by Anne Mather
Because he was so damn sexy, she thought, dragging her eyes away and concentrating on the coffee. She’d managed to ignore—or at least, control—her instinctive attraction to him all evening. Was it too much to ask that she do it just a little while longer?
However, here, alone in her apartment—apart from Harley, of course—her whole body felt hot and sensually alive.
And overwhelmingly aware of her own physical needs, however unwelcome those needs might be.
And because of that, her voice was a little sharp when she said, ‘Why don’t you go and sit down?’ She paused and then added shortly, ‘You’re making me nervous.’
Luke arched a dark brow. ‘Am I?’
‘You know you are,’ she said tightly. ‘Do you get some pleasure out of annoying people?’
Luke stared at her now. ‘Did I miss something here? What did I do to deserve that?’
Abby’s lips tightened. ‘Nothing,’ she said, realising how unreasonable she was being. ‘You did nothing. I suppose I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.’
‘And you want me to leave, is that it?’
Leave? No!
She looked up from setting out the cups, and met his dark gaze. And knew she was treading on dangerous ground.
‘You—you must do what you think best,’ she said, not sure where this was leading. ‘Stay or go, it’s all the same to me.’
CHAPTER NINE
IT WASN’T, OF COURSE, and when Luke spoke again, she realised her mistake.
‘What if I said I wanted to go to bed with you?’ he asked casually, straightening away from the unit. ‘Would I get what I want then?’
Abby caught her breath. ‘I told you at the start of the evening—’
‘Yeah, I know what you told me at the start of the evening,’ he muttered. ‘Okay.’ He stepped aside as she picked up a tray containing the two cups of coffee she’d prepared. ‘Let’s have coffee like civilised human beings.’
Abby carried the tray into the living room and set it on the low table in front of the hearth. It meant she was obliged to sit on the sofa, with its multi-coloured cushions. Cushions that were liberally coated with dog hair, she noticed, but Luke didn’t seem to mind.
Predictably, he seated himself beside her, the cushions tipping sideways beneath his weight. Abby shifted to the edge of the seat to keep her balance, before leaning forward to hand Luke his cup.
‘Thanks.’
Luke took the coffee and then said, somewhat sarcastically, ‘Isn’t this cosy? To think I almost turned you down.’
‘Did you?’ He was almost sure she didn’t believe him. ‘So I suppose you can understand why I’ll be so sorry to leave this place?’
Luke blew out a breath. ‘I see. So you really invited me in to talk about the petition, did you?’ He set his cup on the tray again. ‘I assume yours is one of the over one hundred signatures Hughes is supposed to have?’
Abby stared at him. ‘Actually, no,’ she said shortly. ‘I didn’t know anything about the petition until Joan Miller told me what was going on.’
Luke’s brows drew together. ‘Am I supposed to believe that?’
‘You can believe what you like,’ she retorted hotly. ‘I’m not a liar.’
‘But you agree with its sentiments, surely,’ Luke persisted, spreading his legs and resting his forearms along his thighs. He glanced sideways at her. ‘You’ve just said how sorry you’ll be to leave.’
Abby sighed. ‘I will be sorry to leave,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t know anything about Greg’s petition. He evidently didn’t think I would be prepared to sign it.’
Luke regarded her curiously. ‘And why would he think that?’
She pulled a wry face. ‘Why do you think?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.’
Clearly she didn’t believe him, but she said patiently, ‘Because he thinks I’m a—a friend of yours, I suppose.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s not a fool. He could tell we’d known one another before you turned up at the café.’
‘So what did you tell him?’
* * *
Abby put down her own cup, afraid he would notice how her hands were shaking. ‘I didn’t tell him anything,’ she stated flatly. ‘What was I supposed to say? That we’d met five years ago in a wine bar? That you were in danger of defending my honour, before discovering I was an unfaithful wife?’
She paused. ‘Or would you rather I told him that you took your revenge by seducing me here a week ago? That you—how is it the romantic novelists put it?—that you had your wicked way with me, and then walked out without even saying goodbye?’
Luke straightened. ‘That’s not true!’
‘What’s not true? You did have sex with me.’
He scowled. ‘By no means could you call it having my wicked way with you, Abby. You didn’t exactly push me away.’
Abby got up from the sofa. ‘I think you’d better go.’
‘Why?’ He looked up at her, his dark eyes impaling hers. He waited a beat and then added softly, ‘Don’t you like the direction our conversation is going? Can you honestly say you didn’t want me as much as I wanted you?’
Abby moved towards the door, ordering Harley to stay where he was without a lot of success. ‘Just go,’ she said, turning away as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. ‘It’s too late to be having this discussion now.’
‘Oh, I agree.’
Luke got to his feet and went after her. Ignoring Harley’s bid for attention, he caught Abby’s arms and jerked her back against him, burying his face in the scented hollow at her nape. ‘Abby, let’s stop arguing. You have no idea what you do to me.’
Abby knew what he did to her, and she caught her breath. ‘Don’t do this, Luke!’ The word please hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she managed to hold it back.
‘Why not?’ His tongue sought the pulse beating rapidly below her ear and he let one hand stroke sensuously over her cheek. His thumb found her mouth, parted her lips and pushed inside. ‘Can you honestly say this isn’t what you really want?’
Abby couldn’t prevent her tongue from seeking his thumb, couldn’t deny the hunger growing deep in her belly. Luke was like an addiction, she thought. Now that she’d tasted his lovemaking, she wanted to taste it again.
And how pitiful was that?
His hand moved to her breast, massaging the erect peak through the fabric of her shirt. Emotions that wouldn’t be denied stirred inside her. Where would be the harm in giving in to him? she asked herself crazily. Why was she denying herself the simple pleasure of his touch?
‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked huskily, his free hand sliding possessively along her jaw, turning her mouth to his.
And, God help her, she didn’t try to resist him this time. She let his lips capture hers and let her mouth accept the hungry invasion of his tongue.
Her head swam. But it wasn’t the fault of the wine she’d drunk earlier. The feelings his kiss aroused caused a sensual dizziness she couldn’t control. His heat, hot and thick, enveloped her, wrapping her in a cocoon of need that it was virtually impossible to deny.
Her hands slid up his chest, feeling the quickening beat of his heart. His silk shirt moved sensuously against her palms, and she clutched a handful greedily. She was drowning in physical sensation, losing any sense of who she was. Who he was.
‘Abby,’ he protested hoarsely, when she tore open two of his shirt buttons and pressed her lips against his chest.
Abby ignored him. She’d discovered that his skin was damp and salty and lightly spread with dark hair. It reminded her unmistakeably of the way it arrowed down below his navel, cradling the swollen pressure of his sex.
God knew, he was a temptation, and she was not immune to the memories that
she’d denied for so long.
Memories of him all those years ago, kissing her in his car in the car park at the apartments where she’d lived with Harry. Memories of how nervous she’d been when she’d made that call. Memories of how he’d looked in the wine bar, when Harry had told him what a fool he’d been in trusting her...
And what was she doing now? Did she want him to think she was that easy? Because, truth to tell, she probably was where he was concerned.
His kiss hardened and deepened, and he dragged her closer against him, so she could feel every taut muscle behind his zip. One of his legs pushed between hers, forcing her nearer. And she could feel the wetness inside her panties and the ultra-sensitive pressure of her sex against his thigh.
Harley whined, and she was brought unwillingly to her senses. Evidently the retriever didn’t like being neglected, or perhaps he was trying to remind her of what had happened before.
She shouldn’t run away with the idea that because Luke wanted her, he didn’t still believe she had stayed with Harry because he could keep her in the luxurious manner to which she’d become accustomed. He still thought she’d been a rich bitch, looking for diversion.
If he only knew. If only he’d let her explain...
But she’d tried that once before without any success.
In addition to which, she mustn’t forget that he was also prepared to deprive her—and the other leaseholders—of their livelihoods. She shouldn’t expect any special favours from a man like him.
Catching her breath, she drew back and managed to put a little space between them. Then, swallowing, she said, ‘Can we talk?’
Luke’s brows drew together, and he raked back his tumbled hair with a slightly unsteady hand. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I am.’
‘Abby, you do know what’s going on here?’ His own face was flushed, and there was impatience in his tone. ‘What in God’s name do you want to talk to me about right now?’
Abby stared at him. ‘I want to talk about Harry.’
‘You’re kidding!’ He stared at her disbelievingly. ‘I thought we dealt with that earlier.’
‘Well, you were wrong.’ She caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I was wrong. I have to tell you why I stayed with him when—’
‘Oh, not that again.’ Now Luke linked both hands at the back of his neck and stared at her with bitter eyes. ‘I know why you stayed with Laurence, Abby.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘I’m not a fool, Abby. The guy was a cash cow. You’re not the first woman to marry a man for his money.’
‘You couldn’t be more wrong.’
‘Couldn’t I?’ He paused. ‘Just don’t think I’m in the market for that kind of relationship. I was cured of that five years ago.’
Abby gasped. ‘You bastard!’
‘I’ve been called that before. I think it’s getting a little old?’
Abby stared at him. ‘So—you seriously expect I would be willing to be your mistress?’
‘Why not?’ He spoke succinctly, and she clenched her fists so tightly, her nails dug into her palms.
‘Just because I let you make love to me the last time you were here does not make me your whore!’ she retorted angrily, despising herself and him in equal measure.
‘Did I use that word?’ Luke regarded her narrowly, his eyes watching her intently.
‘You didn’t have to.’
‘Well, forgive me,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Only it’s hard to feel sympathy for a woman who’s cheated on her husband in the past.’
‘You know nothing about my marriage to Harry.’
‘And I don’t want to know,’ he retorted, reaching for his jacket. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should get out of here.’
‘Perhaps you should,’ said Abby, striving for indifference.
But before Luke could grab his jacket and leave, his strong fingers trailed down her sleeve and flipped beneath the hem of her shirt. She tried to back away from him, but the temptation of Luke’s touch was too much for her.
And when his hand spread against her bare midriff, warm and possessive against her soft flesh, every nerve in her body went on high alert. She wanted him to touch her, she admitted despairingly. Her limbs were melting in anticipation of his caress.
Without giving her a chance to break his hold, he pulled her down onto the sofa again and, pressing her back, covered her body with his.
Then, possessing her mouth, he whispered arrogantly, ‘What was it you were saying about not wanting to be my mistress?’
CHAPTER TEN
LUKE WAS IN a foul mood when he got back from Edinburgh.
The weather had been predictably bad and the conference he’d attended had been boring in the extreme. In addition to which, he’d spent much of the last three days fending off the advances of his host’s daughter, who seemed to think she was God’s gift to the opposite sex.
Fortunately, he’d had Felix drive him to the conference, so he hadn’t had to suffer the girl’s unsubtle attention on the flight back. She apparently worked in London, too, but he’d made sure she was never in a position to suggest he gave her a lift back to the capital.
Nevertheless, Luke found the return journey long and tedious. He’d worked on his laptop for a while, but, when he’d achieved as much as could be achieved without his files, he’d spent the remainder of the journey staring out of the window at the motorway.
Felix had done his best to entertain him, but he’d received monosyllabic replies at best. And, after a while, he’d asked Luke if he’d mind if he put on some music.
Luke had offered no objections, but he had raised the screen between the two halves of the car, which had been answer enough for Felix. The music had been turned off and silence had reigned until they got back to Eaton Close.
Back home, Luke took a shower and changed into casual clothes. His housekeeper, Mrs Webb, had prepared a delicious dinner for him, but, although he ate the smoked salmon, he only picked at the braised belly of pork, and didn’t touch the chocolate mousse.
She tutted her disapproval as she cleared the table in the morning room. The room overlooked the terraced garden at the back of the house, which at present was a riot of colour. A teak bench sat in the shade of hydrangeas and semi-tropical ferns that Luke’s gardener kept in immaculate order.
Mrs Webb knew better than to make any verbal complaint about his appetite, however, and asked if Luke would like coffee in the library.
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Luke, pushing away from the table. He forced a polite smile. ‘Sounds good.’
Even so, the word ‘coffee’ aroused disturbing connotations in his mind. It might be several weeks since that night in Ashford-St-James, when he’d gone to Abby’s apartment; but the memory was all too vivid, reminding him, as it had done before, that his behaviour where she was concerned was less than commendable.
He asked himself for the umpteenth time why he’d gone to see her again. It wasn’t as if he’d had any intention of pursuing their affair. Indeed, his original idea had been to prove he was not the man she evidently thought he was.
And what a waste of time that had been.
He supposed he could make the excuse that he’d wanted to apologise, for the way he’d behaved the last time they were together. But as soon as he’d seen her, as soon as she’d shown her indifference towards him, his pride had kicked in. In consequence, his good intentions had gone out of the window along with his common sense.
Nonetheless, he had enjoyed having dinner with her. Too much, he suspected, which was why he was in the position he was in now. He’d let her get under his skin again and he’d done what any red-blooded man would have done and had sex with her.
Hot, passionate sex, as it happened. The kind of sex, he acknowledged, t
hat he couldn’t put out of his mind.
She’d just been so damnably desirable. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her. But was that any excuse for what had happened?
Probably not.
When they’d parted, he hadn’t asked if he could see her again. Despite the fact that he really hadn’t wanted to leave. But Felix had been waiting, and he’d told himself he had nothing to be ashamed of. She’d been as eager to be with him as he had been with her.
But he should have at least followed up the encounter with a phone call.
The truth was, he disliked the fact that she still had such an effect on him. That had never happened before with any woman, and it disturbed him.
Goodness knew, the past few weeks had been hectic, and he shouldn’t have had time to think of anything else but the business. There’d been strategy board meetings, budget discussions, and financial seminars, all demanding his attention. And that without this most recent interminable conference in Edinburgh that he’d not been able to avoid.
He should have been able to forget about Abby. It wasn’t as if she were an angel. Quite the reverse, he assured himself, considering the way she’d treated her husband. Yet she consistently continued to occupy his thoughts.
* * *
Abby woke up with a thumping headache.
She wasn’t used to getting headaches or the unpleasant feeling of nausea that gripped her as soon as she got out of bed. This wasn’t the first time she’d felt sick and she didn’t like it. Oh, Lord, she thought, I hope I’m not getting flu. There was a lot of it about, despite it being the middle of August.
But perhaps the fact that it was the middle of August, and it had been fairly humid recently, might account for her headache. Although she was used to these early mornings, there were times recently when she’d have liked to stay in bed.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. So long as she was running the café on her own, and so long as she hadn’t received notice to vacate the premises, she had to go on as if nothing was going to change.