Читать книгу Modern Romance May 2016 Books 1-4 - Julia James, Andie Brock - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

ABBY KNEW SHE should pull back. Yet the minute his mouth had captured hers, she’d given in.

She’d known how dangerously attracted to him she was five years ago, and she should have known better. He wasn’t even the same man she’d known then. He had become hard and bitter, and he probably despised himself for being here.

He was also immensely successful. And if she wasn’t careful, he’d assume that was why she hadn’t sent him away.

She looked up into eyes that were dark with desire and something else. Was it resentment? A reluctance to admit what was going on?

She swallowed convulsively. Did she want him to think she was willing to forget the past? Perhaps he imagined she might give herself to him to save the café? Dear God, what was she thinking? This man was her enemy, not her friend.

Yet when his hands caressed her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples, making them peak so sharply it was almost painful, her breath quickened wildly.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said hoarsely, as if the words were torn from him. ‘God help me, I couldn’t stay away.’

‘Luke—’

‘Yes, say my name,’ he muttered huskily, lifting the folds of the robe from her shoulders. ‘You know I want you, don’t you? You’ve known that right from the start.’

‘Well, I don’t want you,’ she averred unconvincingly, even as her robe fell to the floor.

‘I don’t believe that,’ he responded, sweeping her up into his arms, the yielding flesh beneath his hands belying her protests.

He heard Harley complain as the folds of the robe enveloped him, but by the time the retriever had released himself Luke had crossed the floor to Abby’s bedroom.

The lamps were lit, the bed was turned down, and there was a delicious and faintly exotic smell from the adjoining bathroom. Shutting the door with his heel, just in case Harley tried to join them, Luke crossed to the bed and lowered her onto it.

Kicking off his boots, he flung himself beside her. Covering her mouth with his, he thought he would stifle any further protest she might make. But all Abby did was wind her arms about his neck, pulling him even closer, moaning very softly when his tongue invaded her mouth.

Her mouth was just as lush as he remembered. Minutes passed as he continued to kiss her, long, drugging kisses that stirred his body and burned like a fire in his blood.

His fingers sought the hollow behind her ear where her pulse was palpitating wildly; he licked the damp cleavage between her breasts, felt his control slipping as she trembled beneath his hands.

Then she was tearing his shirt free of his trousers, soft fingers probing his waistband, opening his zip. It was a second’s job for him to shed his trousers, his breath catching painfully as she caressed the moist tip of his sex.

The realisation that he hadn’t brought a condom registered only fleetingly. There was no way he could draw back and go rummaging through his wallet now. As he lay between Abby’s parted legs, with Abby urging him to bury himself inside her, sanity finally deserted him. For the first time in his life, he was at the mercy of his desire.

His fingers found her wet core and slipped inside, his thumb massaging the taut nub of her womanhood. She jerked against his hand, moaning uncontrollably, and he could wait no longer.

Without further hesitation, he thrust into her, her muscles expanding and then tightening around him. She arched against him, climaxing almost immediately, and he groaned in protest, the sound vibrating all throughout his chest.

He’d wanted to prolong it, just a few moments longer, to enjoy the sensation of being buried deep inside her. She was so hot, so tight, and his head swam with the intimacy of what was happening.

But the rippling power of her orgasm was too much for him. That, and the sensuous brush of her breasts against his chest, sent him shuddering—helplessly—over the brink.

* * *

Someone was licking her face.

Without opening her eyes, Abby put out a protesting hand and touched—hair.

Abby recoiled in surprise, her eyes flying open. Harley was on the bed beside her. It was Harley who had been licking her face, trying to wake her up no doubt. Judging by the urgency with which he jumped off the bed and headed for the open door, he wanted to be let out.

But where was Luke?

Sitting up, she glanced towards the windows. It wasn’t quite daylight, but a sliver of silver showed through a crack in the curtains, proving that a grey dawn wasn’t far off.

Leaning over, Abby switched on the lamp beside the bed.

She saw by the clock sitting on the bedside cabinet that it wasn’t yet five o’clock. Too early to get up in the normal way, but evidently Harley had been disturbed and his needs had to be met.

Sliding her legs out of bed, she shivered as the cool morning air hit her naked body. She guessed her bathrobe was still in the other room; and snatching up a pair of old sweats and a tee shirt, she didn’t bother with any underwear before pulling them on.

Where was Luke? she pondered uneasily. The dent in the pillow beside her own surely proved he had slept there. She hadn’t been dreaming. Yet Harley had been on the bed when she awoke. He could have trampled the pillow.

But someone had to have opened the bedroom door to let the retriever into the room.

Luke!

The apartment was empty. After slipping on a pair of canvas shoes, Abby followed Harley into the living room. There were no lights burning and there had been when she went to bed—when they went to bed, she amended crossly—so Luke had evidently switched them off.

But where was he now?

Harley was still fussing, so, after checking that the rain had stopped, Abby went down a second set of stairs that led into the café. There was a door that gave access to a small garden at the back, and, after letting the retriever out, she stood shivering in the draught.

It would have been easy to think she had imagined the whole thing were it not for the way her body felt. She touched her breasts. They were tender and ultra-sensitive. And between her legs, she ached from the urgency of Luke’s possession. She hadn’t imagined that shattering climax, or the one that had come after. Nothing so devastating had ever happened to her before.

Certainly not with Harry.

She sucked in a breath. What was she supposed to think? That Luke had come here, taken his pleasure, and departed again without even saying goodbye?

Could he be that insensitive?

Yes.

She’d left the door ajar and it banged open suddenly. She turned, half expecting to see Luke, but it was only Harley bounding inside, looking for his usual treat of a biscuit.

‘All right, all right,’ she said as he nudged against her leg. ‘I wish you could speak, Harls. You’d be able to tell me what time that jerk walked out.’

The retriever barked once, as if in agreement, and then followed Abby upstairs to the apartment again. In the kitchen, Abby opened the jar containing the dog’s biscuits and tossed one to him.

‘There you go,’ she said as he caught it between his teeth. A sob rose in her throat, but she determinedly swallowed it back. ‘At least, I can rely on you.’

Expelling a heavy breath, she filled the coffee filter, and while the water was feeding through the grounds she decided to take a shower. There was no point going back to bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep. Besides, it was light outside. It was already getting on for six o’clock.

In the bathroom, she tried to ignore her reflection without much success. When she’d stripped off her clothes, she groaned at the sight of the stubble burns on her throat and abdomen. There was even faint bruising on her thighs and her tangled hair gave her a wild and abandoned appearance.

Great, she thought. Now all it needed was for one of her customers to notice. Or Greg Hughes, she conceded tensely. He was already suspicious about her relationship with Luke.

In fact, it was her next-door neighbour, Joan Miller, who inadvertently broached the subject.

Abby thought she’d done a good job in hiding the burns Luke had inflicted with his stubble, wearing more make-up than usual and a roll-necked jumper that hid her throat.

And to begin with, her customers were too intent on their own affairs to do much more than wish her a good morning. The rain had started again and most of their comments concerned the unusual coolness of the weather.

Then, after Lori had turned up and they were discussing a new delivery of books that was due to arrive that morning, Joan Miller came into the café and headed towards them.

Joan was a likeable soul, an elderly spinster in her late sixties, who was a good customer of both the café and the bookshop. She read avidly, and knitted copious garments for her sister’s grandchildren. And she never seemed to worry that there was no man in her life.

‘Oh, Abby,’ she said. ‘Are you all right? I heard Harley barking last night and I was really tempted to come and see if anything was wrong. But it was raining, and I was sure that if you had a problem, you’d contact me.’

Abby gave an inward groan. Lori was looking speculatively at her now and she knew she had to come up with a convincing excuse.

‘Oh, it was just a big spider,’ she said, managing a slight laugh. ‘You know how Harley hates spiders. He’s such a baby.’

‘That’s all right, then.’ Joan smiled in return. ‘I did worry that it might be that man Greg was telling me about.’

Abby stared at her. ‘What man?’

‘Oh, you know. The Morelli man, who came to see you a few weeks ago. Since Greg’s started that petition, I’ve been expecting him to call.’

Abby’s lips parted. ‘What petition are you talking about?’

‘Well, how many petitions are there?’ Joan sounded amused now. ‘The one to the council, of course, requesting that these properties be granted preservation status. You must have seen it. The last I heard, Greg had over a hundred signatures.’