Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(67)
Author: Kristen Ashley

She lifted her chin while saying, “Cassandra McNabb. Clairvoyant and white witch, at your service.”

Cash watched her for a moment which slid into two which slid into three as all the women stood tense, waiting.

Then he muttered, “Fucking hell.”

“Obviously you’re tired and want a private moment to say goodnight to Abby before you go home,” Mrs. Truman said then continued pointedly, “to your own bed.”

This comment, Abby noted with alarm, made Cash, whose anger had partially cooled, look like he was going to explode.

“Actually –” he started with deadly calm but Abby jumped in front of him, pressed her back to his front and interrupted.

“Actually, why don’t you all just go on home? I’ll blow out the candles and clean up for you tomorrow.”

“Works for me,” Cassandra muttered, wandering toward a fringed bag that lay beside the hearth.

“I’m, um, staying with Mrs. Truman,” Fenella made this surprising announcement, her eyes on Abby looking weirdly like she was trying to communicate something she could not say out loud. “Maybe tomorrow you and I could have a cup of –”

Cash cut her off by saying, “No.”

Fenella’s eyes flitted to Cash and she uttered a strangled, “No?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Abby’s mine,” Cash declared and when Fenella opened her mouth to speak, Cash went on, “all day.”

“But you just spent three days with her in Germany!” Mrs. Truman snapped.

“Three days where I was working. Tomorrow, I’m not working and Abby’s spending the day with me,” Cash returned.

“You don’t own her,” Mrs. Truman shot back and Jenny made a telltale choking noise which brought Cash’s newly-narrowed eyes to her face.

Bloody hell! Abby thought.

She sought to minimise any possible future damage by quickly announcing, “It’s late. You all get home.” She looked at Fenella. “I’ll call you. Does Cash have your number?”

Fenella nodded, eyes on Cash, and said, “I think so.”

“Good,” Abby smiled at Fenella and then turned to Cassandra. “Sorry this has been heated but I hope you understand we’re both kind of tired,” Cassandra made no reply so Abby went on in a desperate attempt to be polite. “Anyway, it’s nice meeting you.”

Cassandra’s dark brown eyes looked into Abby’s and Abby stood frozen, having the eerie but not entirely unpleasant feeling that Cassandra was reading the words written on Abby’s soul.

Then she broke her own spell by saying, “We’ll meet again.” She walked to the door, stopped, and looked back at Abby. “You’ve got a great cat.”

Then she was gone.

The others followed close on her heels.

Abby closed the door on them and met Cash in the hall, the faint light from the living room was gone indicating that Cash had blown out the candles and turned out the lights.

Abby flipped a switch that flooded the hall with light.

The minute Cash’s eyes focused on her, he remarked, “That woman is a nut.”

“Mrs. Truman?” Abby asked.

“Take your pick,” Cash answered dryly and Abby wanted to be detached and beyond finding Cash amusing but she couldn’t help but laugh.

While still laughing, she felt his arm slide around her shoulders and he started to lead her up the stairs.

“Do you know why Fenella would come visit you?” he asked and Abby could swear she read more than mild curiosity in his tone.

“No idea,” she replied with all honesty.

Fenella’s being there was, far and away, the weirdest part of a very weird night.

Cash may have wanted to say something else but while they were on the landing turning toward the next flight of steps the lights flickered then they did it again then the hall went black.

Cash stopped them dead on the landing and for a moment Abby feared an army of malevolent ghosts would descend.

Then she realised it was just her usual bad luck, bad timing and wiring that was likely laid during World War I.

“You have got to be f**king kidding me,” Cash muttered angrily in the dark.

“It’s probably just a fuse,” Abby replied with more hope than certainty.

She felt rather than saw Cash turn to her. She did this because his arm never left her shoulders and she found herself pressed to him, br**sts to chest.

“In all the shit we talked about in Germany, I forgot to ask about this f**king house,” he commented, his tone bland, his use of the f-word a huge, waving red flag.

“It’s just old,” Abby tried.

“It’s old,” he agreed and continued. “It’s also a money pit and likely a fire hazard.”

“It’s not a fire hazard!” Abby felt the need to defend even though the report the surveyor gave her indicated differently, mainly due to the wiring and, perhaps, some of her appliances. Then she went on to semi-lie, “It’s fine. Solid. It can just be cantankerous on occasion.”

Or, more to the point, weekly.

Cash moved into her, his hand curling her back to his side as he reversed directions.

“Where are we going?” Abby asked as he started to guide them back downstairs.

“My place,” Cash answered.

Abby halted, too tired to remember she didn’t want him in her house.

“But it’s late!” she exclaimed.

Cash pressed her to moving again. “It is, darling, but I’m not f**king around with a fuse box at midnight. Furthermore, I like you just the way you are. You’d be far less attractive burned to a cinder.”

“I’m not going to get burned to a cinder,” Abby declared crossly.

“No. You’re not,” he agreed and proved himself right by guiding her firmly to the entry, helping her on with her coat, grabbing his bag and using his other hand to propel her to his car.

Then he drove them to his house.

Chapter Seventeen

All the Time in the World

Cash woke on his back, his arm outstretched and Abby was in another unusual but exceptionally sweet position. The curve of her spine was pressed against his side, the heels of her feet against his leg and her temple was resting on the back of her hand, which was curled around his bicep.

He turned into her, sliding his hand along the silk at her waist.

She was wearing one of the nightgowns he bought her the day before, a sexy, short, revealing, grey-green silk that complimented her eyes. The clerk in the exclusive boutique in London where he’d ordered the dressing gowns and, on Monday, seven nightgowns, had done her job well. Cash had told Moira to describe Abby’s appearance and have them send nightgowns which would suit.