The apartment was empty. After slipping on a pair of canvas shoes, Abby followed Harley into the living room. There were no lights burning and there had been when she went to bed—when they went to bed, she amended crossly—so Luke had evidently switched them off.
But where was he now?
Harley was still fussing, so, after checking that the rain had stopped, Abby went down a second set of stairs that led into the café. There was a door that gave access to a small garden at the back, and, after letting the retriever out, she stood shivering in the draught.
It would have been easy to think she had imagined the whole thing were it not for the way her body felt. She touched her breasts. They were tender and ultra-sensitive. And between her legs, she ached from the urgency of Luke’s possession. She hadn’t imagined that shattering climax, or the one that had come after. Nothing so devastating had ever happened to her before.
Certainly not with Harry.
She sucked in a breath. What was she supposed to think? That Luke had come here, taken his pleasure, and departed again without even saying goodbye?
Could he be that insensitive?
Yes.
She’d left the door ajar and it banged open suddenly. She turned, half expecting to see Luke, but it was only Harley bounding inside, looking for his usual treat of a biscuit.
‘All right, all right,’ she said as he nudged against her leg. ‘I wish you could speak, Harls. You’d be able to tell me what time that jerk walked out.’
The retriever barked once, as if in agreement, and then followed Abby upstairs to the apartment again. In the kitchen, Abby opened the jar containing the dog’s biscuits and tossed one to him.
‘There you go,’ she said as he caught it between his teeth. A sob rose in her throat, but she determinedly swallowed it back. ‘At least, I can rely on you.’
Expelling a heavy breath, she filled the coffee filter, and while the water was feeding through the grounds she decided to take a shower. There was no point going back to bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep. Besides, it was light outside. It was already getting on for six o’clock.
In the bathroom, she tried to ignore her reflection without much success. When she’d stripped off her clothes, she groaned at the sight of the stubble burns on her throat and abdomen. There was even faint bruising on her thighs and her tangled hair gave her a wild and abandoned appearance.
Great, she thought. Now all it needed was for one of her customers to notice. Or Greg Hughes, she conceded tensely. He was already suspicious about her relationship with Luke.
In fact, it was her next-door neighbour, Joan Miller, who inadvertently broached the subject.
Abby thought she’d done a good job in hiding the burns Luke had inflicted with his stubble, wearing more make-up than usual and a roll-necked jumper that hid her throat.
And to begin with, her customers were too intent on their own affairs to do much more than wish her a good morning. The rain had started again and most of their comments concerned the unusual coolness of the weather.
Then, after Lori had turned up and they were discussing a new delivery of books that was due to arrive that morning, Joan Miller came into the café and headed towards them.
Joan was a likeable soul, an elderly spinster in her late sixties, who was a good customer of both the café and the bookshop. She read avidly, and knitted copious garments for her sister’s grandchildren. And she never seemed to worry that there was no man in her life.
‘Oh, Abby,’ she said. ‘Are you all right? I heard Harley barking last night and I was really tempted to come and see if anything was wrong. But it was raining, and I was sure that if you had a problem, you’d contact me.’
Abby gave an inward groan. Lori was looking speculatively at her now and she knew she had to come up with a convincing excuse.
‘Oh, it was just a big spider,’ she said, managing a slight laugh. ‘You know how Harley hates spiders. He’s such a baby.’
‘That’s all right, then.’ Joan smiled in return. ‘I did worry that it might be that man Greg was telling me about.’
Abby stared at her. ‘What man?’
‘Oh, you know. The Morelli man, who came to see you a few weeks ago. Since Greg’s started that petition, I’ve been expecting him to call.’
Abby’s lips parted. ‘What petition are you talking about?’
‘Well, how many petitions are there?’ Joan sounded amused now. ‘The one to the council, of course, requesting that these properties be granted preservation status. You must have seen it. The last I heard, Greg had over a hundred signatures.’
‘SO WHAT DO you think their chances are?’
Luke was pacing restlessly about Ben Stacey’s office in Mayfair, and he paused a moment to fix the other man with an impatient stare.
‘Hell, I don’t know.’ Ben, a man in his early forties, who had worked with Luke for the past four years, gave an indifferent shrug. ‘I’m an estate agent, a valuer, Luke. Okay, we occasionally deal with listed buildings, but they’re generally of historical or architectural interest. I wouldn’t have thought a row of shops that are due for demolition comes into that category.’
‘Nor would I,’ said Luke with asperity. ‘I’m fairly sure this is just a move on Hughes’ part to try and get me to pay him increased compensation for having to find new premises for his so-called studio.’
Ben grinned. ‘I thought this petition had over a hundred signatures.’
‘It does.’
‘Well, then.’
‘Hughes inaugurated it. I’m sure of it.’
Yet was he? Abby had no reason to think kindly of him either after the way he’d behaved that afternoon when he’d visited the café. And subsequent events...
But he didn’t want to think about subsequent events. He especially didn’t want to remember how shabbily he’d treated her a week ago. Seducing her, and then walking out on her, had been unforgivable. He’d used her and then made his escape while she was still asleep.
Not that he’d wanted to. It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, sliding out of Abby’s warm bed. He’d wanted to stay, but that would have been crazy. Did he want her to think he couldn’t leave her alone?
But she’d never forgive him, he thought. Hell, he’d never forgive himself. That was not why he’d driven over to Ashford-St-James. He’d wanted to speak to her, yes. To confront her about the petition Felix had told him about. But that was all.
Then, she’d opened the door and he’d seen her, all flushed and warm from her shower, and he’d lost his mind. The lapels of her bathrobe had parted as she’d bent to drag the retriever back into the hall, and he’d glimpsed damp, shadowy cleavage and smelt the fragrant scent of her skin.
God, he could smell it still. It had filled his lungs and interfered with his thought processes, so that by the time he’d got upstairs and into her apartment, he’d been running on nuclear.
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
Ben was talking to him now, and Luke, who had been staring blindly out of the fourth-floor windows of his colleague’s office, turned a somewhat blank look in his direction.
‘Say what?’ he asked, his brows drawing together, and Ben gave him a curious look.
‘About the petition,’ he said patiently. Then he glanced towards the windows himself. ‘For pity’s sake,