Morelli's Mistress (Harlequin Presents)

by Anne Mather

  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, Joa
n 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.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘SO WHAT DO you think their chances are?’

  Luke was pacing restlessly about Ben Stacey’s office in Mayfair, and he paused a moment to fix the other man with an impatient stare.

  ‘Hell, I don’t know.’ Ben, a man in his early forties, who had worked with Luke for the past four years, gave an indifferent shrug. ‘I’m an estate agent, a valuer, Luke. Okay, we occasionally deal with listed buildings, but they’re generally of historical or architectural interest. I wouldn’t have thought a row of shops that are due for demolition comes into that category.’

  ‘Nor would I,’ said Luke with asperity. ‘I’m fairly sure this is just a move on Hughes’ part to try and get me to pay him increased compensation for having to find new premises for his so-called studio.’

  Ben grinned. ‘I thought this petition had over a hundred signatures.’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  ‘Hughes inaugurated it. I’m sure of it.’

  Yet was he? Abby had no reason to think kindly of him either after the way he’d behaved that afternoon when he’d visited the café. And subsequent events...

  But he didn’t want to think about subsequent events. He especially didn’t want to remember how shabbily he’d treated her a week ago. Seducing her, and then walking out on her, had been unforgivable. He’d used her and then made his escape while she was still asleep.

  Not that he’d wanted to. It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, sliding out of Abby’s warm bed. He’d wanted to stay, but that would have been crazy. Did he want her to think he couldn’t leave her alone?

  But she’d never forgive him, he thought. Hell, he’d never forgive himself. That was not why he’d driven over to Ashford-St-James. He’d wanted to speak to her, yes. To confront her about the petition Felix had told him about. But that was all.

  Then, she’d opened the door and he’d seen her, all flushed and warm from her shower, and he’d lost his mind. The lapels of her bathrobe had parted as she’d bent to drag the retriever back into the hall, and he’d glimpsed damp, shadowy cleavage and smelt the fragrant scent of her skin.

  God, he could smell it still. It had filled his lungs and interfered with his thought processes, so that by the time he’d got upstairs and into her apartment, he’d been running on nuclear.

  ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

  Ben was talking to him now, and Luke, who had been staring blindly out of the fourth-floor windows of his colleague’s office, turned a somewhat blank look in his direction.

  ‘Say what?’ he asked, his brows drawing together, and Ben gave him a curious look.

  ‘About the petition,’ he said patiently. Then he glanced towards the windows himself. ‘For pity’s sake, what’s going on out there? You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the last five minutes.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ Luke pulled himself together and offered an apologetic smile. ‘I was just wool-gathering, that’s all.’

  ‘It must have been some pretty serious wool-gathering, then,’ Ben remarked, an amused expression on his face. ‘If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say a female was involved.’ He paused. ‘Am I right?’

  Luke pushed a frustrated hand through his dark hair. ‘There are women involved in this petition; of course, there are. But so what?’ He avoided the other man’s eyes. ‘In any case, I’d better get going if I want to get anything done today.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ben got up from his desk. ‘You’ll let me know as soon as there are any developments, if you’ll excuse the pun?’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Luke shook the other man’s hand and headed for the door. ‘And if you do happen to run into anyone who knows about these things, perhaps you’d ask him to give me a call.’

  ‘Will do.’ Ben grinned, and then added provocatively, ‘And give the lady my best, won’t you?’

  * * *

  Abby was returning from her usual evening walk with Harley when she saw the sleek silver Bentley parked at the end of the road.

  The sky was overcast and once again it was starting to rain, but Abby halted at the sight of the car. No one she wanted to know drove a Bentley. But that didn’t alter the fact that it was there.

  It was over a week since that evening Luke had come to her apartment. And since then, she’d made it her business to find out all about the petition Greg Hughes had initiated. She guessed that was why Luke had come to see her that evening. Had he wondered if she might be behind it? Surely not.

  And yet...

  Harley was getting impatient. She’d been standing like a statue for the past couple of minutes and the retriever was waiting for his supper. Was that Luke’s car, or was she being paranoid? And even if it was his vehicle, there was more than one property on this block.

  The Bentley’s door opened and Abby stiffened instinctively. The miserable weather meant there were few people about. She was on her own.

  When a man’s voice hailed her, her mouth dried. She didn’t need to hear Harley’s joyful bark of recognition to identify the man. She watched, with a certain amount of trepidation, as Luke swung one leg and then the other out of the car.

  It was an effort to hang on to Harley’s leash when he wanted so badly to get away, but somehow she managed it. She watched tensely as Luke straightened, pausing for a moment to speak to someone still inside the car. His girlfriend? she wondered, anger stirring. Were all men as unscrupulous as Harry if they could get away with it?

  Luke stood there, lean and dark and painfully familiar in a navy business suit, a bronze silk shirt and navy tie. Abby could feel her pulse quickening automatically and despised herself for it. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been naked; his hips pumping urgently between her thighs; his body joined to hers in mutual need.

  Or mutual lust, she amended bitte
rly, steeling herself against the sensual attraction that still had the power to weaken her knees. But he had an incredible nerve coming back here. Did he expect her to behave as if that night over a week ago had never happened?

  Now he said coolly, ‘Come on, Abby. I’ll give you a lift back to the café. You’re getting soaked and so am I.’

  ‘An occupational hazard where you’re concerned,’ she responded tartly. ‘What do you want, Luke? If you’re worried about the petition, go and speak to Greg.’

  Luke stepped away from the car, apparently uncaring that once again his clothes were getting wet, and the retriever went wild with excitement.

  Luke saw the problem she was having in controlling him and said impatiently, ‘Let him go, Abby. Or do you want to end up with your butt in a puddle?’

  Abby ignored him, but she had to pass the car to reach her home. She determinedly avoided looking into the car as she tugged Harley past Luke, but the retriever became so unmanageable, she had to let him go.

  In the inevitable melee that ensued, Abby was able to hurry along the street to her door. Fishing her keys out of her pocket, she couldn’t prevent a smirk of satisfaction at the thought of what the retriever’s paws might do to that expensive suit.

  She had to leave the door open for Harley. She had no doubt the dog would find his way home, if only because his supper was due. Kicking off her wet shoes, she picked them up and hurried up the stairs to the apartment. She didn’t think even Luke would have the nerve to follow her there.

  Going into the kitchen, she took off her coat and draped it over a chair. It would dry in the warmth, once she put the pizza she’d bought for her own supper in the oven. A rub-down with a towel was all Harley would need.

  She avoided looking at her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. But her bedraggled braid and pale face drew her eyes. So what? she thought, smoothing her hair with rain-wet fingers. Why should she care what she looked like? It wasn’t as if she wanted Luke to show any interest in her again.

  She heard the downstairs door bang back on its hinges.