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.