At his words and their undeniable meaning, Abby’s breath caught halfway up her throat and lodged there.
Painfully.
Cash carried on. “If it isn’t enough, you’ll come to me and we’ll discuss it. You won’t get overdrawn and you won’t get into financial trouble.”
Something painful shot through her belly at what this statement revealed he knew but he kept right on talking.
“I’ll fix up your house so it’s safe and habitable. Then we’ll rent it, the payments will go into your current account, which you won’t touch. Ever.”
“Cash,” Abby forced out on a whisper.
He ignored her. “You’ll move in with me, properly, after my aunt and uncle’s party. If you want to work, you’ll work, but I’d rather you not as I travel often and I’d prefer you were with me. This will be your choice. Any salary you bring in also goes into your current account and you won’t touch that either.”
“Stop talking,” Abby begged.
Cash didn’t listen. “You’ll stay with me for as long as what we have remains good. When it doesn’t work for one or the other of us, we’ll move on. I’ll supplement whatever you’ve accrued so that you can live safe and comfortably no matter what might befall you until the day you fucking die.”
Abby was back to not being able to breathe.
“Is that understood?” Cash asked.
She shook her head.
Cash’s brows drew together as his face darkened.
Abby bravely ignored that and asked softly, “Cash, don’t you get it? This is over.”
“It’s not fucking over,” he clipped.
Abby, finally losing control of her emotions, cried in desperation, “It’s over!”
Then he said aloud what Abby had been battling for weeks and the words lacerated the tattered remains of her heart.
“It’s the best you’ve ever had, Abby. It’s better than what you had with Ben. You know it. I know it. Stop lying to yourself and stop hiding from me. It’s not only not over, you don’t even fucking want it to be over.”
Abby’s head exploded, white lights flashing in front of her eyes, rage tearing through her system, she shrieked, “How dare you Cash Fraser! How, fucking, dare you!”
And then, crazed, she fought him, striking out blindly with her fists, kicking with her legs.
It took him awhile to contain her, so frenzied was her battle, but he caught her wrists, controlling her angry pummelling. She kept at him, testing his strength, bucking and kicking, not attempting to get away but wanting to hurt him as much as she hurt.
Which was a lot.
Too much.
Too much not to let some of it go.
Then something occurred to her, registering on her brain as she watched the muscles in his arms move and flex. She felt the heat of him, the strength of him, the weight of the thigh he threw over hers, pinning her legs. She heard his breathing. She smelled his scent.
He was alive, he was real, he was solid.
And her anger turned to something else, a new kind of desperation as she pushed at his hands at her wrists in a different way, her neck twisting, her mouth finding his jaw, her tongue tasting him. Her lips moved up his jaw and found his already opened and her tongue darted in.
He released her hands and his arms moved around her, pulling her tight to him. She pushed off on her foot, rolling him to his back. Crawling on top of him, she used her mouth and hands on him, everywhere, gently setting his hands away any time he tried to touch her.
This was all about Cash. Alive Cash. Breathing Cash. Warm Cash. Just Cash.
Only when she finally straddled him, wrapping her fingers around him and guiding him inside, did she allow him to touch her. He knifed to sitting, one of his arms around her, his fingers twisting in her hair, pulling her head back, arching her neck.
She moved on top of him urgently, his mouth at her neck, her chest, and it didn’t take long before she exploded, feeling him take over her strokes with his hands lifting and pressing on her hips, his insistent rhythm prolonging her third orgasm of the morning until he slammed her down one last time and joined her.
She’d barely caught her breath when his fingers thrust into her hair at her scalp and he tilted her face towards his.
His mouth on hers, he declared harshly, “It’s not fucking over.”
The battle was lost.
Even Abby wasn’t stupid enough not to know that.
Therefore, she nodded her head.
“Say it,” he demanded.
Abby closed her eyes tight and his hand fisted in her hair.
“Abby, fucking say it,” he repeated.
Her eyes opened slowly and she whispered, “It’s not over.”
All of a sudden she was flying through the air only to land on her back with Cash covering her.
His mouth came to hers again and his voice was rougher, deeper, throatier when he informed her, “Darling, you just made me a promise. And you better fucking believe that I’m holding you to it.”
Before she could respond, he kissed her, hard, deep, long and wet.
And when he was done, again before she could get a word in, before she could even catch her breath, he stated, “I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. Somewhere nice. Be ready at seven.”
She stared at him, unable to speak.
“Abby, did you hear me?” he asked.
She nodded.
His eyes travelled over her face and she watched, captivated, as they grew warm and the hardness in his expression went soft.
His hand came to the side of her face and his thumb slid along her cheekbone.
“I know you’re terrified,” he murmured gently. “But I promise you aren’t going to lose me until one of us is ready to be lost.”
She hated it that he knew her thoughts, no matter how she strived to keep them hidden.
Tears filled her eyes and she sucked in her lips before she whispered, “You can’t make that promise, Cash.”
His mouth touched hers, his eyes open then he said, “I just did.”
He moved away, pulled her properly into the bed, covering her with the sheet.
She watched, mind again blank, as he dressed and came back to her.
He didn’t say a word as he slid the hair off her neck, leaned in and kissed her there.
But instead of leaving, like he normally did, his fingers curled around her neck, his eyes caught hers and held them.
He looked at her, silent, for what seemed like years but was only moments before his fingers gave a gentle squeeze.
He turned out the light and then he was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
The Warriors Assemble
Abby parked on the street across from her house.
She couldn’t park in her drive, there were three white vans parked there.
And she couldn’t park in front of her house, a skip containing a distressing amount of debris was sitting there.
As she got out of her car, a man walked out her front door carrying a toilet. She watched as he went straight to the skip and hefted it over the side.
She winced when she heard the toilet crash into the skip.
“All right?” he called and her eyes went from her toilet, which she hadn’t realised until that moment held sentimental value, to the man.
“All right,” she called back.
Then, before she could witness more, she hightailed it to Mrs. Truman’s.
Mrs. Truman had the door open before Abby’s foot hit the first step on her stoop.