скачать книгу бесплатно
She dismissed the thought out of hand. Luke hadn’t had anyone with him since his girlfriend Kimberley’s death five years ago. Not that he had been much of a party animal before that, but after Kimberley was killed in a car crash he became even more of a loner. He was the epitome of the locked down workaholic. It was sad because she couldn’t help thinking he might be quite a fun person to be around if he let himself go a bit.
Abby finally heard the tread of firm footsteps and took her finger off the bell just as the door opened. His frowning expression wasn’t what you could even loosely call welcoming. ‘Oh, it’s you...’ he said.
‘Nice to see you too, Luke,’ Abby said. ‘Can I come in? It’s kind of wet and cold out here.’
‘Sure,’ he said while his expression clearly said an emphatic no.
Abby blithely ignored that, stepping over the threshold and folding her umbrella, which unfortunately sent a spray of water droplets on to the plush carpet runner that was threatening to swallow her up to her knees. Maybe even up to her neck. ‘Have I called at a bad time?’
‘I’m working on something—’
‘There are more things in life than work, you know,’ Abby said, hunting around for somewhere to place her umbrella.
‘Here.’ He held out his hand with a long-suffering look. ‘I’ll take that before you take out a window.’
Abby gave him the squinty eye. ‘I am housetrained. It’s just your house is always so darn perfect it makes me feel like I’m walking into a Vogue Living set.’
He took the umbrella and placed it on a stand near the door, somehow without allowing a single droplet of water to fall. Amazing. ‘Isn’t Ella with you?’
‘She’s got a parent teacher meeting at school this evening,’ Abby said. ‘I thought I’d drop in by myself. To...erm...see how you are.’
‘I’m fine—as you can see.’
There was a pregnant silence. A triplets or even quads pregnant silence.
Abby wondered if he was thinking about That Night. Did he ever think about it? Did he even remember it? Did he remember touching her so gently? Resting his head on her shoulder and then cradling her cheek in his hand like he was going to kiss her?
His eyes moved between each of hers in a studying way, like an academic trying to make sense of a complicated article. He was the only one who looked at her like that. In that quiet, assessing way that made her nerves start to jangle. As if he was searching for the frightened, abandoned child she had hidden deep inside herself so many years ago.
The child no one ever saw.
No one.
‘Abby.’ His voice contained a note of censure. ‘I’m really busy right now so—’
Abby shoved the box of cookies towards him. ‘Here—I made these for you.’
He took the box like he was taking a detonating device. ‘What’s this for?’
‘They’re your favourite cookies. I made them before I came over.’
He gave a God-give-me-strength sigh and put the box down on the polished walnut hall table. He led the way to the sitting room, offering her the sofa with the wave of a hand, but he remained standing as if he had set himself a time limit on her visit. ‘What do you want?’
‘That’s a bit rude, don’t you think? Just because I call on you with your favourite cookies you immediately assume I want something in return,’ Abby said, folding her arms and affecting a wounded expression that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a three-year-old.
Luke’s gaze went to her pouting lower lip, lingered there for a beat before coming back to mesh with hers. When those dark blue eyes locked on hers something wearing feather slippers shuffled across the floor of her belly. He cleared his throat and scraped his hand over his jaw. ‘Scraped’ being the operative word because the amount of stubble he had going on there was a telling reminder of the potent male hormones surging through his body. He was normally so clinically clean-shaven it was a shock to see him so ungroomed. Not a nasty shock. A pleasant I-would-like-to-see-more-of-this-side-to-him shock.
Which was kind of shocking in itself because Abby had taught herself not to notice Luke Shelverton. He was her best friend’s older brother. It was a boundary she had sworn never to cross. But for some reason her eyes were getting a little too happy about resting on Luke’s staggeringly handsome features. His sapphire-blue eyes were framed and fringed by jet-black eyebrows and lashes, but his hair was a rich dark brown and was currently ruffled as if he’d been combing it with his fingers. Broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, with an abdomen you could crack walnuts on, he was the stuff of female fantasies. He had the sort of facial and body structure that would have made Michelangelo rush off to stock up on chisels and marble.
‘Look, about that night...’ he said.
‘I’m not here about that night,’ Abby said. ‘I’m here about another night. The most important night of my life.’ She took a quick breath and let it out in a rush. ‘I need you to do me a favour. I need a fiancé for one night.’ There. She’d said it. She’d put it out there.
Everything on his face stilled. His entire body seemed to be snap frozen as if every muscle and ligament and corpuscle of blood had turned to stone.
Even the air seemed to be sucked right out of the room.
But then he let out a breath and walked over to a drinks cabinet. ‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Would you like a drink before you go?’
Abby sat on the sofa and crossed one leg over the other as if she was settling in for the evening. No way was she leaving until she had this nailed. ‘I’ll have a red wine.’ White wine wasn’t going to cut it this time. And she certainly wasn’t in the mood for champagne.
Not until she convinced Luke to help her.
Luke came over with the wine and handed it to her. Abby tried to avoid his fingers in the exchange but somehow they both let go of the glass at the same time and it landed with a blood-like splash over the front of her brand-new baby blue cotton and cashmere blend sweater. Well, it wasn’t brand new—she’d bought it at a second-hand shop for a ridiculously cheap price—but it was cashmere.
‘Oops!’ She leapt off the sofa, almost knocking him over in her scramble to get up. But her leap sent more drops of wine splashing over the cream carpet and the sofa. ‘Oh, no...’
He steadied her with two strong hands on her upper arms; the sensation of his fingers pressing into her skin even through the layers of her clothing was nothing short of electrifying. He dropped his hold as if he’d felt the same voltage, and took a clean white handkerchief from his pocket. For a moment she thought he was going to mop her breasts for her but then he seemed to collect himself and handed it to her instead. ‘Don’t worry about the carpet and the sofa. They’ve been treated with a stain resistant.’ His voice was so husky it sounded like he’d been snacking on gravel.
Abby dabbed at her breasts and tried not to notice how close he was. She could smell the subtle lime notes of his aftershave and a base note of something else, something woodsy and arrantly masculine. She could even see the individual pinpoints of his regrowth on his chin, the way it was liberally sprinkled around his well sculptured mouth, making her want to press her fingertips to it to see if it felt as prickly as it looked.
She balled the soiled handkerchief into one hand while the other pulled her soaked sweater away from her breasts. ‘Do you have something I could wear while I take this off and rinse it?’
‘Can’t you just put your coat over it or something?’
Abby blew out a breath. ‘This sweater cost me a week’s wages.’ No way was she going to admit it was second-hand. ‘And don’t get me started about my bra.’ Which wasn’t second-hand and had cost a packet because no way was she going to wear someone else’s underwear. She had done that for most of her childhood.
His frown made his forehead wrinkle like isobars on a weather map. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘What? Why do you say that?’ Abby asked. ‘I work at a fashion magazine. I have to wear the latest fashion. I can’t be seen out and about in last season’s threads.’
‘Don’t they give you freebies or a discount?’
Abby moved her gaze to the left of his. ‘I’m not a fashion editor. I just write a weekly relationships column.’
‘Come with me,’ he said and led the way out of the room to the downstairs bathroom. ‘Wait here. I’ll bring you something from upstairs.’
Abby closed the bathroom door and took off the sweater. She grimaced at the state of her bra. Why had she worn the virginal white one when she could have worn the red?
Because you’re a virgin?
Don’t remind me.
Which made her wonder...when was the last time Luke had sex? Had he had sex with anyone since Kimberley’s death? Five years was a long time to be celibate if you’d had a regular sex life before. Which Abby was pretty certain he’d had. Men as sexy as Luke Shelverton did not have to work too hard to find lovers. One look from him and women came out of the woodwork like termites.
There was a knock at the bathroom door and Abby held a hand towel across her breasts and opened the door. Luke handed her a finely woven sweater the colour of his eyes. ‘I know it’s too big but I don’t have anything your size.’
Abby took the sweater from him and held it against her chest along with the towel. She could smell the clean scent of wool wash on the soft fibres and even a faint trace of him. ‘Ella told me she thought you still had some of Kimberley’s clothes.’
His eyes hardened to chips of blue ice. ‘Is this scheme of stand-in fiancé something you and Ella have cooked up together?’
Abby held the sweater against her chest like armour. ‘No. It was my idea but she thought it was a good plan. She said it was high time you went to something other than a boring engineering function. And since you and Ella are the only people in my life who know I’m not really engaged, in a way you’re the only one who can help me.’
‘What about your family? Don’t they know?’
Family. That was another thing Abby had done some considerable embellishing over. She hadn’t even told Ella the truth about her background. Abby didn’t have a family. She didn’t want her friends, much less her adoring public, to know she had grown up in numerous foster homes with a bunch of other needy kids and overworked, overwrought, overbearing at times foster parents. The last family she’d stayed with had been the most functional, but even they hadn’t kept in touch with her once she’d left the foster system.
Even Abby’s surname was a stage name because she had more skeletons in her closet than she had clothes. She didn’t want anyone putting her real surname in a search engine and linking her to a now deceased drug-addicted prostitute and a man currently in jail for assault with a deadly weapon. She couldn’t bear reliving the shame all over again. Being reminded she had never been loved as a child should be loved, never protected as a child should be protected.
Never wanted.
There were some things you just had to keep private.
Abby couldn’t quite meet Luke’s gaze. ‘Of course they know. But it’s not like they can do anything. You’re the only one I can ask to do this.’
‘I’m sorry, Abby. You’ll have to find someone else.’
Abby forgot about covering her wine-splashed bra and handed him back his sweater. ‘Look, Luke, I know the last five years have been tough on you, really tough, but don’t you ever want to just go out and have a night on the town like normal people do?’
His eyes flicked to her bra-covered breasts and then returned to hold her gaze in a steely blue trap. ‘What’s normal about pretending to millions of people you’re in a relationship that doesn’t even exist?’
Abby grabbed her sweater from the marble basin console and pulled it back over her head, thrusting her arms through the sleeves with such force she nearly tore a hole in one of them. ‘I’ll tell you what’s normal,’ she said, popping her head out of the collar to glare at him, not caring that her wavy hair was as ruffled and wild as her temper. ‘It’s normal to help friends out when they’re in a pickle. But you keep pushing all your friends away since Kimberley died, which is so sad because your friends and family are who you need to get you through this. You’re needed, Luke. Ella and your mum need you and I do too.’
His mouth was so tightly set a postage stamp couldn’t have been pushed between his lips. ‘I think you’ve said enough.’
No way had Abby said enough. She wasn’t going to be put off her plan. She had to get him to agree to it.
She had to.
‘My entire career is at stake here. I can’t go to the ball without a partner. I’m supposed to be half of one of London’s most influential couples. I’ll be fired on the spot if they find out I’ve made him up. I want so much to raise funds for this charity. It’s my way to really make a difference in the world. There’ll be sponsors there who are going to pay hundreds, possibly thousands of pounds to see me there with my fiancé. You have to help me, Luke. You have to go with me. You have to!’
He slowly shook his head at her as if she were a child having a tantrum, his arms folded across his chest, his feet firmly planted like centuries-old tree trunks. ‘No.’
Desperation was climbing up Abby’s spine like hundreds of faceless creatures with hooked claws. So many people would be at that ball. Important people. Stars, celebrities, movers and shakers and even minor royalty. Possibly major royalty. Maybe the Queen would be there—she’d turned up at the Olympics, so why not the Spring Ball?
People were expecting to see Abby there with her fiancé. It was unthinkable for her to be there on her own. Her chance to do her bit for disadvantaged kids like her would be ruined if she didn’t show up on the arm of her soulmate. The thought of those poor little kids missing out on the things she had missed out on because her fundraising attempt had blown up in her face was heartbreaking.
Why couldn’t Luke do this one small thing for her?
Abby stalked past him out of the bathroom and went back to the sitting room, where she had left her bag and phone. ‘Right, well, then. I thought you were a friend but clearly I’m mistaken about that.’
His expression showed no trace of emotion. ‘Your sweater is on back to front.’
Abby looked down at her sweater and suppressed a groan. Why was she always so clumsy and gauche around him? It hardly helped her cause to be acting like a clown in a farce. She put her phone down and drew her arms out of the sleeves while still wearing the sweater and turned it around so it was facing the right way before poking her arms back through the sleeves. ‘There. Happy now, Mr Perfect?’
Mr Perfect?
His eyes dropped to her mouth but then just as quickly jerked back to her eyes as if he was fighting some inner demon and only just winning the battle. ‘Why didn’t you say anything to Ella about that night?’
‘How do you know I didn’t tell her?’
‘She would’ve mentioned it by now if you had.’
Abby let out a long breath. ‘I didn’t want her to know you were drowning your sorrows in booze. She worries about you enough as it is.’
He looked taken aback. ‘I wasn’t drunk...’ He paused for a beat. ‘I had a migraine.’
‘A migraine?’ Abby frowned. ‘But there was an empty wine glass on—’
‘I’d had one drink after work but it triggered a migraine. I get them occasionally.’
Did his sister and mother know about his migraines? Did anybody know? Abby couldn’t stop her gaze from darting to his mouth and back again. Had it been wishful thinking on her part to think he had almost kissed her? Had she wanted him to kiss her?
Damn right she had.
‘Do you remember anything about that night?’ Abby said. ‘Anything at all?’
‘Not much.’ His tone had an edge of something she couldn’t quite identify. ‘I didn’t...do or say anything to you that I shouldn’t have, did I?’
She couldn’t control the impulse to send her tongue over lips that suddenly felt drier than the carpet she was standing on. His gaze followed every millimetre of the journey, leaving a trail of blistering, tingling heat along the entire surface of her lips as if his mouth and not his eyes had rested there. ‘You mean like make a pass at me?’
A flicker of worry flashed over his face. ‘Please tell me I didn’t.’
‘Maybe if you kissed me again you’d remember if you did or not.’
Are you completely and utterly crazy?
Abby had no idea why she’d issued such a daring challenge but it popped out of her mouth and was now hovering in the air between them like an intoxicating vapour.
Or maybe she did know why she’d said it—because she wanted him to kiss her. Had wanted it ever since that night.
A real kiss.
Not an almost one.
She couldn’t pull her gaze away from his mouth, or pull her mind away from the thought of his firm disapproving lips pressing down on hers. Wondering how his mouth would feel—hard or soft or somewhere deliciously in between. How he would taste—salty with a hint of coffee or mint or maybe even a lick of top-shelf brandy. She was getting tipsy on the images her mind was spinning—images of him taking her by the shoulders and pulling her against his broad chest and plundering her mouth with his.
Yes, plundering, like one of those swashbuckling heroes in the period dramas she loved to watch on rainy Sunday afternoons.
Luke stepped closer and placed his hand beneath her chin, his fingers warm and firm against her skin. She couldn’t remember him ever touching her before, apart from That Night, but the same thing happened now. Nerves she didn’t know she possessed leapt and danced and all but fainted at his touch. The space between their bodies pulsated with magnetic energy—energy that rippled in the air like an invisible current.
His eyes held hers in a searing tether that made something in her core quiver and a shiver rolled down her spine like a runaway firecracker. This close she could see every thick lash fringing his mesmerising lapis lazuli eyes, the way his pupils were black and wide like bottomless pools of ink. She could see the detailed sculpture of his mouth, the deep philtrum ridge and the well-defined vermillion borders, and wondered again what it would feel like to have those lips clamped to hers.
‘Read my lips.’ His voice was so firm it sounded as if it was underlined. In bold and italics for good measure. ‘I am not going to the ball. Got it?’
Abby was more than reading his lips. She was studying them as if she was swotting for a final exam. Had she ever seen a more gorgeous mouth? Not that it was a mouth that ever smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him crack a grin. But then, his air of brooding gravitas had always secretly fascinated her.
Abby had to get him to change his mind about the ball. She had to. Had to. Had to. Her career depended on it. Her reputation. The children at risk charity she was raising funds for would not reach its target if she didn’t show up with a fiancé in tow.
