heard him go out at lunchtime, and without meaning to, without a plan, she found herself walking into the study. Found herself thinking about his offer. Which had probably now been withdrawn.
She wasn’t very experienced with this flirting business, if indeed he had been flirting. In fact, she wasn’t experienced at all. All those years pretending to be Miss Cool hadn’t left any opportunity for flirting. She was probably the only twenty-eight-year-old virgin in the history of the planet! And she didn’t want to be. Not that she was ashamed of it or anything; there had never been anyone she’d wanted to make love to until now. He would probably make a very good lover... Yes, she agreed thoughtfully. But not for her. The man was ruthless.
She rested her hand on one of the books that still littered the desk; it came away covered in dust. How long since anyone had cleaned properly in here? And if the books were dusty, what on earth was the bookcase like?
Without stopping to think, she dragged the stepladder in from the hall cupboard and stood it next to the tall bookcase. She could get it done before he came back. He was usually gone an hour.
Collecting a duster, she climbed up and promptly sneezed. Muttering to herself as she slowly swept the dust into a pile, she didn’t hear the door open, and so when he spoke, asked her what on earth she was doing, she gave a little scream of surprise, and lost her balance.
Strong hands circled her waist and she was lifted down. He didn’t release her. Just stared into her up-tilted face—and tension didn’t just shimmer between them, it positively glowed.
‘You’re usually gone an hour,’ Abby accused breathlessly.
‘I wasn’t hungry,’ he answered simply. Eyes direct and bright, he searched her face. ‘So, what were you doing?’
‘Looking for hidden treasure.’
‘Find any?’
‘No.’
‘No,’ he agreed. Idly fingering a strand of hair, aware of the shiver she gave, he gave a slow, self-mocking smile. ‘Your mother said you were clever,’ he pronounced quietly.
Her mother said too much.
‘An ice maiden, cool and in control—with a silky soft voice to make a man grovel.’
Grovel? Oh, boy. ‘But not you,’ she pronounced huskily.
‘No. Not me.’ Eyes riveted on hers, he asked intimately, ‘How cool are you, Abby?’
He was going to kiss her, she thought in panic. Almost in panic. But she didn’t struggle free, didn’t do any of the things she would have expected herself to do. The opposite, in fact. Moving her eyes to his mouth, feeling almost unable to help herself, she kissed him—and the most enormous rush of emotion whirled through her. Nothing in her life had ever prepared her for that. Nothing.
Disorientated, almost uncomprehending, she whispered dazedly, ‘Not cool at all. I want everything.’
Everything was what she almost got. His own kiss, without a murmur, without preliminaries, was searing. He dipped his head and kissed her with a harsh, bruising intensity that wrenched the world out of kilter. He wasn’t gentle. She didn’t want him to be. Excitement laced through her as he turned her, held her against the bookcase, and continued to kiss her with a mastery that left her light-headed and dizzy.
Clutching him tight, she kissed him back with a desire she found as astonishing as it was exhilarating. His arms were strong, and hard and tight, his mouth practised. A kiss to remember for the rest of her life. She could feel his heart against hers, the strength of his thighs, the spiralling, mounting feeling of utter belonging.
And then he thrust her away.
Hands gripping her shoulders hard, fingers digging into her flesh. She was shocked to awareness by eyes as brightly blue as a summer sky that, astonishingly, held a blazing anger.
‘Sam?’ she whispered in alarm.
‘No,’ he denied raggedly.
Uncomprehending, body aching, needing more, eyes fixed desperately on his, she slid her hands to his warm chest.
‘Abby!’
With a little jerk, not in the real world at all, she turned her head, stared at her mother standing in the doorway.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ she demanded. She sounded absolutely scandalised. ‘You’re engaged!’
‘Engaged?’ she queried dazedly.
‘Yes! Where’s your ring?’
Glancing at her left hand as though she didn’t know what her mother was talking about, she murmured, ‘I took it off. Sam and I—’
‘No,’ he broke in. Lifting his hands, breaking all contact, he stepped back. ‘No,’ he repeated.
‘Sam?’ Confused, bewildered, she held out one hand to him.
He ignored it. Snatching his document case off the desk, he walked out.
‘Sam!’ She would have run after him, but her mother caught her arm, held her back.
‘I knew he was trouble. I just knew it! I shouldn’t have left you. Abby! You can’t go after him!’
‘Yes, I have to...’ Trailing off, barely aware of her mother’s grip on her arm, she stared at the closed front door, then back to her mother. ‘Why was he so angry?’ she whispered.
‘You were kissing him,’ her mother exclaimed, as though she had never encountered such a thing before.
‘Yes.’ And he would be back, she reassured herself. Of course he would.
‘He isn’t what I want for you,’ her mother wailed despairingly. ‘Peter...’
‘Not now, Mum,’ Abby interrupted distractedly. ‘I’ll take your case up.’
Grabbing her mother’s case, she hurried upstairs. Dumping it on the bed, she just stood there, eyes almost blank. Why? she wondered. Why had he been so angry?
Needing a few minutes on her own, unable to face her mother just yet, she walked to the window, stared blindly down. Why? But he would be back. Of course he would. Unconsciously rubbing her fingers over her mouth, eyes still blank with shock and disbelief, she closed her eyes to recapture the moment he’d kissed her. She could feel it still, the urgency, the need... And if her mother hadn’t come home just then, would he still have left?
She didn’t understand. Had he left because he thought she was engaged? Well, she could tell him tomorrow, explain...
‘Abby?’ her mother called tentatively up the stairs.
‘Coming,’ she answered automatically.
Walking away from the window as though in a dream, she went downstairs, found her mother in the kitchen.
‘I’ve made some tea...’
‘Yes, thank you.’
