The room was almost as large as the kitchen, with food packed neatly on open shelves along all four walls, and on two free-standing shelves in the middle. She loved cooking. A room like this would be a chef’s dream. The food inside could probably feed an army for days. Walking along the first aisle—it did feel like a little grocery store in there—she made a mental note of where items were. She would make lunch and dinner for everyone today.
She found the garlic and onions on a lower shelf in the far corner. They were placed inside labeled, hole-punched paper bags for longer storage. It was just like her mom used to do. That had been so long ago, she had almost forgotten about it. There were many little things Abby had tried to remember about her mom, but had forgotten. Like these hole-punched paper bags, they were probably just trapped in her memory, far behind the blurry cobwebs of time. She decided she would store her onions and garlic just like this when she got back to San Francisco.
She was setting them down on the counter when she felt Andrew’s arms reach around her waist.
“Hey,” she said, turning to him. “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t help it. If you’re all leaving soon, I want to get as much of you as I can.”
“Fine.” She smiled up at him. “But I’m still making you breakfast. You can sit over there.”
“Can I at least help you chop veggies?”
“Hmmm,” she murmured. “Okay. You get the garlic and onions.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” He got the cutting board and pulled the chopping knife to start dicing.
By the time she put the coffee maker on, filled the kettle, cracked the eggs and whipped them in the large bowl, he had finished cutting up all the vegetables and had placed them into separate bowls. His eyes were red and watery.
“Done already?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Are you doing okay over there?”
“I’m used to this. I cook most of my own meals, remember?”
“Right. I forgot.”
“Except when the housekeeper comes.”
“Where’s a frying pan?”
“Bottom drawer to your left.”
She found the frying pan and placed it to heat up on the stove top. He leaned against the opposite counter and looked at her while she cooked.
“So what’s it like? Being out here alone?”
“Well, it’s quiet. Peaceful. A little lonely at times, but I enjoy the solitude most of the time. It’s—easier.”
“Easier than what?”
He hesitated before replying. “Crowds. City life. Loud noises.”
Andrew was standing off to one side behind her, but Abby knew without looking directly at him that she had hit on an uncomfortable topic. He fidgeted where he stood, and his one hand instantly began to move along the scar on his forearm. She wanted to take some of the pressure off him.
“I think I know what you mean. When I first moved from our farm outside Sparks to San Francisco, I didn’t think I could ever get used to it. And it’s a beautiful city, but there was always that noise. Even at night. It’s like the city hums or something.”
“Yeah.”
She removed the first omelet. “Can you bring me a few plates?”
“Sure.”
“You should eat. Here, take the first one. I’ll make four all-veggie omelets and four more with ham. That should be enough for us and Ruth, Barb and Rob.”
“Sounds great. Here are the plates. You can leave theirs on the back warmers.”
“Good idea. The coffee is probably ready too.”
“Awesome.” He pulled out two mugs and went over to the pot to pour them some.
“So where did you learn to cook?” Her focus was on the omelets, but she listened intently.
“My mom taught us. She wanted Joy and me—Joy’s my sister back in New York City—she wanted us to be self-sufficient.”
Andrew hadn’t mentioned anything about his mother before, and she wasn’t sure whether it was a touchy subject. “That’s great. She must love this kitchen and pantry.”
“Yes, she sure did. She designed this entire house. My dad had it built exactly how she wanted it.”
“Very nice. So does she come to visit you often?”
“No. My parents are divorced. Mom lives in Paris now. I haven’t seen her in years. The last time I heard from her was a couple years back. Since then, nothing.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear. I’m sure she misses you all.”
“Well if she does, she has a great way of showing it.”
Another touchy subject. She didn’t notice any nervousness when he spoke that time, though; just a hint of sarcasm.
“So how about your dad? Does he come often? I guess he must, if he flies in to see you.”
His body relaxed completely. “Yeah. My dad stops in once or twice a month, sometimes more around year end. I help him with strategy for his companies. Although, he would say it’s our companies. He’s always hoped I would take it over after him, or play a more prominent role.”
“Cool. What kind of business is it?”
“We’re in retail. Department store chains and designer clothing, mostly. And a few high end footwear lines. There’s some real estate too.”
“So what’s your last name again? If I’ve been wearing your family’s designer clothing all this time, I’d want to know about it.”
She laughed, maybe a little more loudly than she normally would, just so he’d know she wasn’t too inquisitive.
“Carrington.”
“You mean the Carrington’s? Like that—”
“Yeah. That Carrington’s.”
“Ohhhh.”
“Yep.”
“Want another omelet?”
He nodded, and took the last bite on his plate while she brought him seconds. She moved the last ham omelet from the frying pan into the stack on the plate, and covered it up. All this cooking made her hungry. She took one of the vegetable omelets and went to sit beside Andrew at the table.
“Gosh, my mom loved to window-shop in your stores when I was little. There wasn’t much we could afford to buy there, though. They ran a small farm, and even if my parents could afford it, they would probably find a million reasons to get it at Target. We farmers have penny-pinching in our blood, I think.”
“I remember when I worked my first summer job off the farm. I was a camp counselor. I must have been sixteen. I saved all my money that entire summer, and brought home an iPod and a pair of Gucci shoes. My mom had already passed away. But my dad balked, and wanted me to return it—specifically the shoes. I told him I was wearing them to my prom the following year. He said, you’d better be wearing them more than once, for that price.”
“And did you?”
“No actually. Worse. I went through a growth spell that fall. I grew three inches in eight months. I was tiny before that. And so were my feet. In the end, I couldn’t even wear those shoes to my graduation dance. I ended up giving them to Becky—Rob’s sister.”
“Ouch. That must have hurt.”
“It stung like hell. I was so jealous, watching her dance in my shoes, while I ended up with cheap suede knockoffs from the local shoe store.”
They ate quietly for a minute. It wasn’t uncomfortable at all. He seemed content, and she was famished.
He looked up from his coffee. “So do you miss her?”
“My mom? Gosh, yes. It was hard the first few years. I was fourteen. I wish I had her a little longer. Talking to my dad about things like graduation, and boys—well, let’s just say it was interesting. But it got easier. How about you?”
“Sure. She was a great mother. And so patient. I think she knew for a long time she would leave, in hindsight. She took time to painstakingly teach Joy and me things, and looking back, we took a lot of it for granted. But it all made sense when she left after Joy started college.”
“I can’t imagine. Is it tough, knowing she’s just a flight or two away and still not seeing her?”
“Sometimes. But I’ve put her out of my mind, for the most part. It doesn’t sound logical, does it?”
“Probably a little. I can’t judge. She probably had her reasons.”
“It’s hard to be logical about things like this. On the one hand, if she was unhappy, she made an incredible sacrifice for a long time. She stuck with us until we were both adults, before she left to find her own happiness. And she never complained, not once. How can I blame her for that? On the other hand, we’re her kids; her babies. She’s got to be missing us, probably more than we miss her. I figure she’ll come around when she’s ready, or reach out when she wants us to see her.”
Andrew wasn’t eating anymore. From Abby’s spot beside him, he seemed to gaze into the distance, like he was daydreaming. The fork he was eating with was raised above the plate, like he had become frozen in the thought. She sat beside him and waited. He continued after a few moments.
“She was a great mother to us. Firm, fair, compassionate, and she loved us to bits. She was at the door when we left for school every day, and waiting in the same spot when we came home. She was our rock. She grounded us. With all the wealth and power she had access to, she never put any value in them. Money never meant much to her, and she wouldn’t let Joy and me get too spoiled—although if you meet Joy, you might think differently. My mother did a great job raising us. She made home a stable, caring place. And she was so proud when I chose the field of medicine.”
“Maybe it would be more painful if we were younger. I don’t know. And yes, I wish she was closer so we could see her. But if she’s happy, I’m happy for her too.”
“That’s so—kind, and honest, Andrew. I can see she’s done a great job with you.”
Abby stacked their plates after he finished and took it to the sink. She rinsed them and placed them in the dishwasher. Turning back to face him, she leaned against the counter.
“Did either of them remarry?”
“No. Well, I’m not sure about my mom, to be honest. My dad definitely hasn’t. He’s married to the businesses. And ever since she left, he’s been the rock. I never thought about it before, but she seemed to pass the parenting torch to him when she left. Before that, he was barely around. He traveled constantly, and was mentally absent when he was around. But when she left, he just found the time to be there, for anything, no, for everything that mattered. And he dotes on us kids, now, in his own way. You know those horrible flannel pajamas you all wore?”
“Yes?”
“That’s how he shows his affection; with me anyway. I get them for birthdays, Christmas, any excuse he can get, that’s what he gives me as gifts. If he had come to visit while you were all here, he’d be thrilled to see them being put to good use.”
She laughed and walked over to stand closer to him. “That’s so sweet.”
“Not if you hate sleeping in pajamas. But I know, it’s the thought that counts.”
“And what about your sister? Joy, right?
“Oh, I think I’ll need a week to get into Joy’s story.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Not quite. She’s a pretty good kid. It’s just, well, I wouldn’t call her bad; I’d say she is unusually distasteful in the pursuit of her love interests. Let’s leave her for the moment. What I’ll say is she’s four years younger than me—I’m twenty-seven—and she lives with my dad in New York City.”
“Now I’m really curious.”
“Trust me. You don’t want to know. But if you really do, I’ll tell you later on.” He stood up in front of her and pulled her into his arms.
“Okay.”
“Right now,” he said softly in her ear, “I want to do less talking, and more touching.”
“Mmmm,” she moaned. “Sounds exciting. Let’s go back to your room.”
“I was thinking we could…” He looked over at the kitchen center island.
“You mean there?”
“You know, you’re starting to have the best ideas,” he said flirtatiously.
“What if my friends come in? Actually, forget I asked. Let’s do it.”
Chapter 8
ANDREW was relieved they could pause before the topic had moved to relationships. He would tell her everything eventually, in time. The subject of Emma, however, was not going to be something he could jump into as easily as other conversations. For now, he was off the hook.
“Ready?” he asked, tugging at the opening of her robe to get it off.
As he took off his shirt, he noticed her skin had flushed at the question.
“Is it hot in here?”
“You’re hot, that’s why. And I’m about to help you with that.”
He stood up and glided the back of his hand up her cheekbone, and felt her shiver from his touch. She let out a shaky breath.
“You’re gorgeous when you’re bashful.”
“I’m…Okay, you got me this time.” She smiled, slowly backing up to the island and pulling him with her.
When all their clothes were off, she placed both hands backward on the counter to leap up and sit. She stretched out her hands to him, beckoning him to stand between her legs, which were slightly spread apart. This time, she gripped his shoulders and pulled him in like it was urgent. Her mouth found his, kissing him passionately, with fierceness he hadn’t seen from her before.
He took her lead, meeting her raw, carnal need head on. All her unyielding desire did was fuel his growing hunger. Everything he couldn’t say to her with words he expressed through his savage touch.
“Fuck. Andrew. I want you so bad,” she groaned into kiss.
Her voice was intoxicating. She reached a hand down to his erection. Instinctively, he slipped his hand down her stomach to her pussy.
“God. You’re so hot and wet, Abby.”
He spread her legs wide and pulled her hips to the end of the counter, continuing the voracious kiss. He wanted to remember every second with her. He stayed there for a while, trapped in the possessive kiss, taking a snapshot in his mind of her touch, her sweet smell, and the moment.
She was wild and eager, wrapping her legs on his hips and getting as close as she could to his hardness. He needed her more. He wanted to fill her. He stood up from their kiss, tipped her shoulders backward and glided his cock inside her. She let out a long, lustful hiss.
His thrusts found its rhythm. He held on to her at the waist, pulling back and easing into her at first. As her moans slowed down, he picked up the pace. He slammed into her harder, and her sounds morphed into a loud gasp. He released one hand from her waist, snaking it up to her beautiful breasts.
He caressed the outer curve with his fingers, and gently flicked her nipple at the same pace that he drove into her. With every thrust, he flicked harder, until she let out a cry. She didn’t need to tell him. He felt it from deep inside her walls.
“Come for me, Abby,” he growled.
She pulled one hand up and held it to her mouth as she whimpered through her explosion. He felt her channel tighten and flood. Her body followed—it trembled and went limp from her powerful orgasm. Feeling his was imminent, he pumped in and out, pressing in his fingers harder at her waist, to concentrate his movements.
“Don’t stop,” she begged softly.
She started to rock her hips gently, and it was enough to unfurl his hot, gratifying release. Unable to think, he let go of her waist and held himself up by leaning on the island. He gasped for air and strength. It was going to take some time before either of them could speak again, but given where they were, he pulled out and found the energy to carry her back to his room.
“You’re amazing, Abby,” he said as he lowered her to the bed.
“And you’re wonderful,” she said sleepily.
“I’ve got to get our clothes and clean up in there. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t be too long.”
Andrew threw on a robe and hurried back to the kitchen. He brought their clothes into the room before heading back to wash down the center i
sland. He smiled as he cleaned, knowing he wouldn’t look at that spot in the same way again.
After he was finished, he went back to join her in bed. The rest of the day would come and go, and maybe they would leave, but for now, as he fell asleep, Andrew was blissful.
It must have been the day for multiple phone calls. This time, it was the landline. Andrew woke up from a restful sleep and turned to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Good morning.” It was an older man. “I’m not sure if I’m calling the right number. May I speak with Abigail Wittfield, if she’s there?”
“Yes, this is the right number. I’ll get her for you. May I ask who’s calling?”
“Of course. Tell her it’s her father.”
“Sure. I’ll get her now.”
“Hold on a minute. Are you the gentleman who took my Abby and her friends in from this crazy blizzard that came through?”
“Yes, sir.” Andrew braced himself. It sounded like the protective father was making his presence felt. He knew the feeling—Joy was the apple of his father’s eye.
“And can I ask your name?”
He cleared his throat nervously. “I’m Andrew, sir. Andrew Carrington.”
“Well, Mr. Carrington, I think I can speak for all those kids’ parents, definitely for Abby and Rob, when I say thank you from the bottom of our hearts for taking them in for all this time.”
“It was no problem at all, sir. My pleasure to help.”
“We sure are grateful. I’d like to take care of any costs you incurred while they were with you.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Wittfield. They were no trouble at all. It was the right thing to do, and I’m sure you would do the same under these circumstances.”
“You’re right, son. I took in about twenty-five women in their forties and fifties in this house during this storm. Their bus stalled on Highway eighty down the road. Thankfully, they all left this morning and I get my house back.”
“Well then, you know I can’t accept any payment from you, sir. It’s the neighborly way to be when these things happen.”
“Are you sure, young man? Forgive me if I’m assuming your age. You sound pretty young.”
Billionaire Daddy's Virgin Page 31