of her mind.

But she
couldn’t bury that kiss. It was right at the surface.

The smell of
Cash, the feel of his body against hers, his hard mouth and,
finally, the sweet touch of his tongue.

He tasted of
brandy which he’d drunk after dinner. Brandy and the rich chocolate
torte with clotted cream he’d had for dessert.

Good God, but
he tasted good.

She’d felt the
touch of his tongue from her mouth, through her body, to the tips
of her curled toes.

She’d never
felt anything that luscious or that strong.

Not even with
Ben and Ben had been a fabulous kisser.

And that meant
her exasperation with herself was mingled with the guilt she felt
at betraying her dead husband.

She shoved
these thoughts aside. These weren’t waking-up thoughts. These were
beating-yourself-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night thoughts and she
reached to the phone and pulled it out of its receiver.

She was not big
on mornings, though she was usually up well before now.
Exacerbating her usual morning mood was the weight of her current
predicament.

Therefore, when
she said, “Hello?” into the receiver, her fresh-from-sleep voice
sounded peeved.

“Abby.”

It was
Cash.

What was
with
this guy?

Could he not
leave her alone for even a moment?

“Cash,” she
said, her voice sounding breathy.

There was heavy
silence before he said softly, his burr trilling deliciously in her
ear sending an uncontrollable shiver down her spine, “I’ve woken
you.”

She tried (and
failed) to ignore the shiver and then tried to decide what to
say.

She couldn’t
tell him she had trouble sleeping that would expose too much.

She also
couldn’t lie and say she hadn’t been asleep, her voice made it
obvious.

“I like my
sleep,” she said instead, something which was not a lie.

There was more
silence and this was heavier.

When he didn’t
break it, she called, “Cash? Is there something you want?”

“Yes,” came his
immediate reply.

She got up on
an elbow and Zee looked up at her, blinking (Zee, being feline,
liked his sleep too).

When Cash
didn’t expand on his answer, Abby was forced to ask, “Well? What is
it?”

There was a
hesitation, then, “Do you cook?”