lightly. ‘It’s all part of the healing process.’
Abigail’s eyes moved with contemplation over his handsome features. Had Greg Prescott ever cried a tear in his life? It was hard to imagine. His face held such determination, such strength. Then suddenly she remembered the tortured look on his face when he had held Rachel in his arms, and she felt a wave of guilt. Greg Prescott was many things, but he was not unfeeling where his family was concerned.
She took another sip of her coffee. Any crying she had to do would be done in private. She would never lower any barriers in front of him. She would never lose control around Greg Prescott again.
‘You know…this is a bit like old times.’
That statement sent her gaze winging back to him.
He gave a lop-sided smile. ‘I’m referring to us sitting having a drink, dressed, shall we say, informally.’ His eyes flicked down over the slender lines of her body.
For the first time she was very conscious of her state of undress. Her hand moved self-consciously to the white satin material of her dressing-gown, pulling it closer around her.
He noticed the movement and his lips twisted drily. ‘Don’t worry, I have no desire to pounce on you,’ he grated sardonically.
She felt her cheeks flush at that remark.
He put his coffee down. ‘Apart from anything else, I feel too damned raw inside.’
‘It’s a good job,’ she bit out sharply. ‘Because you wouldn’t get very far.’
His mouth twisted drily. ‘If you say so.’
‘I know so.’
‘If I remember rightly, you used to be quite responsive—quite hot.’ His eyes moved contemplatively over her. ‘We had some good times.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Greg!’ She swallowed the rest of her coffee and nearly choked on the hot liquid. ‘What we had was a fling, and I would prefer it if you didn’t mention it again.’ She clattered the cup and saucer down on the table next to her with a very unsteady hand.
‘You are probably right.’ Although his voice was casual, there was an undercurrent to it that puzzled her.
‘Want another coffee?’ He got up to pour himself one.
‘No, thanks…I would never sleep.’
He came and sat down opposite her again. ‘You can always think of Charles—I’m sure that will help to soothe you to sleep.’
Abigail glared at him. ‘There is no need to be facetious.’
‘Was I being facetious?’ One dark eyebrow lifted in mock innocence. ‘I thought I was making polite conversation.’
‘Like hell you were,’ she grated impatiently.
He leaned further back in his chair and regarded her with a somewhat bleak expression on his hard features. ‘Tell me something,’ he asked suddenly. ‘When Charles asked you to marry him, did he realise you want to bring the girls to live in England with you?’
Abigail had been in the process of getting to her feet, but when Greg asked that question she sat back, instantly alert. ‘Yes, of course he knows.’ Her voice became earnest as she strove to convince him that there was no question of the girls being unwanted. ‘Charles has told me that he has no objections to the girls living with us. He can offer them a good lifestyle and he is a decent, caring man.’
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