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‘I’m…I’m sure you are joking,’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘After all, it’s not very nice to stand someone up.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m sure she won’t mind. It’s a blind date, anyway.’ He grinned. ‘They are always a disaster.’
It was Mike’s brother. For a moment she almost laughed aloud. Jenny hadn’t exaggerated when she had said how attractive he was, but she hadn’t told her about his arrogant manner. She supposed that with those looks it was inevitable.
‘I’ll think up some good excuse to smooth it over tomorrow,’ he was saying now.
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry but I couldn’t be the cause of such duplicity,’ she said primly. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you will thank me when you see your date—she’s probably stunning.’
He shrugged. ‘Honey, I wouldn’t be interested now, if she looked like Michelle Pfeiffer,’ he said with a gleam of humour in his eyes.
She had to laugh. ‘Sorry…but I have to go.’ With a casual wave of her hand she turned to jostle her way through the crowd. She was well aware that the man was astonished. He had probably never been turned down in his life before.
‘There you are.’ Jenny held out an orange juice for her. ‘I know you said you didn’t want a drink but it’s so hot in here.’
‘Thanks, Jen.’ Abbie took the glass gratefully. The room was getting very hot.
‘I don’t know where that brother of mine has got to,’ Mike said with a frown. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if he’s coming.’
Abigail shrugged. Would he come over? she wondered. Did she care? He was very sure of himself, very arrogant. He was also too good-looking for any woman’s peace of mind. Greg Prescott had danger written all over him.
Even so, when he appeared at Mike’s elbow she felt a jolt of pleasure at seeing him again. Greg might be dangerous but he was also magnetically exciting.
‘We were just starting to give up on you.’ Mike turned with a look of relief on his face. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
Greg’s gaze met Abigail’s, and for a moment amusement sparkled clearly in his dark eyes. ‘Talking to a very beautiful woman,’ he said drily.
That comment completely threw Mike, who was clearly flustered for a moment before saying, ‘Well, meet an even more beautiful one. Abigail, this is my wayward brother Greg.’
Abigail stretched out a hand calmly. ‘You can call me Michelle Pfeiffer,’ she said evenly.
At first Abigail tried to keep her distance from Greg. She knew full well that he was something of a devil, albeit a charming one where women were concerned, and she had no intention of being another scalp on his bedpost.
As well as that, she kept telling herself that he was only in England for a short while. He had taken three months out to travel before settling back to his career in the States.
Even so, when he took her home at the end of their evenings together and kissed her, it was very hard to remember all those words of warning. There seemed to be a deep chemistry between them. As soon as his lips touched hers she wanted to melt.
As time went by it got harder and harder to pull away from him. He was skilled in the art of seduction and his kisses were passionate, his embrace like melting into heaven. After a while she started kidding herself that she was different, that he was serious about her, and she realised with a sudden jolt that she was falling in love with him.
Of course she had been crazy to get so involved with him, she acknowledged now. But at the time she had turned a blind eye to the possible heartbreak of the situation.
The months flew by and, as the date of his departure loomed closer, their kisses became more and more intense, almost bitter-sweet, their embraces searingly tender.
When the men decided to put off their departure date for another month, Abigail had almost cried with relief. She remembered that evening so clearly now that it was almost like a knife twisting in her heart.
Greg had taken her out for dinner to an intimate little hotel in the country.
They had lingered over coffee, both of them loath to see the end of the evening.
‘I’m glad you are staying longer.’ Abigail whispered as their eyes met and held across the candle-lit table.
‘So am I.’ He smiled and reached for her hand. Then gently he lifted it to his lips and kissed the palm, then each finger in turn in a blatantly sensual caress.
Abigail felt a tremor run through her body. All her senses were heightened; she felt almost light-headed with desire as she looked into the darkness of his eyes.
‘I’m staying because of you, Abbie,’ he whispered. ‘I’m falling in love with you, my darling, and I can hardly bear the thought of leaving.’
‘Oh, Greg.’ She looked away from him and sudden tears of happiness shone in her eyes. In her dreams she had heard those words, but she hadn’t dared to let herself hope he would say them.
‘Tears?’ He brushed a gentle finger under the dark sweep of her lashes as she tried to hide her eyes from him. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart. The last thing I want is to upset you.’
‘I’m not upset.’ Her voice shook slightly as she lifted shimmering eyes to his. ‘I love you…with all my heart.’
He reached across and cupped her face in an exquisitely tender hand. ‘You don’t know how happy that makes me,’ he rasped huskily.
She smiled shakily. She felt as if they had come to the most momentous moment of her life. ‘Where do we go from here?’ she whispered.
He smiled. ‘We are in a very beautiful country inn.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And how I’ve managed to keep my hands off you these past few months is beyond me.’
Nerves spiralled inside her. But she knew she wanted him, she wanted him as she had never wanted anything else in her life before.
She would never forget that night…much as she tried to keep it buried deep inside her, at the oddest moments it came back to haunt her.
The heavy scent of the climbing roses that nodded gently against the open mullioned window. The cool feeling of the linen sheets against her naked skin. The taste of Greg’s skin on her lips, the powerful feeling of his hard body against her soft yielding one.
His mouth caressed every inch of her slender body with driving urgency. His caress held undisguised hunger, yet when he took her it was with such gentle tenderness that she could have died there and then with the sheer pleasure of being loved by him. She held him against her fiercely, loving him more than she had thought possible.
‘Don’t ever leave me,’ she whispered softly into the darkness of the night as, sated, they drifted to sleep locked in each other’s arms.
As the weeks drifted by their love affair became more and more intense.
‘I think Greg will ask you to marry him,’ Jenny remarked casually one day.
‘I don’t know.’ Abigail shrugged. They had never discussed the future. Abigail was almost frightened to bring the subject up.
‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you,’ Jenny declared confidently. ‘Love and passion fairly sizzle in the air between you.’
Abigail merely laughed. She didn’t want to tempt fate by being over-confident but she did feel as if things were right between her and Greg. She had made up her mind that he was the man she wanted to spend her whole life with. Whether that life would be spent in England or the States she didn’t care. She would have followed Greg to the ends of the earth.
Remembering the strength of her feelings for just a moment, Abigail stirred restlessly between the silken sheets. She didn’t want to think about the past. She didn’t want to remember how passionately Greg had made love to her. She needed to remember instead his deceit, his duplicity.
Never for one moment had she suspected that Greg was already engaged to a woman in the States. The knowledge had hurt unbearably…Abigail had never experienced such bitter deceit.
She found out about Connie purely by chance, about a fortnight before Greg finally left for the States.
They had planned to go out in a foursome that night, but Greg suddenly rang up to say he couldn’t make it, that he wasn’t feeling very well.
Abigail had been disappointed but she hadn’t thought there was anything amiss. When Jenny left with Mike, she sat alone in the flat and tried to content herself watching a television programme, but she felt restless and lonely. It wouldn’t be long before Greg went back to the States; every evening was precious and she hated to waste one like this.
In the end she dialled his hotel, intending to ask him if she could go round and keep him company.
When a woman answered the phone, Abigail’s immediate thought was that she had been put through to the wrong room.
‘I’m sorry—I wanted room 402,’ she said hurriedly.
She had been about to put the phone down when the husky voice said, ‘This is room 402.’
There had been a moment’s startled silence before Abigail said in a strained voice, ‘I wanted to speak to Greg.’
‘He’s in the shower at the moment,’ the woman had said airily. ‘I’m his fiancee—can I give him a message?’
Icy cold shock-waves had made it almost impossible to answer. It took all her strength to say huskily, ‘No…no message.’
After she had put the phone down Abigail sat in the quiet solitude of her apartment, absolutely shattered.
Up until that moment she had actually believed herself to be in love with Greg Prescott and she had believed the words he had whispered in her ear as they made love. She felt a fool…She felt cheap and used.
It was true to say that no other man had caused her so much anguish so much heartache. She had felt truly let down by him. He had seemed so genuine, so interested in her. It hurt like crazy to know he had only been leading her on, that all the time he was engaged to be married to another woman.
It had been a bitter irony that on that same evening, Jenny came home and announced her engagement to Michael.
‘He asked me over dinner.’ Jenny’s face glowed with happiness. ‘Your turn next, Abbie…Greg will pop the question any day.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Abbie had smiled bravely and kissed her sister. ‘But I wish you every happiness.’
‘Oh, I’ll be happy…and so will you.’
Abigail hadn’t the heart to put a cloud over her sister’s wonderful news with her own gloomy report. So she had merely shrugged. ‘You know, Jen, I don’t know if Greg is quite my type and I’m not really ready to settle down yet.’
Jenny had looked astounded at those words. They were the first of many lies she was to tell Jenny about her feelings where Greg was concerned.
Apart from wanting to salvage her pride from the situation Abigail hadn’t wanted to disillusion Jenny about Greg—after all, Greg would be her brother-in-law soon and what was the point in souring that relationship before it started?
It was a natural reaction for Abigail to want to protect Jenny. Since they were small she had always looked out for her younger sister, and when their parents died and there were just the two of them that bond had grown even stronger.
Still, she had got her own back on Greg in a subtle kind of way, she thought grimly now. For a start, she had let his beautiful fiancée, Connie, know exactly how Greg had been filling in his time since reaching London. It was no wonder the woman had ditched him and gone dashing back to the States.
She didn’t regret telling the woman either, she thought now, as she tossed and turned. She deserved to know what kind of a rat her fiance was. If she was engaged to a man like that she would thank someone for enlightening her. Her loathing for Greg twisted inside her for a moment. She had that man’s measure and she would never forget how he had used her, and she would never forgive him.
She turned and buried her head into the pillows. The sound of a door closing brought her out of her reverie. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was nearing one in the morning. Surely Greg wasn’t coming in now at this late hour? Her lips twisted angrily.
The sound of a small whimper coming from next door distracted her thoughts, and immediately she got up and reached for her dressing-gown.
When she got into the girls’ room she came to an abrupt halt at the sight that met her eyes. Rachel was awake and crying, but she was being held tenderly in Greg’s arms as he tried gently to soothe her tears away.
‘Hush, sweetheart,’ he murmured as he turned to look at Abbie. ‘Look, Aunty Abbie has come to see what’s the matter now.’
‘I want my mummy, I want my mummy,’ the little girl whimpered over and over in a broken little voice until Abigail thought her heart would break.
‘Don’t cry, Rachel.’ She went to sit on the other side of the bed and reached out a hand to stroke the little girl’s curls back from her face. ‘Mummy wouldn’t want you to cry.’
The child tried to stop the deep sobs but her breath caught in painful gasps and she clung tightly to Greg, her face buried against him. Slowly he rocked her backwards and forwards, murmuring gentle endearments.
He was wearing a burgundy silk dressing-gown, Abigail noticed distractedly. So much for thinking he had just come in. Her eyes lingered on his face.
The dim lamplight gave no softness to features that were set in grim lines. As the child’s breath caught raggedly, he glanced up and there was an expression in his eyes that startled Abigail. She realised suddenly that Rachel’s sobs were cutting through that tough exterior of his, and that he was holding the child with the gentleness of someone who deeply sympathised.
Their eyes met over the little girl’s head and Abigail swallowed hard as she was caught rawly in the emotion of the moment. Tears shimmered in her eyes and she looked away, desperately striving for control.
‘She’ll be all right.’ Greg’s voice was husky, yet somehow very calm, very much under control. ‘You go back to bed, Abbie.’
She bit down on her lip. Was he trying to make a point that she wasn’t needed? Watching the scene in front of her, it wasn’t hard to imagine that was indeed the case.
She swallowed hard. ‘I’d rather stay,’ she whispered rawly.
He made no reply, just continued to soothe the child with a gentleness that somehow tore at Abigail’s heart just as profoundly as the little girl’s tears. After a while Rachel’s sobs began to fade and her eyes to close from sheer exhaustion. As sleep started to claim her, Greg moved to put her down. She looked so small and helpless against the wide breadth of his shoulders, her face flushed, her little hands still clutching his dressing-gown.
Slowly he eased her down, then smoothly he took her hands from his shoulder and tucked her under the covers of her bed. She didn’t stir, and her eyes were tightly closed. With infinite tenderness he bent to kiss her cheek gently.
Abbie realised in that instant that, no matter what she thought about Greg, it was obvious that he cared for the children. She watched as he tucked Daisy in and then she kissed both of the sleeping children before following him silently from the room.
‘Has she been crying long?’ Her voice was a strained whisper as they closed the door.
Greg shook his head. ‘Luckily I got in there before she woke Daisy.’
‘Poor little thing.’ Abigail bit down on her lip and for a moment tears sparkled clearly in her bright blue eyes. ‘I’d give anything to make everything all right for them again.’
‘Wouldn’t we all?’ Greg raked a hand through dark ruffled hair. ‘It’s been a hell of a day.’ The words were spoken with grim feeling.
She swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’
For a moment there was just silence as they both stood in the corridor. Somehow Abigail felt loath to move away from him. It was as if she was frightened to be on her own after the emotional atmosphere in that bedroom.
‘Are you all right?’
The softly spoken question made her nerves tingle. She nodded. ‘I…I just hated seeing Rachel so upset—it tears me apart.’
He nodded. ‘But now that the funeral is behind us we can start trying to pick up the pieces. The girls are young, and youth tends to be remarkably resilient.’
‘I suppose so,’ she murmured reflectively, then raked a distracted hand through long blonde hair. ‘I’ll never sleep tonight,’ she admitted hollowly. ‘My mind is so active—it’s whirling around over all sorts of tortuous things.’
‘I know what you mean. I can’t sleep either.’ His eyes flicked over her pale skin. ‘Come on, I’ll get you a drink.’ He turned and led the way into the dining-room and for once she didn’t argue with him.
Talking to anyone—even Greg Prescott—was preferable to facing the dark silence of her room in her present state of mind.
She noticed absently that the table in the dining-room was strewn with papers; obviously Greg had been working in here when he heard Rachel cry.
‘How long have you been home?’ she asked curiously.
