Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(32)
Author: Kristen Ashley

She wrapped her pashmina around her shoulders, tucked her bag under her arm, grabbed the wine (Cash had the roses and chocolates, both of which Abby bought from two different exclusive shops in Clevedon so as not to put Mrs. Truman in a bad mood that they were trying to pass off rinky-dink hostess gifts) and put her hand on the latch.

“Ready?” she asked and Cash’s eyes narrowed on her.

She didn’t get a good feeling from his narrow look. She also didn’t need another reaction from Cash that would freak her out. In an effort to stop him from giving into whatever-peeved-him-this-time, she turned the latch and tugged open the door.

She’d barely stepped over the threshold when she came to a jarring stop. Cash’s hand was on her arm waylaying her.

She looked down at his hand then up at him. “Cash, we’re already late.”

His hand went away, he placed the hostess gifts on the seat of the coat stand and he shrugged off his overcoat, murmuring, “It’s freezing out there.”

She realised his intent and her body got tense.

“We’re only going next door,” she told him, hoping he wouldn’t put his overcoat on her. She didn’t want him to keep being so sweet to her (when he wasn’t angry at her that was).

She was pretty sure that most paid escorts didn’t have intense conversations about their dead husbands nor did they cuddle up to their clients in bed late at night while their clients looked over papers.

She figured she wasn’t doing her job very well. The problem was, Cash didn’t seem to mind at all which, of course, made it all worse.

She noticed with frustration that he wasn’t listening to her. He swung his coat out and settled it on her shoulders.

“That’s really unnecessary,” she finished.

“Abby, it’s below freezing,” he told her.

She looked up at him and exclaimed, “We’re walking next door!”

“And you’re not going to get cold while we’re doing it,” he retorted.

“This is ridiculous,” she grumbled, “What are you going to do? Now you don’t have a coat.”

“What I’m not going to do is stand out in the cold arguing,” he declared with annoying logic.

“All right, fine,” she muttered and turned toward the steps but something made her look to Mrs. Truman’s and she halted at what she saw.

Kieran and Jenny were standing at the door, Mrs. Truman in the door, and they were all watching her and Cash.

Illuminated by Mrs. Truman’s light both Jenny and Kieran were wearing comically-identical stunned expressions. Mrs. Truman was scowling.

“It’s seven-oh-seven,” Mrs. Truman announced loudly, “did I say dinner was at seven-oh-seven? No, I did not. I said it was at seven o’clock.” She paused and Abby saw her eyes snap to the bottle Abby was carrying then Mrs. Truman demanded to know, “Is that wine chilled?”

“Yes, Mrs. Truman,” Abby called, deciding to ignore Kieran and Jenny’s stunned looks as well as the fact that she was swimming in Cash’s warm, heavy overcoat that smelled way too much like him.

With a hand at the small of her back, Cash led her down the steps and to Mrs. Truman’s house. Kieran and Jenny were inside by the time they got there and Mrs. Truman slammed the door behind Cash.

“Cash this is –” Abby started the introductions but Mrs. Truman interrupted her.

“Take off your coats. Give me that wine,” she ordered then, for some demented reason, she shouted, “Marco!”

When everyone stood around waiting and nothing happened for a few moments, Jenny leaned toward Abby and asked under her breath, “Are we supposed to say ‘Polo’?”

Abby felt a hysterical giggle start welling up inside her that she managed to tamp down when a young, dark-headed man wearing a white shirt and black trousers appeared.

“This is Marco,” Mrs. Truman proclaimed with a flick of her wrist in his direction. “He’s seeing to us tonight.” Abby didn’t know what that meant and didn’t have a chance to ask, Mrs. Truman continued speaking. “Marco, take their coats. I’ll take the wine to the kitchen. Then they need drinks.” When Marco didn’t move fast enough (though, he did, somewhat immediately, move toward Jenny), Mrs. Truman snapped, “Chop chop! I’m not paying you to stand around and ogle pretty women!”

Marco took the coats, divested them of their gifts and Mrs. Truman bustled them into her front room then disappeared with her two bottles of chilled white wine.

Abby quickly performed the introductions, feeling acutely self-conscious as Cash shook Kieran’s hand and bent low for Jenny to touch his cheek with hers.

Kieran Kane was Abby’s height, thus shorter when she was wearing heels. He was slim, straight and had blond hair that looked highlighted but was actually his true colour, made thus by being streaked by the sun while he jogged and cycled like a madman. He had a permanent tan because when he wasn’t working he was always outdoors or taking his wife on holidays where there were beaches.

Both Kieran and Jenny were trying to study Cash without appearing as if they were studying him (and, incidentally, they were failing).

For the first time in her life, Abby was in a social situation where she had no clue what to do.

How did one go about making what amounted to her “john” and her two best friends comfortable at a dinner party?

Luckily (or unfortunately, depending how you looked at it), Mrs. Truman forged into the breach.

She charged into the room carrying a vase filled with Abby’s roses that had been quickly yet artfully arranged. She placed it on a table and demanded to know, “What are you doing standing up? Sit!”

They didn’t sit because Marco followed Mrs. Truman and asked their drink preferences. When he got to Abby and she slowly explained how she wanted her amaretto and diet coke, Marco stared at her in horrified confusion.

“Diet coke and amaretto?” Mrs. Truman snapped. “What kind of drink is that? And who crushes ice?”

Cash took pity on Marco at the same time tactfully ignoring Mrs. Truman.

While sliding his arm along Abby’s shoulders, he said, “I’m sure Abby will settle for a glass of red wine.”

To which Mrs. Truman retorted, “We’re having fish. You don’t drink red wine with fish.” Then she turned to Marco. “Get her a white wine. Go on, go.”

Marco quickly left (or, more appropriately, escaped) and Mrs. Truman settled them into her furniture.