Morelli's Mistress (Harlequin Presents) (5 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

A
WEEK
LATER
, Abby had succeeded in putting what she preferred to call ‘Luke’s uncalled-for assault’ out of her mind.

It had been an aberration, nothing more. On his part, and probably on hers, as well. For God’s sake, she’d thought she’d got what had happened five years ago into perspective. She was a free, independent woman these days; not the pathetic abused wife she used to be.

It was late afternoon, and Lori had already gone to collect her daughter from school, and, as there were no customers, Abby decided to close up a little earlier than usual.

It had been a dank afternoon, and frankly few people had been about. When the door opened, she thought her assistant must have forgotten something and had come back to collect it. But, instead, it was Greg Hughes.

Her heart sank. She so wasn’t in the mood to talk to the photographer and, not for the first time, she wished she didn’t live over the café and could say she was on her way home.

She’d just finished cleaning the coffee machine when he strolled over with a proprietorial air to rest his elbows on the polished counter.

‘You heard anything yet?’ he asked rudely, without offering a greeting, and Abby turned from her task to give him a cool stare.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said...’

‘Yes, I heard what you said.’ Abby regarded him with cold inquiry. ‘I just don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Greg scowled. ‘The development,’ he said impatiently. ‘Have you heard any more about the development?’ He paused. ‘I assume you’ve read your letter by now.’

‘Oh.’ The development and the
developer
were the last things she wanted to think about. ‘Then, yes, I’ve read the solicitor’s letter, and no, I haven’t heard anything else.’

Greg sniffed. ‘Well, it’s a rum affair, if you ask me,’ he said. ‘I want to know what kind of compensation they’re offering.’

‘Compensation?’

‘Yes. They’ve got to pay me something for the eighteen months that are left on my lease. Until they do, I won’t know what kind of replacement premises I’ll be able to afford.’

‘I see.’

‘’Course, you won’t have that problem, will you?’ he went on smugly. ‘By the time you get your marching orders, your lease will have run out.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘You told me you only had six months left.’ Greg was unrepentant. ‘I just wondered, as you seemed to know the guy, if he’d given you a heads-up.’

Abby was tempted to lie and say she didn’t know Luke. But she couldn’t be sure that someone hadn’t seen them last week on the waste ground behind the shops.

‘I think I said I knew
of
his company,’ she said, hiding her crossed fingers. ‘I—well, I believe he was round here the other day, checking out his investment. Anonymously, apparently.’

‘Really?’ Clearly Greg hadn’t heard anything about this, and Abby realised belatedly that she’d virtually admitted recognising Luke.

But Greg didn’t pick her up on it, evidently assuming someone else had told her the news. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d seen Morelli. I’d have felt like giving him a piece of my mind.’

‘Would you? That’s interesting.’

Abby started in surprise. She’d been so intent on not giving Greg any reason to suspect she knew more than she was saying that she hadn’t heard the door open. Which wasn’t surprising because the bell was definitely on its last legs.

Greg started, too, eyes turning apprehensively to look over his shoulder. But, he didn’t recognise the newcomer and a certain look of belligerence crossed his face.

‘Do you mind?’ he said, before Abby could say anything. ‘This is a private conversation.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Luke closed the door and crossed the café with lithe, easy grace. ‘I thought I heard my name mentioned. Something about giving me a piece of your mind, wasn’t it?’

Greg’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re Morelli?’ he exclaimed disbelievingly, and Abby couldn’t say she was surprised.

In jeans and a navy turtleneck, a leather jacket looking distinctly as if it had seen better days, Luke looked nothing like the successful entrepreneur she knew him to be.

Evidently, Greg was taken aback, as much by Luke’s appearance as by what he’d said. He turned back to Abby, raising his eyebrows in stunned inquiry, and she made an involuntary movement of her shoulders that she hoped Luke hadn’t seen.

‘So...?’ Luke joined Greg at the counter. ‘Do you want to tell me who you are? I don’t believe I caught your name.’

‘It’s Hughes. Greg Hughes,’ the man muttered unwillingly. ‘I own the photography studio next door.’

‘I see.’ Luke nodded. ‘So, Mr Hughes, what did you want to say to me? I’m listening.’

Greg’s jaw jutted defensively. Then, as if realising he had to say something, he said, ‘I just don’t agree with—with people—’

‘Like myself,’ put in Luke helpfully, and Abby sensed he was enjoying this.

‘Well, yeah.’ Greg sniffed. ‘I don’t think you realise how old this parade of shops is.’ And when Luke didn’t answer, ‘And you’re just going to pull them all down and put up a supermarket. It’s sacrilege, that’s what it is. Sacrilege!’

Abby saw Luke give her an inquiring look. ‘Is this your opinion, as well, Mrs Laurence?’

Abby flushed. ‘It’s
Ms
Lacey,’ she said, aware, with some irritation, that Greg was regarding her curiously now. ‘I—well, I resumed my maiden name after—after buying the business.’

‘Ah.’

Luke’s dark eyes assessed her with disturbing intensity, and she was instantly aware that the ponytail, with which she’d started the day, was now shedding strands of damp hair onto her shoulders. She also still had on the apron she’d worn to clean the equipment, and she was sure it looked definitely the worse for wear.

Dammit!

‘But you didn’t answer my question—Ms Lacey.’

Luke was speaking again, but before she could respond Greg answered for her.

‘Of course she agrees with me,’ he exclaimed belligerently. ‘How do you think we all feel? This is our livelihood. And in Abby’s case, her home, as well.’

‘Really?’ Abby saw Luke absorb this piece of information and could have slapped Greg for giving out her personal details to a man she’d hoped never to see again.

‘Yes, really,’ Greg continued, apparently unaware of—or indifferent to—Abby’s feelings. ‘At least I had the sense to buy another house while property was cheap.’

‘I’m sure Mr Morelli isn’t interested in our problems, Greg,’ Abby inserted, glaring at him. She straightened her spine. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Morelli? Or did you just come here to sample my coffee?’

‘Hey, that’s a good idea,’ broke in Greg again, much to her frustration. ‘And you should try one of Abby’s blueberry muffins. If they don’t persuade you to think again about the development, nothing will.’

‘Greg!’ Abby was horrified. The last thing she wanted was for Luke to think that she and Greg Hughes had been conspiring against him. ‘I don’t think anything we say—or do—will change Mr Morelli’s mind.’

* * *

Luke crossed his arms, tucking his hands beneath his armpits. He was tempted to say ‘You got that right’, but, despite his feelings towards Abby, he was loath to embarrass her in front of this oaf.

‘Perhaps I will have a coffee, after all,’ he said, aware that his words were probably just as irritating to Abby’s ears as what Hughes had said had been. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

He saw Abby’s lips tighten. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr Morelli,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ve just closed the machine down for the night.’

Greg Hughes snorted. ‘Looks like you’re out of luck, Morelli,’ he said, not without a certain amount of satisfaction. He paused. ‘I guess you’ll just have to tell us what you’re doing here without one of the perks of the job.’

Luke’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t believe I invited you to hear what I had to say to Ms Lacey,’ he remarked neutrally. ‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than stand around here talking to me.’

The photographer scowled. Then he looked at Abby. ‘Do you want me to go, Abby?’ he asked pointedly. ‘I can stick around for a bit, if you’d rather.’

Luke could tell Abby had mixed feelings. He sensed she was no friend of the photographer, but then she was no friend of Luke’s either.

‘That’s okay, Greg,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’m good. I’ll let you know later if Mr Morelli has any news.’

She was anything but good, thought Luke grimly, as, with some reluctance, Greg Hughes let himself out of the café. And now they were alone, she was evidently eager for him to be gone, too.

As soon as the door had closed, she said, ‘I was of the opinion we had nothing more to say to one another, Mr Morelli. And as I was about to close the café, I’d be grateful if you could get to the point of this visit.’

In truth, Luke wasn’t absolutely sure what the point of his visit was. Okay, his father had phoned and said he’d got a touch of flu, but that wouldn’t normally have been reason enough for Luke to abandon any meetings he’d had arranged and drive down to Bath to see him.

In fact, before he’d heard from his father, he’d seriously been considering taking a break from business and asking the young woman he was presently seeing whether she fancied a trip to the Seychelles. Blue skies, blue water, tropical breezes, and five-star accommodation sounded pretty good to him, and he guessed it would sound pretty good to Jodi, too.

So why was he here in Ashford-St-James, lying to his father about checking out building regulations, to cross swords with a woman he’d sworn had nearly ruined his life? He was over her now, wasn’t he? Except for that niggling feeling of unfinished business where she was concerned.

‘Okay,’ he said, after a moment, ‘why don’t you tell me why you chose to leave a perfectly good job in London to move down here?’

Abby’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re not serious.’

‘Humour me.’

‘Why should I? What I do—or did—is nothing to do with you.’

Luke sighed. ‘I’d like to know. What happened to make you change your life so drastically?’

Abby shook her head. He thought she wasn’t going to answer him. Then she said flatly, ‘I got a divorce. That’s what happened. But you know that. So why are you asking these questions?’

Luke frowned. ‘I guess I’m wondering whether, after losing this business, you’ll be moving back to London.’

Abby stared at him for a moment without speaking. Then she turned and bent to deposit the cloth she’d been using below the counter.

‘I think you’d better go, Mr Morelli,’ she said. ‘I have no intention of answering any more of your questions.’

Luke watched her remove her apron and stow it in what appeared to be a laundry basket at the back of the serving area. Then she smoothed her hands down over what he could now see was a short pleated skirt above those long, spectacular legs.

If she was aware that he was watching her, she ignored it. She came to the end of the counter, and regarded him without a shred of liking in her cool gaze.

‘Please go,’ she said tersely. ‘I want to lock up.’

Luke’s hands dropped to his sides and he shoved his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans. Doing so tightened the fabric across his abdomen and he was instantly conscious of his semi-erection. His zip pressed uncomfortably against his groin and he was glad she was so intent on getting rid of him that she didn’t pay him any attention.

But he had one more parting shot. ‘I guess,’ he said provocatively as he strolled towards the outer door, ‘when Laurence threw you out, it would have been difficult to maintain your standard of living in the city. I hope he’s paying you some alimony. Losing this place will be quite a blow.’

He felt rather than saw her brush past him. Yanking open the door ahead of him, she said angrily, ‘Get out!’

Luke was in no hurry. ‘The truth hurts, doesn’t it?’ he remarked mockingly. ‘You should have considered the consequences before you thought of breaking your marriage vows.’

He was almost sure there were tears in her eyes now, but he refused to show her any remorse. It was time she started paying for what she’d done.

But as he stepped out into the street, he had to admit he didn’t feel the sense of closure he’d expected. It would come, though, he assured himself. Just as soon as he demolished the café and all the other businesses on this row.

But as the door slammed behind him he wished he didn’t feel such a bastard.

CHAPTER FIVE

L
UKE
’
S
PLANE
LANDED
at Heathrow just after eight a.m.

His flight had been delayed in Hong Kong, and he’d had to kick his heels around the international airport there for more than three hours.

By the time he got out of the arrivals lounge at Heathrow and found his chauffeur, Felix, waiting for him, he was in no mood to make nice with anyone.

‘Good trip?’ queried Felix, getting behind the wheel, and Luke gave him a dour look.

‘How long have you been waiting?’ he asked, instead of answering the man, and Felix shrugged.

‘A couple of hours, give or take,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I checked the flight online and saw there’d been a delay. But I never trust those schedules. I prefer to come to the airport and see for myself.’

That, at least, drew a rueful smile from his employer.

‘They’re usually reliable, you know,’ Luke said drily. Then, hooking one ankle across his knee, he gazed out of the car’s windows at the overcast sky. ‘It’s been a long journey.’

‘I’ll bet.’ Felix glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. ‘Maybe you should have gone to Mahe, after all.’

‘Yeah.’

Luke conceded the point, but said nothing more. Maybe he should have taken Jodi to the Seychelles as he’d originally intended. But after that trip to Ashford-St-James, he’d been in no mood to spend time with another woman.

Instead, he’d spent a couple of weeks in Melbourne, catching up with what Ray Carpenter and his family were doing. And avoiding thinking about the development he’d been planning before he went away.

‘So,’ he said resignedly, ‘is there any news?’

‘I suppose it depends what you mean by news,’ replied Felix evenly. ‘Some guy involved with that site you’re hoping to develop in Wiltshire has started a petition. He’s claiming that the buildings you’re thinking of demolishing have historical significance and should be placed under a preservation order.’

Luke didn’t ask how the man had got his information. Somehow Felix always knew what was going on. But he didn’t have to think very hard to guess who he was talking about.

Greg Hughes!

So was Abby involved? He would have to find out.

* * *

It was almost dark when Abby got home after walking Harley. And raining quite heavily, too.

They’d circled the park a couple of times and then Abby had called at the local deli for groceries. She didn’t like to admit it, but it was true: Ashford-St-James did need a decent supermarket. One with its own parking area. That was one disadvantage about the café. There was nowhere to park nearby.

Not that she owned a car, she reflected with a sigh. She owned an old van that she used to collect supplies from the wholesalers, but that was all. And that had to be parked in the alley between the row of shops.

Her divorce from Harry had not been a pretty one, and, after paying for her mother’s funeral, Abby had been virtually broke. Only the modest price she’d got for her mother’s terraced house had enabled her to move away from London. But she’d been so desperate to escape, she’d have sacrificed any amount of money to be free.

She tried not to think about it these days. Leaving London had been the best thing she could have done. Had she stayed in the capital, she knew Harry would have found some way to hurt her. He was a vindictive man, and only the fear that his friends would make fun of him if he contested the divorce had forced him to let her go.

Abby let herself into the side door of the café premises and, after locking it and setting the dead bolt, she climbed the stairs to her apartment.

Harley frolicked ahead of her, full of beans after his walk. But Abby took the stairs a little more slowly, wondering how much longer she would be allowed to stay here.

It was a Friday evening, but, from her point of view, the weekend was usually her busiest time. Shoppers, who came into the small town at weekends to do their weekly shop, often came into the café for either coffee or lunch. But at least she’d have a whole day off on Sunday.

Inside the apartment, she went into the small kitchen to put her shopping away and give Harley his supper. As well as the kitchen, there was a living room, which she’d furnished from the saleroom, with a dining alcove, and a reasonably-sized bedroom and bath. It was nothing like the upmarket apartment she’d shared with Harry. But, by comparison, it was heaven on earth.

Or it had been.

With the retriever seen to, Abby regarded the contents of her fridge without enthusiasm. She wasn’t particularly hungry and she decided to have a shower before tackling her own meal.

Leaving Harley to his kibble, she went into the bedroom, kicking off her shoes as she did so. The shower was hot and she stood for several minutes letting the water cascade over her. She usually enjoyed the sensation, but tonight she couldn’t seem to relax.

She hadn’t forgotten that it was over three weeks since Luke’s visit to the café. Three weeks since they’d had that altercation that had culminated in Abby throwing him out. Well, asking him to go, she amended ruefully. There was no way she could have got him to leave if he hadn’t decided to do so.

Whatever, she knew he was the real cause of her depression. And not just because of the business either. It was obvious he still considered that she was to blame for Harry’s behaviour. But she was damned if she was going to try and tell him the truth, only to have him throw her words back in her face.

Besides, since moving to Ashford, she’d put all that misery behind her. Just occasionally, when she went back to visit her mother’s grave, the whole sorry affair jumped back into her mind.

Her mother would have been horrified had she even suspected the kind of life Abby had been leading before she died. But it had been worth it to ensure that Annabel Lacey had never wanted for anything.

Stepping out of the shower, she was towelling herself dry when she heard someone knocking at the outer door. Not to say ‘hammering’, she thought impatiently as Harley started barking. She wondered who on earth it could be.

The only person who came to mind was Greg Hughes and she had no intention of letting him in. But in all the years she’d been here, he’d never bothered her after dark.

The hammering started again and Harley’s barking grew to a crescendo. If she wasn’t careful, Miss Miller, who ran the gift shop on the other side of the café, and who also lived above the business, would begin to think something was wrong.

She couldn’t have that, and, tossing the towel aside, she wrung most of the water out of her hair and reached for her towelling bathrobe. Then, wrapping the folds about herself, she emerged into the living room where Harley was making so much noise.

‘Quiet,’ she said reprovingly, when the dog came to fuss about her. He was wagging his tail, but she knew better than to trust his judgement of who it might be.

It crossed her mind she shouldn’t open the door without first identifying her caller. She had one or two friends in Ashford; Lori Yates, for instance. But she would usually ring before turning up.

Biting her tongue, she opened the door to the stairs and paused, switching on the light. Of course, Harley had no such reservations and immediately ran down the stairs to the hall below. He barked again, as if saying,
What are you waiting for?
And with a resigned sigh, Abby followed him down.

She hesitated and then called warily, ‘Who is it?’

‘Me!’ Despite the fact that she shouldn’t instantly recognise the voice, it was unmistakeable. ‘Open the door, Abby. It’s pouring down out here.’

Luke!

Abby expelled an unsteady breath. What was Luke doing at her door?

‘I—I’m not dressed,’ she replied at last as Harley started barking again. ‘What do you want?’

Luke stifled an oath. ‘Open the damn door, Abby,’ he exclaimed, his patience obviously shredding. ‘Do you want me to get pneumonia?’

Abby was tempted to say she didn’t care, one way or the other, but that wouldn’t be true. She waited only another moment before releasing the bolt and pulling the heavy door open.

He was right. It was pouring, much worse now than it had been when they got back from their walk. A regular cloudburst had created a flood in the alley. Luke himself was soaked; the fabric of his jacket, which she suspected was cashmere, had darkened from silver grey to charcoal with the rain.

She bent and grabbed Harley and then stepped back automatically, and Luke dashed inside, closing the door behind him. A cool draught preceded him, making her shudder. Then he leaned back against the panels and regarded her between narrowed lids.

Abby knew his intent gaze was taking in every detail of her appearance, from the damp coil of hair looped over one shoulder to the shivering aspect of her shapely form. What was he thinking? she wondered. Why was he here? Not to deliver more bad news, she hoped.

It angered her a little that she was even asking herself these questions. Despite his apparent ownership of the site, Luke shouldn’t invade her privacy until he had the right to do so. Just because Harley was making a fuss of him, wagging his tail idiotically before rushing up the stairs and evidently expecting them to follow him, didn’t mean she had to give in. She sighed when Harley disappeared into the living room. He’d probably gone to fetch his favourite toy for Luke’s approval.

‘Why are you so wet?’ she asked at last, making no move to invite him up to the apartment. But she’d needed to say something, she thought, to ease the tension that was fairly crackling in the air between them.

‘I walked from the town square,’ he replied harshly. Then, after a nerve-tingling pause, ‘Believe it or not, but it’s impossible to stay dry when it’s raining.’

Sarcastic beast!

Abby wanted to reach past him, open the door and order him to leave. But, of course, she couldn’t do that. Not until she’d discovered why he was here.

‘I suppose you’d better come up,’ she said, indicating the stairs behind her. ‘It’s cold down here.’

‘You think?’

More sarcasm, but Abby chose to ignore it, going ahead of him up the staircase. Nevertheless, she was supremely conscious of him behind her. She was also conscious that she was barefoot, and that the bathrobe only fell a couple of inches below her knees. Not to mention the fact that she was naked underneath.

Her living room had never looked less appealing. The floral fabric of her sofa had seen better days and, although she’d brightened it up with coloured cushions, she was sure Luke would find it very different from what he was used to. Did he still have an apartment? No. He probably owned half a dozen houses by now.

At least Harley, and the lamps she’d switched on around the room, gave the place a homely familiarity. Luke followed her into the room and then closed the door behind him, immediately alerting her to the fact that they were alone.

‘Um—perhaps you should take off your jacket,’ she said belatedly, and Luke didn’t need a second invitation.

‘Thanks,’ he said, in a voice that implied he’d thought she’d never ask. He draped it over the back of one of the dining chairs. ‘It’s cold for this time of year.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Abby was glad of the change of tone.

Luke glanced about him. ‘Have you lived here long?’

Abby shrugged. ‘Over four years,’ she replied with some reluctance. ‘Why do you want to know?’

Luke’s deep-set dark eyes appraised her. ‘I’m curious. Is that when you left London?’

Abby shook her head. ‘You ask a lot of questions,’ she said. ‘Why are you here?’

Luke frowned, not answering her, and Abby wondered if she’d ever be able to enter the apartment again without seeing his lean, sardonic figure standing on her hearth.

In a maroon silk shirt, a paler tie pulled a few inches away from his collar, he looked darkly handsome. Add to that charcoal-grey pants, the dampness of which had caused the fabric to cling to his powerful legs, and she doubted any woman could remain immune to his sexual appeal.

She caught her breath, and as she did so Luke spoke again.

‘So you stayed with Laurence for over a year after that night in the wine bar,’ he remarked provokingly. ‘It must have been quite a blow when he threw you out.’

Abby was incensed. ‘So that’s why you came,’ she said disgustedly. ‘What are you looking for, Luke? Justification for the way you behaved?’

‘The way I behaved?’ He sounded incredulous.

‘Yes. You couldn’t leave it alone, could you? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I left Harry, not the other way about.’

Luke scowled. ‘That’s not why I’m here.’

‘Well, I can’t think of anything else.’ She wrapped her robe more closely about her. ‘But you’ve had—what?—four weeks to think of a reason. I’m surprised it took you so long.’

* * *

Luke’s patience snapped. Without another word, he reached for her, hauling her against him. He didn’t care that raindrops were still cascading down his face from his wet hair.

Capturing her chin with one hand, he brought her mouth to his.

Desire, hot and overwhelming, swept over him. His hands sought her hips, pulling her so close she must have been able to feel every muscle and sinew in his aroused body.

Because he was aroused, he realised, feeling his erection throbbing against her stomach. Dear God, what did this woman do to him that when he was with her, he couldn’t keep his hands off her?

Abby uttered a small protest, but then she arched against him. Luke was half afraid he was going to climax there and then. Steeling himself against the emotions roiling through his system, he tried to think coherently. He was here to talk about the petition Greg Hughes had no doubt set in motion. Not to make a fool of himself all over again.

But she was so warm, so desirable. Unable to prevent himself, he slid his hands up from her hips to her breasts. With his mouth still devouring hers, he peeled the towelling robe aside.

The belt, already loosely tied, gave way, exposing her naked body to his hungry gaze. Dragging his mouth from hers, he gazed down at her with hungry eyes. ‘Oh, yes,’ he muttered thickly. ‘You’re every bit as beautiful as I imagined.’