Abby was thinking about what he said before she came. She had no clue what he was thinking.
Then he told her.
“I’m going to fuck you in every room in this house.”
Her head tilted back to look at him.
“Tonight?” she whispered in disbelief.
His chin dipped down, she could see the flash of white where his mouth was indicating he was smiling.
His lips touched hers before he replied, “Darling, as much as I love it that you’d think I’d be up to such a staggering feat, I’ll take my time.”
She immediately felt like an idiot. Of course he wasn’t going to do it in one night. In fact, at that moment, there were five other people in the house (not to mention a latent ghost). They couldn’t even get to every room of the house.
Feeling embarrassed, she tucked her head under his chin. When she did, his arms tightened and immediately she felt the embarrassment slide away.
They were again silent.
Eventually he called, “Abby.”
“Mm,” she replied.
“Thank you for telling me everything you told me tonight.”
It was her turn for her arms to steal around him and give him a squeeze.
“I should have said something earlier.”
“It wasn’t easy to say,” he replied.
“Still,” she muttered.
His arms gave her a mild shake before he commanded, “Darling, look at me.” Abby tilted her head back again to peer at him in the dark. When he continued, his voice was soft and rough and very effective. “It wasn’t easy to find the right time and it wasn’t easy to find the right words. You did both. Thank you.”
She stared at his shadowed but still handsome face and whispered, “You’re welcome.”
His face tipped until their foreheads were touching and he slid his nose alongside hers.
When he did Abby closed her eyes and committed every nuance of that moment to memory.
Then he murmured, “Unless you have any other bright ideas, maybe we should go to bed.”
She opened her eyes, bit her lip and thought about it a second, finally informing him, “Nope. No other bright ideas.”
He laughed softly, lifted her up as he stood and put her on her feet.
Then he took her to bed.
When she was pressed into his side in their big, curtained bed, in a big, imposing castle (his big, imposing castle), close to dreamland and feeling that peace spread through her that only Cash had been able to give her for many a year, she heard him speak.
“I meant what I said.”
“Pardon?” she mumbled.
“When you were about to come. What I said. I meant it.”
She felt her body go tight as all thoughts of sleep fled.
Then she felt her belly get warm.
Quietly, she shared, “The first time I saw you, I almost ran away.”
Surprisingly he responded, “I know.”
Abby forced her body to relax and after she succeeded in that monumental task, she snuggled closer.
Moments slid by.
Finally, taking her heart in her hands and hoping with everything she was that Cash would know what to do with it, she whispered, “I’m glad I didn’t.”
His arm around her waist tensed and he replied, “I am too.”
Yes, he knew what to do with it.
Abby smiled against his shoulder, cuddled the last smidgeon closer and fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Losing Abby
Cash was in the library, his eyes swiftly scanning the books.
If Honor had found clues to Vivianna Wainwright in the library, Cash thought there might be something she’d missed. Something that might give him insight into how to defeat a fucking ghost. Something that might help him to feel a little less fucking useless.
Cash Fraser’s thoughts were sprinkled liberally with the f-word such was his mood.
He’d left Abby at the breakfast table with Nicola, Fenella and Honor.
He didn’t want to but once the conversation turned to catering and flowers, Abby saw his impatience and urged him to go.
He refused.
Abby enlisted Nicola and Nicola urged him to go.
He wanted to refuse but he didn’t.
Cash felt there was something wrong with Nicola. She had a fragility about her that was atypical.
However, Cash didn’t have time to worry about Nicola when his thoughts were centred on Abby and what was to happen that night.
He’d left Abby only after pulling her to him and engaging in a lips-to-ear whispered conversation that, to any who observed it, would look like lover’s talk.
Instead it was Cash telling Abby if she left Nicola’s fucking side he’d not be responsible for his actions.
After biting her lip (this time, Cash could swear, it was to hide a smile, although he had no fucking clue what there was to smile about), Abby agreed.
Only then did Cash leave.
He spied an unusual book, thin and old, pulled it from its shelf and leafed through it, finding it was a (bad) epic poem about the Civil War.
He replaced the book and his mind went back to Abby.
He had, he realised, been wrong. He’d thought he had her that first weekend they were together.
He hadn’t had her then.
He knew this because he had her now.
All of her.
The all of her he saw that she gave her husband in their wedding photo.
And the feeling of having all of Abby was something Cash had not anticipated.
He should have. She’d given him clues. Hell, she’d given him clues from the first day they’d met.
He, of course, thought she was a professional escort. So when she’d wiped the gloss from his lips at the pub and leaned into him in an affectionate way when he put on her cape on their first date, he thought it was a show.
It wasn’t.
It was just Abby.
The night she’d thought he was in an accident, her guard came crashing down.
Quickly after she invited him in, laughing in abandon with her face turned up to his; calling him for no reason (and then hilariously expecting him to carry the conversation); squeezing his thigh comfortingly when he was angry; curling in his lap to be close when she had to share hard facts but in a gentle way; leading him to the study and asking him to fuck her on the desk, that was Abby.
All of Abby.
All for him.
On this thought, for some unknown reason, Cash’s mood turned darker and he wondered if Benjamin Butler had any time to think before he’d died. To think about his wife. To think about leaving such an exquisite creature behind. To think about how fucking lucky he’d been and how abhorrent it was that their time was cut short.
Cash hoped he had not.
His mind occupied with Abby’s dead husband suddenly Cash felt a warm draught against his ankles.
He looked down and saw nothing.
He looked to the door. It was, as he left it, open.
He looked to the window. It was, as he’d entered, closed.
The draught ascended the length of his body, curling around.
Cash took a step back and it disappeared.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, thinking the situation with Abby, the castle and the ghost was screwing with his head.
On that thought, the draught came back, circling his wrist in an odd way, almost but also strangely not, putting pressure there as if to lift his hand.
He took another step away.
“Here he is!” Cash heard Fenella screech and the draught disappeared.
He turned to the door to see her entering, yanking her mother behind her, Abby following, Honor coming up the rear.
Abby’s sentries.
Cash stared at them.
Then he repeated, “Fucking hell.”
“Well, I knew he couldn’t have gone far,” Abby stated, rushing forward.