Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(35)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Kieran got to his feet muttering, “Your wish…” and he bent to kiss the top of his still-irritable wife’s head.

With a smile on her lips, Abby watched this but her attention was diverted when Cash’s hand came up, curled around her neck and he gave her an affectionate squeeze before he left the room.

She had to admit, she really liked it when Cash did that.

Abby watched him leave then forgetting her audience, she sighed.

“He’s luscious,” Jenny proclaimed, her eyes on the door Cash just went through.

For one beautiful moment, forgetting herself and her circumstances, in the direction of her friend Abby breathed a very girlie, “I know.”

Mrs. Truman broke into this exchange by starting, “When Morty died,” and Abby and Jenny’s eyes turned to her, their drunken glow slipping at the older woman’s words, “I promised myself never again. Never again.” Abby and Jenny kept watching as her face changed to an expression neither of them had ever seen, not just from Mrs. Truman, but on anyone. It was forlorn, full of regret and difficult to witness. Abby watched as Mrs. Truman’s attention focused on her. “After your man died, Meg and I talked about you. We talked about you all the time. She worried so much. She told me how grief-stricken you were. She thought you’d never recover. Meg worried you’d end up just like me,” Abby’s throat closed and Mrs. Truman’s voice got soft when she went on. “I like him, this new one. Your grandmother would be pleased, Abigail,” her voice dipped to a whisper, “so very pleased.”

Abby felt tears well in her eyes as guilt tore at her heart because, even though it wasn’t her idea to have this dinner, her “new man” wasn’t her new man at all.

The entire situation was a deception and she was inadvertently making a fool of her new friend.

Her voice was hoarse when she started, “Mrs. Truman –” but she didn’t get to finish not that she knew what to say.

The men came in bearing coats and the mood and moment was broken.

It was broken further when Abby tried to give Mrs. Truman a hug, not only as a thank you for dinner, but as a gesture of newfound camaraderie.

Mrs. Truman was having none of it.

“I do not hug,” she announced, rearing away from Abby and putting her hand up at the same time to ward her off. “Americans hug. Englishwomen kiss cheeks and even then they do their very best not to touch,” she said her last word as if the thought of touching was repugnant.

Abby was for the first time not offended or irritated by her cranky neighbour.

She simply said, “Very well, Mrs. Truman. You get the English way in your house but when you come over to my house, you have to hug me good-bye.”

“I think not,” Mrs. Truman snapped.

“I think yes,” Abby retorted.

“No,” Mrs. Truman returned.

“We might hold hands too,” Abby threatened on a tease and Mrs. Truman made a “humph” sound but Abby was guessing there wasn’t a lot of feeling in that “humph”.

Abby smiled at her and said softly, “Good night, Mrs. Truman.”

Mrs. Truman’s face ever-so-slightly warmed. “Good night, Abigail.”

Cash settled his coat on her shoulders, more farewells were exchanged and she and Cash led the way, Kieran and Jenny following, out of the house.

On the pavement in front of Mrs. Truman’s house they said their good-byes with Jenny grasping Abby’s hand and whispering a firm, “We have to chat. Call me.”

Abby pulled away and with false brightness in the face of impending doom, declared, “Will do.”

Cash steered her to her house, took the keys from her, opened the latch and pressed her inside, following her.

He then closed the door behind them and took his coat from her shoulders, hooking it on her coat stand.

Abby watched him doing this.

Then it dawned on her drunken mind that the night was over.

Then it hit her that they were in her house. Something she didn’t want. Something she needed to protect herself from. Something which she could just come to terms with if he stayed in the hall, living room and kitchen, common areas that didn’t intrude too much on her precious memories.

However, Cash wasn’t staying in the vestibule. He snapped off the light switch and grabbed her hand.

Then he led her to the stairs.

Panic beginning to pierce her drunken state, she pulled at her hand (which didn’t stop him) while asking, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” he replied calmly, turning at the stairs and he had her up three of them when she came to a dead halt and he stopped with her.

“I can get to bed on my own,” she told him.

“You aren’t sleeping on your own,” he returned.

The breath squeezed out of Abby’s lungs and the beginning panic bloomed like a mushroom cloud.

She forced it back and said, “I thought we were going to your place.”

He was one step up and looking down at her. “We were, until you got drunk. But then you got drunk. Now we’re staying here.”

He turned away and started to move forward but she stayed where she was and declared, “I’d prefer to stay at your place.”

His torso twisted and he looked back down at her. “And I’d prefer to stay here.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice, she heard with irritation, sounding slightly shrill, hinting at the panic she felt.

With a firm tug on her hand, he forced her up to the step where he was standing. Then he dropped her hand and both of his came to rest on her neck.

“Because it’s late and you’re inebriated. You get in the car you’re likely to fall asleep. I don’t want you intoxicated, asleep and in a car. I want you intoxicated, awake and in a bed. This is the closest one available unless you’d like to ask Mrs. Truman if she has a guest bedroom.”

“Cash –” she started to protest but his thumb came to rest on her lips, effectively silencing her.

Once there, it slid across her lower one and she found she liked that so much she couldn’t speak much less protest.

“All day,” he said in that deeper, sexier, throatier burr that she liked so much, “I’ve been thinking about what I’d do to you tonight. All… fucking… day.” His thumb disappeared from her lip, his fingers slid into her hair to cup the back of her head as he got closer at the same time her heart started beating faster. “And after our time in the kitchen,” he went on, “all night, I’ve been waiting to get you to bed.” The thumb of his hand still at her neck put pressure on her jaw to tip her head back further. “And I think you know how I feel about waiting.”