nature loose (or, looser,
as her father would say), things changed.
A few years
after college, she met Ben and she didn’t think about it much until
later, until they all started commenting on it.
Even the day
before he died, Ben had mentioned it.
“I married a
pretty lady,” he’d whispered in her ear that morning, his voice
husky because it was right after they’d made love, “what’d you do
with her?”
Abby had
twisted her head and kissed his neck.
“What do you
mean? She’s right here,” she’d whispered back, tightening her arms
which were wrapped around him.
He’d lifted his
big body up on his elbows and framed her face with his hands.
“No. What I got
right here isn’t a pretty lady,” his face was serious, then his
mouth descended to touch hers and against her lips, he said, “she’s
a beauty.”
He hadn’t been
joking and to that day, standing in Harvey Nichols with Jenny and
knowing it was one of the last things he ever said to her, Abby
treasured that memory and equally treasured knowing, before he
died, that her husband thought he’d been married to a beauty.
But the picture
with Cash was something else.
After Ben, Abby really didn’t think of the way she looked. She couldn’t care
less.
But wearing her
“Smoky Evening” look and her expensive shoes and her grandmother’s
elegant cape, she looked like she belonged on movie-star-gorgeous
Cash Fraser’s arm.
And if Jenny
was flipping out, Abby was freaking out.
“It’s a good
picture,” Jenny whispered and Abby felt her throat get tight.
“Yeah,” Abby
agreed.
Jenny cleared
her own throat and commented, “He’s hot.”
Her friend
didn’t know the half of it.
And for the
first time in their friendship, Abby didn’t share.
She was
terrified of what Jenny would say if she knew the confused,
illicit, guilt-ridden feelings she had about Cash.
Feelings she
shouldn’t have.
Feelings she
wasn’t entitled to have.
Feelings that
would lead nowhere because firstly, her heart belonged to a dead
man and secondly, she was the other man’s whore.
And Jenny, who
adored Ben, would never forgive her for betraying him.
Maybe with
someone she met in some normal way, at a pub, at a party, walking
down the street.
Not with
Cash Fraser.
Instead, Abby
asked, “Okay, so what does a girl wear to make dinner for an
international, hot guy, spy hunter?”
Jenny kept
slapping hangers, staring down at the clothes with a discerning,
determined eye, clearly on a mission, and muttered, “No clue.”
Abby started to
move to another rail. “We’ll figure it out.”
And they
would.
Because they
always did.
Chapter
Five
Sleeping with
Cash
Upon opening
the door to his home, Cash smelled the food and it was instantly
apparent that Abby could cook.
He also heard
the music.
It was hard not
to. The neighbours could likely hear the music.
This was
because it was loud.
He threw his
overcoat around the newel post and headed to the back of the
stairs, rounded the wall and then down the backstairs toward the
kitchen which was at garden level.
He was late,
tied up at work. He’d called and told her this fact. She was
already at his house when he’d phoned and she didn’t seem to mind
that he’d be home at nine rather than seven, as he’d told Moira to
tell her he’d be.
He did
mind.
Further, he
minded that she obviously didn’t.
Now it was a
quarter after nine and it sounded like she was having a blowout
party attended by rock stars, groupies and their various and
assorted roadies and hangers on.
He made it to
the garden level of his three-story townhouse to see, thankfully,
she was not having a party.
Instead she was
reading a magazine.
When he bought
his house in Bath and started renovations, he’d had this level torn
out so most of it was open plan. Then he’d hired an interior
designer who designed the space for him.
Against the
back wall there was a modern, black, chrome and stainless
as her father would say), things changed.
A few years
after college, she met Ben and she didn’t think about it much until
later, until they all started commenting on it.
Even the day
before he died, Ben had mentioned it.
“I married a
pretty lady,” he’d whispered in her ear that morning, his voice
husky because it was right after they’d made love, “what’d you do
with her?”
Abby had
twisted her head and kissed his neck.
“What do you
mean? She’s right here,” she’d whispered back, tightening her arms
which were wrapped around him.
He’d lifted his
big body up on his elbows and framed her face with his hands.
“No. What I got
right here isn’t a pretty lady,” his face was serious, then his
mouth descended to touch hers and against her lips, he said, “she’s
a beauty.”
He hadn’t been
joking and to that day, standing in Harvey Nichols with Jenny and
knowing it was one of the last things he ever said to her, Abby
treasured that memory and equally treasured knowing, before he
died, that her husband thought he’d been married to a beauty.
But the picture
with Cash was something else.
After Ben, Abby really didn’t think of the way she looked. She couldn’t care
less.
But wearing her
“Smoky Evening” look and her expensive shoes and her grandmother’s
elegant cape, she looked like she belonged on movie-star-gorgeous
Cash Fraser’s arm.
And if Jenny
was flipping out, Abby was freaking out.
“It’s a good
picture,” Jenny whispered and Abby felt her throat get tight.
“Yeah,” Abby
agreed.
Jenny cleared
her own throat and commented, “He’s hot.”
Her friend
didn’t know the half of it.
And for the
first time in their friendship, Abby didn’t share.
She was
terrified of what Jenny would say if she knew the confused,
illicit, guilt-ridden feelings she had about Cash.
Feelings she
shouldn’t have.
Feelings she
wasn’t entitled to have.
Feelings that
would lead nowhere because firstly, her heart belonged to a dead
man and secondly, she was the other man’s whore.
And Jenny, who
adored Ben, would never forgive her for betraying him.
Maybe with
someone she met in some normal way, at a pub, at a party, walking
down the street.
Not with
Cash Fraser.
Instead, Abby
asked, “Okay, so what does a girl wear to make dinner for an
international, hot guy, spy hunter?”
Jenny kept
slapping hangers, staring down at the clothes with a discerning,
determined eye, clearly on a mission, and muttered, “No clue.”
Abby started to
move to another rail. “We’ll figure it out.”
And they
would.
Because they
always did.
Chapter
Five
Sleeping with
Cash
Upon opening
the door to his home, Cash smelled the food and it was instantly
apparent that Abby could cook.
He also heard
the music.
It was hard not
to. The neighbours could likely hear the music.
This was
because it was loud.
He threw his
overcoat around the newel post and headed to the back of the
stairs, rounded the wall and then down the backstairs toward the
kitchen which was at garden level.
He was late,
tied up at work. He’d called and told her this fact. She was
already at his house when he’d phoned and she didn’t seem to mind
that he’d be home at nine rather than seven, as he’d told Moira to
tell her he’d be.
He did
mind.
Further, he
minded that she obviously didn’t.
Now it was a
quarter after nine and it sounded like she was having a blowout
party attended by rock stars, groupies and their various and
assorted roadies and hangers on.
He made it to
the garden level of his three-story townhouse to see, thankfully,
she was not having a party.
Instead she was
reading a magazine.
When he bought
his house in Bath and started renovations, he’d had this level torn
out so most of it was open plan. Then he’d hired an interior
designer who designed the space for him.
Against the
back wall there was a modern, black, chrome and stainless
Similar Books
