get you upstairs and ready for bed,” he all but growled.
And then he’d figure out a way to rid himself of the still-powerful attraction he apparently felt for Abby. Once and for all.
Chapter Two
Abby set the glass of vanilla-flavored soy milk and a plate of cookies on the tray, then added the crystal bud vase and the rose she’d picked earlier to save it from the approaching storm. She surveyed her work and nodded in approval. She wanted the evening to be special for Jessie since Torthúil had been such a disappointment to her. Besides, she thought every little girl should feel like a princess at least once in her life.
She smiled, remembering when she and her sisters were that age. All those magical bedtime rituals— snacks and stories, kisses and special toys. They always had their mother and Hannah Canton, their ever-faithful and affectionate housekeeper, fussing over them. Apparently Jessie had no one but a father who clearly didn’t even know how to avoid tangles in her hair.
With that thought fresh in her mind, Abby stopped as she passed the linen closet. She pulled down the satin pillowcase she’d mentioned and tucked it under her arm before moving like a rusted tin soldier toward the end of the hall.
She stood frozen at the door to Number Ten, afraid to face Colin again. What was the matter with her? This nervousness was a far cry from the righteous anger she wanted to feel. Should feel. In spite of what he’d done, this was attraction. Dangerous attraction. Her unwavering love for him hadn’t faded even after he’d rejected her so cruelly in front of his friend. Abby had held out hope that he’d arrive at Hopewell Manor to tell her he’d been trying to protect her reputation from Harley’s wagging tongue. But when she’d learned he’d left town ahead of schedule, Abby had buried her foolish, passionate dreams.
She’d forced herself to date two other men since that awful night. One had been a political science major in her sophomore year of college, the other a hotel manager who’d stayed at Cliff Walk during the first Hopetown Arts Festival a couple of years ago.
She’d been marginally attracted to both of them and tried to take both relationships to the next level, but she’d always frozen, instinctively pulling back when things got physical. When she’d asked for more time, neither had taken her request well. Both had cruelly dismissed her needs. Finally she’d decided to act as cold and remote as they’d accused her of being. Fear of making another mistake, of trusting her own judgment, had simply paralyzed her.
She’d learned her lesson not once but three times— she just wasn’t cut out for romance. Passion was an unruly, dangerous emotion, and she wasn’t willing to risk her heart again. So she’d carefully built a quiet, secure life for herself.
So what if some people thought it was too quiet. Too sterile. So what if she’d been called an ice queen by her ex-boyfriends? So what if the title now fit. It was comfortable.
Safe.
Abby stiffened her spine, refusing to dither any longer. Checking her expression in the hall mirror, she was gratified to find a cool look firmly in place. Colin could never know what he made her feel. He’d gloat or try to take advantage of it.
She took a deep breath. Ready to see him, she rapped on the door. As it swung open, Abby’s heart started thundering behind her ribs, but it was Jessie who answered. “Hi. Daddy’s gettin’ changed on account of he says he’s wet through his Skivvies. Is that my snack?”
Abby blinked away the flash of Colin sans Skivvies. “Y-yes,” she stammered, trying to drag her mind off that disturbing enticing vision. “And here’s the pillowcase I promised you.”
Jessie sucked in a deep breath, a sweet little gasp of awe and gratitude. Then she took the pillowcase and ran it across her cheek. “Oh, Miss Abby. So soft and silky.”
Abby smiled. “That’s why it works. Your hair will just slide over it and not tangle.”
The door to the bathroom flew open at the moment Jessie charged into her arms, wrapping her in an exuberant hug. Abby managed to steady the tray as Colin asked, “Jessie, who are you—” He froze in the doorway, frowning.
Abby could only stare. He was bare chested. His jeans were zipped, but the button was undone and he had a towel tossed over one strong, muscular shoulder. He still had those damned six-pack abs.
With loose-limbed grace, he walked toward her and reached for the tray. When his fingers made contact with hers, Abby jerked her hands away, nearly upsetting the glass. “I—I’m s-sorry.” She backed away toward the door. “I hope you like your snack, Jessie. Breakfast is at nine. Enjoy your stay at Cliff Walk.”
She made it to the hall and pulled the door closed. Heart pounding, she rested her forehead on the cool door and took a deep, calming breath. She had to get hold of herself. She couldn’t let his mere presence rattle her like this. He was nothing more than a rat in men’s clothing. Very little clothing to be sure, but a rat was a rat. No matter what he did or didn’t wear.
No matter what he did to her senses.
Determined to find her center and calm her troubled mind, Abby closed up her house for the night and retreated to the tower room. It had once been the maid’s room, but now it was her retreat. She stopped at the top of the stairs, waiting for the familiar sense of peace the place always brought her, but instead of feeling the comforting shelter the space usually gave her, an oppressive loneliness seemed to descend on her. Everyone in her life had someone but her. When she was upset her refuge was a place, not a person.
But that was the way she wanted it, she reminded herself. That was the way it had to be. Rather than wallow, she yanked at the buttons of her blouse and moved toward her dresser. It was simply the turbulent weather working on her. Or the shock of seeing Colin again.
Or maybe it was nothing more than the rapidly fading feeling of Jessie’s grateful hug. Or Colin’s touch.
Shaking herself loose of her useless observations, Abby stripped out of her clothes and got into her leotard. Then she sank to the yoga mat in front of the tall Victorian windows. After a deep cleansing breath, she moved into her first position, ignoring the flashes of lightning, the rumble and crack of the thunder, and sought her center—her peace.
An hour later she had twisted and stretched into every yoga position she’d mastered and had tried a few she hadn’t. Fresh from a shower, she climbed into bed and acknowledged the truth.
The past still haunted her.
She told herself that other than having a father who expected his children to earn his love, her early life had gone along just fine. All the trouble and turmoil had really started when she’d decided to stay at Tracy’s house on graduation night nine years ago.
She’d just turned out the light in Torthùil’s kitchen after washing the few dishes from her midnight snack when Colin’s voice had drifted in the back screen door of the McCarthys’ farmhouse.
Abby had loved Colin with all her heart and soul for years and had grown tired of being ignored and treated like a little girl. So she’d adopted what she’d hoped was a sexy stance, hoping he’d realize she really had grown up in his absence.
She’d called his name in her best Marilyn Monroe “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” voice and hope had stirred in her heart when her soldier boy seemed nervous. So she’d stood on tiptoe and brought her lips within inches of his.
To
