Penmort Castle

Chapter Eleven The Fight

Abigail Butler was in a tizzy.

No, that wasn’t correct, she was in three tizzies.

Firstly, and probably least importantly (but at that particular moment, it was the one that was most flipping her out), she had no clue what to wear to dinner with Cash’s family that night at Penmort Castle.

Abby’s Mom was English and growing up Abby had spent most of her vacations in England. After Abby married, she and Ben came to visit Gram as often as they could. There was also the fact that she’d lived there for over a year. And England, being England, had its fair share of castles.

Therefore Abby had seen a great number of them. She’d even visited several. Some of which had given tours.

She had, however, never eaten dinner in one of them.

And therefore she had no earthly clue what to wear.

The second tizzy was caused by the distressing phone call she’d received that day from a friend of hers in DC.

Abby, being tremendously stupid, hadn’t thought about what people she knew would think if they saw pictures of her and Cash in the press.

In fact, it hadn’t even crossed her mind.

But then Lori phoned from DC, breathless and excited to hear Abby’s spectacular news; news about the new man in her life; news about the new man in her life who happened to be a Famous, Super-Sexy, International Industrial Spy Hunter. And lastly, news that Lori felt entitled to seeing as she was Abby’s friend.

This distressing phone call had the disturbing information that Lori had seen a photo of Cash unsuccessfully shielding Abby from the camera while letting them into his house the night of their moonlit stroll in Bath.

Abby’s luck, indisputably bad, meant that Lori didn’t see a picture of them walking or talking or eating dinner.

No.

It had to be a photo of them at night, Cash protecting her gallantly from the camera’s glare while letting them into his home. It had to be a photo that served Cash’s purpose, showing the world that they’d already passed “the first part” (the casual-dating, getting-to-know-you part) and were well into “the second part” (the not-casual-at-all, spending-the-night, clearly-lovers part).

Lori had been in throes of ecstasy about the very idea of Abby with famous, wealthy, unbelievably gorgeous Cash Fraser. But what made matters worse was that she was beyond thrilled that Abby had “finally moved on” from Ben and was clearly starting the next, exciting chapter in her life.

Abby didn’t know what to say. In fact, she didn’t even know what to feel.

In a lucky twist, she didn’t have to say much of anything since Lori would not shut up.

Which brought Abby to her last tizzy.

The Tizzy to end all Tizzies.

That morning she and Cash had had a fight.

Not just a fight but a rip-roaring, voices-raised, unpleasant-words-spoken clash.

She should not, she figured, be fighting with her client. She reckoned most experienced escorts avoided doing that.

But it had happened.

And now she was both angry and worried.

Angry at what Cash had said though, if she was honest with herself (which she found excruciatingly difficult to be at that juncture), none of it was untrue. And angry with herself for feeling anything at all.

And worried about so many things she couldn’t count them all.

She didn’t like to fight with anyone and she found that fighting with Cash hurt. It hurt a lot. And their fight had been ugly and she’d caused it, so that made it hurt more.

She also worried that they wouldn’t get passed this even though they had to carry on with their arrangement.

And she worried what it meant that she felt too much, way too much, for Cash.

Enough to get in a passionate verbal battle in the first place much less feel the hurt after it had happened and further to feel pain that the reason it happened was because she may have wounded him.

Abby reviewed her situation.

On a Sunday, she’d met him at the pub to negotiate “the arrangement”.

Their first “date” was on a Monday.

And they’d made love on Thursday night.

Then on Friday, after she’d stupid, stupid, stupidly had sex with him, breaking her own rule and altering their arrangement, everything changed.

It changed for Abby and she was relatively certain it also changed for Cash.

Friday, his assistant Moira had called and said he’d be working late but home by eight. Moira told Abby that Cash wanted dinner in. Moira also informed her that Abby would be spending the weekend at Cash’s.

Abby didn’t like Moira calling her instead of Cash. It scared her, especially having her “orders” come from Moira right after Abby had (stupidly) allowed their relationship to get intimate.

Abby worried about it all day while the bathroom fitters were banging away and she was wandering the rooms with little paint pots, painting patches on the walls so she’d know what shades she wanted when the time came to decorate.

While slapping paint on the walls, she worried that now that he had her, the challenge had been won and he’d lost interest.

He was Cash Fraser, she reminded herself. He could have anyone, undoubtedly very easily, even her as he’d proved.

She worried, as it was the best sex she ever had (okay, so it was the best three sexual experiences she’d ever had), both in the pleasure-sense and in a way that seemed weirdly more profound, a way Abby refused, in her current state of turmoil, to fully explore, that Cash hadn’t felt the same.

Further, she worried that it was the best sex she’d ever had and what that said about her and also what that said about how she felt about Ben.

Ben and Abby had had a full, satisfying and happy sex life. Ben had been a very good lover, at the time Abby thought he was great.

But what she had with Cash transcended great, going straight to amazing.

Further to that, she worried about worrying about Cash not thinking it was amazing and what that said.

Friday night, she made sure she was at his house in plenty of time to make him dinner. She was careful to make something nice, better than pasta shells, but not too nice which would say she was trying too hard. She also went back to her Dinner at Cash’s House Look, jeans, a nice sweater and for courage, her makeup was done in “Carefree Splendour” (casual with a hint of glamour).

She heard the door open upstairs at ten past eight and she found to her agony that she was nervous as a teenager on her first date.

She was listening to Billie Holiday turned down low and freaking out about her decision to buy, and bring, a few scented candles which she had lit.

His home, although gorgeous, had zero personal touches and she thought it could use some. Furthermore, she liked candles and knew the scent would soothe her.

But as she heard Cash approach, she looked around and it seemed like she was both being way too familiar in adding anything to his house when this was not her place and that she looked like she was trying to strike a mood.

Before she could dash through the room, blow them out, toss them in the rubbish and turn off Billie singing the blues, she saw his legs on the stairs.

Bloody hell, she thought as he came into view, wearing a charcoal grey suit, a forest green shirt and a great tie which made her wonder (somewhat frantically but also not for the first time) if he just had good taste in clothing or if he had a personal shopper.

He was carrying a large, glossy bag containing various-sized, thin but wide, boxes.

She didn’t think about the bag, she thought instead about how to stop herself from fainting.

He stepped off the last stair and, eyes on her, walked to the comfy seating area off the kitchen and put the bag on a chair. Then he shrugged off his suit jacket and that joined it. Then he tugged off his tie and that joined it as well.

He was turned to her and in the process of unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt, he spoke.

“What’s the matter?” he asked and her body jerked when his deep voice hit the room.

“What?” she queried, her mind blank.

His hands, finished with his buttons, went to rest on his hips.

“What’s the matter?” he repeated.

Her brain decided to function and, trying to sound calm (and fearing it didn’t work), she replied, “Nothing’s the matter.”

“Then why are you standing across the room staring at me like I’m a dread serial killer and you’re in my clutches?” His voice was bland, his words filled with dry humour.

Abby, however, didn’t laugh.

“I am not,” Abby returned but his words told her that she’d failed at sounding or appearing calm.

She watched in fascination as his face took on a warm, soft look.

Normally, he looked amazing.

When he smiled, he was breath-takingly handsome.

When he laughed, the world seemed to stop.

That look beat all of them.

“Abby, come here,” he said gently.

On shaking legs she did as he commanded.

When she got close enough, his arms went around her loosely and he held her close but not too close.

In his deeper, throatier, sexier brogue, he demanded, “Now, tell me, what’s the matter?”

And for some unhinged reason, Abby blurted, “You had Moira call me.”

His head gave a small jerk then tilted slightly to the side. “I’m sorry?”

“Moira, your assistant?” she said on a question as if he didn’t know his own assistant’s name. “She called me today,” she explained and went on, “you didn’t.”

Cash stared at her a moment and Abby held her breath.

Then she watched as he threw his head back and let out a deep, rich bark of laughter before his arms closed tightly around her, crushing her body to his. His head came down and he buried his face in her neck.

Still laughing against her neck, he muttered, “I see.”

She pushed her body back and twisted her head to look at him. “You see what?”

He was still smiling when his head came up and his eyes locked on hers. “I see you’re pissed off that I didn’t call.”

“No, I –” she started but his arms gave her a gentle squeeze, effectively silencing her.

“I was in meetings all day. Unfortunately what I do means I have a lot of meetings. Even though I’d vastly prefer to be on the phone talking to you, or listening to the crazy shit that goes on in your house, sometimes I won’t be able to call.” One of his hands came up and gave her neck that gentle squeeze she liked way too damned much. “Abby, you’re going to have to get used to that.”

She felt a tremor slide through her body at his words and it wasn’t a tremor of fear.

“Get used to it?” she whispered, wondering what he meant.

His lips touched hers then he said, “Yes. You’re going to have to get used to it.” And he obviously wasn’t going to say any more, as in explain what on God’s green earth he was talking about, because he let her go and casually walked into the kitchen while saying, “I’m getting a drink. You open your boxes.”

For what seemed like years (but obviously wasn’t) she stared at his back as he moved around the kitchen pouring himself a whisky.

Then she looked at the bag with the boxes.

Then she looked back to him.

“My boxes?” she asked.

Back still to her, he took a sip from his whisky while standing in front of an attractive, modern, stainless steel wine rack, pulling out bottles and inspecting them, before shoving them back and he said, “In the bag. Those are for you.”

She sucked in breath and her eyes went back to the boxes.

“For me?” she whispered but he didn’t answer. He’d found what he was looking for and went about the task of opening a bottle of red wine.

On legs that felt like they were made of wood, Abby moved to the boxes and found there were three. She pulled them out and, one-by-one, unveiled three robes.

One was tailored in a man’s style but it was made from a sumptuous pink silk so pale it was almost, but not quite, colourless. The next was a long, cream, cotton, waffle-weave but its lapel was smooth. The last was also long but this one was made of the finest, dove grey cashmere, luxuriously soft to the touch.

Abby stood frozen, the lush cashmere in her hands, and she didn’t wonder why Cash was giving her presents. She also didn’t wonder why those presents were all robes.

All she could think was that she’d always wanted a cashmere robe.

Always.

During the good times with Ben in all her spending she’d never bought herself one. She could explain away purchasing expensive shoes, handbags and pieces of jewellery with a variety of womanly excuses but spending hundreds of dollars on a robe you wouldn’t wear out of the house seemed over the top.

And she knew exactly how much it cost. She’d looked covetously at many of them and not one had cost less than multiple hundreds.

And the one in her hands was of a superior quality to any of the ones she’d seen.

“Abby?” she heard Cash call and her head shot up.

He was standing at the end of the counter, his weight resting on one hand, the fingers of his other hand curled around his whisky glass, his eyes were on her.

“I –” she felt her throat close which she thought at that moment was a good thing as she had no idea what to say. She cleared her throat, the pertinent question springing into her head and she asked, “Why?”

His face went hard and for one frightening second, she thought he was angry.

Then when he spoke, she realised it wasn’t anger but a very scary resolve.

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.

And she’d just gone three, almost three entire days of not thinking about Ben.

Worse, except returning a few texts from Jenny (all of Abby’s responses vague), she was not only avoiding her friend but keeping things from her.

Which meant for the first time in her life, Abby had no one to talk to about her experiences, her troubles and, most importantly, her guilt.

She’d always had Jenny, who as best girlfriends do either happily shared the burden by just listening or gave good advice.

It was then, Abby came to a conclusion.

That Monday afternoon, Abby called Jenny and asked her to come over the next day and help her find a Going-to-a-Haunted-Castle-Outfit. She also promised her friend that they’d talk.

And, Abby decided, they would because this business with Cash was done.

Over.

She would be his pretend girlfriend and she’d be his whore. He’d paid for both.

What she wouldn’t do was forget what she was to him and allow herself to enjoy it.

The first would be even stupider than she normally was and the second made her feel even worse about what she’d become.

So she’d admit to her confused feelings to Jenny and Jenny would help her find strength. Jenny always did.

And Abby would somehow find a way to do what she was being paid to do for Cash but keep herself firmly detached.

As ordered, Abby had been in Cash’s bed that night when he got home late and woke her briefly when he turned her drowsy, pliant body into his warm, hard one.

“You’re home safe,” she’d whispered, soft relief in her voice, not yet steeled against him as she was mostly asleep.

“Yes, love,” he’d murmured, “go back to sleep.”

Immediately cuddling into him, she’d done as she was told.

It was the next morning that they had their gargantuan, knock-down, drag-out, fight.

Something made her wake early. Earlier even than Cash who routinely woke at what Abby considered alarming hours.

Upon waking she realised she was, as she’d made a habit of doing, snuggled into him. This time tucked into his side, head on his shoulder, arm wrapped around his belly.

Unusually, her brain started functioning instantly. She looked at the clock to see it was just before five and she moved carefully away. She got up and went to the bathroom, going about her morning business, even to the point of brushing her teeth, washing her face and showering.

She walked out of the bathroom wearing her new cashmere robe, her wet hair combed back. She was determined to make coffee and be in the kitchen when he descended, ready to make him breakfast before he left for work.

Not be available to him for the activities in which he liked to engage when he woke. Activities she liked too. Activities that might weaken her resolve.

The problem was, when she came out of the bathroom, the light was on and Cash was awake, alert and lying on his side in the bed. He was up on elbow, head resting in his hand, covers down around his waist, his sleek chest in full view and, lastly, his dark eyes were on her. He had that warm, soft expression on his face that he’d shown her the night he’d given her the robes.

Her firm resolve to be Abigail Butler, Skilled but Detached Full-Time Escort and Part-Time Whore slipped a notch at the sight of him and she had to quickly fortify her defences.

“You’re awake,” she announced unnecessarily and he gave her a lazy smile.

At his smile, Abby’s puny defences crashed down in a humiliating heap and she was forced early on to dig into her reserves.

“It looks good on you,” he said instead of commenting on her inane remark.

Abby stopped at the foot of the bed and asked, “Pardon?”

His head dipped toward her but other than that he didn’t move.

However when he spoke, his voice was that deep, throaty, rich that she liked so very much. “The dressing gown, it looks good on you.”

Abby swallowed then replied, “Thank you.”

“Why are you up?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she lied.

“You should have woken me, we could have showered together,” he told her.

At the thought of showering with him (which they’d done on Sunday morning and she’d enjoyed it, like, a lot), she found herself digging even deeper into those reserves. She also found this a little concerning considering their conversation had lasted less than five minutes and she was already losing her willpower.

Before she could announce her intention to go make coffee and politely suggest she’d bring him a cup which she thought would be a nice touch, he pushed up from his elbow.

“Come here,” he said softly as he swung his legs around and got out of bed.

He walked to the armchair by the window, grabbed his suit jacket and when she got close he took her hand, led her back to the bed and seated himself on it, tugging her into his lap.

His lap was definitely not where she wanted to be if she wanted to keep herself distant from him but she also had to keep up the charade.

However, Abby’s brain decided it didn’t like the charade all that much and registered how nice it was to sit in his lap. Her brain also took that opportunity to remind her about other nice things about Cash that she liked.

She absently noted his hands were doing something with his suit jacket but she was deep in thought. She was digging way deep to harden herself against the fact that she liked sitting in his lap and all the other things she liked about him besides.

She came back to the room when he leaned into her and tossed his jacket so it landed back on the chair.

And she felt her eyes grow wide just as she felt her body go still when she saw the long, slim, royal-blue, velvet box in his hand.

An unmistakable kind of box.

The kind of box that held jewellery.

Expensive jewellery.

“Cash,” she whispered as he forced it to click open with his thumb and her breath lodged in her throat at what she saw.

He took out a delicate diamonds-in-platinum bracelet.

Not a tacky, ostentatious one but instead it was subtle and striking, with slim links separated by tasteful, not overly large (but not small by a long shot) diamonds.

He tossed the box carelessly on the bed and his fingers wrapped around her arm below the elbow, slowly drifting down to her wrist. He lifted it and placed the bracelet around her wrist as Abby stared at his hands, concentrating on breathing.

“We were going into the meeting,” he murmured while working the clasp, “I saw this in a window. It made me think of you so I sent Moira in to get it.”

Abby failed at concentrating on her breathing. Her lungs burned their demand for oxygen but she couldn’t for the life of her remember how to give it to them.

Cash finished fastening the bracelet on her wrist but he wasn’t done. He brought her wrist to his mouth and he kissed her gently, his lips brushing the sensitive skin on the inside.

For a moment Abby almost pressed her hand against his face. She almost leaned in to press her lips to his. She almost burst into tears.

His eyes came to her, they travelled over her face and he must have read her intent because his expression got soft before his arms went around her and he whispered, “You can thank me now.”

The breath came back to her lungs and with it came something she didn’t know she had in her.

It was something ugly but useful, if she intended to guard her thoughts, her emotions, and, if she was honest, her heart.

It was something that made her say, “And what form of gratitude does a diamond bracelet buy you?”

She watched his face go blank and his arms seemed to convulse around her.

Then she watched, with no small concern, as his eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry?” he asked and his voice had an edge, an edge that said quite clearly she should be very careful with her answer.

She wasn’t.

“The bracelet,” she replied, shaking her wrist as if to remind him, “I just want to be certain what I owe you for the bracelet.”

She watched a muscle jump in his jaw and it took everything she had not to jump off his lap.

Or worse, beg him to let her take it back.

“Would you care,” he said, very slowly and equally dangerously, “to tell me what the fuck you’re on about?”

Even sensing he was angrier than she’d ever seen him before, and it was not in doubt that Cash Fraser had a formidable temper, she kept playing her game. “I’m not on about anything. I just don’t want any surprises. I like to know what’s expected of me, you know that.”

He watched her for a moment before he stated, “Something’s changed.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Abby returned.

His arms got tighter on hearing her lie. “Something’s. Fucking. Changed.”

Oh dear Lord, Abby thought. He was saying “fuck”.

He didn’t shy away from using that word. Except when he was angry he used it a different way.

And he was using it that way now which Abby knew wasn’t good.

She ignored his ominous use of the f-word and repeated her bald-faced lie, “Nothing has changed.”

His eyes were still narrow, his brows were drawn and he watched her mouth while she was speaking as if it was fascinating in its hideousness.

“Yesterday,” he said, his words still slow and dangerous as he went on, “I left you sweet and smiling in my bed and now you’re acting like a common whore.”

That stung but Abby hid it and returned coldly, “I’m not a common whore, Cash. I’m an uncommon one. You know that too because you made it so.”

At that he moved swiftly. So swiftly, her breath flew from her lungs.

She was on her back on the bed, sucking in air and he was on his side looming over her threateningly when he clipped, “You opened your legs for me Abby, you begged me to come inside. I didn’t fucking make you a whore.”

“Really? Then why did you pay me after with hundreds of pounds worth of new robes?” she replied acidly.

She hoped to all that was holy that she hid the fear that shot through her when she saw his face darken.

“That wasn’t fucking payment,” Cash growled.

“It seemed like it to me,” Abby retorted, making her awful lie sound real and, as intended, she successfully struck her target.

His darkening face turned thunderous.

“You’re a fucking piece of work,” he snarled, pushing off her and exiting the bed muttering, “unbelievable.”

At that point, Abby should have kept quiet.

She really should have.

But Abby often did stupid things so she didn’t.

Instead, scrambling off the bed, she asked when she’d gained her feet, “It was a simple question, Cash. Why do you sound so surprised?”

His dark eyes speared her and he answered, “Now, that’s a good question, darling, why am I so surprised?”

Abby watched, holding her ground with effort, as he came close, so close he was an inch away.

Then he dealt a deadly verbal blow. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve made it perfectly clear you’re determined to hold onto a dead man so given time to shut down, you fucking took it.”

And that’s when Abby lost her phony cool composure and also lost her temper. Not solely angry at Cash and what he said but also angry at herself because she was so, embarrassingly, transparent.

“I don’t believe you just said that!” she snapped, her voice rising and becoming shrill.

“Believe it, Abby,” he clipped back, his voice rising at the same time it dipped deep.

Her voice was no longer rising, it was loud when she yelled, “You don’t know a thing about me!”

His face moved close to hers and he returned crudely, “I know I can make you forget him when my mouth is between your legs.”

“Oh my God!” Abby screeched, arms straight down, hands balled into fists in an effort not to slap him.

But he carried on. “And I know you’re full of shit. I know this whole act is full of shit. You’re terrified. He died and then you sacrificed yourself to him but you didn’t have the fucking courage to slit your wrists to join him, did you Abby?” She gasped at his cruel question but he didn’t give her time to answer. “Instead you’ve done the next best thing. I don’t know how you’ve managed to so royally fuck up your life to get where you are now. I do know you’re pretty fucking comfortable letting a man pay for your company but you’re scared shitless of giving it away.”

“Don’t think, Mr. Fraser, with all the clever skills at your command, that you can actually read my mind while you fuck me,” she shouted.

“Darling,” he shot back tersely, “I didn’t have to fuck you to read you. You’re an open fucking book.”

“Don’t call me darling,” Abby snapped.

“I paid for you, Abby, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” he bit back.

It was at that point Abby realised she was breathing heavily and so was Cash.

She stared at him, heart beating, breath coming fast. He held her glare and returned it until Abby could take no more.

She looked over his shoulder and asked with saccharine sweetness, “If you’re through with me this morning, Mr. Fraser, I’d like to go home.”

She let out a shocked gasp when his hand closed around her neck and he jerked her forward, her body slamming into his and his face coming within a breath of her own.

“I’m through with you Abby, for now. But you better fucking be ready tonight. Six o’clock. I’ll pick you up at your house and if you make me wait, there’ll be consequences.”

“I’ll be ready,” she snapped.

“Wear the fucking bracelet,” he returned, his beautiful voice had turned ugly, “and don’t wear any fucking underwear. You want to know the price of that bracelet? It’s you sitting next to me at dinner and me knowing the whole time there’ll be no obstacles when I fuck you after taking you home.”

And on that successful parting shot, he let her go and strode to the bathroom, the door clicking sharply behind him.

And Abby didn’t hesitate in dressing and slamming out of the house. She ran on her high-heeled shoes to her car and she didn’t allow herself to start crying until she hit the motorway.

Incidentally, Cash didn’t call that day.

Neither did Moira.

Abby went home. Upon seeing his quote, Abby gave the plumber the go ahead to fix the two other bathrooms and also gave the boiler man her approval to replace her two boilers.

And after working herself into a state about the idea that Cash would fire her as well as getting herself worked up in another way about all Cash had said to her, she called James herself. She told him to tell Cash that if he intended to forfeit on the arrangement, he could transfer fifty thousand into her account by the end of the working day and they’d call it even.

James had sounded strangely shocked and then he even more strangely suggested she talk to Cash herself.

When she refused, he stranger than strangely suggested she visit Cash at his office to “chat”.

The idea of Abby popping by Cash’s office to chat after their blow out was so ludicrous, she laughed straight out (not to mention, she didn’t know where he worked).

Then she’d flatly refused that too and demanded to know if he would pass on her message.

Although he didn’t sound like he liked it, he promised he would.

And after she’d slid her phone shut, Abby worried that calling James was a tactical error.

Then she found she didn’t have time to worry about that when she had to worry about her outfit for that evening’s dinner.

Now, she was standing in the guest bedroom wondering what on earth to wear to dinner at a haunted castle.

“Hello!” she heard Jenny call from downstairs.

Abby closed her eyes, tipped her head back and breathed, “Bloody hell.”