someone else for his bed before this—why had he let the ghost of Abby fill his soul for so long?
‘You traded your body, your looks, hell, your virginity, because of what it could get you. That makes you no better than...’
He didn’t finish the sentence but his implication hung between them, angry and accusing.
‘I wanted you, Gabe, just like you wanted me. Calypso wasn’t a part of that.’ She blinked up at him, and he felt it. The same charge of electricity shot from her to him that had characterised that first night, their first meeting. It was a bolt of lightning; he was rattled by heavy, drugging need. God, would he forgive himself for acting on it? For leaning down and kissing her, for pushing her to the floor and making her his one last time before kicking her out of his life for good?
No.
She had used him; he wouldn’t use her.
That wasn’t his style. And, no matter how great the sex had been, he sure as hell wasn’t going to compromise his own morals just because he happened to find her desirable.
He jerked his gaze away and thrust his hands onto his hips with all the appearance of disregard. ‘I don’t want you now,’ he lied.
‘I know that,’ she said, a hint of strength in the short words.
‘So? What’s your plan, Abigail? Why work for Rémy?’
‘I need the job—I told you.’
‘Yes, yes.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘You think I’m stupid enough to buy into your lies for a second time?’
She looked startled. ‘It’s not...it’s complicated. And I can’t tell you what I came here to say with you glaring at me like you want to strangle me.’
He almost laughed—it was such an insane accusation. ‘I don’t want to strangle you,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to touch you. I don’t want to see you. I’d prefer to think you don’t exist.’
She let out a slow, shuddering breath. ‘You actually hate me.’
‘Sì.’
‘Okay.’ She licked her lower lip. ‘I get it. That’s...actually strangely good to know.’
‘You didn’t know this already?’
She shook her head and then changed it to a nod, before pacing slowly across the room. She jammed her hands into her pockets, staring at the shining doors of the lift.
Gabe’s impatience grew. He couldn’t have said if it was an impatience to be rid of her or a need to know what the hell she’d come to him to say. Why had he been able to ignore her for a year and now suddenly he was burning up with a desperate need to hear whatever the hell she’d come to him for?
Because he’d seen her again. And he’d felt that same tug of powerful attraction, that was why. He needed to exercise caution—it was a slippery slope with Abigail, almost as though she were a witch, imbued with magical powers to control and contort him. There was danger in her proximity. The sooner he could be free of her, the better.
‘So?’ he demanded when she didn’t speak. ‘What’s going on? Why are you here? What do you want this time?’
She was wary. ‘Well, I’d like my job back,’ she said, somewhat sarcastically.
‘Pigs might fly,’ he said. ‘You’re just lucky I didn’t tell Rémy the full sordid story of how we met.’
‘Would it have mattered? He fired me anyway.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Did that give you satisfaction? To see me embarrassed like that? To see me thrown out?’
He considered it for a moment, his expression hard. ‘Yes.’
She squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head towards the ceiling, breathing in, steadying herself. ‘You’re a bastard.’
‘So I’ve been told.’
He looked down at her again. She was slim. Too slim. Her figure had been pleasingly rounded when they’d met, curves in all the places Gabe—and any red-blooded man—fantasised about. Now, she was supermodel slender.
Her body was a minefield of distraction, but he’d been down that path before. No good would come from worshipping her physical perfection. He refocused his attention on the matter at hand: the sooner they dealt with it, the sooner she’d be gone and this would be over.
‘Why does it matter?’ he demanded. ‘We both know you don’t need to work—even if poor Rémy was foolish enough to believe your act. So, what’s the big deal?’
‘You’re wrong.’
‘Rarely.’
‘I needed that job. I needed the money.’
‘Your father’s company?’ he asked, frowning, a hint of something like genuine interest colouring the words. ‘It hasn’t gone bankrupt?’ He’d have heard, surely.
‘No—’ she shook her head ‘—I think he’s holding it together. But I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in a long time.’
‘Oh?’ Gabe was no longer losing interest in this. His blood was racing through his body and he took a step towards her, unconsciously moving closer. ‘Why is that?’
She swallowed, and appeared to be weighing her words—something Gabe hated. Liars always thought about what they wanted to say, and she was an exceptional liar.
‘He threw me out,’ she said, the words tremulous even though her eyes met his with a fierce strength.
‘He...threw you out?’ Gabe, rarely surprised, felt that emotion now. ‘Your father?’
‘Yes.’
Why was he so shocked? He knew enough of cruel fathers and their ability to abuse their children’s affections to know Lionel Howard was capable of everything Abigail claimed.
‘Because of me?’
She nodded.
Gabe’s curse was softly voiced but forceful, and it filled the room. ‘Your father threw you out because you didn’t have photos of the Calypso project?’
‘No.’ She shook her head, her skin pale. ‘Not exactly.’
Gabe waited, but his impatience was making it difficult.
‘I mean, he was furious that morning. Furious that I had come back empty-handed. But it was a fury born of desperation, you know? He was desperate, Gabe. My dad isn’t a bad person, he’s just...’
‘Why,’ he interrupted coldly, ‘do you think I want to talk about your father?’
‘You have to understand...’
She was quicksand. He’d let her in and now he was sinking—back into her web of lies, her intriguing fascination. What a fool he’d been to think he could talk
