the sudden intensity of his desire.
One thing was certain: he couldn’t let this go on. He knew that this stretch of open ground, despite supporting a few trees, was hardly private. And, unfortunately, they were not hidden by any of those trees.
Apart from which, what in God’s name did he think he was doing?
And then Harley barked, bringing an abrupt end to his uncertainty.
Maybe the retriever had seen a cat or a rabbit. He’d started tugging on his leash, and Abby was forced to take an involuntary step away from Luke.
‘Harley,’ she exclaimed, and Luke expelled a hoarse breath.
Dammit, he’d never thought he’d be grateful to a dog, but he was.
‘I’ve got to go,’ he said roughly as Abby endeavoured to calm the animal down.
And without giving her time to say anything else, he strode away.
A WEEK LATER, Abby had succeeded in putting what she preferred to call ‘Luke’s uncalled-for assault’ out of her mind.
It had been an aberration, nothing more. On his part, and probably on hers, as well. For God’s sake, she’d thought she’d got what had happened five years ago into perspective. She was a free, independent woman these days; not the pathetic abused wife she used to be.
It was late afternoon, and Lori had already gone to collect her daughter from school, and, as there were no customers, Abby decided to close up a little earlier than usual.
It had been a dank afternoon, and frankly few people had been about. When the door opened, she thought her assistant must have forgotten something and had come back to collect it. But, instead, it was Greg Hughes.
Her heart sank. She so wasn’t in the mood to talk to the photographer and, not for the first time, she wished she didn’t live over the café and could say she was on her way home.
She’d just finished cleaning the coffee machine when he strolled over with a proprietorial air to rest his elbows on the polished counter.
‘You heard anything yet?’ he asked rudely, without offering a greeting, and Abby turned from her task to give him a cool stare.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said...’
‘Yes, I heard what you said.’ Abby regarded him with cold inquiry. ‘I just don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Greg scowled. ‘The development,’ he said impatiently. ‘Have you heard any more about the development?’ He paused. ‘I assume you’ve read your letter by now.’
‘Oh.’ The development and the developer were the last things she wanted to think about. ‘Then, yes, I’ve read the solicitor’s letter, and no, I haven’t heard anything else.’
Greg sniffed. ‘Well, it’s a rum affair, if you ask me,’ he said. ‘I want to know what kind of compensation they’re offering.’
‘Compensation?’
‘Yes. They’ve got to pay me something for the eighteen months that are left on my lease. Until they do, I won’t know what kind of replacement premises I’ll be able to afford.’
‘I see.’
‘’Course, you won’t have that problem, will you?’ he went on smugly. ‘By the time you get your marching orders, your lease will have run out.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘You told me you only had six months left.’ Greg was unrepentant. ‘I just wondered, as you seemed to know the guy, if he’d given you a heads-up.’
Abby was tempted to lie and say she didn’t know Luke. But she couldn’t be sure that someone hadn’t seen them last week on the waste ground behind the shops.
‘I think I said I knew of his company,’ she said, hiding her crossed fingers. ‘I—well, I believe he was round here the other day, checking out his investment. Anonymously, apparently.’
‘Really?’ Clearly Greg hadn’t heard anything about this, and Abby realised belatedly that she’d virtually admitted recognising Luke.
But Greg didn’t pick her up on it, evidently assuming someone else had told her the news. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d seen Morelli. I’d have felt like giving him a piece of my mind.’
‘Would you? That’s interesting.’
Abby started in surprise. She’d been so intent on not giving Greg any reason to suspect she knew more than she was saying that she hadn’t heard the door open. Which wasn’t surprising because the bell was definitely on its last legs.
Greg started, too, eyes turning apprehensively to look over his shoulder. But, he didn’t recognise the newcomer and a certain look of belligerence crossed his face.
‘Do you mind?’ he said, before Abby could say anything. ‘This is a private conversation.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Luke closed the door and crossed the café with lithe, easy grace. ‘I thought I heard my name mentioned. Something about giving me a piece of your mind, wasn’t it?’
Greg’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re Morelli?’ he exclaimed disbelievingly, and Abby couldn’t say she was surprised.
In jeans and a navy turtleneck, a leather jacket looking distinctly as if it had seen better days, Luke looked nothing like the successful entrepreneur she knew him to be.
Evidently, Greg was taken aback, as much by Luke’s appearance as by what he’d said. He turned back to Abby, raising his eyebrows in stunned inquiry, and she made an involuntary movement of her shoulders that she hoped Luke hadn’t seen.
‘So...?’ Luke joined Greg at the counter. ‘Do you want to tell me who you are? I don’t believe I caught your name.’
‘It’s Hughes. Greg Hughes,’ the man muttered unwillingly. ‘I own the photography studio next door.’
‘I see.’ Luke nodded. ‘So, Mr Hughes, what did you want to say to me? I’m listening.’
Greg’s jaw jutted defensively. Then, as if realising he had to say something, he said, ‘I just don’t agree with—with people—’
‘Like myself,’ put in Luke helpfully, and Abby sensed he was enjoying this.
‘Well, yeah.’ Greg sniffed. ‘I don’t think you realise how old this parade of shops is.’ And when Luke didn’t answer, ‘And you’re just going to pull them all down and put up a supermarket. It’s sacrilege, that’s what it is. Sacrilege!’
Abby saw Luke give her an inquiring look. ‘Is this your opinion, as well, Mrs Laurence?’
Abby
