by Anne Mather
The room swam about her as she went into the bathroom, and she only just made it to the toilet before throwing up. This was a first, but fortunately she didn’t have a lot in her stomach. She’d only had beans on toast for her supper the night before, but by the time she’d struggled up from her knees she was firmly convinced she’d never eat baked beans again.
Conversely, she felt considerably better after being sick.
She showered and dressed and hurried downstairs to let Harley out into the back garden. He seemed to sense that something was amiss this morning and fussed about her. But he did as he was told, and she gave him a reassuring hug as well as his usual biscuit treat.
Then, after taking him back up to the apartment for his breakfast, she hurried downstairs again to set the coffee machine working. Because she was a little later than usual, she didn’t stop to have any breakfast, contenting herself with a cup of tea from the hot-water tap on the coffee machine.
At least she didn’t have to go to the wholesalers today. She could get started on the baking right away. But, unfortunately, the smell of the dough caused the nauseous feeling to return, and she was forced to prepare a slice of dry toast to calm her unsettled stomach.
Once again, she felt considerably better after eating the toast, and she was able to complete her usual baking schedule without further delay. She really ought to consider taking on an assistant, other than Lori, she thought as she took a batch of muffins out of the oven. And then realised how ludicrous that thought was.
In a matter of months, there’d be no café to worry about. Instead of making plans to hire an assistant, she ought to be giving some serious consideration to where she was going to live—and work—after the café was demolished.
But, in all honesty, she’d deliberately avoided thinking about her future since she’d realised Luke didn’t intend to see her again. It was some weeks now, and he hadn’t even picked up the phone.
She should never have invited him in, she acknowledged with hindsight. She’d known she was asking for trouble. But after the evening they’d spent, it had seemed churlish to turn him away.
Or that had been her excuse at the time, she conceded. Besides, if she was totally honest with herself, she hadn’t wanted the evening to end.
What an idiot she was! Telling him she wouldn’t be his mistress, and then allowing him to make love to her on the sofa of all places. She couldn’t even make the excuse that he’d swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. They’d been so eager to get one another’s clothes off, if the sofa hadn’t been available, they’d have made love on the floor.
And that was the truth.
Besides, she shouldn’t blame him for her weaknesses. Breathless and barely sensible, she’d have done anything he asked of her. She’d wanted him and when he’d imitated with his fingers what he wanted to do to her body, her blood had turned to fire in her veins.
Abby remembered her head had swum long before he’d lowered his head and his tongue had taken the place of his hand. She’d wanted to protest, but her legs had parted willingly. She remembered gripping handfuls of his hair when he’d pressed his face between her legs, and she’d come before she could stop herself.
Afterwards, Luke had slid smoothly into her, and although she’d been sure she wouldn’t come again, she had. Just feeling his shaft stretching her and filling her had excited her beyond measure, and when he’d spilled his seed inside her, she’d shared his release.
Goodness knew what Harley must have thought, hearing the sobbing cries she’d been making. But he’d evidently decided Luke wouldn’t do her any harm. At some point, he’d slunk away into the bedroom, and she thought rather ruefully what a poor excuse for a guard dog he’d proved to be.
At least this time Luke hadn’t walked out on her. Or so she’d convinced herself in the early hours of the morning, after he’d said goodbye.
His parting kiss had convinced her she would see him again. She’d known he was still semi-aroused, and she was fairly sure he hadn’t wanted to leave. But poor old Felix had been waiting outside and she’d had to let him go.
At times, it seemed both her past and her future were tied up with that man. He had influenced her life five years ago, and he was influencing it still.
After all, his involvement had had a disastrous effect on her marriage. Although, that really hadn’t been his fault. She’d been the one to risk her marriage vows. And, she had paid for that one mistake. Her ex-husband had seen to that.
Now, it seemed, Luke was having a similarly destructive effect on her present. Which didn’t seem entirely fair. But she wasn’t the only one to suffer this time. And she should be grateful Luke wasn’t using her indiscretions against her friends.
When she’d decided to move to Ashford-St-James, it had been with the intention of putting her unhappy marriage behind her. She’d never expected to have to face either Luke or Harry again.
And she was fairly sure Luke hadn’t expected to have to face her either. When he’d walked into the café that first morning, he’d been as shocked as she’d been herself.
What were the odds? she mused, shaking her head as she unloaded another batch of muffins onto a cooling tray. Life could be so unpredictable. Not to mention needlessly cruel.
At another time, in another place, she and Luke might have had the chance to become more than occasional lovers. She liked to think so. She couldn’t deny that when they were together, she couldn’t think of anything but him. He filled her, both mentally and physically. He took over her life—and her body—to the exclusion of anyone else.
Did she love him?
The thought came out of nowhere.
She sighed. The fact was, five years ago, she could have loved him; she knew that. That was why she’d done something she’d never done before. She’d phoned a man who wasn’t her husband. Phoned him late in the evening, and asked him to meet her somewhere she’d been sure Harry would never go.
It had taken a lot of courage to actually pick up the phone in the first place. But after the row she’d had with Harry, she’d been desperate to speak to another human being; someone who wouldn’t turn every word she’d uttered into a threat.
Harry had become an expert at that. He’d always said he couldn’t trust her, but now she could see he’d used that as a way to justify his own behaviour.
That night, after his making more ridiculous accusations about her behaviour, she’d been half afraid he was going to kill her. He’d evidently enjoyed frightening her, but, when he’d put his hands around her throat, she’d suspected even Harry had been alarmed by his own violence. He’d stormed out of the apartment, telling her he was going to his club and not to expect him back before morning, leaving her, as he’d done many times before, shaken and afraid.
For a few minutes after his departure, Abby remembered she’d lain on the floor where he’d left her, too numb to move. She’d heard the door slam, but she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t still in the apartment. He’d pretended to leave on other occasions and then come back to catch her out.
But, eventually, grateful that she was still alive, she’d forced herself to her feet and dragged herself into the bathroom. She’d wanted to examine her injuries. To reassure herself that there was no blood. It was rare that Harry left any visible signs of his cruelty on her body, but tonight he seemed to have lost all control.
As well as the bruising on her arms and ribs and abdomen, there’d been purple finger marks on her neck. Touching them, flinching from the pain, she’d felt sick inside. She’d ached in every part of her body, and she’d been afraid he wouldn’t stop until she was dead.
For a while she’d simply stood in the shower, trying to wipe the memory of the last couple of hours from her mind. She’d run the shower hot, to erase the chill inside her, but not even the stream of water had seemed to work.
&nb
sp; Then she’d remembered the card Luke Morelli had given her. She’d stepped out of the shower and stumbled into the bedroom, hoping she still knew where it was.
Stereotypically, she’d hidden it beneath her underwear, and she’d been half afraid Harry might have searched her drawers and found it. But, despite his accusations, her husband had never really believed there was any chance of her being unfaithful to him. He’d known she was too afraid of what it might mean to her mother. He’d never doubted the power he had over her because of Annabel Lacey’s illness.
Meeting Luke that night had been the most reckless thing she’d ever done. She’d never forget the thrill it had given her to find him at the Parker House, waiting for her.
Tall and dark and undeniably gorgeous.
She’d just wanted to throw herself into his arms...
* * *
Later that morning, Lori came through from the bookshop, looking for her mid-morning cup of coffee.
It had been a busy morning so far and Abby was feeling unusually weary. It was because she had so much playing on her mind, she thought, but she perked up a bit when she saw her friend.
‘Hi,’ she said, reaching for a coffee mug. ‘I think I’ll join you.’
‘Why not?’ Lori, a slim, attractive woman in her early thirties, grinned and propped her elbows on the counter. ‘It seems pretty quiet at present.’
‘It is now,’ agreed Abby, filling the cups. ‘How about a banana muffin?’
‘You took the words right out of my mouth,’ said Lori, sniffing appreciatively. ‘You know, if I worked in here all day, I’d spend most of my time sampling the merchandise.’ She grimaced. ‘I’d soon be as fat as butter.’
‘Not you,’ said Abby, setting the muffin on a plate, adding a dessert fork, and handing it over. ‘There you go. Enjoy.’
‘I will.’ Lori forked a mouthful of the muffin as Abby sipped her cappuccino, her expression mirroring her delight.
‘This is awesome!’
‘I’m glad you like it. It’s a new recipe I found—’
The sudden surge of nausea took Abby completely by surprise. She felt the hot, strong beverage she’d been sipping rise into the back of her throat, and gagged. Then, lifting an apologetic hand towards Lori, she almost ran into the small bathroom situated at the back of the storage area.
Once again, she was violently sick. She had little in her stomach, but that didn’t stop her from retching painfully. She was sluicing her face with cold water from the hand basin when Lori tapped on the open door.
‘Hey, Abby,’ she said, viewing her friend with some concern. ‘Are you okay?’
Abby wiped her face with a tissue and turned with a shaky smile. ‘I am now,’ she said ruefully. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise.’ Lori came to put an arm about her shoulders. ‘Does this happen often?’
‘Just today,’ said Abby, resting her hips against the basin for support. ‘I mean, I’ve felt a bit queasy for the past few days, but it’s only today that I’ve actually thrown up.’
‘So what do you think it is?’
Abby shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Something I’ve eaten, perhaps.’ She paused. ‘Do you think I should close the café?’
‘That depends.’ Lori straightened away from her. ‘Have you eaten anything dodgy recently?’
‘Well—no. Not that I can think of, anyway.’
Lori caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you couldn’t be pregnant, could you?’ she asked awkwardly. ‘You have been looking a bit—well—peaky for a couple of weeks.’
Abby stared at her in alarm. ‘Pregnant?’ she echoed. ‘I—no. Of course not.’
Lori shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘But you have been seeing that guy who’s bought Gifford’s estate, haven’t you? Luke Morelli. I recognised him the first time he came into the café weeks ago.’ She grimaced. ‘Blame it on the gossip magazines. I’ve seen his picture several times. He’s usually escorting some glamorous socialite or other to a charity function or a film premiere. You know what men like him are like.’
Just the thought of that made Abby feel sick all over again.
‘He’s quite famous, you know.’
‘Is he?’ This was a side of Luke she’d never seen. But then, how well did she really know him? Not that well at all, it seemed.
There were a few tense moments when Abby just stared at her. Then she said cautiously, ‘But how did you know I’ve been seeing him?’ and Lori sighed.
‘Greg told me,’ she admitted. ‘He’s such an old gossip. I wouldn’t have believed him, but Joan Miller said she’d seen Morelli’s car outside the café one evening a few weeks ago, when she was going to see her sister.’
Abby licked her dry lips. ‘He did call in, yes,’ she conceded with some embarrassment. And then, because something more was needed, she added, ‘I admit, I knew him before I came here, Lori. I met him—oh, years ago in London. When—when I was still married to my ex.’
‘Hey, it’s nothing to do with me,’ exclaimed Lori, evidently regretting saying anything. ‘And your being sick is probably just a bug. It’s that time of year.’
‘Yes.’
But Lori didn’t sound convinced, and nor was Abby.
Then, after a moment, the other woman added, ‘Perhaps I should tell you that Greg thinks you’re using your influence with Luke Morelli to get the development cancelled.’
‘What?’
Lori nodded. ‘He says that’s why you’ve been seeing him. That if anybody can change Morelli’s mind, it’s you.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ANGELICA RYAN, Luke’s secretary, was waiting for him when he got to the office. Usually calm and efficient, today she was looking decidedly concerned.
She’d phoned Luke earlier in the morning to inform him there was a personal letter waiting for him at the office. She’d explained it was marked ‘Private and Confidential’ and that it had been posted in Bath.
Luke, who hadn’t been planning on coming to Canary Wharf today, had decided to come and collect it. The alternative was to have a courier bring it to his house, but he’d abandoned that thought. It concerned him that it might be from his father’s doctor and he’d rather not trust the letter to anyone else.
The last time he’d seen Oliver Morelli, he’d been grumbling about the pain in his shoulder. And, although his doctor had assured him it was nothing serious, Luke knew his grandfather had suffered from angina, and that his father was afraid he was developing the same complaint.
The envelope had no distinguishing marks, however, which was a relief. In fact, it didn’t look like an official letter at all. But who would write to him here? Who did he know who might mark a letter ‘Private and Confidential’? If it was a personal letter, why hadn’t it been sent to his home address?
Going into his office, he seated himself at his desk and reached for a paper knife.
‘Can I get you anything, Mr Morelli?’
Angelica was hovering in the doorway, evidently curious to know what it was. But Luke shook his head.
‘Nothing, thanks,’ he said, pausing until she’d got the message and closed the door behind her. Then, he slit the envelope open and drew out the slip of paper inside.
* * *
Abby was on the point of closing the café.
There were only two other people on the premises and they were in the bookshop. She could hear Lori talking to them, discussing the latest bestseller. Lori was the ideal saleswoman, as she was such an avid reader herself.
When the outer door opened, Abby stiffened instinctively.
But then, she’d been on tenterhooks for the past two days. Ever since she’d sent that letter to the only address she could find for Luke, she’d been anticipating his
arrival. Knowing him, as she did, she’d been sure he wouldn’t trust any response to the phone.
And when she turned, she saw that it was indeed Luke.
He was dressed casually in jeans, with a dark green suede jacket hooked by a finger over one shoulder. He was also wearing a plain black tee, that couldn’t help but emphasise the powerful muscles in his chest and arms.
He looked hot, she thought tensely, and she didn’t mean his temperature.
‘Hi,’ he said, pausing just inside the door, and Abby was instantly aware of the sudden silence in the bookshop.
‘Hi,’ she said in response, glancing apprehensively towards that part of the premises. She was fairly sure that Lori had heard their voices and would presently appear.
Smoothing nervous hands over her hips, she glanced down at the hem of her short skirt. She should have been wearing something longer, she thought impatiently. The last thing she wanted was for Luke to think she wanted to pursue their relationship.
But she couldn’t stay behind the counter indefinitely, and she crossed quickly to the arched entrance to the bookshop. As she’d half expected, she met Lori coming towards her.
Moistening her lips, she said, ‘I’m going upstairs, Lori. Will you lock up when you’re finished?’
‘No problem,’ said Lori, not without giving Luke a speculative glance. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘Yes.’
Abby nodded and then beckoned Luke to follow her up the stairs at the back of the serving area.
Harley met them at the door. The retriever was waiting to go out. Abby usually took him for a walk at this time of the day, but he was somewhat mollified when he saw Luke.
Luke bent to scratch the dog’s ears and Abby moved past them into the small kitchenette that adjoined the main room. She was nervous. She couldn’t deny it. But she didn’t regret sending the letter, she assured herself. Not at all.
‘Coffee? Tea?’ she offered, reaching for the kettle, and Luke dropped his jacket onto the back of the sofa.