the fact that it was the middle of August, and it had been fairly humid recently, might account for her headache. Although she was used to these early mornings, there were times recently when she’d have liked to stay in bed.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. So long as she was running the café on her own, and so long as she hadn’t received notice to vacate the premises, she had to go on as if nothing was going to change.
The room swam about her as she went into the bathroom, and she only just made it to the toilet before throwing up. This was a first, but fortunately she didn’t have a lot in her stomach. She’d only had beans on toast for her supper the night before, but by the time she’d struggled up from her knees she was firmly convinced she’d never eat baked beans again.
Conversely, she felt considerably better after being sick.
She showered and dressed and hurried downstairs to let Harley out into the back garden. He seemed to sense that something was amiss this morning and fussed about her. But he did as he was told, and she gave him a reassuring hug as well as his usual biscuit treat.
Then, after taking him back up to the apartment for his breakfast, she hurried downstairs again to set the coffee machine working. Because she was a little later than usual, she didn’t stop to have any breakfast, contenting herself with a cup of tea from the hot-water tap on the coffee machine.
At least she didn’t have to go to the wholesalers today. She could get started on the baking right away. But, unfortunately, the smell of the dough caused the nauseous feeling to return, and she was forced to prepare a slice of dry toast to calm her unsettled stomach.
Once again, she felt considerably better after eating the toast, and she was able to complete her usual baking schedule without further delay. She really ought to consider taking on an assistant, other than Lori, she thought as she took a batch of muffins out of the oven. And then realised how ludicrous that thought was.
In a matter of months, there’d be no café to worry about. Instead of making plans to hire an assistant, she ought to be giving some serious consideration to where she was going to live—and work—after the café was demolished.
But, in all honesty, she’d deliberately avoided thinking about her future since she’d realised Luke didn’t intend to see her again. It was some weeks now, and he hadn’t even picked up the phone.
She should never have invited him in, she acknowledged with hindsight. She’d known she was asking for trouble. But after the evening they’d spent, it had seemed churlish to turn him away.
Or that had been her excuse at the time, she conceded. Besides, if she was totally honest with herself, she hadn’t wanted the evening to end.
What an idiot she was! Telling him she wouldn’t be his mistress, and then allowing him to make love to her on the sofa of all places. She couldn’t even make the excuse that he’d swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. They’d been so eager to get one another’s clothes off, if the sofa hadn’t been available, they’d have made love on the floor.
And that was the truth.
Besides, she shouldn’t blame him for her weaknesses. Breathless and barely sensible, she’d have done anything he asked of her. She’d wanted him and when he’d imitated with his fingers what he wanted to do to her body, her blood had turned to fire in her veins.
Abby remembered her head had swum long before he’d lowered his head and his tongue had taken the place of his hand. She’d wanted to protest, but her legs had parted willingly. She remembered gripping handfuls of his hair when he’d pressed his face between her legs, and she’d come before she could stop herself.
Afterwards, Luke had slid smoothly into her, and although she’d been sure she wouldn’t come again, she had. Just feeling his shaft stretching her and filling her had excited her beyond measure, and when he’d spilled his seed inside her, she’d shared his release.
Goodness knew what Harley must have thought, hearing the sobbing cries she’d been making. But he’d evidently decided Luke wouldn’t do her any harm. At some point, he’d slunk away into the bedroom, and she thought rather ruefully what a poor excuse for a guard dog he’d proved to be.
At least this time Luke hadn’t walked out on her. Or so she’d convinced herself in the early hours of the morning, after he’d said goodbye.
His parting kiss had convinced her she would see him again. She’d known he was still semi-aroused, and she was fairly sure he hadn’t wanted to leave. But poor old Felix had been waiting outside and she’d had to let him go.
At times, it seemed both her past and her future were tied up with that man. He had influenced her life five years ago, and he was influencing it still.
After all, his involvement had had a disastrous effect on her marriage. Although, that really hadn’t been his fault. She’d been the one to risk her marriage vows. And, she had paid for that one mistake. Her ex-husband had seen to that.
Now, it seemed, Luke was having a similarly destructive effect on her present. Which didn’t seem entirely fair. But she wasn’t the only one to suffer this time. And she should be grateful Luke wasn’t using her indiscretions against her friends.
When she’d decided to move to Ashford-St-James, it had been with the intention of putting her unhappy marriage behind her. She’d never expected to have to face either Luke or Harry again.
And she was fairly sure Luke hadn’t expected to have to face her either. When he’d walked into the café that first morning, he’d been as shocked as she’d been herself.
What were the odds? she mused, shaking her head as she unloaded another batch of muffins onto a cooling tray. Life could be so unpredictable. Not to mention needlessly cruel.
At another time, in another place, she and Luke might have had the chance to become more than occasional lovers. She liked to think so. She couldn’t deny that when they were together, she couldn’t think of anything but him. He filled her, both mentally and physically. He took over her life—and her body—to the exclusion of anyone else.
Did she love him?
The thought came out of nowhere.
She sighed. The fact was, five years ago, she could have loved him; she knew that. That was why she’d done something she’d never done before. She’d phoned a man who wasn’t her husband. Phoned him late in the evening, and asked him to meet her somewhere she’d been sure Harry would never go.
It had taken a lot of courage to actually pick up the phone in the first place. But after the row she’d had with Harry, she’d been desperate to speak to another human being; someone who wouldn’t turn every word she’d uttered into a threat.
Harry had become an expert at that. He’d always said he couldn’t trust her, but now she could see he’d used that as a way to justify his own behaviour.
That night, after his making more ridiculous accusations about her behaviour, she’d been half afraid he was going to kill her. He’d evidently enjoyed frightening her, but, when he’d put his hands around her throat, she’d suspected even Harry had been alarmed by his own violence. He’d stormed out of the apartment, telling her he was going to his club and not to expect him back before morning, leaving her, as he’d done many times before, shaken and afraid.
For
